I looked down at the table, unable to meet my uncle’s eyes. I didn’t know how to react; he wasn’t the man I’d always thought him to be. Had all his letters been lies?
“Me and Blakey here, regret the things we did that day even if they were Spaniards, and it were mainly for nothing. We found no gold to speak of. But Hornigold? Hornigold’s an evil bastard. He enjoyed the slaughter, danced in the blood of them townsfolk, and worse. I got him off my crew, first opportunity that presented itself. But Morgan’s always had a soft spot for him.”
“Aye, that’s right, Tarr, and you’d do best to remember it.”
All three of us—Tarr, Blake and myself—looked up, startled, into the grinning face of Ed Hornigold. He’d heard every word. He raised his glass in a toast, and I shook my head at the folly of using such a delicate vessel to drink from.
“To Sir Henry Morgan, Admiral of the Fleet, Deputy Governor of Jamaica, and Knight of the Realm!”
“Henry Morgan,” the rest of us muttered and drank. I noticed the van Eckens staring at Hornigold in open dislike. I don’t think he even realized he had insulted the Dutchmen by proposing the first toast. Or maybe he just didn’t care.
*
The serving girl flinched at Morgan’s pat on her behind as she took his plate, then grimaced at whatever Hornigold did to her backside. She moved to the younger van Ecken, Erik, who put a protective arm around the girl’s hips and glared at his two guests.
“Gentlemen, shall we to the drawing room retire?” Jan van Ecken stood and asked. It was the first thing he’d said apart from dinner table chitchat, and I began to realize just how much tension there was in this room. Not only between Tarr, Blake and Hornigold, but between the van Eckens and Morgan as well. They did not enjoy having any one of us at their table.
“Aye, well meant, if not well said, van Ecken.” Morgan lumbered to his feet and van Ecken flushed at the criticism of his English. “It’s time we got down to business.” He led the way out of the dining room, and I watched the van Eckens’ reactions: tight smiles and gritted teeth. I glanced at Tarr and he nodded as we got up and followed them from the room.
Settled in comfortable seats, delicate glasses of rum in hand, we waited whilst Morgan guffawed something at the girl, his head again out of sight behind her. Jan van Ecken gripped his son’s arm so tightly that Erik shook him off.
“Klara, put the jug on the table and leave us. We can help ourselves.”
She bobbed a little curtsy and did not bother to hide the relief in her eyes. She almost ran in her escape from the room.
“Sir Henry, maybe you could us enlighten to your plans?” Jan suggested, his speech heavily accented and forestalling any further comment from Erik. “Why is Captain Hornigold here?”
Morgan glared at him; clearly he liked to do things his own way and at his own pace. I felt a sneaking admiration for the Dutchman—the only one who had dared question the legendary buccaneer.
“Hmpf, well,” Morgan began. “As I gather ye’ve not yet heard, that obdurate bugger, Lynch, has finally got his wish and succeeded in removing me from the Assembly.” Shocked silence fell on the room. Is he no longer deputy governor then? No one dared ask for clarification. “I have more time on my hands and I’ve decided to expand our little . . . venture. Oh, you’re doing well enough, Tarr.” He held up his hands to forestall my uncle’s protest. “But you know well enough two ships working in consort have more success than two ships working alone.”
“I take it Captain Hornigold here has the command of that twinmaster?”
“Aye, the Freyja,” Hornigold said. “A little beauty she is too —”
“I know her well, Ed,” Tarr butted in. “I was the one who took her in the first place.”
Hornigold said nothing.
“If ye’ve quite finished,” Morgan said, his voice booming. “The pair o’ ye will sail together, Tarr in command.”
Tarr didn’t react, and Hornigold looked sullen. Morgan took a long draught of rum and belched.
“The bloody Spaniards have it too easy these days. I want their ships. I want them running scared of the waters around Jamaica, if not the entire Caribbees. The West Indies are English, not bloody Spanish, and the sooner the stubborn buggers realize it, the better.”
