Boelee and Portugee led the first lot. Chest high they waded toward the sandy beach. Portugee looked warily about. “I don’t like this, there’s sharks in these waters!”
Boelee gritted his teeth. “The real sharks are aboard our ship, but we don’t get any say in the matter. If Madrid’s playin’ us false, I’ll track him to the ends of the earth!”
Just then, Rocco Madrid appeared on deck alongside Teal. The Spaniard exchanged words with his lookout, Pepe. Before he went over the side, Pepe nodded and shook hands with both Madrid and Teal.
Boelee and Portugee were waiting as Pepe splashed ashore. They ran to meet him.
“What did the capitano have to say to you?”
“Redjack, did he have anything to say? Tell us, Pepe!”
The Diablo crewmen gathered around as the lookout explained. “Redjack, he said nothing, but the capitano told me to tell you all: We are joining forces with the privateer and sailing out into the ocean to capture Thuron’s ship!”
Boelee shook his head in disbelief. “Are you sure?”
Pepe sat down on the warm sands. “Sí, amigos! Here is what will happen. We will crew the privateer ship; Capitano Redjack will take us in tow. He will command the Diablo after he has moved his own cannon aboard her and repaired the bowsprit. After we have taken Thuron’s vessel, Redjack will cut the Diablo loose to sail back to the Caribbean.”
Portugee gnawed thoughtfully at his lip. “But why do both ships need to sail about chasin’ Thuron, did he say?”
Pepe grinned as he related what his captain had told him. “That prisoner from the Marie, you know what he said? I will tell you. Thuron is quitting these waters, going back to his home in France. That is why he put in to Guayama. For years he has been burying all his booty there, and he went to dig it up before he crosses the ocean. The man saw it, a real treasure, chests an’ barrels of plunder. Our capitano made him talk—now he has made a bargain with Redjack. Good, no?”
All eyes were on Boelee. He was the most astute member of the Diablo’s crew, having served longest with Madrid. Sitting down, he pursed his lips and squinted one eye. Then he laughed. “Good, yes! Two ships can find Thuron out there a lot easier’n one could. Ho ho, that Rocco, he’s craftier than a sack o’ monkeys. I’ll wager he’s got a plan formed already. You mark my words, mates, Rocco Madrid’ll end up with all that booty, or my name ain’t Boelee!”
The crew set about building a driftwood fire on the shore as night set in. The Devon Belle’s crew towed the Diablo out and secured her alongside the privateer. Teal commanded the entire operation, striding about and giving orders as blocks and tackles hauled cannon between the two ships. Rocco Madrid sat in Teal’s cabin aboard the Devon Belle, sampling the Madeira while he formed bloodthirsty schemes for future days. Joby, who had now been promoted to carpenter, had a party at work replacing the bowsprit with timbers from the Devon Belle’s broken foremast as others laboured at rigging new foresails and bowlines.
One of the men nodded toward the pirates onshore. “ ’ Tain’t fair! Lookit that lot, layin’ about on the sand while we’re sloggin’ our guts out aboard this tub!”
“You were sayin’?”
The man turned to see Teal standing there. He bent his back to the task, apologising humbly. “Nothin’, Cap’n, never said a word, sir!”
9
LA PETITE MARIE HAD NOW PASSED through the Mona Passage, the channel between Hispaniola and Puerto Rico. Ben and Ned were in the captain’s cabin, getting a lesson in navigation from the Frenchman. A large, untidy chart was spread out on the bed, with books and a sextant holding down its scrolled corners.
Thuron indicated a spot on the map. “This is a simple old chart, rough but reliable. We are about here by my reckoning, see, Ben?”
The boy studied where Thuron was pointing. “We’re actually out in the Atlantic Ocean. Where do we go from here, Cap’n?”
Thuron stroked his beard. “Right across this chart and on to a second one which I have. This ocean is a strange place, boy, not much is known about it. Many ships have been lost and never heard from again. No one knows how deep the seas and oceans of this world are. When you sail the high seas on a vessel, I wager that you don’t think of what lies beneath its keel. Have you ever thought of that, Ben?”
Ned interjected his opinion into Ben’s thoughts. “Personally, I try hard not to. Why frighten yourself? Leave the underneath of the sea to the fishes, I say!”
Ben stroked the black Labrador’s ears to silence him. “Hush, Ned, don’t interrupt. Listen to the cap’n!”
