Pirate Latitudes

Chapter 24

THEY WERE STILL in Spanish waters, and they moved southward quickly, under every inch of canvas they could muster. The galleon normally carried as many as a thousand people, and crews of two hundred seamen or more.

Hunter had seventy men, including prisoners. But most of the Spanish prisoners were garrison soldiers, not sailors. Not only were they untrustworthy, they were also unskilled. Hunter’s crews had their hands full managing the sails and rigging.

Hunter had interrogated the prisoners in his halting Spanish. By midday, he knew a good deal about the ship he now commanded. She was the nao Nuestra Señora de los Reves, San Fernando y San Francisco de Paula, Captain José del Villar de Andrade, owner the Marques de Canada, a vessel of nine hundred tons, built in Genoa. Like all Spanish galleons — which were invariably cumbersomely christened — this ship had a nickname, El Trinidad. The origin of the name was obscure.

El Trinidad had been built to carry fifty cannon, but after formal departure from Havana the previous August, the ship had stopped along the Cuban coast, and most of the cannon offloaded to permit the ship to carry more cargo. She was presently fitted with only thirty-two twelve-pounders. Enders had gone over the ship thoroughly and pronounced her seaworthy but filthy. A party of prisoners were now clearing some of the refuse from the holds.

“She’s taking on water, too,” Enders said.

“Badly?”

“No, but she’s an old ship, and bears watching. Not kept in good repair.” Enders’s frown seemed to encompass the long tradition of shoddy Spanish seamanship.

“How does she sail?”

“Like a pregnant sow, but we’ll make do, with fair weather and no trouble. We’re short, is the truth.”

Hunter nodded. He paced the deck of the ship and looked at the canvas. Fully rigged, El Trinidad carried fourteen separate sails. Even the simplest task — such as letting out a reefed topsail — required almost a dozen strong backs.

“If there’s heavy seas, we’ll have to ride it out with bare poles,” Enders said, shaking his head.

Hunter knew this was true. In a storm, he would have no choice but to reef all his canvas, and ride out the foul weather, but that was a dangerous thing to do on a ship so large.

But even more worrisome was the prospect of an attack. A ship under attack needed maneuverability, and Hunter lacked the crew to handle El Trinidad smartly.

And then there was the problem of the guns.

His thirty-two twelve-pounders were Danish cannon, of recent vintage, and all in good repair. Together they represented a reasonable — if not formidable — measure of defense. Thirty-two cannon made El Trinidad the equivalent of a third-rate ship of the line, and she could be expected to hold her own against all but the largest enemy warships. At least she could if Hunter had the men to work the guns, and he did not.

An efficient gun crew, a crew capable of loading, running out, aiming, and firing a cannon once a minute during battle consisted of fifteen men, not including the gun captain. To allow for injury, and simple fatigue during battle — the men grew tired pushing around two and a half tons of hot bronze — the crews were usually seventeen to twenty men. Assuming only half the cannon were fired at one time, Hunter really needed more than two hundred and seventy men just to work his guns. Yet he had none to spare. He was already shorthanded topside with his canvas.

The hard facts Hunter faced were these: he commanded a crew one-tenth the size he would need to fight well in a sea engagement, and one-third the size he would need to survive a heavy storm. The implication was clear enough — run from a fight, and find shelter before a storm.

It was Enders who voiced the concern. “I wish we could run out full canvas,” he said. He looked aloft. Right now, El Trinidad sailed without mizzens, spritsails, or topgallants.

“What’re we making?” Hunter asked.

“No better than eight knots. We should be doing double that.”

“Not easy to outrun a ship,” Hunter said.

“Or a storm,” Enders said. “You thinking of scuttling the sloop?”

Hunter had considered it already. The ten men aboard the Cassandra would help on the larger ship, but not much; El Trinidad would still be sorely undermanned. Furthermore, the sloop was valuable in itself. If he kept his own boat, he could auction the Spanish galleon to the merchants and captains of Port Royal, where it would fetch a considerable sum. Or else it would be included in the king’s tenth, and greatly reduce the amount of bullion or other treasure that King Charles would take.

“No,” he said finally. “I want to keep my ship.”

“Well, we could lighten the sow,” Enders said. “There’s plenty of deadweight aboard. You’ve no use for the bronze, or the longboats.”

“I know,” Hunter said. “But I hate to see us defenseless.”

“But we are defenseless,” Enders said.

“I know it,” Hunter said. “But for the moment we will take our risks, and trust to Providence that we will have a safe return. Chance is on our side, especially once we are in the southern seas.” It was Hunter’s plan to sail down the Lesser Antilles, and then west, into the vastness of the Caribbean between Venezuela and Santo Domingo. He would be unlikely to meet Spanish warships in so much open water.

