by Dudley Pope
As she tacked up towards the entrance of the great anchorage, followed by the Peleus, Phoenix, the five prizes and then the rest of the buccaneers, Ned examined the Palisades carefully with the perspective glass.
“He’s almost finished the big battery on the seaward side: the guns are mounted, the sand is banked up and held by stone… Ah, the battery at the entrance: I can see men working on it now.” They seemed in the distance like lethargic ants.
“The English flag is flying over Heffer’s headquarters. The governor’s house, perhaps I should say, in case he’s been replaced, officially or unofficially!”
Thomas had been most emphatic, before they sailed from Portobelo, that they should arrive in Port Royal with as much of a bang as they left the Main, and each captain had been instructed to fire a salute as his ship passed the Palisades. Because no one knew how many guns should be fired as a salute to a governor, the buccaneers had been told to fire at least a dozen but, as Thomas had pointed out, they could fire as many as they felt inclined because the rumble of gunfire echoing back and forth across the Palisades would give Heffer and the rest of the army officers some idea of what a Spanish attack would be like.
“They’ll better appreciate us,” Thomas added. “It might cross the mind of some of them that the buccaneers are not all English – that seventeen out of twenty-eight are French, Dutch, Portuguese or Spanish. They don’t seem to realize that only eight of them are English, not counting us.”
Ned looked round and caught Burton’s eye. The sand of the Palisades glistened in the sun, the sea was a pool of molten sapphire under a hot noon sun, and despite the scorching heat the island seemed green: there had been plenty of rain to freshen both trees and shrubs.
The view was becoming familiar: three cays ahead of them, tiny islands in the anchorage, showed up clearly: One Bush Cay was over on the larboard bow, Drunken Man’s Cay and Broken Land Cay were almost dead ahead, and Smith’s Cay close in with the end of the Palisades.
Now, as the Griffin rounded the Palisades, there was the long beat to windward up the harbour to anchor close to the jetty near Heffer’s headquarters.
“I wonder if Heffer is still in command,” he said to Aurelia.
She nodded her head, confidently. “You and Thomas dealt with those mutineers so swiftly, I’m sure that anyone else with similar ideas was frightened off.”
“But we haven’t been here since then. Once we disappeared over the horizon, it’s a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind’; any other group of officers could have made a move. Don’t forget most of them still hanker for the days of Cromwell and the Commonwealth.”
“They can’t be so silly that they didn’t realize everyone was glad to see the King restored!”
“Everyone? I would guess that half the garrison – that’s fifteen hundred men, and most of the officers – would like to see Cromwell risen from the dead and back in power. The soldiers are owed a year’s pay, or more, and I don’t think they believe the King will give it to them.”
“But surely Heffer is reassuring them?”
“I doubt it: he’s probably not very sure himself.”
“A year’s pay for three thousand foot soldiers doesn’t seem a very high price for an island like Jamaica,” she said. “He should tell his men they’ll get their money.”
“It isn’t a high price,” Ned agreed, “but that’s only the purchase price. It’s like a plantation: once you’ve bought it it costs a lot to run.”
“But the soldiers are already here.”
“The position won’t be explained properly to the King and the Privy Council because there’s no one in London who understands it. And I can’t see the King letting the island have the couple of frigates it needs.”
“Why? You seem to be providing the navy!”
“Yes, but we’re away much of the time. Like now, we were away when the Spanish attacked.”
“Attacked?” Aurelia said contemptuously. “That was little more than a social visit! You knew it couldn’t succeed or you wouldn’t have left. You told Heffer where the attack would be and where to send his men. There was no risk!”
They both moved out of the way of running seamen as the mate gave the order to tack. Astern the first of the buccaneer ships, following in the wake of the prizes, began to fire a salute reminding Ned of a frightened squid squirting out a cloud of black ink and then swimming through it to safety. The smoke of the guns almost hid the buccaneer, who was firing a whole broadside, first one gun and then another, and while the guns were being reloaded the second buccaneer fired.
“Noise and colour,” Aurelia said.
The buccaneers had painted their ships using bright colours with the careless ease and taste of gypsies: the leading buccaneer ship, now sailing through a cloud bank of greasy yellow and black smoke, was painted red, with a white strake picking out her sheer: the next astern was painted the dark green favoured by smugglers because it blended with the mangroves growing along the shores of bays and inlets. Following her was a vessel painted entirely in blue, but even from this distance Ned could see that the salt of the sea drying several times a day, and the sun itself, had already turned it into the faded mauve with purple tints which was the ultimate fate of blue paint in the Tropics, whether on the hull of a ship or the walls or shutters of a house.
Large flags streamead from the mastheads of all the ships –English, French and Dutch colours and even, Ned was amused to see, Spanish from Secco’s ship. All the ships also had special flags, designed by owners or masters, flying from yard-arms. Long pendants streamed from mastheads, striped in as many colours as the sailmakers could find cloth.
All the paint and the bunting on the buccaneer ships only served to emphasize the prizes: the Spaniards did not spend money on paint, so the five vessels were weather-beaten grey with patches of bare wood. The only touches of colour were the English flags. The ships were so much larger than the buccaneers’, and so drab, that even the soldiers must notice them.