Thuron tapped at the deck with his foot. “Underneath our pitiful little ship lies a whole world. Valleys, hills, deserts and huge mountains!” He smiled into Ben’s startled blue eyes. “Never thought of that, have you, lad? But ’tis a fact. One day men may go there to explore it. Hundreds of thousands of leagues, clear and visible near the surface, where daylight and the sun can penetrate, descending to shaded blues and greens, then on to where it is dark as a moonless night with no stars. But down, ever down to complete blackness, fathomless and silent as the grave, a realm of fish that are all sizes. Some no bigger than a babe’s fingernail, others massive, monsters of the deep who have lurked there since the earth was young!”
Ned lay on the bed, covering both ears with his paws and whining as he transmitted his thoughts to Ben. “Wait’ll I get my paws on land again. I’ll never go near any water, not even a duck pond!”
Ben stroked his dog soothingly as the captain continued. “Aye, and here are we, no more than a tiny splinter in the scale of things, bobbing up and down over the great deeps where the Bible says leviathans and behemoths dwell. We’re a tiny, bold species, Ben, no doubt about it!”
The boy nodded agreement. “I suppose we are, sir, but could you stop frightening Ned and tell me which way we’re bound?”
Thuron looked from the dog to the boy and chuckled. “I think ’tis you and not Ned who is afeared. Where are we bound? Straight northeast. The only land ’twixt here and France is some little islands they call the Azores. Come on, my lucky mates, we’ll go and tell Pierre to alter the course from due east.”
They followed the captain out on deck, where he gave orders to Pierre, who was at the helm. Obeying his captain’s command, the trusty Pierre turned the wheel. He frowned and turned it again, then turned it a bit more. “Cap’n, she’s not coming about, look!” Thuron watched his steersman turn the wheel once more.
Pierre shook his head in bewilderment. “I’ve turned this wheel so much that we should be heading south by now. Something’s wrong, Cap’n!”
Thuron took the wheel. “Here, let me try.” There was no resistance in the ship’s wheel; it spun freely. The Frenchman held it still and rested his forehead against one of the carved mahogany spokes, pondering the problem.
Ben could not help asking, “What’s wrong, sir?”
Thuron straightened up, shaking his head. “If I knew, I’d be able to tell ye, lad. But I have an idea what caused it. The Trinidad Shuffle. It couldn’t have been anything else. Our Marie isn’t a young girl anymore, she’s getting on to be an old lady—things start to wear and tear. That was a wild and stormy night, and we were caught ’twixt two vessels. When I did the shuffle, it was a hard an’ punishing manoeuvre. I think that something broke, or cracked, or came loose. Between then and now, with all the steering we’ve had to do, a part of the rudder has been damaged. I’ll wager that’s what it is. Ben, go and fetch Anaconda.”
The giant black man was off duty, napping in his hammock, when Ben shook him gently. “Cap’n wants to see you, sir.”
Anaconda swung gracefully to the deck. Flashing a brief smile at the boy, he ducked neatly out of the cabin. Thuron was not a small man, but he had to lift his chin to meet the big fellow’s eyes.
“Our Marie had an accident while dancing the Trinidad Shuffle, my friend.”
Anaconda picked up a coil of rope as though it were a piece of string. “This old lady’s prob’ly hurt
her rudder, Cap’n. I better take a look.”
He lashed the rope to the Marie’s stern bollard and dropped it into the sea. Going hand over hand, he lowered himself into the water, taking a deep breath before he submerged. They lost sight of Anaconda once he went under the curving after end.
Ned poked his head between the gallery rails. “Good job he hasn’t been listening to the cap’n talking about leviathans an’ behemoths, and all sorts of sea monsters lurking about down there!”
Ben returned his dog’s observation. “Oh, I think Anaconda could hold his own—have you seen the size of that knife he wears in the back of his belt? I’ve seen smaller swords. He’s been under quite a while now, though. I hope nothing’s happened to him, Ned.”
Pierre’s voice interrupted the thought. “He’s coming up!”
The handsome giant’s head showed through the smooth wake water, then broke the surface. Anaconda blinked, snorted and hauled himself neatly back aboard. “Need copper strip, hammer an’ nails, Cap’n—her rudder’s come adrift. It’s flapping about down there like a tavern sign.”