“I’m not one for trusting to Providence,” Enders said gloomily. “But so be it.”

. . .

LADY SARAH ALMONT was in an aft cabin. Hunter found her in the company of Lazue, who, with an air of elaborate innocence, was helping the girl comb her hair.

Hunter asked Lazue to leave, and she did.

“But we were having such a pleasant time!” Lady Sarah protested, as the door closed.

“Madam, I fear that Lazue has designs upon you.”

“He seemed such a gentle man,” she said. “He had a most delicate touch.”

“Well,” Hunter said, taking a seat in the cabin, “things are not always as they seem.”

“Indeed, I have long since discovered that,” she replied. “I was on board the merchantman Entrepid, commanded by Captain Timothy Warner, of whom His Majesty King Charles has a most high opinion, as a fighting man. Imagine my surprise to discover that Captain Warner’s knees shook more vigorously than my own, when confronted by the Spanish warship. He was, in brief, a coward.”

“What happened to the ship?”

“It was destroyed.”

“Cazalla?”

“Yes, the same. I was taken as prize. The crew and the ship were fired upon and sunk by Cazalla.”

“All killed?” Hunter asked, raising his eyebrows. He was not really surprised, but this incident gave him the provocation that Sir James would sorely need to justify the attack on Matanceros.

“I did not witness it,” said Lady Sarah. “But I presume so. I was locked in a cabin. Then Cazalla captured another ship of Englishmen. What befell them, I do not know.”

“I believe,” Hunter said, with a slight bow, “that they made good their escape.”

“Perhaps so,” she said, with no sign of understanding Hunter’s meaning. “And now? What will you vagabonds have with me? I presume I am in the clutches of pirates.”

“Charles Hunter, freeborn privateer, at your service. We are making our way to Port Royal.”

She sighed. “This New World is so tedious. I hardly know whom to believe. You will forgive me if I am suspicious of you.”

“Indeed, madam,” said Hunter, feeling irritation at this prickly woman whose life he had saved. “I merely came below to inquire after your ankle—”

“It is improved much, thank you.”

“—and to ask if you are, ah, otherwise well.”

“Ah yes?” Her eyes flashed. “Do you not rather mean, if the Spaniard had his way with me, so that you can freely follow?”

“Madam, I did not—”

“Well, I can assure you, the Spaniard took nothing from me that was not already missing.” She gave a bitter laugh. “But he did it in his fashion.”

Abruptly, she turned in her chair. She wore a dress of Spanish cut — one she found in the ship — and it had a low back. Hunter saw a series of ugly welts across her shoulders.

She spun back to face him, “Now perhaps you understand,” she said. “Although probably you do not. I have other trophies of my encounter with the Court of Philip in the New World.” She lowered the neckline of her dress a trifle, to reveal a round red mark on one breast. She did it so quickly, so immodestly, that he was taken aback. Hunter could never accustom himself to well-born women from the court of the Merry Monarch who acted like their common counterparts. What must England be like, these days?

She touched the spot. “That is a burn,” she said. “I have others. I fear they will scar. Any husband of mine will know the truth of my past soon enough.” She glared at him defiantly.

“Madam,” he said, “I am pleased to have dispatched the villain on your behalf.”

“That is just like a man!” she said, and began to cry. She sobbed for some moments while Hunter stood, not certain what to do.

“Madam . . .” he said.

“My breasts were my best feature,” she sniffled, through her tears. “I was the envy of every woman of breeding in London. Don’t you understand anything?”

“Madam please . . .” Hunter fumbled for a handkerchief, but he had none. He was still wearing his ragged clothes from the attack. He looked around the cabin, found a table napkin, and handed it to her.

She blew her nose loudly.

“I am marked like a common criminal,” she said, still crying. “I shall never be able to wear the fashions of the town again. I am ruined.”

Hunter found her inexplicable. She was alive, and safe, and returning to her uncle. Why was she crying? Her lot was better than it had been in many days. Thinking that she was an ungrateful and inexplicable woman, he merely poured her a glass of wine from a decanter. “Lady Sarah, please do not torment yourself thus.”

She took the wine, and gulped the entire glass in a single long swallow. She sniffled, and sighed.

“After all,” he added, “fashions change.”

At this, she burst into fresh tears. “Men, men, men,” she moaned. “And all because I made a sojourn to visit my uncle. Oh, my poor fate!”

There was a knock on the door, and a seaman stuck his head in. “Begging pardon, Captain, but Mr. Enders says we have landfall within a glass, and then the sea chests to open.”

“I shall be on deck,” Hunter said, and he left the cabin. Lady Sarah burst into tears once more, and he heard her sobbing even as he closed the door behind him.