At last the treasure was loaded and the ships set off. The warm trade winds were hot so far south, and every man was exhausted to the point of collapse. Many suffered from dehydration, and the smarter capitáns doubled the water ration. The ships were heavily ballasted with bullion, of course, which made for ponderous going when the airs went light.
On the second day the flotilla was beset by heavy squalls, common that time of the year, and Camaron ordered the fleet to heave-to off and on rather than risk a spar or sail carrying away in the unusually strong winds that accompanied the rain. The line of squalls continued all day and into the night, and little headway could be made to Cuba. At sea, you never knew.
At last they arrived in Havana, more than two weeks late, and owing to nervousness on the part of the Combined Fleet Comandante, they missed their rendezvous. Camaron was not particularly worried, however, as the main body of the fleet was less than a week ahead of him and with good weather he could overtake them. He would need to re-supply water and food and wood first.
And then he would need to sail fast.
THIRTY-EIGHT
IT WAS early on the morning of the twelfth day out of Grand Turk when Fallon saw Avenger heave-to and send up the signal Captains repair on board.
“Heave-to, Mr. Jones, and please call away my gig,” ordered Fallon. He had been waiting for this meeting, had been studying the charts for the Florida Straights and gathering his thoughts. If Davies was right, the Spanish Combined Fleet was heavily guarded with ships-of-the-line and frigates, and while the British Admiralty had little respect for the rank-and-file Spanish capitán, Spain would have sent her best on such an important mission.
Fallon and Beauty were both piped over the side onto Avenger’s deck—a shrill whistle’s call with side boys in attendance and marines standing at attention, a practice normally used to welcome visiting captains or dignitaries aboard. The rear admiral was there with Captain Kinis to meet them. Kinis was warmer now, at ease with the new additions to the little fleet, confident in their abilities—the gunnery practices had certainly impressed him. They were all led below to the great cabin and settled in around the charts.
Fallon had always found charts fascinating. To those not in command they were perhaps interesting just because they were maps, telling you where you were on the ocean relative to land. To those in command, however, they were more, much more. Overlaying the captain’s or master’s knowledge of wind and tidal currents, the soundings and anticipated weather patterns rendered charts as critical tools for the advancement of war, critical and massively important for positioning and strategy.
Davies once again reviewed the intelligence he’d received at English Harbor concerning the movement of the Spanish Combined Fleet and the smaller treasure flota.
“The task for us will be to disrupt the Combined Fleet and cut out the treasure ships—if we can identify which ships they are,” Davies said. “Certainly they will be heavily guarded, and that should give us a clue. But beyond that we will have to see how they behave when we attack. Which wolves guard which sheep. I welcome your thoughts, please.”
Kinis spoke first. “Our position is approximately here”—pointing his finger to a spot on the chart just off Eleuthera, roughly a hundred miles west of Nassau. “Are we sure the Combined Fleet will head north through the Straights of Florida before turning east for Spain? Might they try to navigate eastwards through the Bahamas instead?”
“With all respect, I think not, Captain Kinis,” replied Fallon. “It would be difficult for the fleet to work through those islands, straight into the teeth of the trades, and the water can be very thin indeed for heavily laden ships.”
“Excellent points, Captain Fallon,” said Davies. “So we must assume they will go with the route they usually take.”
Now they fell silent, studying the charts and hypothetically positioning their respective ships in their minds for best advantage. It was Beauty who spoke up.
“Of course, we don’t know for sure whether we’re too late, too early, or just where we want to be with our arrival. We still have several hundred miles to go just to reach Great Bahama and begin ranging over the area between there and Spanish Florida. So I’m wondering—”
“Yes? What are you thinking, Beauty?” questioned Fallon. According to British naval protocol, Beauty was captain of Sea Dog now, and should be addressed as such. But true to his nature, Fallon preferred informality with his best friend.