I’d heard rumors of Morgan’s hatred for Spain, but had thought them exaggerated. Now I was not so sure. Apparently the Spaniards thought him some kind of devil, as they had Sir Francis Drake a century before.
“Surely England’s not at war with Spain again,” Erik exclaimed. Morgan turned on him, his face red.
“England may not be, but I bloody well am! And always will be as long as I’ve wind in my sails. Do you understand?”
Erik stared at him, jaw clenched, and said nothing.
“Bring the vessels to Sayba, those large enough for slavers, anyroad. The others can go to the bottom. We only need a small number of men to work a slaver; take volunteers, the rest can sail their ships to the seabed. There must be no survivors to tell tales, understand?”
“Aye.” Tarr, Blake and Hornigold nodded. I didn’t move, I couldn’t believe the callousness of the man.
“You too, Sir Henry, do you understand?”
I nodded, as much at the spite in which he’d said my name as in agreement to his terms. I smiled to myself. Having been trumped by Sir Thomas Lynch, he now had the further indignity of sharing his title with the nephew of one of his lieutenants.
Tarr nudged me and I realized my smile had grown and was showing on my face.
“Captain,” he said. Morgan raised an eyebrow and my uncle quickly amended his title. “Sir Henry, what of the crews? How many men does Freyja have?”
“Thirty, hale and hearty,” Hornigold answered for Morgan, with a self-satisfied smirk. Whether at the number of men under his command, or the rhyme he had made was known only to him.
“She’ll need more to fight well. Sharpe here will join you.” I started and looked at Tarr in surprise. “You’ll take Jonesy and Little as well. Any ideas, Blake?”
“Cheval.”
“Oh yes, Cheval. We’ll find you a half dozen more in addition.”
My heart sank. Of all the men to sail with, I had to endure the company of the sycophantic Frenchman as well as the “evil little bastard”. So much for my new life running a sugar plantation.
“Excellent.” Morgan downed another glass of rum and slammed it onto the table with a loud crack. Shards of glass fountained over his hand to the table and floor.
“Damn it,” Morgan shouted. “Damn fool bloody things! He wiped blood from the back of his hand. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s bloodied me, van Ecken, the last one lost his guts and danced around them.”
The van Eckens blanched.
“Luckily for ye, knights of the realm don’t indulge in such activities, but that won’t stop me if it happens again. Ye’ll serve me with a tankard on my next visit.”
The elder van Ecken opened his mouth, but Morgan waved him to silence. “We’ll take our leave. Hornigold, where’s my coat?”
Erik stuck his head through the dining room door and shouted for Hendrick, who soon appeared with a selection of gaily colored frockcoats, and Tarr took the opportunity to whisper in my ear.
“Keep an eye on him, Henry. I need someone I can trust on that boat. You’re my eyes and ears.”
I was handed my coat before I could respond.
Chapter 16
I, along with every other man aboard Freyja and, no doubt, Edelweiss, held my breath as we glided past the huge fort of San Felipe de Todo Fierro. Phil’s Iron Fort as Tarr insisted on calling it.
We had waited for a moonless night and a gentle breeze. The sails, after being coated with the blackest of tar, were set and would not be adjusted until we were past the fort; we could not afford any creaking lines or flapping canvas. There was no noise and little to see in the dark of night. Soon, the glimmers of lantern light that marked the fort were at our stern, then in our wake.
Another five minutes and a bend in the river, and the fort was gone. As one, the men on Freyja’s deck heaved a sigh of relief to have made it past the huge rectangular structure, laden with iron, but we had bigger challenges ahead.
Porto Belo was guarded by two more forts—two! Santiago de la Gloria—Santiago’s Glory—and San Jerónimo. Together they bristled with over a score of guns and boasted over a hundred men to fire them.
“I hope your uncle knows what he’s doing,” Jonesy whispered.
“So do I,” I replied.
“Don’t fret, boys,” Little stepped in, “Tarr and Blake were here with Morgan back in ’68. They know the town and its defenses well.”
“A lot can change in fifteen years,” Jonesy said.
