'If the houses are all like this, we are in business, gentlemen.'
Broom put it to ship's council that the pirate village was a place where we could settle. The bay was deep enough to take a fleet of ships and all the while hidden from the sea.
'This here is a place for us to lay our head in the sand, boys, and rest ourselves awhile,' he said to the men. 'There are cribs up there that can be made snug, and that can't be seen from the bay. If any do come for us, we'll have forts set, there, there, there.' He swung round, pointing at the cliff top and promontories. 'Any enemy can be assured of a warm reception. We'll blow 'em to kingdom come.' A ragged cheer went up at the thought of it. 'And all the while we can be living comfortable in proper houses, sleeping in beds, not swinging hammocks. And I dare say the ladies of the country will come calling, once they know we are here.'
The ship was hauled up on the beach and some of the men set about careening her, while the rest toiled up the cliff to cut back vegetation, clear the paths to the houses, root out the hedges, flatten the ramparts and ditches, repair the dwellings and make them sound. Sailors can turn their hands to anything and soon the forest rang with hammering and the central clearing looked like a builder's yard.
Gabriel, the carpenter, scuttled between one site and the other. In a week the ship was clean and seaworthy and the settlement looked more like a regular village. By the end of the second week, we were ready to move into our new homes.
It was a good place to settle. Apart from the anchorage, and the defences, there was abundant sweet water, and we would not want for food. Fruit trees grew all around, native fowl ran about the forest floor and wild hogs were in plentiful supply.
We had seen nothing of the native people, no sign at all. Then, one day, Robbie, a lad who worked with Gabriel, came running from the bush where he had gone to relieve himself, shouting that he'd found a bone yard. It was up on the hillside overlooking the sea, surrounded by a fence to keep out rooting hogs. Crosses and rough stones marked the graves, some bearing scratch carving: dates, places of birth, names, initials.
R.T.
Bristol
D. 1706
Cap'n H. Jones
M'fd H'ven
Dep't this Earth, 1702
The men stood, bare-headed, looking down at the place where their comrades lay buried. Then they set to work, carefully weeding the ground, scraping the moss from the stones to clear the inscriptions. They cut fresh crosses to replace those that had fallen and rotted. They laboured all day on the plot, leaving all other jobs, and finished just as the sun was setting.
They came back the next day to find the ground planted with a melon vine. After that, the Malagasy came out from where they had been hiding from us.
The chief man among them stepped forward in welcome, thanking us for returning to care for our ancestors, meaning our pirate predecessors. They were glad that we were here, Vincent translated, for now those unhappy ghosts would no longer wander, angry and unrequited, causing a disturbance to the living.
Now they could be at rest.
The Malagasy are great respecters of the dead, Vincent explained, so much so that they dig up their ancestors and dance with them. The old pirates would remain firmly underground but, as far as our new neighbours were concerned, we were in receipt of their blessing. It seemed to bode well for our settlement.
41
The country was pleasant, we wanted for nothing. The climate was pleasing, the air scented both morning and evening by spice trees and flowers from the forest. The Malagasy were friendly, willing to help and even serve us, for we gave them protection from passing slavers and from other tribes who would take them to sell as slaves.
Vincent went to his tribe, who had moved some way inland to avoid the slavers that cruised the coast, and to live with his people for a while. On his return, he came to see me in the house I shared with Minerva. Our dwelling was a simple single-storey building, with only two rooms, one for sleeping, one for living and eating, but it was light and open, after the confines of a ship, with a wide veranda from where we could see the ocean. I was out there, lying in a hammock, when Vincent presented himself. I thought he had come to see Minerva, and told him she was sleeping, for it was that time of day.
He shook his head. 'It's you I want to see,' he said.
He asked me to walk with him. What he wished to say to me was private and he did not want to be overheard.
