Pirate Latitudes

Chapter 34

IN THE EARLY afternoon hours of October 20, 1665, the Spanish galleon El Trinidad reached the east channel to Port Royal, outside the scrubby outcropping of South Cay, and Captain Hunter gave orders to drop anchor.

They were two miles from Port Royal itself, and Hunter and his crew stood at the railing of the ship, looking across the channel toward the town. The port was quiet; their arrival had not yet been sighted, but they knew that within moments there would be gunshots and that extraordinary frenzy of celebration that always accompanied the arrival of an enemy prize. The celebration, they knew, often lasted two days or more.

Yet the hours passed, and there was no celebration. On the contrary, the town seemed to grow quieter with each passing minute. There were no gunshots, no bonfires, no shouts of greeting across the still waters.

Enders frowned. “Has the Don attacked?”

Hunter shook his head. “Impossible.” Port Royal was the strongest English settlement in the New World. The Spanish might attack St. Kitts, or one of the other outposts. But not Port Royal.

“Something’s amiss, sure enough.”

“We’ll soon know,” Hunter said, for as they watched, a longboat put out from Fort Charles, under whose guns they were now anchored.

The longboat tied up alongside El Trinidad, and a captain of the king’s militia stepped aboard. Hunter knew him; he was Emerson, a rising young officer. Emerson was tense; he spoke too loudly as he said, “Who is the avowed captain of this vessel?”

“I am,” Hunter said, coming forward. He smiled. “How are you, Peter?”

Emerson stood stiffly. He gave no sign of recognition. “Identify yourself, sir, if you please.”

“Peter, you know full well who I am. What does it mean—”

“Identify yourself, sir, on pain of penalty.”

Hunter frowned. “What charade is this?”

Emerson, at rigid attention, said: “Are you Charles Hunter, a citizen of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, and late of His Majesty’s Colony in Jamaica?”

Hunter said, “I am.” He noticed that despite the cool evening breeze, Emerson was sweating.

“Identify your vessel if you please.”

“She is the Spanish galleon known as El Trinidad.”

“A Spanish vessel?”

Hunter grew impatient. “She is, plain as your nose.”

“Then,” Emerson said, taking a breath, “it is my sworn duty, Charles Hunter, to place you under arrest on a charge of piracy—”

“Piracy!”

“—and so, too, all your crew. You will please accompany me in the longboat.”

Hunter was astounded. “By whose order?”

“By the order of Mr. Robert Hacklett, Acting Governor of Jamaica.”

“But Sir James—”

“Even as we speak, Sir James is dying,” Emerson said. “Now please come with me.”

Benumbed, moving in a kind of trance, Hunter went over the side, into the longboat. The soldiers rowed ashore. Hunter looked back at the receding silhouette of his ship. He knew that his crew was as stunned as he.

He turned to Emerson. “What the devil is happening?”

Emerson was more relaxed, now that he was in the longboat. “There have been many changes,” he said. “A fortnight past, Sir James took ill with the fever—”

“What fever?”

“I tell you what I know,” Emerson said. “He has been confined to bed, in the Governor’s Mansion, these many days. In his absence, Mr. Hacklett has assumed direction of the colony. He is assisted by Commander Scott.”

“Is he?”

Hunter knew he was reacting slowly. He could not believe that the outcome of his many adventures, these past six weeks, was to be clapped in jail — and no doubt hanged — as a common pirate.

“Yes,” Emerson said. “Mr. Hacklett has been stern with the town. Many are already in jail, or hanged. Pitts was hanged last week—”

“Pitts!”

“—and Morely only yesterday. And there is a standing warrant for your arrest.”

A thousand arguments sprang to Hunter’s mind, and a thousand questions. But he said nothing. Emerson was a functionary, a man charged with carrying out the orders of his commander, the foppish dandy Scott. Emerson would do his duty as he was ordered.

“Which jail shall I be sent to?”

“The Marshallsea.”

Hunter laughed at the ludicrousness of it. “I know the jailer of the Marshallsea.”

