Buccaneer

by Tim Severin

  ‘Who is in charge?’ asked Hector quietly.

  There was a pause before the young man answered shakily, ‘I suppose I am. You killed my father.’

  Hector glanced down at the corpse. The face was turned to one side, and the profile was enough for him to see the resemblance.

  ‘I’m very sorry. If you had not opened fire on us, this would not have happened.’

  The young man said nothing.

  ‘What is the name of your vessel?’ Hector enquired as gently as possible.

  ‘Santo Rosario. We sailed from Callao yesterday morning.’ The young man’s voice was thick with misery.

  ‘With what cargo?’

  Again the captain’s son did not reply. Hector recognised the symptoms of deep distress and realised that there was little point in asking any more questions. ‘There will be no more bloodshed if you and your men cooperate peacefully. We’ll search the ship, and after that my captain will decide what is to be done.’

  Behind him he heard Jezreel warning the other members of the boarding party to watch out for hidden surprises. Then came the sounds of the men opening up the hatches to the cargo hold.

  Searching a captured ship was always a tense time. No one knew what might be found in the darkness of the hold, a desperate sailor lurking with a knife or cudgel, or someone holding a lighted match near the gunpowder store and threatening to blow up the ship unless the boarders withdrew. Ringrose kept a pistol pointing at the crew of Santo Rosario while he and Hector waited to learn what the ship had been carrying.

  There was disappointment on the faces of the buccaneers as they re-emerged from the hatchways. ‘Just some sacks of coconuts and a few bales of cloth which might be useful for sail-making,’ one of them exclaimed. ‘The ship’s in ballast. There are several hundred ingots of lead in the bilges.’

  ‘If it’s lead, then that will make the quartermaster happy,’ commented Ringrose. ‘Bring up a sample so we can take a closer look.’

  When the buccaneer returned, he was cradling a misshapen lump of some dull grey metal in his arms. Ringrose took out his knife and scratched the surface of the ingot. ‘Not lead, more like unrefined tin,’ he announced. ‘Gifford will be disappointed. But at a pinch it just might do for making bullets. We’ll take one of them back to Trinity to try it out.’

  Hector turned to the young man. ‘My captain will want to see the ship’s papers,’ he said. ‘And any other documents such as bills of lading, letters, maps, charts. Also I need to speak with the pilot.’

  The captain’s son looked back at him with grief-stricken eyes. ‘My father took charge of everything. This was his own ship, held in partnership with friends. He had sailed these waters all his life, he didn’t need a pilot or charts. Everything was in his head.’

  ‘Nevertheless I must examine the ship’s papers.’ said Hector.

  The young man seemed to accept the inevitable. ‘You’ll find them in his cabin.’ He turned and walked to the stern rail, where he stood, staring down into the sea, lost in his private wretchedness.

  As Hector made his way towards the captain’s cabin, Jezreel, who had reappeared on deck, fell in step beside him. ‘There’s still something not quite right here,’ the big man muttered. ‘If the ship was sailing empty why did they put up a fight? They had nothing worth defending. And why would such a fine ship as this one be on a purposeless voyage?’

  ‘Perhaps the ship’s papers will tell us,’ answered Hector. They skirted round the body of the captain and had reached the door to his cabin. Hector attempted to open it. To his surprise the door was locked.

  ‘That’s odd,’ he said. ‘Jezreel, see if you can find a key in the dead man’s pocket.’

  Jezreel searched the corpse but found nothing. ‘We’ll have to break it open,’ he said and, stepping back, delivered a hefty kick at the woodwork. The door shook in its frame and, just as Jezreel was about to deliver a second blow, Hector heard the sound of the lock clicking back. Suddenly he wished that he was carrying a weapon to defend himself. Fearing that whoever was inside might fire a shot through the wooden panel, he quickly edged to one side, out of the line of fire.

  The door swung back, and out stepped a woman.

  Hector was so surprised that his mouth fell open in astonishment. The woman was perhaps twenty years old, yet she held herself with the assurance of someone accustomed to being treated with respect, even deference. She was immaculately dressed in a long, dark green travelling mantle trimmed at the shoulders and sleeves with lines of black braid. A broad collar of fine lace emphasised her pale ivory skin. Her hair was so dark as to be almost black and had been dressed in long, loose curls, now partly covered by a light shawl. Her oval face was perfectly symmetrical with a high forehead and large, dark eyes. These now regarded Hector with defiance mingled with disdain.