“Well, Sea Dog would have no trouble picking her way through the islands to Nassau,” Beauty explained. “We could put someone ashore for a night of debauchery, someone clever enough to get information without attracting attention. Maybe there’s scuttlebutt about the treasure flota. Admiral, you said you thought the news of the Combined Fleet would be on the waterfront. It might save us from a fool’s errand or, even better, help us be in position in time to strike.”
Four heads bent over the chart, and Davies’ head was the first to raise. “That is an excellent suggestion, Captain. You could be there by nightfall, arrive undetected, set someone ashore and be off at first light and back here by the forenoon tomorrow. Gentlemen, what do you think?”
“Excellent, Beauty,” said Fallon. “Not without its challenges, however. Tell me, whom do you have in mind to go ashore?” Fallon wondering himself who that might be.
“I have someone who might serve,” interjected Kinis. “He’s a Dago whose life we saved just before pirates were going to hang him. You know of him, sir, Cortez, a topman.”
“I do know him, Captain Kinis,” said Davies. “He’s got a bit of a piratical look about him already, if that’s the one.”
“Yes, that’s him. Debauchery would come naturally to him, but he’s got a clever way about him. He misses nothing in this ship.”
“Totally trustworthy not to run?” asked Fallon.
“I would stake my command on it, sir,” said Kinis without a hint of indignation.
“I like the plan,” said Davies. “And I like the man. Let’s suspend our planning here until we gather more information from Sea Dog’s visit to Nassau. God willing, I’m hopeful we will learn something valuable. Captain Kinis, will you please speak with Cortez and see if he is game?”
Kinis left immediately and Davies called his clerk to write the orders that would commit Sea Dog to the plan. Fallon took the opportunity to have a private word with Beauty topside.
“Be careful with this,” he said quietly. “Lots of tricky bits around those islands with coral heads. And Nassau will be teeming with all manner of dangerous characters. If you find trouble, there’s no helping you.”
“Well I know,” Beauty said, thankful for her friend’s earnest concern for her safety. “My thought is to enter the harbor just past dark. Kendricks, the master’s mate Davies lent me, is familiar with the entrance and says it’s pretty straightforward. Let’s hope this Cortez is as reliable as Kinis says.”
“So you already checked with Kendricks about the approach?” Fallon asked, incredulous. “You had this idea before we all met, didn’t you?”
“Oh, Nico,” Beauty laughed. “You know I like to steer my own boat.”
THIRTY-NINE
THE AFTERNOON that Sea Dog sailed for Nassau, several thousand miles away two young children played on the highlands of Ethiopia. The boy threw dirt into the air and laughed as the wind took it away, swirling it into a dust devil, upward into the sky. The boy and girl played on for a while and, finally tiring of their games, wandered off to their village to get something to eat.
Meanwhile, the dust swirled up into the atmosphere. It caught upper altitude winds and, still swirling, moved toward the coast of Africa. As the small, revolving mass of air arrived over the ocean, it created something like a vacuum, sucking up warm air from the surface and creating an unequal pressure. Air from surrounding areas with higher pressure rushed into the low-pressure area and picked up more warmth and moisture, only to rise and continue the cycle upward in a swirling motion. The
system was moving now, growing stronger, the water in the air forming clouds that began to spin and grow, fed by the ocean’s heat and water evaporating from the surface.
This particular force of nature took on an ominous cast as the clouds formed circular bands, with the wind blowing counterclockwise. The speed of the winds grew to fifty knots; then as the mass began traveling over still warmer water, the wind picked up more. It went to seventy knots overnight. There was no forecasting its path or trajectory, but it generally moved northwest following the ancient route of such massive ocean storms in late summer.
Which is to say it was generally making for the Bahamas.
FORTY
CORTEZ CERTAINLY looked the part.
It hadn’t taken much for Beauty to imagine him as a pirate, or worse if there was such; he wasn’t too clean to begin with and all hands contributed to his clothes, for ship’s slops wouldn’t do. A pistol was produced, a ribbon for his hair, a little grease for his face and voilà! Blackbeard.
Beauty stood beside Kendricks, the master’s mate loaned from Avenger, as he guided Sea Dog between Eleuthera and Cat Island without difficulty. Something about Kendricks made her suspect he had done some smuggling in these waters before, but she left it alone. The sun was on the way to low when they turned north toward Nassau.