“Not anymore, you don’t. There is a new man. Hacklett’s man.”

“I see. “

Hunter said nothing further. He listened to the stroke of the oars in the water, and he watched Fort Charles loom closer.

Once inside the fort, he was impressed by the readiness and alertness of the troops. In the past, one could find a dozen drunken lookouts on the battlements of Fort Charles, singing dirty songs. This evening there were none, and the men were neatly dressed in full uniform.

Hunter was marched by a company of armed and alert soldiers into the town, through Lime Street, now unusually quiet, and then north along York Street, past darkened taverns, which normally glowed warmly at this hour. The silence in the town, the desertion of the muddy streets, was striking.

Marshallsea, the men’s prison, was located at the end of York Street. It was a large stone building with fifty cells on two floors. The interior stank of urine and feces; rats scuttled through the rushes on the floor; the men in the cells stared at Hunter with hollow eyes as he was marched, by torchlight, to a cell and locked inside.

He looked around his cell. There was nothing inside; no bed, no cot, just straw on the floor, and a high window with bars. Through the window he could see a cloud drifting across the face of a waning moon.

As the door clanged closed behind him, he turned to look at Emerson. “When shall I be tried for piracy?”

“Tomorrow,” Emerson said, and then turned away.

. . .

THE TRIAL OF Charles Hunter took place on October 21, 1665, a Saturday. Ordinarily, the Justice House did not meet on a Saturday, but nevertheless Hunter was tried on that day. The earthquake-damaged structure was largely empty as Hunter was ushered in, alone, without the rest of his crew, to face a high tribunal of seven men sitting at a wooden table. The tribunal was presided over by Robert Hacklett himself, as Acting Governor of the Jamaica Colony.

He was made to stand before the tribunal while the charge was read to him.

“Raise your right hand.”

He did.

“You, Charles Hunter, you and every one of your company, by the authority of our Sovereign Lord, Charles, King of Great Britain, are indicted as follows.”

There was a pause. Hunter scanned the faces: Hacklett, glowering down at him, with the faintest trace of a smug smile; Lewisham, Judge of the Admiralty, evidently ill at ease; Commander Scott, picking his teeth with a gold toothpick; the merchants Foster and Poorman, averting their eyes from Hunter’s glance; Lieutenant Dodson, a rich officer in the militia, tugging at his uniform; James Phips, a merchant captain. Hunter knew them all, and he recognized how uneasy they were.

“Forasmuch as in open contempt of the laws of your country and the sovereign alliances of your king, you have wickedly united and articled together for the annoyance and disturbance of the subjects and properties of His Most Christian Majesty Philip of Spain upon the land and seas. And have, in conformity to the most evil and mischievous intentions, been to the Spanish settlement upon the island of Matanceros for the purpose of plundering and burning and robbing such ships and vessels as then happened in your way.

“And further ye stand charged with the unlawful opposition upon a Spanish vessel in the straits south of Matanceros, and the sinking of same, with the loss of all lives and properties aboard the ship.

“And lastly, that in the acting and compassing of all this, you were all and every one of you in wicked combination to exert, and actually did, in your several stations, use your utmost endeavors to distress and assault the said Spanish ships and dominions and murder the subjects of Spain. How plead you, Charles Hunter?”

There was a brief pause. “Not guilty,” Hunter said.

For Hunter, the trial was already a travesty. The Act of Parliament 1612 specified that the court must be composed of men who had no interest, directly or indirectly, in the particulars of the case being tried. And yet every man on the tribunal stood to gain from Hunter’s conviction and the subsequent confiscation of his ship and her treasure.

What confused him was the detailed nature of the indictment. No one could know what had occurred during the Matanceros raid except himself and his men. And yet the indictment had included his successful defense against the Spanish warship. Where had the court gotten its information? He could only assume that one of the crew had talked, probably under torture, the night before.

The court accepted his plea without the slightest reaction. Hacklett leaned forward. “Mr. Hunter,” he said, in a calm voice, “this tribunal recognizes the high standing you hold within the Jamaica Colony. We do not wish in this proceeding to stand upon hollow ceremony, which may not see justice served. Will you speak now in defense of your indictment?”

