by Mark Keating
‘And Teach? Can he not surrender to me directly?’ Rogers began to bloom under the thought of having Devlin, Teach and Williams all take the Act of Grace in one day. His image of the mass of raised eyebrows in Whitehall caused his crooked jaw to drool.
‘Teach fears that not all his men will take kindly to … surrender. He does not wish to bring any untoward danger to the island, especially as it has such a history with his men. He also has his … wives to consider. Better to take care of them on the mainland.’
‘Ah yes,’ Rogers had just come to that very line. ‘Pity. I should like to have laid eyes on the man.’
He stood, the receipt for the gun and Blackbeard’s affidavit in his hands. ‘Your offer is a sound one, Mister Williams.’ He strode around his desk and to the broken windows to look out over the slumbering town. ‘Sound but not strictly fair.’
Palgrave followed Rogers’ back. ‘Sir?’ he asked tentatively.
‘My own thoughts are that I already have this gun as part of my lawful and appointed estate. And your letters within it. I also have you, Williams, within my jurisdiction, without the need for bargaining, for a hanging awaits those who do not voluntarily take the Act of Grace.’ He turned from the window and looked at the Chinese gun, wiping his jaw with his lace cuff as he meandered to his desk. ‘It seems the only thing I do not have is Teach. And if he truly wishes to “settle down” as you say, I’m sure I will have even him soon enough.’ Rogers plucked up a small bell from the desk, dropping the papers as he did so.
The bell rang, tolling for Palgrave Williams. Rogers sat and waited for the guards to come, emoting a determined speech. ‘I have sailed the world several times, Mister Williams, captured treasure galleons, sacked the city of Guayaquil. Had my jaw shot out, and part of my foot, in battle. Seen my younger brother killed before me in the same. I am here for a reason, Mister Williams. And I do not bargain with pirates.’
The door flew open and with a wave of Rogers’ hand Palgrave was clasped hard between two boulders of men. ‘Take him down with the others to the cells. He can sign in the morning with Devlin. And send four men to the harbour. This man had a boat waiting for him.’
Palgrave looked at the soldiers holding him. Such a long time coming but one day expected. This was the day. He appealed with a logic that would have stayed most men’s hands.
‘But, Your Worship, if I do not return Teach will know! He will come!’
Rogers was unmoved. ‘Then he will come. It is known that he no longer commands four hundred men. Nor his French Guineaman bastardised with cannon. I think we can manage if Teach’s feelings are hurt.’
The door closed, smothering Palgrave’s protesting cries. Rogers flicked idly at the promise from Blackbeard and at Heston’s receipt as the cries echoed away. It would be quite a feather in his cap for Devlin and Palgrave Williams to sign the act. The others could hang whilst Coxon was on his wild goose chase hunting for Devlin’s frigate.
He dabbed away the spittle from his chin and rose to take a more curious look at the Chinese cannon in the corner. The red eye of the dragon seemed to be beckoning him closer. A bell in the square below rang out twelve times and the hollow bawl of the Charley announced that all was well. For an hour past at least.
Rogers surveyed the heap of nonsense piled around the gun, weighing the effort against the hour with a yawn. He settled for the morning to closer study the clay seal for there was time enough yet. The day had been long and there was the prospect of Devlin, Palgrave, and maybe even Blackbeard on the morrow. Aye, a long day well ended. All was very much well.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Quarter of the Hour of Midnight
‘What’s this?’ The guard held up between pinched fingers the small vial of orange liquid that he had plucked from Palgrave’s satchel.
‘It is an elixir, sir. A compound for my own use. Particular problem of mine.’ Palgrave watched the guard remove the glass stopper and reel from the fume with his eyes smarting. ‘A potent bowel discharger, sir. But most foul in nature.’
‘You can keep it, mate,’ the guard gave it back to him and rifled his way through the rest of the satchel as Palgrave observed the eyes looking upon him from the cells circling the scene around the table.
Palgrave gripped the vial in his hand and paid no attention to the words from the guard as he fired a trio of questions to the soldiers accompanying him.
‘What’s he doing down here anyways? Why ain’t he in the barracks? Ain’t I got enough to bother me?’