  ‘I wish to speak with whoever is in charge,’ she said calmly. She spoke slowly and clearly as if addressing a dull-witted servant.

  Hector stood in stunned silence, feeling foolish. He swallowed nervously and words failed him.

  ‘I am Dona Juana de Costana, wife of the Alcalde of the Real Sala del Crimen of Paita,’ she said. ‘It would be wise of your captain to make arrangements for my safe return to my family with as little delay as possible. I presume that, as pirates, you are more interested in what you can steal.’ She gestured towards the open doorway behind her, and said, ‘Please bring out the purse, Maria.’ To Hector’s increasing amazement a second woman emerged from the cabin. She was of much the same age, but more plainly dressed in a long-sleeved, brown gown with a light collar of white linen. Her head of nut-brown hair was uncovered. She was clearly a companion to Dona Juana. In her hand she carried a small bag of soft leather.

  Dona Juana took the bag and held it out to Hector. ‘Here, you may have this,’ she said with a trace of condescension in her voice. ‘It will save you searching the cabin for other valuables. It contains all our jewellery.’

  Hector accepted the bag and, through the soft leather, felt the irregular shapes of brooches and the smoother sensation of what he guessed were pearl necklaces. Maria, the companion, had taken up her position half a pace behind her mistress, and was regarding him with similar distaste. She had a darker complexion, lightly freckled, and Hector noticed that her hands which she clasped in front of her in a gesture of exasperation were small and very neat. Neither woman showed the least trace of fear.

  He cleared his throat, still struggling to overcome his surprise, and said, ‘We wish you no harm, but it is my duty to search the cabin. I need to retrieve the ship’s documents.’

  ‘Then do your duty,’ said Dona Juana crisply. ‘You will find that poor Captain Lopez,’ and she cast a glance towards the captain’s corpse, ‘kept his papers in a chest under the stern window. But I would be obliged if you and your men refrained from touching any of the clothes or personal effects belonging to myself or my companion. You already have all our valuables.’

  ‘I will respect your private possessions,’ said Hector finally. ‘In the meantime I am sure that my ship’s navigator Mr Basil Ringrose would like to make your acquaintance.’ Ringrose was standing goggle-eyed at the imperious young lady’s beauty. She gave him a glance which clearly sent the young navigator reeling.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ said Hector and he ducked in through the low door of the cabin to begin his search. Behind him the doorway darkened and glancing back over his shoulder he saw that the companion, Maria, had followed him and was standing, arms folded, watching him. Evidently she was not taking his word that he would not touch the women’s possessions. Selfconsciously he began to rummage the low-ceilinged cabin. The two women were travelling in some style. A folding dressing table was covered with expensive brushes and toiletries. There was a fine silk shawl draped over a cushioned stool, and two elegant cloaks hung from pegs. A silk rug was spread on the floor of the small, ill lit cabin, and over against a bulkhead stood a large trunk, obviously containing a full wardrobe. He smell
ed costly perfume.

  He lifted the lid of the sea chest that Dona Juana had mentioned. It contained a log book and several scrolls and parchments as well as a thin leather case with several documents inside. They were various letters and bills of lading. Looking through them rapidly, Hector saw that the Santo Rosario had been bound for Panama. A letter addressed to the governor from Dona Juana’s husband, the Alcalde, recommended Captain Lopez to him in the most civil terms, and there were several notes of credit in favour of the captain and drawn on leading merchants. The notes were for substantial sums of money. It was clear that Captain Lopez had been a wealthy man in his own right and well known throughout the colonial trading community.

  He selected the more significant of the documents and tied them together with a length of silk ribbon he picked off the dressing table. He sensed Maria’s disapproval behind him. Adding the captain’s journal to the bundle, he straightened up and looked around him wondering if there was anything else that he should check. It was common practice for a ship’s captain to have a secret hiding place where he kept his most valuable possessions and sensitive papers. ‘To save you doing any damage, you will find there’s a hidden compartment behind that trunk of clothes,’ Maria said. ‘It’s where Captain Lopez kept the crew’s wages and his own money he used in trade.’ Her tone was scornful.

