Matelots

by W. A. Hoffman

  Bradley and Hastings tensed, and Morgan saw it.

  “Aye, aye, it were all a mistake,” Burroughs said effusively. “I don’t speak French.”

  “Neither do I,” Ash said with venom. “Cudro explained the signal in English.”

  “Well…” Burroughs sputtered, “There were a lot goin’ on. I… didn’ understand it an…”

  “You shot a man before the duel had officially begun,” I said coolly, “before he was fully prepared, and in front of at least five hundred men.” The last I aimed at Morgan.

  “I did not see it,” Morgan said, without a trace of defensiveness.

  “We were busy with the Spanish,” Bradley said, “and did not arrive until after it happened.”

  “Rizzo raised his hand to get everyone to settle down,” Striker said. “Tooco, the man who was shot, wasn’t even looking at Burroughs yet.”

  Burroughs was not so deep in the rum he did not sense the change in mood of all about him. “I were thinkin’… I were thinkin’… well, the Frenchie ain’t ready, his loss. His loss. Gotta fire quick in a duel.”

  Morgan awarded Burroughs a disappointed grimace and looked to Striker and me. “What do you propose? A duel when we divide the booty?”

  I realized there was nothing to be gained by subterfuge; we would not now accomplish this behind Morgan’s back.

  “Crème does not wish to duel him,” I said. “He wishes for him to hang. He does not need to witness it, and this has been made known about the Brethren, the French Brethren at least. And, it has been suggested that things would be better with the French if the matter were resolved prior to their parting company with us.”

  “So they would be happy if we handed him over?” Bradley asked.

  I shrugged. I was still watching Morgan. He was frowning and tapping the table with the rum cork.

  “Nay,” Morgan said. “I will not… We do not need the French…”

  “Do you ever expect to need them again?” I asked as lightly as I could manage.

  He snorted. “Aye, aye, damn them.” He glared up at me. “I will not just make a show of handing a man to them. Nor will I… I cannot have the man tried on English soil. That will bring too much attention to many a thing that our Governor would rather avoid.”

  His gaze upon me became more speculative and he included Striker in it. “What was your intent in coming here this night?”

  Though there was no need to dissemble, diplomacy is always wise. “Not knowing your plans, but knowing the nature of the matter, as you had not yet had a chance to learn, we thought it likely that Burroughs might be overcome with grief, such that he might hang himself in his cell.”

  “What? What?” Burroughs tried to stand.

  Hastings barked with amusement and rammed the table into Burroughs’ belly before pulling a piece on him. Burroughs settled down, gasping for breath, his eyes wide on the pistol barrel.

  Morgan took this in stride. His grin was large and white-toothed under his mustache. “And this would satisfy the French?”

  I shrugged. “If the body is delivered to Burroughs’ former shipmates for burial.”

  Morgan looked to Bradley and Hastings. “Can you think of a place aboard ship, other than from the yardarms, where a man could be hanged quietly?”

  “The hold,” Striker said, “or anywhere really, even here.”

  “Aye, if he is on his knees, ceiling height is not a problem,” I added. We had discussed that before coming over.

  Burroughs was producing a continuous mewling of pleas and denials.

  “Damn, this table is large,” Morgan said distractedly. “I suppose I can make show of saying that, now that I know he did evil, I will have him in chains below deck and he will go back to Port Royal for trial. And then, when he is discovered, we can say that he realized his error and chose to hang here rather than wait for it.”

  “That should satisfy all,” I said. “Including the English Brethren who saw him disobey the rules of a duel.”

  Morgan gave me an annoyed smile. “And I thank you for telling me the whole of the matter so that I would not make so grave a mistake as to let my men think I condoned such actions.”

  I gave him an accommodating smile. “We thought it likely that once you knew the truth of the matter, you would do what is right – unless, of course, you were constrained by matters of policy or politics, in which case we thought to save you the trouble of worrying about it.”

