Pirate Latitudes. Michael Crichton
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he said, and found it deserted. There were no passengers aboard, and the ship was drifting aimlessly.
“Faith, some plague or calamity must have fallen it,” L’Olonnais said. “But ’twas a goodly ship, sire, and I felt a service to the Crown to bring it back to port, sire.”
“You found no passengers at all?”
“Not a living thing.”
“No dead aboard the ship?”
“Nay, sire.”
“And no clue as to its misfortune?”
“Nary a one, sire.”
“And the cargo—”
“As your own inspectors found it, sire. We’d not touch it, sire. You know that.”
Sir James wondered how many innocent people L’Olonnais had murdered to clear the decks of that merchantman. And he wondered where the pirate had landed to hide the valuables of the cargo. There were a thousand islands and small brackish cays throughout the Carib sea could serve his purposes.
Sir James rapped his fingers on his desk. The man was obviously lying but he needed proof. Even in the rough environment of Port Royal, English law prevailed.
“Very well,” he said at last. “I shall formally state to you that the Crown is much displeased with this capture. The king therefore shall take a fifth—”
“A fifth!” Normally the king took a tenth, or even a fifteenth.
“Indeed,” Sir James said evenly. “His Majesty shall have a fifth, and I shall formally state to you further that if any evidence reaches my ears of dastardly conduct on your part, you shall be brought to trial and hanged as a pirate and murderer.”
“Sire, I swear to you that—”
“Enough,” Sir James said, raising his hand. “You are free to go for the moment, but bear my words in mind.”
L’Olonnais bowed elaborately and backed out of the room. Almont rang for his aide.
“John,” he said, “find some of the seamen of L’Olonnais and see that their tongues are well oiled with wine. I want to know how he came to take that vessel and I want substantial proofs against him.”
“Very good, Your Excellency.”
“And John: set aside the tenth for the king, and a tenth for the governor.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“That will be all.”
John bowed. “Your Excellency, Captain Hunter is here for his papers.”
“Then show him in.”
Hunter strode in a moment later. Almont stood and shook his hand.
“You seem in good spirits, Captain.”
“I am, Sir James.”
“The preparations go well?”
“They do, Sir James.”
“At what cost?”
“Five hundred doubloons, Sir James.”
Almont had anticipated the sum. He produced a sack of coin from his desk. “This will suffice.”
Hunter bowed as he took the money.
“Now then,” Sir James said. “I have caused to be drawn up the paper of marque for the cutting of logwood at any location you deem proper and fitting.” He handed the letter to Hunter.
In 1665, logwood cutting was considered legitimate commerce by the English, though the Spanish claimed a monopoly on that trade. The wood of the logwood, Hematoxylin campaechium, was used in making red dye as well as certain medicines. It was a substance as valuable as tobacco.
“I must advise you,” Sir James said slowly, “that we cannot countenance any attack upon any Spanish settlement, in the absence of provocation.”
“I understand,” Hunter said.
“Do you suppose there shall be any provocation?”
“I doubt it, Sir James.”
“Then of course your attack on Matanceros will be piratical.”
“Sir James, our poor sloop Cassandra, lightly armed and by the proofs of your papers engaged in commerce, may suffer to be fired upon by the Matanceros guns. In that instance, are we not forced to retaliate? An unwarranted shelling of an innocent vessel cannot be countenanced.”
“Indeed not,” Sir James said. “I am sure I can trust you to act as a soldier and a gentleman.”
“I will not betray your confidence.”
Hunter turned to go. “One last thing,” Sir James said. “Cazalla is a favorite of Philip. Cazalla’s daughter is married to Philip’s vice chancellor. Any message from Cazalla describing the events at Matanceros differently from your account would be most embarrassing to His Majesty King Charles.”
“I doubt,” Hunter said, “that there will be dispatches from Cazalla.”
“It is important that there not be.”
“Dispatches are not received from the depths of the sea.”
“Indeed not,” Sir James said. The two men shook hands.
As Hunter was leaving the Governor’s Mansion, a black womanservant handed him a letter, then wordlessly turned and walked away. Hunter descended the steps of the mansion, reading the letter, which was drafted in a feminine hand.
My dear Captain—
I am lately informed that a beautiful fresh spring can be found on the main portion of the Famaican island, at the place called grawford’s Valley. To acquaint myself with the delights of my new residence, I shall make an excursion to this spot in the latter part of the day, and I hope that it is as exquisite as I am led to believe.
Fondly, I am,Emily Hacklett
Hunter slipped the letter into his pocket. He would not, under ordinary circumstances, pay heed to the invitation implicit in Mrs. Hacklett’s words. There was much to do in this last day before the Cassandra set sail. But he was required to go to the inland anyway, to see Black Eye. If there was time…He shrugged, and went to the stables to get his horse.
THE JEW WAS ensconced in Sutter’s Bay, to the east of the Port. Even from a distance, Hunter could determine his location by the acrid smoke rising above the green trees, and the occasional report of explosive charges.
He rode into a small clearing and found the Jew in the midst of a bizarre scene: dead animals of all sorts lay everywhere, stinking in the hot midday sun. Three wooden casks, containing saltpeter, charcoal, and sulfur, stood to one side. Fragments of broken glass lay glinting in the tall grass. The Jew himself was working feverishly, his clothing and face smeared with blood and the dust of exploded powder.
Hunter dismounted and looked around him. “What in God’s name have you been doing?”
“What you asked,” Black Eye said. He smiled. “You will not be disappointed. Here, I will show you. First, you gave me the task of a long and slow-burning fuse. Yes?”
Hunter nodded.
“The usual fuses are of no use,” the Jew said judiciously. “One could employ a powder trail, but it burns with great swiftness. Or contrariwise, one could employ a slow match.” A slow match was a piece of cord or twine soaked in saltpeter. “But that is very slow indeed, and the flame is often too weak to ignite the final materials. You take my meaning?”