  Hector pushed the trunk aside and soon found what he was looking for. The hiding place contained a substantial quantity of coin in bags and a collection of domestic silverware. There were salvers, jugs, silver gilt cups, and four very fine candlesticks. It was evident that Captain Lopez kept an elegant table. There was also a large folder, wrapped in a loose oilskin slip and evidently much handled. Opening it, Hector saw that he was holding a collection of sea charts. The first was a very detailed map of the approaches to Panama, showing rocks and reefs and shoals, and how to bring a ship safely into the anchorage. The remainder of the maps were much less precise. They showed the general outline of the entire South Sea coast, all the way from California to the South Cape.

  Summoning one of the buccaneers to help, Hector carried the money and valuables out on deck and put them in a sack, ready to be transported across to Trinity. The oilskin folder he kept separately.

  Sharpe had already brought his vessel close enough for a shouted conversation across the water, and when Hector explained what he had found, the captain told him to return to Trinity, bringing the documents, valuables and the female prisoners.

  But when the young man explained these instructions to Dona Juana, he was met with a flat refusal.

  ‘I have not the slightest intention of going aboard your ship,’ she announced imperiously. ‘If your captain wishes to speak with me, he can come across here.’

  Hector wondered for a moment whether he should get Jezreel to pick up the woman and carry her into the cockboat, but Ringrose came to his rescue. Stepping across to the rail he bawled out to Sharpe, ‘It would be easier if you would come across with a prize crew.’

  To Hector’s relief Sharpe agreed to this suggestion and before long the buccaneer captain was standing on the deck of the Santo Rosario and Hector was introducing him to the wife of the senior magistrate of the Criminal Court of Paita.

  ‘I am most honoured to make your acquaintance,’ Sharpe said, making a bow. His Spanish was slow and clumsy, and from the way he was looking at the young woman, it seemed that he was very much taken with her beauty as Ringrose had been.

  ‘You are the leader of these people?’ Juana asked. She managed to put her question as if she and Sharpe were superior to everyone else, should he prove to be in command.

  Sharpe preened himself. ‘Indeed I am the captain of that ship over there, señora, and at your service,’ he confirmed.

  ‘No doubt your own vessel is well appointed but it is hardly likely to offer the same quality of accommodation as this one. My companion and I have managed to make ourselves as comfortable as possible in such trying and cramped conditions. I have informed your assistant here that I have no intention of leaving the Santo Rosario. ’

  Sharpe was positively fawning. ‘I would not wish you to be put to any inconvenience, señora. By all means you may stay here. I will instruct my men not to disturb you.’ Hector wondered if Bartholomew Sharpe knew what a spectacle he was making of himself.

  ‘Come, Maria, it is time we withdrew,’ said Dona Juana and without another word she swept back into her cabin in a swirl of green silk, followed by her companion.

  ‘She should fetch a choice ransom,’ observed one of the buccaneers.

  Sharpe rounded on him in a fury. ‘Keep a civil tongue in your head,’ he snapped. ‘What happens to the lady will be decided by the council, and in the meantime you have work to do. For a start you can help dispose of the dead bodies, and clean this deck.’

  Then Sharpe turned to Hector, who was still holding the bundle of ship’s documents, and asked, ‘What did you find out?’

  ‘The vessel was bound for Panama. This folder contains a chart for the final approach. There are also general maps for all the entire coast. Her captain was an important man, a friend of the governor there, and Dona Juana was on her way to stay with him.’

  ‘Lucky fellow,’ commented Sharpe.

  ‘There’s also a considerable quantity of cash on board, and Ringrose believes that the ship’s ballast could be turned into musket bullets.’ Hector would have continued but the captain was scarcely listening to him.

  ‘We must show her that we are not barbarians,’ was all Sharpe said. ‘Confine the ship’s officers to the forepeak, and have them give their word that they’ll not make trouble, and this evening we will entertain the señora and her companion. On this ship of course. Perhaps your friend the Frenchman can prepare a special meal.’

  ‘What about the captain’s son? He’s over there.’ Hector nodded towards the young man still standing miserably at the stern rail.

  ‘Put him in the forepeak with the last of them.’

  ‘His father possessed some fine tableware; solid silver.’

  ‘Good. We’ll use that. Later we can have it broken up and divided among the men.’

