Black Heart of Jamaica

by Julia Golding

  ‘Jenny!’

  She tipped some water to my lips.

  ‘What . . .?’ I was too feeble to complete my question.

  ‘You be on board Captain Bonaventure’s ship. Massa Shepherd and de brotherhood save you yesterday but you be too bad with malaria to know anytink about it.’

  I closed my eyes, remembering in snatches the events of the night before.

  ‘I feel terrible.’

  ‘Me not surprised. But your fever, he go now. Me give you good medicine from the Obeah man. Cinchona bark.’

  ‘How did you . . .?’

  ‘How did Jenny get here?’

  I nodded. It still felt as if someone was sticking needles in my head.

  ‘Massa Shepherd, he say you need me. Tell me come with him. No go back to Jamaica.’

  ‘So where . . .?’

  ‘He say we look for your friend. Sleep now, missis.’

  I smiled into my pillow. Finally I was back on course.

  Two days later I was fit enough to sit up on deck in a chair carried from the captain’s cabin. For the moment I was content just to enjoy the sunshine and convalesce. The sailors went about their tasks around me, chatting and joking in coarse French. My appreciation of their skill was all the greater because I now understood what they were about, having a passing acquaintance with sea-craft myself. The Medici was an evil-looking ship: sleek lines, small but armed to the teeth, perfect for these waters. As if sensing that she was up to no good, other vessels preferred to keep their distance; we barely saw more than the topgallants before ships ran for a safe harbour in one of the many islands.

  ‘You know somethink, Cat?’ Billy came to crouch beside me, arms burnt brown as a berry in the sun. ‘I’ve never seen you like this.’

  ‘Like what?’ I pulled my hat further over my face to protect my nose.

  ‘Quiet – a bit yella and weak.’

  ‘I haven’t been so ill before.’

  ‘S’pose not. Back in London, you always seemed indestructible – a ball of fiery energy.’

  ‘And now you realize I’m not?’

  ‘None of us are, sweetheart.’ He paused, chewing on his lip in an uncharacteristically uncertain gesture. ‘What does Jenny say about your illness?’

  ‘She’s given me some powder and told me to mix it into a drink if I feel the fever coming back – it should keep it under control.’

  ‘But it’ll come back?’

  I shrugged, hardly able to bear thinking about it. ‘Probably. She says most people learn to fight it and it’s never so bad again.’

  He cast a covetous look towards Jenny. ‘Useful slave that – seems to know a thing or two about the sickroom.’

  ‘You gave her to me, remember!’ I warned.

  ‘I ain’t forgotten, worse luck. We should get you ’ome.’ He tapped my arm. ‘Sure you still want to go after Blackie?’

  ‘Yes, Billy.’

  ‘Stupid cow.’

  ‘Devil.’

  We smiled at each other in perfect understanding.

  ‘Just don’t go and die on my watch, all right?’ he said, standing up. ‘Fletcher’ll skin me.’

  ‘Scared of Syd, Billy?’

  ‘Nah, just don’t like failure. Came all this way to get you; wouldn’t want to sew you into a hammock and tip you over the side with shot at your feet. Waste of perfectly good ammunition.’

  I shivered. My recent brush with death made this too close for comfort. ‘Do you have to be so fulsome in your description of my funeral?’

  He grinned. ‘Annoys you, does it? Good. Now I know you’ll survive just to make sure it ain’t me that does the honours.’

  As I had arrived on board clad only in my nightgown, I was pleased to find my luggage in my cabin, though none of my dresses seemed very suitable for life at sea. Feeling much stronger now, and with no Mrs Peabody to comment, I intended to enjoy myself doing all the things she would have frowned on. In preparation, Jenny rustled up some spare clothes from the sailors but I refused to go about in plain breeches again. Dressing like a boy had always landed me in trouble and I had quite lost my taste for it. We compromised on me wearing breeches under a calf-length skirt – an odd but practical combination. A belted shirt and my sunhat completed the outfit.

  Captain Bonaventure bowed gallantly when I appeared on deck. ‘Très belle, mademoiselle. I rejoice to see you on your feet again.’

  I gave him a polite curtsey. ‘I thank you for coming to my aid again, Monsieur le capitaine.’

  He gave me a wolfish smile. ‘I am being extraordinarily well paid, ma petite.’

