Corsair Read online

  For good measure, the devil take landfalls made at dusk: the chart noted that there were currents off this end of the island, and he had been careful to have the three ships lying in a position where if the wind freshened from the east during the night, it would not carry them on to the reef.

  All this because of old Loosely, Ned thought to himself. If the damned man had not called him a pirate, he would still be in Port Royal harbour, comfortably at anchor…

  All through the night, Lobb, Ned and the boatswain took it in turn to stand a watch, keeping an eye on the end of the island and the other two ships. There was a current but the wind died down, so the ships hardly changed their position.

  At dawn next day it was possible to see the whole coast, and Ned could be fairly certain which was the gap in the reef that led to Gun Bluff. There was no ship anchored there; as he searched along the coast with his perspective glass he could not even see an open boat belonging to a fisherman or turtler. The waves thundered monotonously on the reef. “If they break with this sea, imagine what they do when it’s rough,” he commented to Lobb.

  “Think of a hurricane,” Lobb said lugubriously.

  Ned shuddered. “I don’t want to think of anywhere in a hurricane. Port Royal, maybe. Or English Harbour, in Antigua. Maybe the anchorage in Grenada…”

  Lobb tugged at his beard. “Glad they don’t have hurricanes in Kent,” he said in his broad Kentish accent.

  Ned grunted. “All that rain, though, and the cold. I think I’d prefer one brisk hurricane to a winter of Kentish drizzle and chills.”

  “Me, too,” Lobb agreed. “Kent seems a long way from here…”

  Once it was completely daylight, Ned told Lobb to get the mainsail hoisted and the ship sailing along the south coast of the island to the village at the western end. He then went below for a wash.

  Without waking Aurelia he poured some water into a basin and found some soapberries. He sliced a few into the basin and then rubbed his hands with them, to make suds, and then he washed his face. It was remarkable how a wash put new life into a man, though it was a pity that no one got any fresh soapberries: these were beginning to dry and were reluctant to lather.

  And, he thought sourly, here is the second son of Henry Sydney Broughton Yorke, the sixth earl of Ilex, cursing soapberry… At least his brother George, who had succeeded to the title, had no such problems – or, to be exact, had no such problem when he woke up about four hours ago. Where would George be, he wondered: at the northern estate, between Godmersham and Molash? No, that was never George’s favourite; he would be at the southern, over at Saltwood, surrounding the castle. Or perhaps even at Ilex itself, the small Sussex estate house. Why the devil should he be thinking of George at this moment? Oh yes, he could trace the train of thought – he was annoyed that he had not sent a letter to George in the Convertine, telling him what a hopeless duffer was Luce. By now George should be getting into a position of influence – though it was doubtful that the seventh earl of Ilex would ever be in a position to influence the choice of the governor of Jamaica. It was more important, perhaps, that George kept his ears open for any hint that the King was thinking of honouring his agreement with Spain about the future of Jamaica…

  He wiped his face vigorously, combed his hair, and was thankful that the ship had way on: it was easier to stand in the cabin when she was pitching than when she was rolling.

  By the time he went back on deck the Griffin was still pitching her way along the south coast of the island, closely followed by the Peleus and the Phoenix. He could just see the headland ahead marking the south-western corner of the island, and round which they would turn to stretch up the west coast to the island’s largest – indeed only – village, apart from a few tiny settlements.

  Fifteen minutes later Aurelia joined him, her face freshly washed, hair combed and wearing a yellow-coloured jerkin. Ned nodded to Lobb. “If you want to go below and get some sleep…”

  Lobb shook his head. “No, I want to see what’s waiting for us round the corner. If anything, I think the birds have flown.”

  Ned agreed with him. “It’s nearly a week since they attacked that ship. They’ll have watered and gone on to look elsewhere.”

  “Where’s ‘elsewhere’?” Aurelia asked.

  “If they expect to find some ships to capture, the Jamaica coast. If they stay at the western end they haven’t much to fear.”

  “Sir Harold will have a fit!” Aurelia commented.

  “Well, he can’t expect the former buccaneers to go out and chase them. He’s going to find out just how helpless he is without ships.”

  “Without you and your ships, chéri.”

  “Yes, there’ll be no more Santo Domingos; that was a mistake; I think it was one of those generous impulses on my part that will eventually prove costly.”

  “At least you have Heffer on your side.”

  “Heffer has as much influence on old Loosely as a puff of wind. Loosely listens to no one. He’s too stupid to realize how little he knows.”

  Ned was bored with talking about Luce, and he looked back at the other two ships. “They look a fine sight,” he said. “I can almost see Diana sitting on the bowsprit, instead of the ship having a figurehead.”

  Aurelia laughed. “What about Martha Judd for the Phoenix? What a sight that would be!”

  “The sight would strike terror into the hearts of any Dons!”

  Ned watched the coast and said to Lobb: “We can turn close under the headland. There’s the usual reef but you’ll see the sea breaking on it.”

  A few minutes later the yard was braced up as the Griffin turned to head northward, and as the ship swung Ned was ready with the perspective glass.