This was a surprise. Hunter paused a moment before answering. Hacklett was breaking the rules of judicial procedure. It must be to his advantage to do so. Nevertheless, the opportunity seemed too good to ignore.

“If it may please the distinguished members of this fair court,” Hunter said, with no trace of irony, “I shall endeavor to do so.”

The heads of the men on the tribunal nodded thoughtfully, carefully, reasonably.

Hunter looked from one to the next, before he began to speak.

“Gentlemen, no one among you is more thoroughly informed than I, of the sacred treaty lately signed between His Majesty King Charles and the Spanish Court. Never should I break the newly forged ties between our nations without provocation. Yet such provocation occurred, and in abundance. My vessel, the Cassandra, was set upon by a Spanish ship of the line, and all my men captured without warrant. Further, two were murdered by the captain of that vessel, one Cazalla. Finally, the same Cazalla intercepted an English merchantman bearing, among other cargoes unknown to me, the Lady Sarah Almont, niece of the Governor of this Colony.

“This Spaniard, Cazalla, an officer of King Philip, destroyed the English merchantman Entrepid, killing all those aboard in a bloodthirsty violent act. Among those dispatched was a favorite of His Majesty Charles, one Captain Warner. I am certain His Majesty mourns the loss of this gentleman very much.”

Hunter paused. The tribunal did not know this information and it was plain they were not pleased to hear of it.

King Charles took a very personal view of life; his normal good temper might be destroyed if one of his friends was injured or even insulted — let alone killed.

“For these several provocations,” Hunter said, “we attacked in reprisal the Spanish fortress at Matanceros, restoring Her Ladyship to safety, and taking as plunder what trifling reparations we deemed reasonable and proper. This is not piracy in the first instance, gentlemen. This is honorable revenge for heinous misdeeds upon the high seas, and such is the substance and nature of my conduct.”

He paused and looked at the faces of the tribunal. They stared back at him impassively; they all knew the truth, he realized.

“Lady Sarah Almont can bear witness to this testimony, as can every man aboard my ship, if such be called. There is no truth in the indictment as charged, for there can be no piracy except in the absence of due provocation, and there was indeed most strenuous provocation.”

He finished, and looked at the faces. They were bland now, blank and unreadable. He felt chilled.

Hacklett leaned over the table toward him. “Have you any further to speak in your reply to the indictment, Mr. Charles Hunter?”

“Nothing further,” Hunter said. “I have spoken all I have to say.”

“And most creditably, too, if I may take the liberty to say,” Hacklett commented. There were nods and murmurs of assent from the other six men. “But the truth of your speech is another question, which we must all now consider. Be so good as to inform this court under what business your vessel sailed in the first instance.”

“The cutting of logwood,” Hunter said.

“You had letters of marque?”

“I did, from Sir James Almont himself.”

“And where are these documents?”

“They were lost with the Cassandra,” Hunter said, “but I have no doubt Sir James will confirm that he drew them up.”

“Sir James,” Hacklett said, “is in great distress of illness, and cannot confirm nor deny any matter at hand before this court. Nonetheless, I feel we can take you at your word that these papers were issued.”

Hunter bowed slightly.

“Now then,” Hacklett said. “Where were you captured by the Spanish warship? In what waters?”

Hunter instantly sensed the dilemma he faced and hesitated before answering, knowing that the hesitation would damage his credibility. He decided to tell the truth — almost.

“In the Windward Passage north of Puerto Rico.”

“North of Puerto Rico?” Hacklett said with an air of elaborate surprise. “Is there logwood in those parts?”

“No,” Hunter said, “but we were buffeted by a mighty storm for two days, and sent far off our intended course.”

“Indeed, it must have been, for Puerto Rico is to the north and east, while all the logwood is to the south and west of Jamaica.”

Hunter said, “I cannot be held accountable for storms.”

“What was the date of this storm?”