  His smile became a little truer. “Thank you even more, for holding my best interests and good name in your heart.”

  But I could tell he would not trust us again, if indeed he ever had.

  We wrestled Burroughs out of the cabin and down into the hold, while Morgan explained to the men on deck that, in light of his being accurately apprised of the events of the duel, he now saw no other course than to take Burroughs to Port Royal and have him tried and hanged for murder. Meanwhile, Striker, Hastings, Ash and I gagged Burroughs, bound him hand and foot, and hung him on his knees. He took a while to die.

  I could not help but recall the last time I had hanged a man. It had been an act of vengeance against a beloved friend’s lover: a stupid boy who had not been able to comprehend madness, whose leaving had driven my poor friend to take his own life. I also recalled relaying all of that to Gaston, the day he admitted his madness to me. I had told him of it as we rowed a canoe to shore after visiting Pierrot on the Josephine. I thought it fascinating how events were sometimes connected in our minds, and even in the world around us.

  Ash did indeed have the conviction to face Burroughs’ death. He forced himself to watch his former friend die. I did not think it was due to any cruelness of spirit, but rather a desire to imprint the scene upon his memory. He turned away with relief when the man jerked his last.

  Hastings, however, obviously reveled in watching Burroughs suffer. He breathed faster, and the smile upon his lips would have well graced a cat. I thought he might actually find physical pleasure in the thing, but his crotch was shadowed such I could not tell without staring.

  Striker alone did not watch. He held the rope that kept Burroughs’ legs from the floor and he stared at the wall with grim determination, holding himself firm in all ways against the hanging man’s struggling.

  We unbound Burroughs’ hands and feet, leaving the rope about his neck, and then Ash, Striker, and I slipped away and off to our canoe, leaving the buccaneers about the deck to wonder and Hastings to find the body when the time seemed right. I thought it likely no one would buy the entirety of the tale Morgan tried to sell them, but they would know that justice had been done.

  Our cabal was solemn as we returned, though they were relieved to see us. We told them all had gone well, with Morgan’s blessing even. Then Ash and Striker withdrew. Ash sat alone in the corner of the quarterdeck and eschewed company. Striker started to do the same; but Pete was stubborn in keeping him company, and soon they were talking quietly.

  As Gaston was on the night watch, I settled in beside him on the deck, and sighed with relief as his arms closed around me. I told him of my thoughts and my words with Morgan.

  “You handle him well,” Gaston said.

  “I am well-accustomed to dancing with wolves,” I sighed. “One must know when to lead and when to follow, and determine deftly whether your partner knows the steps he should take, and cover for him when he does not, lest he tear your throat out for making him appear the fool.”

  “Do you feel he would have done as he should if he had understood what Burroughs did?” Gaston asked.

  “Aye, but… he was not asking to understand. He was willing to take Burroughs’ word, and if the matter had continued beyond tonight, I believe he would have cornered himself such that he could not reverse his forgiveness of Burroughs and do what was right.”

  “And you feel he understands that?” he asked.

  I sighed. “Aye, which is why he is grateful to me, even as he said, and yet he now has another reason to hate me, because he kn
ows I knew him to be the fool.”

  “He is a dangerous opponent, for us.” Gaston said thoughtfully.

  “Oui.”

  “It seems our options narrow as to who we can sail with,” he sighed.

  “Oui, but this time it is because of me, not you.” I gave him a rueful smile. “And he is a threat on land as well as at sea, as long as we stay on Jamaica – until he dies or loses favor with the governor.”

  “True,” Gaston said.

  He pulled me tighter. “Do you feel guilt?”

  “Over tonight? Non.”

  “Good.” He kissed me.

  And I did not. I did not feel I had overstepped my bounds and done the work of Gods, but that I had done service for the Gods.

  Forty-Seven

  Wherein We Gain Great Treasure

  The Bard had us under way, with the other ships in our wake, before the sun broke the horizon. I looked to the Mayflower often, but I knew not what I expected to see. We would not be informed of events there until we made land to disperse the booty.