We went down the path that had been cut in rough steps to the garden. I was trying to tame the forest by building walls and enticing the plants on to terraces, for never had I seen such beauty and abundance. Ginger, cloves, cinnamon, vanilla, galingale, all grew here. Soft-tongued orchids exuded sweetness to freshen the morning and perfume the evening air. Would it not be wonderful, I said to Vincent, to have them growing all about? Like stepping into paradise.
He replied that paradise was not for taming, nor should I try.
We found a shady corner and sat on a fallen tree. There Vincent opened his heart to me. He wanted to talk about Minerva. He told me of his love for her, how it had grown from the very first moment of meeting, and had gained strength through all that they had done together, until now she was all he wanted, she filled his every waking thought and walked in his dreams. He had told his mother and his people about her, because he wanted to marry her. Did I think that she would consent to stay here with him and give up a life of roving?
I did not answer him straightaway. I had seen this coming from afar, like a sail on the distant horizon. To hear him speak gave me joy and pain in equal measure. I was used to life with her as my close and dear companion. Now everything would be different.
'Why do you ask me, not her?'
'You are very close to her and first in her heart,' he said. 'She loves you above all others. Such love is rare. You are precious to her. Your happiness is her happiness. If you wish to leave – '
'She will come with me?' I shook my head. 'I don't think so. She likes it here. Whatever I decide to do, I think she will want to stay.' I put my hand on his. 'I know she loves you, Vincent. Quite as much as you love her. Her happiness is my happiness, too. Minerva and I are sisters, Vincent. We share the same father.'
'Ah!' he exclaimed, as though that explained a great deal. 'Why did she not say?'
'Her mother made her swear never to tell anyone. She did not tell me for a long while ... '
'I see! I see!'
'So that is what we are. Sisters. And as her sister, I tell you, you must go to her. And if you do,' I smiled at him, 'I don't think that she will disappoint you.'
He smiled back, his face breaking into a wide grin, but then he was frowning again.
'There is one other thing. Do you think Broom would be willing to marry us?'
I laughed. That was the one captain's duty that Broom had not performed yet.
'I think he would be delighted. Now go. I'm sure Minerva already knows you are here. She will be wondering what is keeping you.'
He took my hand, smiling his relief and thanks, and left me, running up the slope towards the house, leaping walls and terraces, taking the steps two at a time.
I went down to wander the shore, staying away from the house until the sun was setting and night coming on. When I went back, Vincent had gone, but Minerva was happier than I had ever seen her. She fairly glistened with contentment. I did not say that I knew already; that would have spoiled it for her. I let her tell me herself. We sat on the veranda and watched the sun go down and, as the scent came up from the garden, and pale moths glimmered among the flowers, Minerva's joy allowed me to dream again. Not dark dreams of black ships, but dreams of longing and fulfilment. Being here had given us back our youth.
We talked far into the night of love and what we hoped life would bring to us, as young girls often do.
42
Minerva's happiness was infectious. The time of the wedding drew near, the days were filled with preparations. Broom was more than happy to perform the offices, as h
e put it, and Vincent's people would be coming from their village to join in the celebrations. Everything should have been perfect, but I had begun to dream of the black ship again. When I had dreamt of her before, the ship had been just a vague form. Now the dreams were more detailed, more frightening, for I was actually upon her deck.
I dreamt that I stood at the rail of a dark ship, sailing under a black hoist with no device upon it. I was sailing with the strangest crew that ever put to sea together: Edward Teach and Captain Kidd, Calico Jack Rackham and Black Bart Roberts, and we were cruising oceans unknowrn, navigating by stars that I have never seen. My ears rang with the roar of cannon, the screams of the dying and I walked on decks slick with gore, not knowing if the salt on my lips be water or blood.
I am here.
The words hissed in my ear and I felt his breath, cold on my neck, freezing me as surely as if I had fallen into the black waters of some desolate ice-packed ocean.