“The twelfth and thirteenth of September.”

“Odd,” Hacklett said. “The weather was fair in Jamaica on those days.”

“The weather at sea is not always similar to that of the land,” Hunter said, “as is well known.”

“The court thanks you, Mr. Hunter, for your lesson in seamanship,” Hacklett said. “Although I think you have little to teach the gentlemen here assembled, eh?” He chuckled briefly. “Now then, Mr. Hunter — forgive me if I do not address you as Captain Hunter — do you aver that there never was, at any time, an intent of your vessel and its crew to attack any Spanish settlement or dominion?”

“I do so aver.”

“You never held counsel to plan such an unlawful attack?”

“I did not.” Hunter spoke with as much certainty as he could muster, knowing that his crew dared not contradict him on this point. To admit to the vote that was held in Bull Bay was tantamount to a conviction of piracy.

“On pain of your mortal soul, do you swear that no such intent was ever discussed with any member of your company?”

“I do.”

Hacklett paused. “Let me be certain to understand your import. You sailed upon a simple logwood expedition, and by ill fortune were cast far north by a storm which did not touch these shores. Subsequently, you were captured without provocation of any sort by a Spanish warship. Is this correct?”

“It is.”

“And further, you learned that this same warship attacked an English merchantman and took as hostage the Lady Sarah Almont, giving you cause for reprisal. Is that so?”

“It is.”

Hacklett paused again. “How came you to know the warship captured the Lady Sarah Almont?”

“She was on board the warship at the time of our capture,” Hunter said. “This I learned — from a Donnish soldier, who made a slip of the tongue.”

“Most convenient.”

“Yet that was the truth of the matter. After we made our escape — which is, I hope, no crime before this tribunal — we pursued the warship to Matanceros, and thence saw the Lady Sarah debarked to the fortress.”

“So you attacked, for the sole purpose of preserving this Englishwoman’s virtue?” Hacklett’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

Hunter glanced from one face to the next on the tribunal. “Gentlemen,” he said, “it is my understanding that the function of this tribunal is not to determine whether I am a saint” — there was amused laughter — “but only whether I am a pirate. I knew, of course, of the galleon within the Matanceros harbor. That was a most estimable prize. And yet I pray the court will perceive that there was provocation for a score of such attacks — and provocation broadly speaking, admitting no legalistic quibbling nor technical point of turning.”

He looked toward the court reporter, whose duty it was to make a note of the proceedings. Hunter was astounded to notice that the man was sitting placidly and taking no notes.

“Tell us,” Hacklett said, “how you came to escape from the Spanish warship, once captured?”

“It was through the efforts of the Frenchman, Sanson, who performed with most estimable bravery.”

“You regard this Sanson highly?”

“Indeed I do, for I owe him my very life.”

“So be it,” Hacklett said. He turned in his chair. “Call the first witness in evidence, Mr. Andre Sanson!”

“Andre Sanson!”

Hunter turned to the door, astounded again, as Sanson walked into the courtroom. The Frenchman moved quickly, with smooth, liquid strides, and took his place in the witness box. He raised his right hand.

“Do you, Andre Sanson, solemnly promise and swear on the Holy Evangelists to bear true and faithful witness between the king and the prisoner in relation to the fact or facts of piracy and robbery he does now stand accused of, so help you God?”

“I do.”

Sanson lowered his right hand, and looked directly at Hunter. The gaze was flat and pitying. He held the glance for several seconds, until Hacklett spoke.

“Mr. Sanson.”

“Sir.”

“Mr. Sanson, Mr. Hunter has given his own account of the proceedings of this voyage. We wish to hear the story in your own words, as a witness whose valor has already been remarked by the accused. Will you tell us, please, what was the purpose of the voyage of Cassandra — as you understood it in the first instance?”

“The cutting of logwood.”

“And did you discover differently at any time?”

“I did.”

“Please explain to the court.”

“After we sailed on September ninth,” Sanson said, “Mr. Hunter made for Monkey Bay. There he announced to the several crew that his destination was Matanceros, to capture the Spanish treasures there.”