Again the Griffin tacked, the ships astern following in her wake like ducklings following a mother as she paddled round clumps of reeds. The next tack would bring them far enough up the harbour to anchor.
No strange ships were anchored, showing that no news or orders had recently arrived from England. A few canoes moved over the anchorage like water beetles crossing a pond. After the last tack the Griffin came head to wind and dropped an anchor.
Ned inspected the jetty with the perspective and was startled to see that it was crowded with people. They stretched along the sandy beach towards Hangman’s Point. The new battery – what he had thought was rocks was in fact people. And as the Griffin settled back on her anchor cable Ned caught sight of the flagpole in front of Heffer’s house with the English flag flying.
The Peleus anchored and almost at once hoisted out a boat. The boat’s crew scrambled down into it, followed by Thomas and Diana. The men started rowing while, from the direction of the Palisades, more buccaneer ships fired their broadsides. None of them, Ned noted, seemed content with using a single gun for saluting.
At that instant he heard the steady thumping of drums and the penetrating notes of trumpets. For a moment he looked towards the shore, thinking that the garrison was mustering a band, but then realized that the music, if one could be allowed to use the word, was coming from several of the buccaneer ships.
“It’s exciting,” Aurelia said. She eyed Ned and smiled. “Come on, it’s no good you trying to look so serious. You’re excited! And you just can’t wait to find out just how big the purchase is!”
Thomas and Diana came on board, both deeply suntanned and excited. Thomas slapped Ned on the back and bellowed: “Two out of two, my lad! Two out of two!”
When Ned looked puzzled, Diana said: “Count Santiago as one and Portobelo as another. Two expeditions and two safe returns after successful r
aids!”
“Yes,” Thomas continued, “and the sooner we start counting the purchase the better. These fellows elected you their leader and they’ll follow you anywhere. But that doesn’t mean to say they trust each other. The sooner that silver is weighed and the gems counted and valued, the better. As soon as everyone’s anchored, it would be wise to send boats round to collect one man from each ship. He then represents his own ship and watches as everything is counted up in each of the prize ships.”
“What are we going to do with the prizes?” Ned asked.
“Well, the share of the purchase for the owners, masters and mates is going to be so big that you should auction the ships because masters and mates will be able to bid, using their purchase money.”
“Perhaps we could offer them to Heffer at a reasonable price.”
Thomas shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “The sun has addled your brain. Or maybe your arm is hurting you. But firstly, Heffer – which means the government of Jamaica – has no money. Second, we don’t want him to have ships of his own. One or two of the King’s ships, if any are sent out from England, might be useful. But if Heffer suddenly has control of five goodly vessels, he will start becoming independent of us. While he has no ships, he does what we say.”
Ned nodded in agreement, realizing that the pain of his arm was still slowing his reactions.
“You see,” Thomas explained, “we are now in the underworld of politics, and if you’ll excuse me for saying so, Ned, it’s a world you don’t understand.”
“How could he?” Diana demanded. “He’s an honest man!” She turned to Ned. “Thomas’ family thought of nothing but politics and religion. Uncle Oliver mixed the two so that God always voted for him, and Satan led any opposition.”
Ned grinned and admitted: “I get sorry for Heffer, he seems such a pathetic character.”
Thomas swung round and said loudly: “Ned, make no mistake: if it was to Heffer’s own advantage politically – even though you’ve saved his garrison from starvation and even saved his life when his men mutinied – he’d have you tried on trumped-up charges and hanged at sundown.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ned and Thomas were announced by the sentry, a gloomy Devonian, who held the door open with seeming reluctance as they walked into General Heffer’s office. Both men were surprised to see that a lieutenant and a half a dozen soldiers were standing to attention at one side of Heffer’s desk.
Ned said a polite good afternoon, but an unsmiling Heffer, his face longer than Ned remembered it and the teeth yellower and drier and more pronounced, said in a monotone: “Edward Yorke and Sir Thomas Whetstone, you are both under arrest.”
Turning to the lieutenant, he snapped: “Do your duty!”
Thomas suddenly kicked a chair across the room and by the time the lieutenant and his men recovered from their surprise, Ned had taken three paces round the desk and was holding a wheel-lock pistol with its muzzle a foot from Heffer’s chest.
“In the King’s name!” Heffer protested weakly, staring at the muzzle of the pistol like a rabbit paralysed by a stoat’s eyes.
“Perhaps,” Ned said calmly, “but unless you want this officer and his men to be pallbearers at your funeral, order them back to their barracks. Warn them against raising an alarm because Saxby – you remember him, he is master of the Phoenix – will be visiting us every ten minutes, and unless he returns each time and signals from the end of the jetty, several hundred heavily armed and enraged buccaneers will land and seize Port Royal and string you up at Gallows Point. You personally.”
By now white-faced and frantically licking his protruding teeth, which were drying so quickly that his lips were frequently sticking along the line of his gums, Heffer waved the lieutenant and his men out of the room, managing at the last moment to gasp the single word, “Barracks”.