  That was only natural. He could not be expected to go to these lengths out of the goodness of his heart – I already knew that he didn’t have one. I’d never forgotten that at our first meeting he had offered to sell me into the white slave trade – and meant it.

  ‘Where are we heading?’

  ‘It is said that Monsieur Tivern is in these waters. We plan to have a little tête-à-tête with him.’

  ‘And how are you going to do that?’ I squinted at the horizon, wondering where the smuggler’s ship was now and if Pedro was still aboard.

  ‘We will intercept his vessel and persuade him to give up the information you require. I hope, mademoiselle, that you have no qualms about turning pirate?’

  I gulped. ‘You won’t kill anyone, will you?’

  ‘Not if they are reasonable, but I should tell you that Monsieur Tivern is not noted for his merciful disposition. We may have to be forceful in our attempts to gain his attention.’

  Billy arrived at my shoulder. ‘’Eard the plan then?’ I nodded. ‘I’ve been meanin’ to give you this, just in case it don’t go our way.’ He pressed a dagger into my hand. ‘Don’t s’pose you know how to ’andle a gun?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then best keep below when we board them.’ He rubbed his hands together.

  Seeing his eager anticipation, I thumped my forehead in exasperation. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Billy?’

  ‘Too right. Life was gettin’ a bit borin’ in London to be honest with you, Cat. I ’ave to act respectable. But out ’ere, a man can take a few risks, get what ’e wants.’

  ‘I always knew you were a born pirate, Billy.’

  He laughed. ‘And if you’re on board a pirate vessel, what does that make you? Anne Bonny?’

  ‘I’m not –’

  He folded his arms. ‘Then order us to stop the pursuit and leave Blackie to ’is own devices.’

  He knew I couldn’t do that. I bit my lip.

  ‘See, you’re a pirate,’ he chuckled.

  Feeling almost back to my old self, I spent the next few days exploring the ship and getting to know the crew. My time on board Captain Barton’s Courageous had cured me of any qualms about heights and I enjoyed the compliments from the sailors when they discovered that, not only could I climb the rigging, but I was faster than most of them at doing so. Noting with amusement my interest in all things nautical, Captain Bonaventure found time to explain the basics of navigation, showing how the sextant and an accurate clock could be used to plot longitude. He was very proud of his own timepiece, made by the finest Parisian watchmakers and ‘liberated’ from the possession of a Dutch sea captain.

  ‘It is worth its weight in gold,’ he told me as he locked it back in a special chest. ‘Better than buried treasure to a real pirate.’

  By his calculations, we were not far from the western coast of San Domingo when we spotted a vessel matching the description of Tivern’s sloop. It was alongside a fishing smack and appeared to be relieving the owners of its cargo.

  ‘Is it him?’ Billy asked as Bonaventure handed over his telescope.

  ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ shrugged Bonaventure. ‘Let us invite him to a parley and then we’ll see.’

  Cramming on more sail, the Medici surged into pursuit. Our quarry was in no hurry to accept our invitation and it too made all speed to outrun us, abandoning the fishing boat to its fate.
When we passed the fishermen without pausing to harass them, they gave us a cheer – the little fish applauding the shark that had chased off the predator.

  Bonaventure doffed his hat to the captain of the fishing smack. ‘What ship?’ he called, pointing to the sloop.

  ‘The Merry Meg, sir!’ called back the fisherman. ‘The blackguard stole my rum!’

  ‘Consider yourself avenged!’

  ‘Merci, monsieur.’

  The two vessels passed beyond hailing distance.

  ‘It is Tivern,’ confirmed Bonaventure with a hungry grin.

  ‘Small fry if he steals from fishermen,’ Billy said in disgust, not alarmed by the stealing but by the lack of ambition in the target.

  ‘Sounds to me as if the crew have drunk him dry,’ I suggested. ‘I wonder what state they’ll be in.’

  ‘We’ll soon find out, mademoiselle.’ The captain pointed to the Merry Meg : we’d already closed on her and could now see the crew scurrying around the deck preparing to mount a defence. ‘I suggest you get below.’

  It seemed a churlish thing to do when they were risking their necks to help my friend.

  ‘Is there nothing I can do to help?’

  Billy laughed. ‘Always knew you were a blood-thirsty wench. Can’t bear to miss the excitement, eh, Cat?’