Thuron smiled with relief. “Thank the Lord for that, my friend. We’ve got strip an’ nails aplenty. Will it take ye long to repair?”
Anaconda shrugged his powerfully muscled shoulders. “Might take a few dives, but I can’t do it alone. My fingers are too thick for threading the strip between the break and the helm spindle. ’Tis a narrow gap. Now if I had somebody down there with me, I could hold the rudder flap together. They could pass the copper strip through the narrow part. We’d start by nailing one side to the flap. I’d hold the rudder together, then when the other end of the strip was passed through, I’d secure it with another nail. One or two more nails through the strip either side, and she’d be good as new!”
Thuron began shedding his coat, giving orders to some crew members who had come to see what was wrong. “Bring another rope, a hammer, some copper strip and a handful of brass nails.”
Anaconda took hold of his captain’s hand. “Cap’n, your hand ain’t as big as mine, but look at those fingers. They’re stubby, an’ far too thick.”
Suddenly the crew began to disperse, as if they all had urgent duties to attend. Thuron watched them scurry off. “Ask a seaman to sail a ship, he’ll do it without question. But ask him to put a toe into the ocean, eh Pierre?”
The mate scoffed. “Most of ’em can’t swim—they’re afeared o’ deep water, Cap’n. I’ll do it.”
Anaconda shook his head. “Last time I saw fingers like yours, Pierre, they were selling them as pork sausages on the quay at Cartagena. Let’s see your hand, Ben.”
One glance at the boy’s slender fingers was enough. Anaconda winked at him. “You’ll do!”
Thuron threw an arm about Ben’s shoulders. “Hold on there, he’s not going under the ocean. This lad’s my lucky boy!”
Ben slipped from under the captain’s arm. “Lucky enough to be the right one for the job, and lucky that I’m aboard the Marie when I’m needed. I’ll do it, Cap’n!”
Ned sprang up, placing his paws on Ben’s chest, communicating, “No, Ben, don’t do it, please!”
Ben took the dog’s head in both hands, staring into his friend’s dark, pleading eyes. “Someone has to help Anaconda or we’ll be rolling about the Atlantic this time next year. I know if you were me, you’d offer, Ned, but paws aren’t much use. Hands like mine are needed. Now don’t you fret, I’ll be careful, I promise!”
Thuron took Anaconda to one side. “My friend, keep your eye on the boy while you’re down there. I don’t want any harm coming to my lucky lad!”
The big steersman saluted. “Nor do I, Cap’n. He’ll be safe with me. Ben, mate, are ye ready to get wet?”
Throwing aside his shirt and kicking off both shoes, Ben coiled the extra rope over his shoulder. “Aye aye, ready!”
The sweet, cloying taste of port wine was not to Redjack Teal’s liking, so he sipped at a goblet of the paler, more subtle Madeira. He was highly pleased with himself: as a ship, the Diablo Del Mar was an enviable prize. Rocco Madrid’s former cabin, which was more like a stateroom, had been thoroughly cleaned out and furnished with Teal’s own possessions. It was, he felt, more fitting to an English gentleman’s taste. Again he tested Madrid’s sword, a classic Toledo blade far more elegant than his own Royal Navy-issue sword. Freshly laundered and attired, he struck several poses with his new weapon whilst watching himself in a long cheval mirror, probably plundered from some prosperous merchant craft by the Spaniard. Laying the sword aside, Teal picked up a scroll and strutted regally out on deck.
Rocco Madrid was aboard the Devon Belle when he spotted Teal. Negotiating the plank that had been fixed between the two vessels, he made straight for the Englishman.
Redjack permitted himself an affable smile. “Ah, there you are, a splendid afternoon, Cap’n Madrid, eh?”
Controlling his indignation, the Spaniard made a small formal bow. “Your Devon Bella, Capitano Teal, it is stripped bare. Why aren’t my crew allowed aboard to repair the mast, make everything ready for our voyage, provision her with victuals and water? Where is the French prisoner Ludon? My mate and bosun, the Diablo’s crew—why are they still left idling onshore? Why do you not send the ship’s boat for them? They are needed to help out here.”
Still smiling cheerily, Teal tapped the Spaniard’s chest lightly with the scroll he carried. “Faith, sirrah, one thing at a time! What an excitable fellow ye are, t’be sure. The French chappie, I have him under guard in the chain locker. Can’t let him escape, can we, eh? As for the rest, all in good time, my friend, all in good time.”