Beauty took Cortez aside and made sure he understood his orders. She stressed he not put himself in physical danger, to take it slow and get back alive without arousing suspicion. After all, he was a new face on the waterfront. If pressed, his story was that he had sailed in on a trader—he would need to casually ascertain the last one to leave Nassau—and decided to stay and look for better opportunities. Sounded good enough.
Beauty watched Cortez listen as if he didn’t need the instruction or advice. It irritated her, and she worried he was more interested in the fun ashore than the information he was supposed to obtain. But there was nothing for it—he was their man.
Kendricks made the channel entrance just after dark, good as his word. They shortened sail and glided in on a dying breeze, undetected to all accounts, though a number of boats were at anchor and music could be heard onshore. Sea Dog rounded up and let the anchor go several hundred yards from a deserted part of the beach. Cortez climbed down into the ship’s boat, began rowing for shore and, in less than a minute, had disappeared into a very dark night. Their last glimpse was of him smiling.
Beauty set a good lookout, not wanting to be surprised by anything. Satisfied that all was well for the time being, she set the watches and went below to have dinner, asking to be called immediately if anything came amiss.
Cortez rowed to an unlit stretch of shoreline and pulled the boat up onto the sand. Down the beach a few hundred yards he could see lights and hear laughter and music, and he cautiously made his way toward the sounds. There were shacks along the shore, rough wooden and thatch houses, mostly leaning to one side, all dark.
He came upon a stretch of buildings, bars really, lit by torches and candles and populated by all manner of humanity, seemingly from all over the world, drinking and laughing and whoring to excess. Nassau was wide open, and everyone came. In what passed for a street the beggars asked for money or food. An old woman squatted on her haunches holding a nut in her shriveled hand, for sale. Cortez looked away and took a deep breath, pushed his pistol down lower into his waistband, and stepped inside the first bar.
THE NIGHT crept on, the stars came splashing across the clear sky, and Sea Dog floated silently as driftwood. The glass turned, watches changed, and the music began to die onshore. Lights still twinkled here and there, particularly around Government House, but at Sea Dog’s end of the harbor all was quiet.
Beauty tried to sleep, but got nowhere. She thought of Bermuda and her home, of the woman who might be missing her and worried for her safety. She thought of Cortez ashore, wondering what he saw and heard and, briefly, whether he would even come back. Well, Kinis had been certain about his loyalty so that was enough for her.
The ship was quiet, the men on watch talking in whispers because voices travelled so far over water. Beauty rose from her cot and stood at the stern windows. There was nothing to see as Sea Dog’s stern faced away from shore, which only added to Beauty’s frustration and impatience. Two hours before dawn was all she could manage to stay below, and she thumped up the companion-way to a spectacular sky, a black vault full of diamonds, perhaps just lightening ever so little there to the east.
She had made it clear to Cortez that he had until one hour before dawn to return or they would leave. She didn’t want him passed out somewhere while the ship stood waiting.
An hour and a half before dawn, the eastern sky now definitely lightening. All hands nervous, making small talk at their stations, looking toward shore, waiting for the order to up anchor.
Then, laughter.
Incongruous laughter, more like giggling and barely contained whooping, and it grew louder. Out of the darkness Cortez rowed, his back to Sea Dog, while in the stern sat the Queen of the Night.
The men looked at each other and grinned. Cortez had brought a doxie out from shore, by God, the scoundrel! The boat came alongside and clapped on, Cortez climbed up the ship’s side and landed unsteadily on his feet, obviously in his cups, and performed a deep bow to Beauty, who was visibly furious.
Here came the doxie, giggling at this new adventure, a big ship—how fun!—tumbling over the side to land on her backside, her skirt over her head, white legs akimbo. The crew got their eyeful before Beauty took command of the situation, ordering Cortez below to the crew’s quarters and the doxie to the captain’s cabin. The ship’s boat was hauled aboard, the anchor weighed, and the ship gotten underway immediately. Kendricks took them out of the harbor on a small land breeze, silently and invisibly; no eyes from shore could have seen them as they sailed, first away eastward and then northeast.