“And what was your reaction?”

“I was shocked,” Sanson said. “I reminded Mr. Hunter that such an attack was piracy and punishable by death.”

“And his response?”

“Oaths and foul curses,” Sanson said, “and the warning that if I did not participate wholeheartedly he would kill me as a dog, and feed me in pieces to the sharks.”

“So you participated in all that followed under duress, and not as a volunteer?”

“That is so.”

Hunter stared at Sanson. The Frenchman was calm and unruffled as he spoke. There was not the slightest trace of a lie. He looked at Hunter repeatedly, a defiant look, daring him to repudiate the story he so confidently told.

“What then transpired?”

“We set sail for Matanceros, where we hoped to make a surprise attack.”

“Excuse me, do you mean an attack without provocation?”

“I do.”

“Pray continue.”

“While sailing for Matanceros, we came upon the Spanish warship. Seeing that we were outnumbered, we were captured by the Spanish, as pirates.”

“And what did you do?”

“I had no wish to die in Havana as a pirate,” Sanson said, “especially as I had been forced to do Mr. Hunter’s bidding thus far. So I hid, and subsequently enabled my companions to escape, trusting that they would then decide to return to Port Royal.”

“And they did not?”

“Indeed they did not. Mr. Hunter, once returned to command of his ship, forced us to set sail for Matanceros to carry out his original intent.”

Hunter could stand no more. “I forced you? How could I force sixty men?”

“Silence!” bellowed Hacklett. “The prisoner will remain silent, or he shall be removed from court.” Hacklett turned back to Sanson. “How did you fare with the prisoner at this time?”

“Badly,” Sanson said. “He clapped me in irons for the duration of the voyage.”

“Matanceros and the galleon were subsequently captured?”

“Aye, gentlemen,” Sanson said. “And I was placed in the Cassandra thusly: Mr. Hunter went aboard the ship and determined that she was unseaworthy, after the attack on Matanceros. He then gave me command of this poor ship, in the manner of marooning, for he did not expect her to survive the open sea. He gave me a small crew of men who felt as I did. We made for Port Royal when a hurricane overtook us, and our ship was shattered with the loss of all hands. I, myself, in the longboat, managed to come to Tortuga and thence here.”

“What know you of Lady Sarah Almont?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Not until this moment,” Sanson said. “Is there such a person?”

“Indeed,” Hacklett said, with a quick glance at Hunter. “Mr. Hunter claims to have rescued her from Matanceros and brought her safely thus.”

“She was not with him when he left Matanceros,” Sanson said. “If I were to conjecture, I should say Mr. Hunter attacked an English merchantman and took her passenger as prize, to justify his wrongdoings.”

“A most convenient event,” Hacklett said. “But why have we not heard of this same merchantman?”

“Probably he killed all hands aboard and sunk her,” Sanson said. “On his homeward voyage from Matanceros.”

“One final inquiry,” Hacklett said. “Do you recall a storm at sea on the twelfth and thirteenth of September?”

“A storm? No, gentlemen. There was no storm.”

Hacklett nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Sanson. You may step down.”

“If it please the court,” Sanson said, and left the room.

There was a long pause after the door slammed with a hollow, echoing sound. The court turned to face Hunter, who was trembling and white with anger, and yet he fought for composure.

“Mr. Hunter,” Hacklett said, “can you charge your memory with any particulars to account for the discrepancy between the stories you have related and those of Mr. Sanson whom you have said you respect so highly?”

“He is a liar, sir. A foul and black liar.”

“The court is prepared to consider such an accusation if you can acquaint the court with particulars which will serve in evidence, Mr. Hunter.”

“I have only my word,” Hunter said, “but you may have ample evidence from Lady Sarah Almont herself, who will contradict the French tale in all respects.”

“We shall certainly have her witness,” Hacklett said. “But before calling her, a perplexing question remains. The attack on Matanceros — justified or no — occurred on September twenty-first. You returned to Port Royal on October twentieth. Among pirates, one expects that such a delay represents a sailing to an obscure island, for the purpose of concealing treasure taken, and thus cheating the king. What is your explanation?”