Rocco Madrid glared suspiciously at Teal. “When, señor? When?”
Teal adopted a look of mild surprise. “Why, now, Cap’n, within the hour if y’like. All ye had t’do was ask.”
Madrid felt he had gained a point with his confrontation. He decided to push his advantage with the foppish little peacock of an Englander. “We need to have our arms back. What use will we be, chasing a pirate ship without arms? Thuron is a formidable fighter.”
The smile left Captain Redjack’s face. “Your weapons will be returned when I feel it appropriate. As for cannon, this ship has enough for both of us. Don’t want to sink the Frenchie, do we, eh? Leave all that treasure on the ocean bed?”
Madrid heaved a frustrated sigh. “We will not catch Thuron by sitting here. He gets further away by the hour, señor. Have I your permission to bring my crew aboard their ship?”
Teal nodded. “By all means, m’dear fellow. You there, bosun, lower the Devon Belle’s jolly boat for Cap’n Madrid to go ashore.”
Rocco Madrid climbed into the jolly boat. Seating himself, he looked quizzically up at Teal, who was leaning over the Diablo’s ornate midship rail. “Capitano, do I have to row this boat ashore by myself?”
The Englishman shrugged. “Of course, Cap’n. Leaves more room for crew on the return journey, don’t it!”
The Spaniard fitted the oars into the oarlocks and began paddling clumsily away. He had not got more than two boat lengths when Teal hailed him.
“You there, listen to this!” Teal unrolled the scroll and began reading aloud. “‘Under the authority granted to me by our Sovereign King, Charles the First, I take possession of this vessel by Letter of Marque and Reprisal. God save the King and protect England and confound her enemies!’”
The jolly boat wobbled as the Spaniard let go the oars and stood up shouting. “English pig, you are playing me false!”
Three rifle shots rang out, and Madrid fell backward in panic. Totally surprised that the shots had missed him, he knelt up cautiously to see Teal pointing at him.
“Count y’self lucky to be alive, ye Spanish dog! I don’t make bargains with scurvy pirates, nor do I trust ’em! ’Twould take too long to hang ye an’ all that filthy crew. I’m maroonin’ ye, sirrah, an’ ye best row for shore before that boat sinks. Bad cess to ye an’ all your ilk!”
Rocco Madrid gave vent to
his spleen, roaring and cursing as the jolly boat began filling with water from the three musket balls that had pierced it below the waterline. “Redjack turncoat! Scum of the seas! I curse you to the fires of hell! May sharks tear out your lying tongue and fish feed on your misbegotten bones!”
Captain Redjack Teal gave his bosun a languid glance. “Rather excitable—Latin temperament, I shouldn’t wonder. Can’t lay at anchor here all day, listenin’ to pirates usin’ language like that, eh? One thing he did say was true, we’re losin’ time hangin’ round here. Take the Devon Belle in abaft of us, weigh anchor an’ make full sail!”
Rocco Madrid and his crew stood on the tide line in the late afternoon sun, watching the wind fill the sails of their former ship as she plowed off with Teal’s old craft in tow.
Pepe turned his anguished gaze on Madrid. “What are we going to do, Capitano?”
The Spaniard sat down on the sand and began dragging off his long boots. They were sloppy with seawater from his walk ashore from the jolly boat, which lay submerged a hundred yards off, where the shallows started. Madrid pointed out to it. “Boelee, Portugee, take some men and see if you can drag the boat up on dry land.”
Boelee remained motionless. Then he spat at Madrid’s back. “You don’t give Boelee orders anymore. A capitano without a ship, that’s what ye are. Go an’ get the boat yourself!”
Madrid scrambled upright and ran at Boelee, fist clenched. A mate aboard any pirate ship has to be hard and tough, and Boelee was one such man. Sidestepping the charge, he tripped Madrid, dealing him a hefty punch to the back of the neck as he went down.
The mate stood over him. “You ain’t no capitano, you’re a fool. Got yourself tricked by Redjack with your lies about Thuron carryin’ dug-up treasure. Now we’re all marooned high’n’dry without a proper weapon between us, save for our belt knives. Well, are ye gettin’ up to fight me, Madrid?”
Rocco Madrid’s hand flashed to his scabbard, but it was empty. He flinched as Boelee aimed a scornful kick at him.