‘Governor says so,’ the grimier of the two escorts declared. ‘He’s to sign in the morning with that Devlin. Something queer going on, I says.’
The guard snorted in agreement as he returned to the bag. ‘No weapons. No knife even. An apple, pencil, compass, leather gloves, pennyworth of paper.’ The guard dropped the satchel to the table scornfully. ‘No purse. Travel light don’t you?’ Silence. The other soldiers by Palgrave’s side elbowed him.
‘I came to surrender to the governor, nothing more.’
The guard shoved the satchel back at him and picked up a pen. ‘What’s your name, patroon?’
‘Williams. Palgrave Williams.’ To his left he saw one of the inmates suddenly jerk at the mention of his name. The guard scribbled the name as best he could, his hand pausing slightly as some remembrance of it flitted across his mind, its importance lost as he concentrated on his spelling.
The trio ushered Palgrave to the cells, away from Devlin’s corner. The guard glanced once into Dandon’s cell, dismissed the gold-capped smile as undeserving of company and wheeled Palgrave away to join the young and quieter prisoners, Rice and Cowrie. The guard whistled the soldiers away to their duty.
‘You’ll do better than this lot, patroon, anyways.’ He slammed the door and began the neat securing of the locks as he continued. ‘You’ll be free tomorrow with that Devlin over there,’ he cocked his head behind him to the man who had visibly recognised his name. ‘This lot will hang. It’ll be a silver oar for them in the morning!’ The gaoler’s reference to the traditional procession of a pirate to his gallows carrying a mock silver oar brought a wicked laugh from his fellows.
He strutted to his desk shouting for all to hear. ‘The great pirate Devlin!’ he mocked. ‘Brought to me with a broken ship, five men and nothing else!’ He sat down and helped himself to more of Devlin’s tobacco. ‘I heard you had a frigate and a hundred men. Richer than the pope you were. Pirated your way from Maracaibo to China. Where’s it all now then eh, Paddy?’ He chortled into his pipe as he puffed it into life. ‘Bloody bog-trotter,’ he smirked, then snapped upright to the sound of a coin chiming in Devlin’s cell as it chinked against the wall.
The pipe drooped as he looked at Devlin sitting on his bench rolling a gold coin between his fingers and looking to the wall where he had tossed the other. The second coin flew from his fingers and rang around the cell as he tried to land it closer to the wall, the guard’s eyes followed its flight. His chair scraped as he rose, mesmerised, but he still remembered to take up his musket.
From across the way Hugh Harris tapped Lawson’s arm and grinned. ‘Here we go, mate,’ he whispered as the pair watched the guard walk over to Devlin’s cell.
‘Where did you get that?’ he demanded, sure that Devlin had emptied every pocket of his clothes.
‘King Louis,’ Devlin replied as a third coin joined the two others.
Dandon looked over and thought of his own six coins snug in a leather strap sewn inside the rear seam of his waistcoat. He had settled on it being used as a bribe for some breakfast wine but Devlin clearly had other notions.
The guard began to grind his teeth as he blinked at the gold. ‘Let me see one of them coins,’ he demanded.
Devlin stopped his game. ‘You can have one, soldier, if you would bring my lads some beer and bread. Been hours since they ate. Ain’t too fair to hang a man on an empty belly.’
The soldier ran his tongue around his mouth. ‘Reckon I could manage th
at, patroon. Give me the coin and I’ll make it so.’ He lowered his musket to have an open hand towards the bars, not foolish enough to put his palm through. ‘Toss it me.’
Devlin closed his fist around the coin, its glint snuffed out. ‘Food first. You know the game.’
The soldier stepped back, musket up to his hip, thumb across the dog-head. ‘I could come in there and take them all, pirate.’
Devlin stood up slowly, a few good inches taller than even the soldier’s hat. ‘You could try,’ he breathed.
The soldier gripped his musket tighter. ‘Reckon I could drop you from here, pirate. Reckon you’d hit the wall like a dead pig from here.’