  ‘SHARPE SEEMS utterly smitten,’ Hector commented to Jacques in the galley of the Santo Rosario that evening. The wind had died away and the two ships lay becalmed on a quiet sea. The Frenchman had been rowed across to the prize, bringing his preferred cooking utensils and dried herbs and a large tuna which he had been marinading in a mixture of sugar and salt. Jacques lifted the lid of a chafing dish, dipped a tasting spoon in the sauce, and said, ‘Never underestimate the power of a beautiful woman. Particularly on men who have been so long at sea. Their heads can be set spinning until they are dizzy.’

  Jezreel, who was listening in, was sceptical. ‘I still think that there’s something not quite right about this ship. Maybe her crew put up a fight because they had a brave captain and he did not want to surrender a judge’s wife. But there’s more to it. I watched how she twisted Sharpe around that elegant little finger of hers. Our captain rolled over on his back and wagged his tail.’

  Hector had to agree with him. He was full of admiration for the resolute poise of the two women, but he sensed a hidden reason for the women’s attitude, and he was puzzled what it might be. ‘If I hadn’t read those despatches, I’d have said that Dona Juana was deliberately delaying us because she knows that the Spaniards are assembling a squadron of warships and will soon be here to rescue her,’ he said.

  Jacques blew on a spoonful of broth to cool it. ‘Maybe she didn’t know what was in those despatches.’

  ‘Her husband would never have allowed her to set sail if he thought that Trinity was still operating in the South Sea.’

  ‘Then you have to ask yourself exactly what Dona Juana wants.’ Jacques took a sip from the spoon, then added a pinch of pimento powder to the broth.

  ‘To be allowed to stay on this ship.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘That we weren’t to interfere wit
h their private possessions.’

  ‘Then that’s where you need to look.’

  ‘But they have been promised that we would do no such thing,’ Hector objected.

  Jacques shrugged. ‘Then make sure that neither they nor Sharpe get to know. Dinner is to be served in the open air, out on the quarterdeck. I suggest while the two ladies and our gallant captain are enjoying my cuisine, someone searches their cabin. Dan climbs like a goat. He can get in through the stern window, examine the cabin and get out again before they finish my dessert – it will be a syllabub of coconut, worth lingering over.’

  ‘I have a better idea,’ said Jezreel. ‘There’s a small hatch in the floor of the stern accommodation. I found it when we were checking the cargo hold. It’s normally used by the ship’s carpenter when he inspects the tiller trunking. Someone small – either Dan or Hector – should be able to get into the cabin that way.’

  In the end it was decided that it would be quicker if both Dan and Hector carried out the search together, and they managed to squeeze their way into the cabin without much difficulty. There they found nothing suspicious except that the large clothing trunk was firmly locked.

  ‘I can’t imagine that the ladies feared the crew would steal their dresses,’ said Dan. He felt in his pocket and produced the priming wire he used for cleaning the vent of his musket. Slipping the end of the wire into the lock, he gave a twist and a moment later was easing back the lid.

  ‘Jacques would be proud of you. I doubt he was quicker in his time as a Paris burglar,’ whispered Hector.

  The trunk was stuffed with gowns, skirts, petticoats, mantuas, capes, chemises, gloves and stockings, all so tightly packed together that Hector wondered if it would ever be possible to shut the lid again. He plunged his arms into the mass of taffeta and silk and lace, and began to feel down through the layers. Two-thirds of the way through the excavation his fingers met a solid object. It felt like a large book. Carefully easing it out of the hiding place, he saw that it was another folder, very similar to the one in which Captain Lopez had kept his charts. Hector stepped across to the stern window where the light was better, and turned back the cover. He knew at once that he was holding in his hands the dead captain’s private book of navigation. It was filled with his daily drawings and observations. There were diagrams of anchorages marked with their soundings, drafts of harbour approaches, dozens of coastal profiles, sketches of islands, observations of tides and currents. The folder contained a lifetime of Captain Lopez’s experience as a navigator. Quickly Hector riffled through the pages. There must have been almost a hundred of them, covered with drawings and notes. Some were many years old. They were sea-stained and frayed, the ink fading, and probably drawn when Lopez first went to sea. Other pages were drafted by a different hand and appeared to have been copied from official books of sailing instructions. ‘So it was not all in his head,’ Hector muttered to himself as he replaced the folder, burying it deep within the scented garments. Then Dan relocked the trunk, and Hector followed the Miskito down through the little hatchway.