  “By God, they’re there!” he exclaimed. “Four of them, anchored off the village. Quick, Lobb, get those guns loaded. Have the men prepare muskets and pistols, as well; we may have to board ’em.”

  The four ships, almost certainly Spanish (since they were not from Jamaica), were not large: Ned estimated that each was half the size of the Griffin. Each would have a crew of thirty to forty men, and perhaps four guns. They were, he thought, just the right size for the job they had apparently set themselves: capturing small coasters and raiding small towns.

  As Lobb gave orders to prepare the guns, Ned had men trimming the sails – the pirates were not expecting him, and the quicker he was alongside them the less time they had to get ready.

  With the wind now broad on the beam, the Griffin sliced through the water, spray flinging up in sheets over the weather bow and the water trickling back along the deck in snaking lines.

  The Griffin’s seamen were hurriedly ramming powder and shot into the muzzles of the guns, and other men were going round with their arms full of muskets and pistols, powder horns and bags of bullets. Ned pictured the same happening on board the Peleus and Phoenix; there would be the same level of excitement in all three ships.

  With the sails trimmed he took up the perspective glass again. There was a row of black ships on the beach that puzzled him, and after a few moments he was able to distinguish what they were: boats from the four ships.

  He blinked as he counted them. The last few blurred and he started counting again. Six, seven, eight… Two boats to each ship: he realized that all the boats were up on the beach. He swung the glass to the ships. No, none had boats riding astern.

  Then he could make out curious domed shapes beside the boats and, many hundred yards along the beach, some men, who seemed to be dragging some of the same curiously shaped objects.

  Turtles! The crews of the four pirate ships – they were definitely Spanish from their sheers – were all on shore catching turtles: several of the turtles were turned over, lying upside-down and helpless beside the boats; the men were dragging more along the beach up to the boats, leaving tracks in the sand.


  Two miles – the ships were no more than a couple of miles away, and the Griffin was making six knots, probably more. Ned estimated the distance of the men from their boats and their boats from the ships. It would be a close-run affair, but in any case the men would be returning to ships with guns unloaded and, most likely, muskets, pistols and cutlasses still stowed in arms chests.

  As soon as Lobb rejoined him, Ned explained to him and Aurelia. “The biggest ship happens to be the nearest, so we’ll tackle her. It’s a race – can we get alongside before the crew get their boats launched and row back to their ships?”

  “Burn or capture?” Lobb asked laconically.

  “Capture to start with. If they’re sound ships we’ll take ’em back to Jamaica. We’ll offer them cheap to Sir Harold, to start his own navy!”

  Ned gave more orders for trimming sails: a few inches in on the jib and flying jib sheets seemed to bring an increase in speed; an easing of sheets and braces, letting the mainsail fill a little better, was a distinct help. Looking astern, Ned was sure they were gaining on both the Peleus and the Phoenix, but he knew excitement might be affecting his judgement.

  He examined the beach again with the perspective glass and was surprised to see that only now were the Spaniards running along the beach towards the boats – they must have been slow to spot the three ships rounding the headland. Most of them still had a hundred yards to go to reach the boats; then they had to drag them into the water and row to the ships. And with any luck several of the boats would already be laden with live turtles, lying on their backs in the bottom but watching with those beady black eyes, ready to make a vicious snap at any foot or hand within range.

  The Griffin was flying along now: spray spurted up to darken the lower part of the headsails; the yard creaked as it gave shape to the mainsail. Men were busy ramming home powder, shot and wads, and now Lobb was giving orders to half a dozen men who were coiling up ropes, to which grapnels had been secured. Sails trimmed, guns loaded, small arms issued, grapnels ready to be hurled on board the Spaniard… Ned ran through the list in his mind. There was nothing else: everything depended on how quickly those men could get back to their ships.

  Turtles as allies: Ned chuckled to himself as he pictured agitated Spaniards hoisting up snapping turtles and tossing them over the side. Not tossing: each of those turtles would weigh at least a hundredweight, and they would be slippery: if the boat was afloat, then the sudden shifting of weight would make it roll, and the men would slip as they heaved…

  He looked astern at the Peleus. Yes, there was no doubt that the Griffin had gained on her, and he could imagine Thomas cursing as his people trimmed sheets and tried to get a little more speed out of the ship. Judging from the way the Peleus’ forefoot was butting up the spray, the Griffin should look a fine sight – unless you happened to be one of the Spanish pirates, who must be wondering where the three ships had come from, and who they were. Had they heard that the buccaneers no longer went to sea?

  How many men had the Spaniards left in each of the ships? Judging from the number on the beach capturing turtles, not many. It would make sense, anchored in what seemed a place utterly remote from the enemy and well sheltered from the wind, to send most of a ship’s company on shore: there were plenty of turtles and they were heavy, so they needed plenty of men to catch them and turn them over on their backs, and plenty of men to carry them to the boats.

  And the men would not be armed because they were only after turtles. Kept on their backs live, the Spaniards would have fresh turtle meat when they needed it, and he knew turtles lasted well and could go for days – probably weeks – without food. So the men on shore would not be carrying cutlasses or pistols to kill the turtles; they needed both hands free to carry them.