“Four or five years ago, everything was the same, just not as heavily guarded,” Little said.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Coxton raided it in ’78, La Sonda the year after. Apparently the captain knows them both well.” Little nodded toward Hornigold.
“Why not as heavily guarded?” I asked. “If they’ve been raided so often why haven’t they employed more guards?”
“They have, but there are only so many men—the extra men all sail with the treasure fleet itself. With any luck we’ll have our pick of the treasures before the fleet gets here.”
The treasure fleet—near a score of galleons packed to the gunwales with gold, silver and jewels –sailed for Spain most years in March and September. Porto Belo was one of the stops of the Armada de Tierra Firme to load up; mainly with silver from the enormous mine that was Potosi—a mountain literally of silver—but also with gold and jewels from Peru. They would spend over a month here loading up before journeying on to Cartagena and other treasure-rich ports, then Havana to meet up with the second fleet; the Fleet of New Spain, before embarking for Old Spain.
“Lights ahead,” an urgent whisper was thrust back along the deck to Hornigold.
“Helm a lee,” he responded, putting as much urgency into his hoarse whisper as possible. “Put her head to wind and bring the canoe alongside. Sharpshooters, get your muskets.”
With a sigh, Jonesy, Little and I bent to pick up our loads. Muskets, ball, powder and plenty of match. I checked my pockets for my steel and flint, then passed the bundles down to the men stowing them.
When everything was safely aboard, the three of us, plus half a dozen more, clambered into the long canoe and cast off.
Tarr’s canoe, similarly filled, came alongside and we paddled eastward. We needed to sneak up to Santiago’s Glory’s beach, and trek up the hill to our positions. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 17
The sky had lightened enough for us all to see each other, and it wouldn’t be long before the sun broke the horizon.
We had reached the hill without incident and were near the top when Cheval whispered, “Down!”
I immediately fell to my belly, as did the others. “There’s a sentry up there, they must ’ave posted him after Morgan used these ’ills last time.” Cheval sounded worried.
I lifted my head, then rose to my knees to have a proper look. A single-story stone building perched on top of the hill. A man’s head appeared above the castellations of its roof. I waited a while, but could not see anyone else. I fumbled to untie one of the muskets from my bundle, loaded it, and crept a little further up the slope.
“What are you doing? You’ll never ’it ’im at this range!” Cheval hissed. I ignored him, took aim and fired. The man fell and my crewmates cheered.
I met Cheval’s eyes. He looked furious. I raised my eyebrows at him but he stayed silent.
“Come on, let’s go, Tarr will have taken that shot as the signal, we need to get into position quickly.”
Cheval said, “Wait . . .” but everyone ignored him and twenty men stormed up the final incline. Jonesy and I were the first to reach the stone building and we ran inside. Nobody there, just a table, chair and cot. Basic accommodations for one.
Back outside, Cheval was arguing again; this time over shooting positions. He wanted the prime spot on the roof.
“You can’t shoot for shit, Cheval,” Little said.
Cheval made to protest, but was stayed by everybody else’s agreement. “Sharpe and Jonesy take the roof, you’re the two most likely to hit anything,” he said instead. “The rest of you, spread out.” His voice rose to a shout as he pointed out to sea.
I squinted and spotted sail approaching through the early morning mist.
“They’ll be in range soon. We have to be ready.” He grabbed his muskets and lay on the slope above Santiago, as did the rest of the men.
I ran up the outside steps to the roof of the hut, closely followed by Jonesy and one of the boys, Billy Mac, who would reload for us. Dropping the muskets, I grabbed the dead soldier’s shoulders, and Jonesy his feet, then we heaved him over the wall.
Turning back to seaward, I saw the boy had already untied both bundles of muskets and he handed a loaded one to me, then another to Jonesy. The two of us found our positions, standing and bracing on one of the crenelations, and stared down at the view.
The sun broke free and the first rays danced over turquoise water, lush green slopes, and enormous stone forts bristling with ironwork.
San Jerónimo was across the harbor mouth. A copy of Phil’s Iron Fort, its longest side presented to the harbor with near a dozen great guns aimed at the water, and our vessels. It was well out of range of our muskets; Tarr and Hornigold would have to work hard to best it. But Santiago’s Glory, nestled on another hill below, was ours to suppress.