I forced myself to wake and lay, eyes stretched wide with horror, utterly unable to move. My skin felt clammy, as though my own death were upon me, and the nets hanging close down made it seem as if I were already sewn into my shroud. I could not even call for Minerva. I waited until the insects were beginning to chirr, the birds and creatures of the forest stir and start their hooting calls and chatter. Then I rose and took the path through the tree ferns that led to the shore. I walked along the cold sand, looking out at the dark ocean, waiting for the moment when the sun would show itself like a great pearl on the far horizon. What did the dreams mean? I shivered and drew my shawl close around me. Was the Brazilian still following me? Would he find me? Was he here?
I had heard stories of a Dutch ship, very like the one I dreamt of, that was said to haunt the Southern Ocean. The captain was a rash and foolhardy man who tried to sail round the Cape of Good Hope in the most dreadful storm. He was deaf to the pleading of his crew and passengers and finally the Almighty Himself appeared on the deck in answer to the prayers of those on board. The captain would not even touch his cap, but fired upon Him, cursing and blaspheming, crying: 'There is but one captain here!' and ordering Him to begone. The ship was called the Flying Dutchman and she was condemned to sail on until the Day of Judgement. Many have seen this spectral ship, glimpsed through the spray of a storm-lashed sea, or looming suddenly out of the mist, with dead men in the rigging, and dead officers commanding, and a terrible silence about her sails. It was a good tale to be told with the rum going round and the flames of a fire leaping up into the velvet Madagascar darkness. But it was just a tale, I told myself. Perhaps my dreams were like that. Perhaps they were as unreal as the stories sailors told to while away the time.
Or so I said to myself as I walked back to our house in the morning light. I would not allow any darkness of that kind to shadow Minerva's happiness.
It did not take long for Broom to set himself up in a new line of business. Within weeks of our arrival he had established himself as an honest trader again, just like he did in America. He had acquired a fine Dutch East Indiaman which he named the New Fortune. He was plying up and down the coast from Cape Town to Zanzibar, dropping into the ports of Mozambique and the islands of Johanna and Comoro, trading in spices, gold, ivory, gems and silks, anything except people, selling to merchants from England, Holland, Portugal, Spain, France. Anyone with money, or the kind of goods that he wanted. The kind that were in short supply here and on the coast of Africa. The bay at Keyhole Cove was turned into a harbour. A jetty extended from the beach into the deeper water. Other ships began to call.
'Look who I have here!' Broom came up to our house one day, bringing a young man with him. 'His ship has put in for fresh supplies. Only happy to oblige.'
His companion was Tom Andrews, the young navigator who had left on the Fortune, wearing the badge of the East India Company. I hardly recognised him under the golden beard that he was growing.
We bid him welcome and invited him to join us on the veranda. Minerva went to mix some punch and Vincent offered him a fill from his tobacco pouch. Once he had settled, we asked what news he had.
'Surgeon Graham has hung up his doctor's plate in London and is beginning to build his practice. He will be glad that I have found you. I will let him know where you are.'
'Have you news of any others?'
Andrews hesitated, his fresh face clouding. 'Not good, I'm afraid.'
'What?' We all leaned forward to hear.
'It concerns Halston, and the others on the Fortune. They put me off at Cape Verde, and from there I took ship back to England, saying that I had been taken by pirates, but had managed to escape them,' he grinned, 'which is near enough to the truth for the company to know. But not long after I had arrived in London, I heard a report from the West Indies, saying that Halston's ship had been blown out of the water, just after I left them. Almost as soon as they went on the account.'
'Navy?' Broom asked, knocking his pipe out into the garden.
'No,' Andrews shook his head, his golden hair shining in the lamplight. 'Not the Navy. A pirate hunter. He behaves as if he carries a letter of marque.'
'A letter of marque?' I asked. I did not like the sound of this. 'Who from?'
'Who knows?' Broom shrugged. 'His Majesty's government, or France, Holland, Portugal. They all hate and fear us.'
'Perhaps he's in the pay of one of the companies,' Vincent suggested. 'The East India, or Royal Africa.'