  A mile to go: the breeze was if anything stiffer; the Griffin seemed to respond as she ran along the coast towards the ships which were lying head to wind, their bows pointing towards the beach. It was going to be a mad rush – the Griffin would have to steer for the ship which would be lying at right angles across her bow and then, at the last moment, luff up: a sharp turn to starboard which would put her alongside the Spanish ship. Furl mainsail, drop headsails, hook on with the grapnels – and secure the ship before the boats arrived from the beach…

  He called over Lobb and briefly explained his plan. It was in any case obvious: in this situation there was little choice. “How many of us to board her?” Lobb asked.

  Ned thought for a moment. The only risk – unlikely – was that the men in the boats were shrewd enough to board the Griffin from the other side. “Take half the men: you’d better choose ’em now, so they’ll be ready.”

  Most of the Spaniards had reached their boats now and, yes, through the perspective glass he could see them manhandling live turtles out of the boats! One after another the domed creatures were toppled over the sides and left to lie on the sand. Thanks, Ned muttered to himself; you’ve all given me a few precious minutes.

  Now the men were hauling the first of the boats back into the water: they had simply dragged them up the sand, instead of dropping a kedge as they ran in, so they had to drag them back into deep enough water to float: not just float, but float with a couple of dozen or more men on board. Yes, the first boat was afloat now and the men were scrambling in over the coamings. The first ones in grabbed oars and used them to pole the boat into deeper water.

  Now a second boat was being dragged down the beach, and the men in the first settled down to row. They were rowing unevenly and excitedly; oar blades were sending up spurts of water as in the rush the men did not dip them deep enough.

  Half a mile: now without using the perspective glass he could make out details of the first ship. She was painted green with red decoration on the transom. There were five ports for guns on this side, so she carried ten. Headsails had just been dropped to the foot of their stays, with no attempt to put a lashing round them. The mainsail was furled on the yard, but clumsily, just secured with a few gaskets tied loosely.

  Ned suddenly realised that Aurelia was standing beside him. “Why don’t you go below?” he suggested. “There might be some fire from that ship.”

  Aurelia shook her head and laughed: “What, and miss a race like this! You’ll win: less than half a mile, and they’ll never get out in time.”

  Ned was not so sure: the Spaniards were rowing together now; the first boat was spurting along with every sweep of the oars, and the boat seemed to gain speed as the distance grew shorter.

  Five hundred yards…he could make out the guns along the Spanish ship’s side and pick out all the rigging. And yes, there were three or four men looking over the ship’s side at the Griffin. Four. No one else joined them. Four men left on board. And to which ship would that first boat go? Ned felt a moment’s sympathy for the four men: they could see that the men who had been on shore were racing back to the ships, but they could also see that the chances were against anyone arriving in time to rescue them.

  In fact, Ned thought, they know better than anyone who is going to win this race because they have a better view of the boats and the Griffin; the boats approaching from the bow, the Griffin from the beam. For a moment Ned felt sympathy for them: they must be feeling very lonely.

  Four hundred yards, and the Griffin was dipping as she went over the crests and into the troughs. The sea was much calmer in the lee of the land. Ned turned and shouted at the men with the grapnels: “Now you men, a quick throw and then make fast the other end: heave in if necessary because we’ve got to hold that ship alongside us!”

  He glanced ahead and then called to the men at the guns: “Don’t fire unless I give the order: we’ll carry her by boarding and there’s no need to do any unnecessary damage if we’re going to capture her.”

  And they were the only orders he needed to shout. “Stand by me, Lobb,” he said. “Things are going to happen fast and I want you t
o repeat my orders.”

  Three hundred yards, and the four men watched the Griffin thundering towards them. Ned was reminded of a rabbit paralysed by the eyes of a stoat, unable to move yet knowing it was in mortal peril.

  The first boat had about three hundred yards to go, but it seemed to Ned she was making for the second ship, which would be the one that the Peleus tackled. Yes, the second boat was the one making for the first ship, and she had five hundred yards to go, perhaps a little less.

  Aurelia was holding his arm, through excitement not nervousness. “We’re winning!” she exclaimed. She let his arm go, hurried to the ship’s side and came back with a cutlass for Ned. “You’re not going to board her with your bare hands, are you?”

  “Four men – hardly seems fair, does it?”

  “With four men nobody gets killed; with forty, there’d be a slaughter,” she commented briefly.

  Two hundred yards, and Ned tried to judge how much the Spanish ship was swinging in the wind: he had to judge where she would be when the Griffin finished her turn: if she had swung even ten yards more than Ned estimated there would be a ten-yard gap between the two ships, and by the time she had swung back the Griffin might have drifted away. There was no windward of leeward side: the wind was blowing equally down both sides of the ship, with just an occasional irregular puff to make her swing.

  A hundred yards…in a matter of moments the distance would be measured in dozens of feet…Ned knew he was clenching his fists in an effort to concentrate, and his grip on the hilt of the cutlass was almost painful.

  Fifty yards…forty…thirty… “Hard a’starboard!” he snapped at Lobb and shouted to the men: “Cast off those headsail sheets…brace the yard sharp up.”