“We were engaged in a sea battle,” Hunter said. “Then we fought a hurricane for three days. We careened in an island outside the Boca del Dragon for four days. Subsequently, we set sail but were besieged by a kraken—”

“I beg your pardon. Do you mean a monster of the depths?”

“I do.”

“How amusing.” Hacklett laughed, and the others on the tribunal laughed with him. “Your imagination to explain this monthlong delay gains our admiration, if not our credence.” Hacklett turned in his chair. “Call the Lady Sarah Almont to give evidence.”

“Lady Sarah Almont!”

A moment later, looking pale and drawn, Lady Sarah entered the room, took the oath, and awaited her questions. Hacklett, with a most solicitous manner, peered down at her.

“Lady Sarah, I wish first to welcome you to the Jamaica Colony, and to apologize for the dastardly business which must be your first encounter with society in these regions.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hacklett,” she said, with a slight bow. She did not look at Hunter, not once. That worried him.

“Lady Sarah,” Hacklett said, “it has become a question of importance to this tribunal whether you were captured by Spaniards and then released by Captain Hunter, or whether you were captured by Captain Hunter in the first instance. Can you enlighten us?”

“I can.”

“Please do so freely.”

“I was aboard the merchantman Entrepid,” she said, “bound from Bristol for Port Royal when . . .”

Her voice trailed off. There was a long silence. She looked at Hunter. He stared into her eyes, which were frightened in a way he had never seen.

“Go on, if you please.”

“. . . When we spotted a Spanish vessel on the horizon. It opened fire upon us, and we were captured. I was surprised to discover that the captain of this Spanish ship was an Englishman.”

“Do you mean Charles Hunter, the prisoner who stands before us now?”

“I do.”

“Please continue.”

Hunter hardly heard the rest of her words: how he had taken her onto the galleon, then killed the English crew and set the ship afire. How he had told Lady Sarah that he would pretend he had saved her from the Spaniards, in order to justify his raid on Matanceros. She delivered her story in a high-pitched, taut voice, speaking rapidly, as if to finish the matter as quickly as possible.

“Thank you, Lady Sarah. You may step down.”

She left the room.

The tribunal faced Hunter, seven men with blank, expressionless faces, examining Hunter like a creature already dead. A long moment passed.

“We have heard nothing from the witness of your colorful adventures with the Boca del Dragon, or the sea monster. Have you any proofs?” Hacklett asked mildly.

“Only this,” Hunter said, and, swiftly, he stripped to the waist. Across his chest were the tears and scars of giant, saucerlike suckers, an unearthly sight. The members of the tribunal gasped. They murmured among themselves.

Hacklett banged his gavel for order.

“An interesting amusement, Mr. Hunter, but not persuasive to the educated gentlemen present. We can all surely imagine the devices you employed, in your desperate predicament, to re-create the effects of such a monster. The court is not persuaded.”

Hunter looked at the faces of the seven men, and saw that they were persuaded. But Hacklett’s gavel banged again.

“Charles Hunter,” Hacklett said, “this court finds you justly convicted of the crime of piracy and robbery upon the high seas, as charged. Do you wish to say any reason why sentence shall not be carried out?”

Hunter paused. He thought of a thousand oaths and expletives, but none would serve any purpose. “No,” he said softly.

“I did not hear you, Mr. Hunter.”

“I said no.”

“Then you, Charles Hunter, and all your crew, are adjudged and sentenced to be carried back to the place from whence you came, and thence on Monday next to the place of execution, the High Street Square in the town of Port Royal, and there to be hanged by the neck till dead, dead, dead. And after this, you and each of you shall be taken down and your bodies hanged from the yardarms of your vessel. May God have mercy upon your souls. Take him away, jailer.”

Hunter was led out of the Justice House. As he went out the door, he heard Hacklett laugh: a peculiar, thin, cackling sound. Then the door closed, and he was returned to jail.