SEA DOG hove-to in the forenoon of the next day, as planned, just off Eleuthera. Avenger was hove-to, and Harp, as well, approximately where Beauty had left them the day before. The signal went up to Avenger’s gaff: Captains repair on board.
Beauty had gotten very little sleep the night before. She had put the doxie on the floor in Fallon’s old cabin, now hers, with a guard outside to keep the men at bay, while she herself had dozed off now and then on deck. No doubt the doxie was still sleeping, and likely would be for the better part of a year judging by how hard the men had worked to wake Cortez.
Sea Dog’s boat was lowered just as Cortez was lifted up the companionway steps looking very much the worse for drink. Beauty gave him a look that would melt steel, and he straightened his back as best he could and, with a little help, managed to go over the side and into the waiting boat.
Once aboard Avenger Cortez tried to make a show of propriety but all hands knew the look. They’d both worn and seen the look of a night ashore many times. Beauty took Cortez firmly by the arm and marched him below to the great cabin where Fallon, Kinis, and Davies waited.
“Now, Cortez,” began Captain Kinis, looking at the dog’s breakfast before him, “what did you discover in Nassau besides rum?” Smiles all around, but not from Beauty, who knew what else he’d discovered and drilled little holes into him with her eyes.
“I went to many places, Capitán,” Cortez began. “There was much talk about the Spanish treasure, but just that. Talk. I was getting nowhere when I decided to go more into the town, to a place I heard of that was even more dangerous than the places I had been. I was not brave, capitánes, I was very afraid to go but more afraid not to go.”
Here Cortez looked at each of the senior officers and smiled a weak, knowing kind of smile. I had my duty. It was exactly what Kinis had staked his command on.
“At this place there were many bad men,” Cortez continued, “pirates, I think, or smugglers or I don’t know, but bad. I bought a drink for a woman and pretended not to be interested in anyone else, but I heard things. Men were talking about the fleet and someone said someone ha
d heard it had left Havana for Spain already. That was the story I heard.”
Beauty saw Fallon watching Cortez closely. He looked crestfallen but totally absorbed in what the sailor was saying. “Is that all, then?” Fallon asked.
“No,” Cortez answered, and Fallon’s breath caught. “I heard something different from the man behind the bar, who looked pretty bad himself and was very dirty. He said ‘Sure it left, but not with the treasure, is what I heard. Them ships missed the run-de-vouz so they got left behind.’ That’s what he said exactly, I remember it like it was yesterday.”
Well, it was yesterday thought Davies. “Be sure, Cortez,” he said, leaning in toward the man. “Is that exactly what he said?”
“Sí, sí,” answered Cortez with certainty. “That’s what I heard.”
Fallon felt the excitement in the cabin rise. Now there was something to hold onto, by God! But hold onto how hard? It was one person, likely trying to impress his friends and probably as drunk as any of them. He looked at Cortez. “Anything else?” he asked.
Cortez shook his head no, and looked at Beauty, preparing himself to be exposed for the doxie. But Beauty betrayed nothing of the truth, to his infinite surprise, and he suppressed the urge to hug her. Wisely.
“Thank you, Cortez,” said Kinis. “Well done. Now off with you to get some rest,” adding, “and a bath.”
When Cortez had left, Davies went all in. “I think we have to believe in what the barman said. I know it sounds far-fetched, but why spread a story like that among pirates and thieves? Was it mere gossip or something more? We don’t know. But I’m inclined to believe it could be true. Mainly because I would hate to find out too late that it was true. Are we agreed? We proceed as planned?”
Fallon looked to Beauty who looked to Kinis. Everyone nodded, new life in the cabin.
“Very good,” said Davies enthusiastically. “Now, let us devise a plan to stop this flota from ever reaching Spain. Sinking the ships should be a last resort. I want that treasure for England!”
The Bermuda Privateer Page 16