As the door closed Ned walked over to pick up the chair and replace it in front of Heffer’s desk. He sat down and put the pistol on the desk.
“There’s one thing about it,” he said evenly, “we never seem to come to your office without seeing some comedy or other. Better than the theatre. Now, what’s curdled your milk this time?”
Before Heffer had time to answer there was a knock on the door and the sentry put his head in. “A Mr Saxby, sir,” he reported to Heffer who, still suffering from dry teeth, signalled to send him in.
Saxby sensed the tension the moment he came into the room and looked questioningly at Ned. “Everything all right, sir?”
“We’ve just avoided being arrested – you probably saw a lieutenant and a section of soldiers, who were going to be our guards. So carry on with your occasional visits and send word to the ships that they should continue to be ready to land if necessary.”
Saxby nodded, stared at Heffer for a few moments as if he was a performing bear with mange, and went out. Ned waved a hand casually at Heffer. “You see, we expected you’d play some boyish prank. Admittedly, we didn’t know quite what it would be. Soon I shall begrudge all the gunpowder we’ve just used up firing salutes to you as we passed the Palisades. Now,” he said, his voice becoming harsh and his anger showing, “tell us what all this is about.”
“I have to arrest you,” Heffer said lamely.
“Yes, yes,” Ned said impatiently, “all in good time. But what brought all this on? The last time we saw you, if my memory serves me, we saved your life when some of your officers mutinied.”
“I have no recollection of that,” Heffer said, his eyes focused on the desk about a foot in front of his stomach.
“You mean you have not written a dispatch to London about it,” Thomas said grimly.
“I have no recollection of any such episode,” Heffer said doggedly. “My officers and men are quite loyal.”
“To whom?” Ned asked.
“Why, to me, of course.”
“They’re supposed to be loyal to the King: they’re not your own private army.”
“I meant the King, of course. As governor I embody the Crown, you know,” he said primly, like a parson explaining elementary church ritual to two very dense old ladies.
Ned took the spanning key of the pistol from his pocket and casually fitted the end on the axle. “I saw bodies slung in chains from gibbets on the cays. No one I recognized, of course.” Holding the pistol so that the muzzle, apparently by chance, pointed at the general, he tightened the wheel-lock a fraction, and then put the key back in a pocket.
“Interesting pistol,” he commented casually to Heffer. “Spanish, of course. They do beautiful inlay work. Just look at the pattern – that’s gold wire round the barrel. Made in Toledo, I imagine. The sword, too–” he tapped the scabbard of the sword he was wearing “–it matches. A set, two pistols, sword and dagger.”
“Most interesting,” Heffer said politely.
“You’re not curious about where they came from?”
“Oh – well, yes,” he said, obviously deciding to humour Ned. “Where did they come from, Mr Yorke?”
“Portobelo. But Sir Thomas also has an interesting set which belonged to the governor of Old Providence. They have fine inlaid work, too. Toledo, like mine.”
“You…you’ve been to Portobelo? And Old Providence? Why, I thought… Well, Portobelo has four forts –”
“One fort,” Ned corrected.
“Oh, I thought there were four: my apologies.”
“There were four, but we blew up three, so now there is only one. No guns though.”
“No guns?” Heffer’s brow wrinkled so much his hair joined the eyebrows. “Four forts – one, I mean, and no guns?”
“We brought the bronze ones away with us, and blew up the iron. No guns left in Old Providence either. It was interesting, though; some of those we blew up had Queen Elizabeth’s arms on them. At least a hundred and fifty
years old. Drake must have left them.”
“How extraordinary,” Heffer said in a strangled voice, “Sir Francis Drake!”
“Now tell us why you want to arrest us,” Ned said casually.
“Ah…” Heffer licked his teeth, giving them a good wetting as if in anticipation of making a long speech. “Well, while you were away, a ship arrived from England. It carried orders. For me.”
“Orders concerning and actually naming Sir Thomas and myself?”
“Well, not actually naming you.”
“I think you had better tell us about these orders. Who were they from?”
“The Duke of Albemarle –”
“Who?”
“Well, General Monck that was. He has been created the first Duke of Albemarle.”
“Were there orders from anyone else?”
“Yes. The Lord High Admiral. That’s the King’s brother, the Duke of York,” he added hastily when he saw the expression on Ned’s face.
“Very well, who gave what orders that gave you the strange idea of arresting us?”
Heffer began to look shifty, and Ned thought he guessed what had happened. Several days ago, when the ship called and delivered the packet of orders and instructions, Heffer had read them and in the wording had seen something which gave him an excuse for arresting one Edward Yorke and one Sir Thomas Whetstone. And the muddle-headed Heffer had thought that with the buccaneers’ leaders locked up, he would be able to give orders to the buccaneers. It was just the sort of – oh, well, Ned thought to himself, let us play out the present game until the last card is on the table.
Heffer took a deep breath, his tongue made a wild movement over his teeth, and he said: “The government’s attitude towards Spain has changed. The King spent some of his exile in Spain. He has made certain promises to the king of Spain. New treaties, I suppose they are.”
