Caribbee

  *

  The Assembly had voted to place Hugh Winston in com­mand of the gunnery crews for the cannon emplacements at the four major breastworks along the coast: Lookout Point, Bridgetown, and Jamestown on the west; and Oistins Bay, on the south. In line with that responsibility, he had taken the front room of Joan's tavern and converted it into a meeting place for his gunnery officers. Several of Joan's rickety pine tables had been lashed together to form a desk; from that makeshift post he assigned the daily watches for each of the breastworks and monitored supplies. He also maintained close communication with the commanders of the field militia, both infantry and cavalry, who were drawn from the ranking plant­ers and royalist officers in each parish. The militia itself had individual field command posts in each of the parish churches.

  The tavern was a comfortable rendezvous place for the men assigned to the guns, mostly seamen or former seamen who had gained their experience with heavy ordnance on a gun deck. Joan's familiar clapboard establishment enjoyed a com­manding view of the harbor, and, unlike the parish churches, offered the finest food and grog remaining on the island. Joan presided over the accommodations, making sure necessary amenities were always at hand. She also kept a close eye on the loyalties of those who gathered.

  Tonight, however, the tavern was all but empty save for Winston, his quartermaster John Mewes and his master's mate Edwin Spurre, since all gunnery mates were on alert and at their posts at the various breastworks along the coast. The three of them were waiting for the signal, horses saddled and ready.

  The night was clear and humid, and a light breeze had just sprung up in the south. Winston leaned against the doorjamb, half in and half out, exhausted from a day-long ride review­ing gun emplacements along the shore. John Mewes was sta­tioned outside on the porch, tankard in hand, keeping an eye on the sentry post atop Lookout Point. A system of lantern signals had been arranged to alert the Bridgetown command post to any change in the disposition of the fleet.

  "I've got a feelin' about tonight, Cap'n. Word from up on the Point at midday was they were holdin' a big meetin' aboard the Rainbowe. An' then she got underway and made about a league out to sea, along with the troop ships." Mewes took a nervous puff from the long stem of his white clay pipe. "I'd say it's odds they're planning a little surprise for us tonight. More'n likely somewhere along the west coast."

  "I've got the same feeling, John." He strolled across the narrow porch and stared up the hill, toward the sentry post stationed at the north end of the Point. "What was the latest signal?"

  "Same as usual. Five flashes on the quarter hour, meanin' no sightings." Mewes reached to tap his pipe against the heavy beam at the corner of the building. "I told tonight's watch to report anything that moved. But they'll be hard pressed to see much beyond the bay here."

  "Then you stay lively too. And try not to get too thirsty." Winston lifted a flintlock musket he had brought ashore from the Defiance and tested the lock by the light of a candle lan­tern. Next he started polishing the barrel with a cloth he had borrowed from Joan. "I've got an idea they may try and land up at Jamestown, or maybe even farther north."

  "Then hadn't we best advise the militia commanders to double the security on the breastwork up that way?"

  "I spoke with Walrond, up at Jamestown, late this after­noon. We both figure that's the most likely location. He's already ordered up reinforcements for tonight." He drew a musket patch from his pocket and began to clean the sooty powder pan of the musket.

  "I didn't see any militia moving out from around here."

  "Nobody was to move till dark. We don't want the fleet's Puritan spies here to know we're ready. We'd lose our chance to catch their infantry in a noose."

  "Betwixt you an' me, I'd just as soon they never got around to landing infantry." Mewes shifted up his trousers. "A man could well get his balls shot off amidst all that musket fire."

  Winston pulled back the hammer of the musket, checking its tension. "Sometimes I wonder why the hell I keep you on, John. I'd wager most of Joan's girls have more spirit for a fight."

  "Aye, I'd sooner do my battlin' on a feather mattress, I'll own it. So the better question is why I stay on under your command."

  "Could be the fine caliber of men you're privileged to ship with."

  "Aye, that crew of gallows-bait are a rare species of gen­tility, as I'm a Christian." He started to laugh, then it died in his throat. "God's wounds, was that a signal up at the point?"

  "Looked to be." Winston flipped over the musket and examined the barrel. Then he selected a "charge holder"—a tiny metal flask—from among the twelve strung from the bandolier draped over his shoulder and began pouring its black powder into the muzzle. "Three longs and a short. That means a mast lantern putting in at Jamestown, right?" He fitted a patch over the ramrod and began to tamp in the powder. "Probably the Rainbowe. "

  "Aye, that's the signal." Mewes shoved the pipe into his pocket. "Want me to fetch the muskets?"