'Could be,' Andrews nodded.
Broom snorted. 'They're the real pirates, in my opinion,' he pointed towards Andrews with his pipe stem. 'And I'll say it even if you do work for them.' He took a pinch of tobacco from his pouch, tamping it into the bowl with his thumb. 'The buccaneer's paymasters could be any, or none. Perhaps he just pursues his own pleasure.'
'Whatever the reason,' Andrews looked at us, 'he hunts pirates and gives no quarter. As soon as he spies a black hoist, he attacks with all guns. If he takes any alive, they're killed on the deck and dumped overboard. He's doing for more pirates than the Navy. But the story is, he searches for just one crew, who served on just one ship, under just one captain.'
'Oh.' Broom looked intrigued by that. 'And who might he be?'
'You, Captain Broom.'
The sun had set. Moths were flying out, singeing their wings against the shaded lamp. Broom stared past the yellow puddle of light to the purple blackness of the ocean.
'After us, you say?' Broom turned his attention back to Andrews.
'What manner of man is he?' I asked.
Despite the heat lingering from the day, I felt a shiver, like water trickling down my back. Pirates are used to being hated and hunted, but to be singled out like this? Vincent looked away. I could tell by his face that he would think it vintana, destiny, something that could not be avoided, or evaded. I shared his feeling. It seemed to me like a nemesis.
'What kind of ship does he sail?' Vincent asked.
'Big, and bristling with guns, but built in the fashion of years gone by, as if he has sailed out of the past. His ship is black, with dark sails. He has a black hoist – '
' – with no device upon it,' I said.
'Yes.' Andrews stared at me. 'How do you know?'
'I've seen it.'
'Where?'
'In dreams.'
Minerva nodded quickly, confirming what I'd said. Broom gave me a sharp look. I expected him to scoff, as he had before, but he did not.
'Who is he?'
'It is Bartholome.'
I marvelled that Broom did not remember, but then why should he? Although Bartholome had been much in my mind, Broom had probably forgotten all about him.
'The Brazilian?' Broom frowned. 'I thought we shook him off when we left America. I thought he'd give up and go back to Jamaica. The Brazilian! Damn me!'
'Where has he been seen?' Vincent asked.
'He has crossed from Africa to the Caribbean and back again, picking up traces,' said Andrews.
'How is he to find us on all the wide ocean?' Br
oom leaned back in his chair, describing a globe in the air.
'It's only a matter of time until his mind turns to where else we might be,' Vincent said quietly.
'He's been sighted off the Cape.' Andrews leaned forward, conspiratorial, as if we were in some crowded dockside inn and could be easily overheard. 'Several ships have been frighted, thinking he's the Dutchman. Now, I don't believe in those kinds of stories ... ' He drank his punch in a gulp and poured himself another.
Broom frowned. His presence on this coast was known to all and sundry. The Brazilian was bound to find us. He could be but a few days away.
'And after me, you say?'
Broom was a good captain and far from stupid, but sometimes he had the greatest difficulty in seeing beyond himself.
'He's not coming after you,' I said.
43
We would not lie skulking and hiding, waiting for the pirate hunter to find us. Broom called the crew together and all agreed. We would go out to meet him, back on the account. We would take our old places. It would be like the old days, with Vincent as mate, Pelling as quartermaster, Phillips as gunner, but we would sail without Minerva.
She was with child. She was in the early stages, and much afflicted with sickness, and although she argued that women have served before in that delicate state, no one would even hear her out. She spoke strongly to go with us, came as near as her nature would allow her to pleading, but Vincent would not countenance it, neither would Broom, and neither would I.
We sailed out on the New Fortune. The big Dutch East Indiaman was armed with extra guns, strong enough to take anything that might come against us, or so we thought. The weather was fine and we had fair winds, but Vincent continued gloomy. He leaned over the rail, staring down at the waves folding back from the prow. He was worried about Minerva, about leaving her.