It was enormous, with a pitched roof in the middle of its quad, housing who knew how many men. I counted seven guns and scores of men rushing to them. My shot had raised the alarm.
I waited, as did the rest of us. Billy loaded the last muskets and I nodded my thanks at him. Edelweiss and Freyja glided closer. The mist was burning off quickly, and surely the Spaniards would spot their dull sails soon. Even as I thought the words, one of Jerónimo’s great guns exploded, and both ships immediately retaliated, deadly iron ball flying back and forth.
The fort below us exploded into action. Men, still half-dressed, at the laborious task of preparing their first volley. I focused on the officer bellowing orders and waving his arms. The musket was heavy in my hands and I used the weight rather than fighting it to find the right balance. I shifted my feet a little. That was better.
I aimed carefully for his gut. The guns were far from accurate, and aiming there would give me the best chance of hitting the man. I took a deep breath, let it out. Breathed in again, then out. A third breath, then a squeeze of the trigger as I exhaled. I blinked, my calm shattered by the noise of the musket firing, then grinned in satisfaction at the sight of my quarry dropping, his head a bloody mess. I handed the empty gun to Billy and picked up another full one. My crewmates opened fire and panic reigned Santiago; Spanish soldiers dived for cover, leaving their canon unattended.
I squeezed the trigger and another man fell. Exchanged guns. Fired. On and on until the only soldiers still in view on Santiago’s battlements were either dead or dying. Tarr and the others would have no problems from this shore.
Chapter 18
The battle across the harbor mouth was in full force. Fountains of water sprayed when balls missed the attacking ships, but enough hit their targets to make life difficult for Tarr and Hornigold.
I fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs with Jonesy and Billy. Deafened, I pushed myself to my feet and peeped over the battlements of our miniature tower. San Jerónimo was a smoking ruin. The shore party, putting off under the bellow of cannon, had successfully landed and infiltrated the huge building whilst its men had been preoccupied with the two ships. They’d only had one objective—to find the armory and blow up the powder magazine within it. By the looks of things it had been well-stocked.
The Edelweissers and Freyjamen had their longboats halfway back to the ships. Next, it was the
turn of Santiago’s Glory to be demolished.
A great gun fired from below us. “What’s that?” Jonesy cried. “Where is it?”
“I can’t see! It must be lower down, out of sight of this place. Come on. Bring the guns, Billy!”
We raced down the steps and re-joined our crewmates.
“The gun’s positioned so we can’t see it from here, Jonesy and I will go and see if we can silence it.” I pointed down the hill. We would have to skirt the castle and come up on its flank.
“No. You stay ’ere, keep these guns silenced, I’ll go with Little.”
I couldn’t argue, Cheval was my quartermaster. I glanced at Jonesy and he met my eye; we both knew his motivation, and it wasn’t to save the two ships still under fire. He wanted glory; and to prevent us from obtaining any more.
A gun from the ramparts fired, and I ran up the steps again. Tarr and the others didn’t have time for me to argue with Cheval.
I fired, again hitting my mark; the guns placed in the battlements were silent once more, their remaining men fleeing back to safety. Cheval and half a dozen others ran downhill and were soon out of sight. I could only hope Cheval’s bravery matched his cunning. Edelweiss and Freyja bombarded the castle walls, and I saw ball still issuing from the castle and winced as one hit the water close enough for the spray to soak the men on deck. They were too close! If the ships went down we were all dead.
A cheer behind me startled me; my hearing was returning. I turned to glare at Billy, then looked to where he was pointing. A stream of men was running across the hillside, away from the fort, chased by Cheval and his group. They were fleeing! They’d abandoned their castle.
“They’re running.” Billy was dancing a jig now.” Yellow-bellied, lily-livered scum!”
The Valkyrie Series: The First Fleet - (Books 1-3) Look Sharpe!, Ill Wind & Dead Reckoning: Caribbean Pirate Adventure Page 5