  By midday we found a likely large cay, with sufficient safe harbor for all the ships, and we dropped anchor and began to offload the treasure, slaves, and able-bodied men. Striker, Cudro, and I took a count of all our men, our wounded, and the number of shares due our officers. We made notes as to the choices of those who would or could not go ashore and who did not have matelots to speak for them. We only had one man due recompense for losing a leg. We had two dead as well; but under the group articles, no one received a thing for them, matelot or no. There were three other wounded, but not maimed so as to be compensated for it, as it appeared they would recover whole: they would receive their usual shares. That done, Gaston and I went ashore, and I volunteered my services for booty sorting.

  I soon learned all slaves were valued at one hundred pieces of eight or twenty-five pounds, regardless of age, size, or skills. We had left the infirm and young slaves with the Spanish, so all we had were somewhat able-bodied. There were fifty-five of them. This both simplified my concerns over acquiring Pedro and complicated them.

  The valuation of ready coin was also not an issue. While we were in Puerto del Principe, several men had been appointed as clerks to sort, count, and bag it. So we had an accurate accounting. Thus, as it had been with the emeralds last year, the bulk of the job before us lay in ascertaining the value of the odd items, such as silver candelabras inlaid with stones or a woman’s necklace, or at least assigning enough value to separate them into piles of equal worth.

  Some pieces gave us great consternation, such as an intricately-detailed gold plate. It must have been the art of the Indians of Terra Firma. I did not recognize the design or the figure in the center with the outthrust tongue, but it reminded me of ancient things I had seen in antiquities collections. It was a flat circle with a rim; but judging from the hooks on the back, it was meant to be displayed and not served with. As it was gold, albeit thin, by weight alone it was the equivalent to some thirty doubloons.

  “That’ll be a number o’ shares there,” one of the men sorting said. “We’ll most likely be meltin’ it.”

  With resignation, I placed the value of Pedro’s well-being above the plate, but I called Gaston over and showed it to him anyway. He was quite impressed, and had seen its like before. He had heard it was a thing of religious significance amongst the natives of New Spain. I wondered at the path it had taken to reach a home in Puerto del Principe.

  Pete had followed Gaston, and it did not take a scholar to see what he wondered at. He was entranced by the plate, and I had to pry it from his hands to return it to the piles.

  While some of us were thus engaged, the captains gave the accounting of the men aboard their ships to the surgeon keeping the lists. After this, Striker came to stand beside me.

  “There has been a death upon the Mayflower,” he said in a conversational tone.

  The men I worked with looked up with concern.

  “It seems Burroughs took his own life,” Striker said with a heavy sigh. “From shame at what he did, most likely.”

  One of the men near us crossed himself, but another muttered, “Serves the bugger right.”

  “Morgan has asked that we see to burying him as soon as the booty is settled,” Striker added.

  “Of course,” I said solemnly.

  I thought it likely the French would stay until the following morning, but I asked Gaston to speak to Pierrot anyway.

  Soon enough, my thoughts were elsewhere once again. As we finished assessing the treasure, Morgan made great show of awarding the boons and recompense for injury. Four men had lost limbs, and were given the equivalent of six hundred pieces of eight or six slaves. Then two men were awarded boons of fifty pieces of eight each for valor in the initial battle for the town. Then the surgeons, gunners, and carpenters were paid a hundred pieces of eight, or one slave each.

  Three of the maimed men, including the one aboard the Virgin Queen, and two of the surgeons, took their recompense in slaves. They did not appear to be land-holding types, and I wondered at this. I also fretted that they had just taken twenty of the fifty-five slave shares available, and I was concerned as to how the allotting and picking was done.

  I slipped to Striker’s side. “Do the wounded often take their due in slaves?”