Dandon hung his arms out of the cell and yelled across helpfully. ‘I shouldn’t wonder that Governor Rogers would be most pleased with your decision to cancel his famed signing of the pardon in such a manner. Do you not think so, sir?’
The soldier lowered his gun, staring at Dandon for a moment. ‘Aye,’ he conceded, ‘I’ll get your plate. My watch is almost done anyhow. No skin of mine.’ Without waiting for a word from the cell he made for the stairs, settling in his head that almost three weeks’ wages for some bread and beer was more than enough for a bit of his time.
Devlin did not care whether the gaoler was still within earshot and began calling for Palgrave even before the footsteps had echoed away. ‘You! Palgrave Williams! I know you. You were one of Bellamy’s captains were you not?’
Palgrave came to his door, leaving behind the dour silence of his cell-mates. ‘I was, sir. And I gather you are the pirate Devlin, from that gentleman’s address?’
‘I’m Patrick Devlin,’ he rushed out the name, not bothering with any exchange of pleasantries for it would only be minutes before the guard returned and he wanted to waste none of them. ‘You’re here for the Chinese gun. Who are you with?’
Palgrave reeled a little at the knowledge vouchsafed from across the room. He stammered as he spoke back. ‘I … I am alone. Why should I not be?’
‘You’re a pirate, Palgrave. I says you are here with Blackbeard. I knows all about the gun. Knows all about the letters. I’m here for the same and you be sharing a cell with my men.’
Palgrave turned back to the men in the cell with him who winked merrily as Devlin continued.
‘You’ve found yourself in good company, Palgrave, even if it be in a cell. I ask you only this: you know Teach and so do I. Put yourself in my undertakings and know that your throat be safe with me. Or trust Teach, knowing the manner of him.’
Palgrave listened. Confused as he was there was only one fact that the man across the way seemed oblivious to. ‘We are both in a cell, sir. We will be free tomorrow to be sure but Rogers knows about the gun, if not its true nature. Granted my future may be safer with you rather than Captain Teach but I am inclined to let the Devil have the matter, sir. I will take the pardon and settle my days here. The destiny I thought I may have had with the gun is too noisy for my temperament.’
Dandon coughed, placed his left cheek against the bars and yelled along the row to Palgrave. ‘And how do you suppose that Captain Teach will take the news that you have decided to nestle down under Rogers’ breast and not return to his patronage?’ He waited a moment for the words to filter across. ‘Sometimes the devil you know is not always the prudent choice. I have wagered so myself, sir.’
Palgrave touched his lip and thought on. Aye, he would be free tomorrow but his neck would still ache, even without the prospect of the gallows, from the days he would spend looking over his shoulder and waiting for the slow knock upon his door. The soldiers would have reached Israel Hands and his boat by now. And even if Israel had got away, got back to Blackbeard, then Palgrave would be a lonely man for the last days of his life.
‘I will bide with you, Captain Devlin,’ he called out. ‘If you can grant me some security.’ He looked at his companions. ‘Besides, I’m sure your men would have it no other way. Tomorrow then, when we are both free, we shall talk on.’
Devlin could hear the footsteps returning. ‘My men will be hanged tomorrow. I know men like Rogers. They believe that necks speed men’s signatures.’
‘And so what else do you suggest, Captain Devlin? What are the letters to you, anyways?’
‘I can take care of the guards. I need the letters of the priest to free my quartermaster. No coin in it for me. If you can aid in that I’ll be indebted to you. And that ain’t a bad credit to have. You came here alone and not to drag a cannon back to Blackbeard. I reckon that bottle of yours discharges more than bowels. What does it do on porcelain?’
Palgrave’s voice became lower as the guard tapped back into the room. ‘About the same as it does on metal, Captain Devlin.’ And all of them stepped back from the bars as the soldier looked at them one by one, placing down the wooden jug and bread, and feeling the unpleasant shiver of silence all around him.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Despite what governments and navies hoped was true and represented to their courts, pirates were not the simple opportunists and lucky misanthropes that chanced upon poorly-defended cities and ships at slumber. Apart from gold and whatever pleasures a town offered, the pirates craved and prized one thing above all else to secure their future:
Intelligence.