  I wrinkled my nose at him. ‘You know that’s not so.’

  The captain raised my hand to his lips and gallantly kissed my knuckles. ‘You are a brave girl, mademoiselle, but you can do nothing up here. It will be no place for women and my crew will only be distracted if they have to worry about you. Stay below.’

  It was an order. ‘Aye, aye, captain. Keep your head down, Billy,’ I urged.

  ‘How about a kiss for good luck?’ Billy said with a smirk as he loosened his short sword in its scabbard.

  ‘Don’t push it,’ I growled, retreating to my cabin.

  Not knowing what to do with ourselves, Jenny and I spent the next ten minutes trying to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary was happening on deck. When the first shots were fired, I gave up even that pretence and took to pacing. It was so frustrating: our window looked out the wrong way on to an empty ocean; all the excitement was taking place a few feet away and we had no inkling which way the fight was going. What if Pedro was caught up in the battle and no one realized who he was? He wouldn’t know that it was we who had come to save him and he would assume that he had to defend himself against pirates. He might get injured.

  ‘I can’t stay here!’ I announced. ‘I’m going on deck.’

  Jenny grabbed my arm. ‘But, missis, de captain say –’

  ‘I know what he said.’ I tucked up my skirts and gripped the dagger. ‘I’ll keep out of sight but I have to see if I can find Pedro before something happens to him.’

  Shaking her off, I slipped out of the cabin and cautiously made my way up on deck. No one tried to stop me as they were all too busy with the attack to spare a thought for what I was doing. I found myself in the midst of a scene of confusion with men running to and fro, rifle shots splintering the spars, shouts and cursing. It was ugly – bloody and brutal, like a gang fight back in the Rookeries. No wonder Billy felt in his element. Crouching down behind a barrel, I took stock of the situation. The Merry Meg was alongside us; the crew of the Medici had just thrown grappling hooks to prevent her slipping away. The other crew were trying to sever the lines binding the two ships together but were hampered by snipers up in the rigging.

  ‘Boarders!’ yelled Bonaventure, giving the signal.

  Twenty men, the captain and Billy included, jumped or swung across the narrow gap, aided by the fact that the Merry Meg sat lower in the water. The deck of the smugglers’ vessel became a battlefield, short swords flashing in the sunlight, pistols cracking with sharp reports. A quick survey revealed no boy among the fighters. As far as I could tell, Pedro was taking no part in the defence, if he was even still on board.

  A gasp and thump behind me – I spun round to see the sailor manning the wheel fall forward, a dagger between his shoulder blades. A boatload of Tivern’s men had made a surprise attack on the starboard side of the Medici, trying to take the advantage while most of the crew were engaged in the boarding party. Three of those left behind tried to shout a warning to Bonaventure but they were soon engaged in a fierce defence of the ship. I dashed to the rail.

  ‘Captain! Billy! The Medici! Look starboard!’

  My voice was lost in the bellows and screams of the battle. Abandoning this attempt, I shoved the dagger in my sash, raced to the ship’s bell and rang the alarm with both hands. All eyes turned to me, including those of the men who had boarded our ship. One finished off his opponent with a slash of his cutlass and charged in my direction, arm raised to strike.

  ‘Hell, hell, hell!’ I ran for my life, heart beating wildly. The only place I could hope to out-manoeuvre him was in the rigging. I leapt up the shrouds with a speed that even my old captain, Barmy Barton, would not have been able to fault. Glancing down, I saw that my pursuer had sheathed his sword but was now after me with a dagger in his teeth. My aim was to reach one of the snipers up in the crow’s nest, hoping he would pick off my hunter for me. But when I reached the lookout I found the sniper had himself fallen victim to a bullet: he was bent double over the rail, arms limp. I squeezed past him, stifling a shudder, and grabbed his rifle: it had been fired and I had not the slightest idea how to reload it, even if I’d had the luxury of time. A quick look down confirmed that my pursuer had not yet given up. What now? I waited until the man came within reach then swung the rifle butt down on his head. My aim was poor: I only succeeded in landing a glancing blow to his shoulder. He grunted, seized the butt and tore it from my hands, flinging it on to the deck below.

  ‘You’ll pay for that, you cur!’ he swore, his face livid.

  Marvellous: I’d just made him angry. I belatedly wished I’d stayed in my cabin.