  He nodded. “If they can’t rove any longer, they sometimes choose to settle down. Slaves are risky. They don’t always carry the value we assign them, but since they’re a ready commodity, their owners can often trade their labor for a plot of land or the like. Or they can auction them off and receive more money.”

  “How is the selection done of the slaves thus allotted?” I asked.

  “By picks. Once we know who all will be taking slaves, some order is established, and each man due a slave picks and so on until all have one and then we go to the next round.” He grinned at me. “Don’t worry, we’ll get him.”

  “I am not worried, per se. I can always buy him if he is allotted elsewhere,” I said.

  “True, but your interest will drive his price up,” Striker said. “I’ve been thinking on it, and I spoke with the Bard before I left and Cudro just now. If you and Gaston are willing, we’ll pool all our shares and I’ll speak for all of us. As captain of one of the larger vessels, that’ll let me pick early.”

  I smiled. “I will, of course, confer with my matelot, but I am very keen on that plan.”

  “I thought you would be,” Striker said.

  I glanced at Dickey, who was standing nearby, and he nodded. When informed of it, Gaston was in agreement on the matter. Pete was still talking about the plate, and upon hearing this plan about the slaves, he hurried to Striker’s side.

  With the wounded and those who would not be compensated in shares out of the way, the total number of shares had been determined at eight hundred and twenty-six. We had thirty-five slaves remaining for a value of three thousand five hundred pieces of eight. There was twenty-eight thousand, four hundred and thirty-one in ready money and approximately another twenty thousand in miscellaneous valuables. So close to fifty-two thousand all told, divided by the number of shares needed, put each share at about sixty pieces of eight. So all of the last five days, all the death, all the privation, had basically amounted to fifteen pounds per man. That would not pay the debts with which most of them had sailed.

  The men were not quiet about airing their disappointment, once the figure was told.

  Now that we knew the amount of a share, those of us involved in sorting the odd items returned to them, and ordered them as to how many shares they were worth. The gold plate was thus named at an astounding eight shares. None but a captain could take it.

  And a slave was worth more than one share. After much discussion, it was decided that two slaves would equal three shares for this allotment, and they should be parceled out in groupings as a result. I was initially concerned at this, and then I remembered I was a bo’sun, and thus allotted two shares; thus, Gaston and I could acquire
Pedro, and apparently one other, with the three shares we had between us.

  Morgan was allowed first pick of the booty for his shares as commander. Not blind to the mood of his men, he eschewed the valuable slaves and ready money, and chose necklaces for his wife, and other valuables that would be difficult to sell, from amongst the miscellaneous items. Next came Bradley, as captain of the largest ship. He took six shares in slaves, so four slaves, and a share in ready money, and a bauble for his wife. Then Pierrot, as the next captain, divided his shares between ready money and jewels from the piles. Then it was Striker’s turn.

  He spoke to all. “As we have six owners of the Virgin Queen, plus one additional matelot – and of those men, one is quartermaster, another master of sail and another bo-sun – we have by my reckoning, nineteen shares between us. I have leave of my companions to pick for all of us. Does that meet with your agreement?”

  None gainsaid him, but there were mutters of disapproval.

  Striker gave the names of those for whom he would exercise choice, and we were stricken from the lists.

  “We choose three shares in slaves, eight shares in ready money, and that gold plate,” he said.

  Pete whooped for joy and ran in to snatch up the plate. The buccaneers that had grumbled seemed pleased we took so few in slaves and that we had relieved every one of the damn plate.

  Pedro was relieved to see us. I had not had the opportunity to see to his welfare before now, and I regretted it; though I knew not what I could have done to remedy his situation. He had been collared and leashed with rope, and his hands bound before him for the march to the shore. They had not released any of them for transport on the ship. Still, he looked to be in better spirits and health than the others. I assured him all would soon be well, and we waited.

  Our cabal stood about and studied the plate. Striker shook his head in wonder as he handed it back to Pete. I did not think it was due to his being in awe of the workmanship, but rather to bemusement at his matelot’s fascination with it.