  "Tell Joan to give you those two leaning in the corner, at the back. I just got through priming them."

  Mewes vaulted the steps leading to the open tavern door. Seconds later, Joan appeared, holding the two flintlocks.

  "What is it, darlin'?" Her eyes were bloodshot with fa­tigue. "Are we finally due for some company?"

  "Right on schedule. The surf's been down all day. I fig­ured they'd try it tonight." He finished tapping the ball down the muzzle of the musket, then placed the gun carefully on the step. "I guess that means I win our wager."

  "God's blood, I never thought it'd come to this. I was sure they'd never have the brass to try it." She passed him the muskets. "So we'll be going to war after all. I'd wager you another shilling you'll not hold them off, darlin', save there'd be no way to collect if I won."

  "All wagers are off now. This one's too hard to call." He handed one of the flintlocks to John Mewes, then cocked the other and aimed it into the dark night air. "Ready, John?"

  "Aye." Mewes cocked the musket and aimed it at the sliver of moon on the western horizon. "Tell me again. The signal for Jamestown's one shot, a count of five, another shot, a count of ten, and then the third?"

  "That's it."

  "Fire when ready."

  Winston squeezed the trigger and the powder pan flashed in the dark. Five seconds later Mewes discharged the second musket, then after ten seconds Winston fired the third, the one he had just loaded.

  "All right, John. Get the horses."

  "Aye." Mewes disappeared around the side of the tavern, headed for the makeshift stable located at the rear.

  Approximately a minute later the signal of three musket shots was repeated by militiamen in the field command post at Black Rock, on the road to Jamestown. Shortly after there again came a faint repetition of the pattern of shots, farther north. The prearranged signal was moving quickly up the coast.

  Mewes emerged from the dark leading two speckled mares. He patted one on the side of her face, muttered an endear­ment, then passed the reins to Winston. "I'm ready to ride."

  "All right, John, I'll see you at Jamestown. Put Spurre in charge here and go up to the governor's compound to tell Bedford. If he's not there, then try the Assembly Room. If they're meeting tonight, tell them to adjourn and get every man up to Jamestown, on the double. We may need them all."

  Mewes bellowed instructions through the doorway. Then he seized the saddle horn of the smaller horse and pulled himself up. "Aye. I'll be up there myself soon as I can man­age, depend on it."

  Joan stood beside Winston, watching as he vanished into the dark. "Well now, that's most curious." She cocked back her head and her eyes snapped in the lantern light. "I'm surprised you'd not take the opportunity to go up to His Ex­cellency's compound yourself. Seein' you're so well ac­quainted with the family these days."

  "All in the line of duty."

  "Duty my arse, you whoremaster. But you'll get what you deserve from that one, on my honor. She thinks she's royalty itself." She held th
e reins while he mounted. "Don't say I didn't give you a friendly warning."

  "I'm warned." He vaulted into the saddle as Edwin Spurre emerged through the doorway to assume lookout duty. "Ed­win, prime and ready the muskets. In case they try to attack on two fronts. Do you know the signals?"

  "Aye, Cap'n." Joan handed up the reins. "Godspeed. You know if you let those Puritan hypocrites take over the island, there'll be a lot of wives thinkin' they can finally close me down. Just because they've got nothing better to fret about."

  "We'll win." He looked at Joan a moment and reached out to take her hand. Tonight he felt almost like he was de­fending the only home he had left. Now he had no ship, and Jamaica seemed farther away than ever.

  He leaned over in the saddle and kissed her. She ran her arms around his neck, then drew back and pinched his cheek. "Show those Roundhead bastards a thing or two about how to shoot, love. I'm counting on you, though damned if I know why."

  "Just keep the grog under lock and key till I get back." He waved lightly, then reined the mare toward the road north.

  As the horse clattered across the loose boards of the bridge, he glanced over his shoulder, up the hill toward the com­pound. What'll happen to Bedford and Katy, he wondered to himself, if we can't hold off the attack? It'll be the Tower and a trial for him, not a doubt. Probably charged with lead­ing a rebellion. And what about her . . .?

  More riders were joining him now, militiamen who had been waiting for the signal. The distance to Jamestown was several miles, and they were all riding hard. None spoke, other than a simple greeting, each man thinking of the stakes. No one wanted to contemplate what would happen should they lose.

  We'll win, he kept telling himself as he spurred his mare. By God, we have to.