It was not how many guns and men you had that was important but to know how many guns and men your enemy had. That would favour the odds to a successful ‘surprisal’ at sea or a deadly raid upon a shore.
Days, even weeks, would be spent journeying onto land under cover of night, mapping fortifications, calculating the numbers and watches of soldiers, often kidnapping the odd local fisherman or two and ‘questioning’ them most thoroughly as to the strengths and weaknesses of their target, until piece by piece a plan became history and the pirates moved on to the next target along the coast, leaving whole countries to lick their wounds.
Time and again the governors of the Americas would question Whitehall as to how, with the vast numbers of patrols, the pirates avoided capture, eluded the largest floating contingent of men ever seen, and managed almost to strangle trade between the North American coast and the motherland; and how the pirates, on the other hand, appeared to suffer no difficulty in finding the merchants, regardless of what latitude they took.
The answer lay in the bottom of the boat paddling its way back to the Shadow that night, still paddling even though they were now more than a mile away from their study of the Delicia. Oars out of the thole pins of the boat for silent running and the salt-raker at their feet gagged with his own nether-hose to muffle his cries.
The jolly-boat bumped home, the rope was belayed, and the pirates dragged their haul up the ladder to Black Bill waiting by the entry port. They presented the salt-raker as if he were the governor himself, and the terrified man’s eyes weaved all about the deck, widening at each dark face that leered back at him. Bill ignored him, pushed him behind for the others to drag him below for preparations, and asked the two kidnappers of what they had seen.
Time enough wasted, Bill decided as he stood over the map of Providence across the table, a soothing pipe steadying his thoughts. It was past one now, four and some hours before dawn, and the night was all he had if the Shadow were to remain as her name declared. No lanterns had been lit and dead-lights to the windows shielded Bill’s lamp. They lay silent and dark three miles south of the Delica’s starbolin watch.
The reconnaissance had provided much vital intelligence. The jolly-boat, its oars paddling in perfect time with the lap of the tide against the Delica’s hull, had sallied leisurely past the frigate barely a spit away. The Delica’s lanterns around her masts and stern ensured the watch enough night-blindness to see nothing but the blanket of darkness wrapped around the gunwale.
The salt-raker, a foot to his throat in the bottom of the boat, had looked up at the giant wall of the freeboard towering above the little boat. Around her closed ports as they drifted beneath seeped out a faint trim of amber light from her lanterns w
ithin, and the occasional hacking cough or powerful snore made her appear as a sleeping giant. It would only take one man to open a port for a breath of air or to sneak a pipe and they would be seen but the pirates showed no sign of such worry as they idled past and gathered all they needed to know.
The captured salt-raker confirmed that Devlin’s Talefan was in the harbour, as much tinder as ship, and that the pirate Devlin had been paraded in the square that very afternoon and was now in the fort’s basement gaol along with five of his men.
The jolly-boat had witnessed Coxon’s Milford sail west and away. If anything were to be done, it had best be now, while the Delicia was alone. The Delicia, two miles from the harbour to the south, had forty guns. Guns the Shadow did not want to see.
Bill listened to Dan Teague report that the Delicia would have one hundred and twenty to one hundred and fifty men. They were out-gunned and out-manned. Bill shrugged at this. Had that ever mattered before? Besides, it was not the ship that they wanted.
A little ‘woolding’ had measured the salt-raker’s conviction of his new companions’ intentions. Woolding was a favoured pirate torture. The term coined from the act of winding rope around masts and yards to bind them. The hemp rope twisted over his eyes and knotted tighter and tighter to his skull had given the salt-raker bright recollections of a garrison of one hundred men, plus local militia of another two hundred odd ex-pirates and new settlers. The other ships had sailed weeks ago. Only the Milford under Captain Coxon and the Delicia under Captain Gale remained.
Bill breathed deep on his pipe. He penned a cross where the Delicia lay, two miles west of Dick’s Point and almost as close as she could get without scraping the shoals. He inked the path of the Milford, left two hours ago now according to the men of the jolly-boat, and he estimated her almost at Cay Point. Far west. Out of harm’s way. He slipped his divider across the map from their own point and past the Delicia to the harbour.