  Retreat was my only option. I began to edge along the yardarm. The sailor, a great brute of a fellow, heaved the body of the sniper out of his way and gained the platform. With his dagger now clenched in his fist, he got his first good look at me as I shuffled across the footrope.

  ‘A girl!’ he grunted in disgust. Then, seeing the humour in the situation of nearly being brained by a lass half his size, he grinned and took a step on to the yardarm, beckoning me back with his fingers. ‘Come here, darlin’, I won’t harm you.’

  ‘Oh no?’ I gave a wry laugh and went as far as I could to the very end of the yardarm.

  ‘I don’t hurt girlies.’

  ‘And why don’t I believe you?’ I searched for a way off my perilous perch. The deck looked no bigger than a tabletop from this height – no promise of a soft landing on those planks.

  He feigned a look of innocence, tapping his cheek. ‘Maybe because I’m standin’ here with a dagger and you got nowhere to go?’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ Leaping for the nearest halyard, I slid all the way down to the deck, skinning my palms in the process. I landed in the middle of battle and this time had the sense to duck back into the cabin. On guard inside the door, Jenny almost knocked me out with the chamberpot but stayed her hand just in time.

  ‘I wouldn’t go out there just for the moment,’ I said, chest heaving as I collapsed with my back to the door. ‘It’s turned a bit nasty.’

  A quarter of an hour later, the sounds of battle faded to be replaced by gruff voices shouting commands.

  ‘Who won, do you tink?’ Jenny asked, wide-eyed.

  Biting my lip, I shrugged, assuming a calm I did not feel. ‘I suppose I should go and see.’ My plan was to poke my head round the door to discover which way fortune had leant.

  Jenny lunged and grabbed me around the waist. ‘No! Me no let you out again. You be stupid once already.’

  ‘But Jenny –’

  She squeezed harder. ‘No, Cat.’

  My jaw dropped. ‘You . . . you called me “Cat”.’

  Jenny
let go and put her hands to her mouth in horror. ‘Me sorry, missis. Me mean no disrespect.’

  I chuckled. ‘Of course not. No, I love you calling me by my proper name. You’re forgetting that silly piece of paper that says you’re my slave.’

  Jenny wrung her hands. ‘Me no forget.’

  I clasped her fingers in mine and pulled her into a hug. ‘But you must forget. Hawkins has a piece of paper saying I’m his servant for twenty years and do you think I care a jot? In my opinion, that piece of paper is only fit to be used in the privy. The same goes for yours.’ I measured my palm against hers, fingertips touching. ‘See, we’re the same.’

  A knock at the door returned us to our situation. With a shared look of understanding, we positioned ourselves either side of the entry, armed with a chamberpot and a knitting needle I’d grabbed from Jenny’s sewing bag. The door opened and I leapt forward to poke my weapon in the back of our visitor, hoping, if our worst fears were realized, that he’d mistake it for a knife.

  ‘Hands up!’ I ordered.

  A man in a torn shirt, smeared with dirt and blood, swivelled round, twisted the needle from my grasp – then burst into laughter when he saw what it was.

  ‘You two have some guts!’ said Billy approvingly. ‘Planning to defeat all boarders with that?’ He waggled the knitting needle in my face. ‘What’s wrong with the knife I gave you?’

  ‘Thank goodness, Billy!’ I slumped against the bulkhead in relief. ‘I’m so pleased to see you. I thought we might’ve lost.’

  ‘Never. The scum put up more of a fight than expected – lost three good men – but that was because they ’ad somethink to hide. Bonaventure’s over the moon.’

  ‘Not Pedro?’

  ‘Nah, nothink to do with your friend. Come and see.’ He paused at the door. ‘Don’t open your trap though, Cat. Bonaventure’s spinnin’ them the yarn that we’re privateers acting on behalf of the French Navy, tryin’ to restore order on San Domingo.’

  I followed him up on deck. Much of the debris from the battle had been cleared but my gorge rose when I saw the three bodies laid out by the rail. Billy seemed to treat the deaths as all part of life at sea, but I couldn’t help feeling guilty that they had died in an attack I had tacitly approved. It did not salve my conscience to know that both the crews of the Medici and the Merry Meg had been through many such encounters and did not blame this one on me. For the first time I began seriously to question my determined pursuit of a friend who might not even want saving.