Forty One
Captain George Gordon glanced uneasily at Governor Spotswood sitting on the opposite side of the table. The
Pearl
rolled in the choppy waters where the Rappahannock met the Chesapeake, but the third man, standing a few feet inside the cabin, barely noticed, for Lieutenant Robert Maynard’s natural balance swayed easily with the familiar movement. He was pleading his case with considerable passion. “Where can Acorne go, Governor? Captain? What can he do? He is most unlikely to swim for the shore and I do sincerely believe he is innocent of this charge.”
“Are you calling Captain Lofts a liar, Lieutenant?”
Straightening his shoulders, Maynard indignantly lifted his chin, stood a little taller. “No Captain, I am not. I do believe he is mistaken, however.” He turned slightly to look direct at the Governor. “Captain Lofts is a competent man but I know for certain his eyesight is not as clear as once it was and he is, when all is said and done, a merchantman. Unlike those of us serving the King in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, Captain Lofts has had no experience in matters of warfare. To be blunt, Sir, he would not know the difference between shots fired in earnest or those fired as bluff. In my experience merchantmen are inclined to panic as soon as a pistol is waved.”
Governor Spotswood partook of some snuff, offered the silver tin to Gordon who shook his head. What he wanted was a drink. Two or three drinks.
Stepping forward Maynard rested his hands on the edge of the table. “It is my watch tonight. I give my word I will keep my eye on Acorne, and I will vouch my honour for his temporary parole while we are at sea.”
“I admire your compassion, Maynard, although I am not convinced of your wisdom. The rascal you speak of is notorious for deviousness and cunning. What if he were to take you hostage against his release?”
Maynard spread his hands and answered Spotswood with barely concealed amusement. “Unarmed? With a full complement of able crew manning this ship – and your own trusted men to assist them? Is that likely?”
“I do not want trouble,” Captain Gordon growled. Already his stomach was starting to churn. Without a generous dose of medicinal brandy the seasickness always debilitated him.
“There will be none, Captain, I assure you. It is my judgement, despite his past background, that Captain Jesamiah Acorne is a man of honour.”
Spotswood sneezed heartily into a kerchief. It had been a long day and he wanted his bed, although it was unlikely with cramped shipboard conditions that he would obtain much sleep.
Maynard sensed he was wavering. He could not understand the conviction he felt in this, but something inside, a gut feeling, was insisting that they were treating Acorne unjustly. Planting his palms flat on the table again, he gazed direct at Spotswood. “May I speak plain?”
The Governor concealed the wry smile that was threatening to twitch at the corners of his mouth. Maynard had been speaking plain this past half hour! He nodded. “You may.”
“It is my opinion that before long we will have to take action against the pirate they call Blackbeard. Until he is dealt with the Chesapeake – and therefore all our shipping, all our tobacco, our very livelihood – will be in jeopardy. Captain Gordon here is a brave man, as are you, Sir, and myself – but we have two frigates. Two! What match are we against a man such as Teach who knows these waters three, four, times better than do we?”
Spotswood drummed his fingers on the table. All this was true, but he took no liking to being reminded of it. “Your point is, Lieutenant?”
“My point, Governor, is that Teach is not going to come to us, we must go after him. To do so, we need someone reliable who can send word when the bugger next sails – and believe me, he will before long. All this talk of him becoming a respectable, settled gentleman? My arse!”
Interested, Spotswood rubbed at his chin. “Go on.”
“We then have a choice. We sit here waiting for him to attack or we attack him first.” Maynard was warming to his subject. He had been thinking about it all day. “Governor, we must turn pirate ourselves.”
The blustered response of outrage from the two gentlemen was predictable. Obstinately, Maynard ignored the indignant protestations and waded onward. “We turn pirate regarding tactics. We go out, meet the bugger and beat him at his own game. We find him, attack him. Destroy him.”
Spotswood could see the logic in that. “Ah, now you are talking my language young man! But still I do not understand what this has to do with Acorne?”
Lieutenant Maynard smiled knowingly, “Do you not? As I said, we need someone who can get close to Teach. So close he will know when the devil needs to piss, how often he picks his nose – and when he intends to set sail. Rather than hanging him, we could make Acorne that man. In fact, he suits the task of spying on Teach most admirably.”
Captain Gordon’s laugh was derisive. “What utter nonsense! Let Acorne go? He will suck his thumb at us and join the pirate’s bloody crew!”
“No, Captain. He will not.”
“You sound pretty certain of that Maynard?”
“Aye, Governor, I am. First, I am convinced Acorne is innocent of the charge. What he says is the truth. Second, I have made enquiries – I am friends with that lad, Samuel Trent. He tells me Acorne has no liking for Teach. We may be able to persuade him to work with us.”
Pursing his lips, Spotswood shook his head. “I will not manipulate justice, Lieutenant.”
“I would not expect you to, Sir. If Acorne is innocent and we have shown him compassion, he may well aid us of his own volition. If he is guilty, then he can work with us or hang. Either way we get the result we want. Someone who can report back to us from Blackbeard’s camp.”
Gordon rose to his feet. “I am sorry, but I do not agree with this nonsense. Such talk is heading for trouble, and Acorne is trouble.”
Quietly Maynard answered, “Acorne has been persistent with claiming his innocence, and to make trouble would go against him most assuredly. If we can think of some hold that we can have over him to ensure his loyalty, then Sirs, what have we to lose? We use his pirate knowledge to go against Blackbeard. If we succeed we win everything. If we lose…” Maynard paused. It slightly went against his honour to say the next, but say it he did. “If we lose, then we blame it on Acorne.”
Captain Gordon remained unconvinced. He was not a great man for seeking out action, wanted only a fast, safe passage to Williamsburg. One where he would have little to do and even less to worry about. “I say no. ‘Tis best to leave him fettered in the hold, then take him to trial and see him hang.”
Any trouble aboard this ship would be caused because you are too lazy to get off your backside
. Very nearly Maynard spoke his thoughts, bit them back. For all his liking of Jesamiah Acorne he had no intention of finding himself also clapped in irons for insubordination.
Spotswood saw the clenched jaw, however; read the thought only too well, for it was precisely his own. He had small regard or respect for Gordon. Like too many sea captains he had bought his position with family money and had not an ounce of sea sense when it came to anything beyond the ordinary.
He stood, offered his hand to Maynard. “I agree with you. I think it an excellent plan. We show compassion to the fellow while he is aboard ship, give him a fair trial, then use him as we see fit. He can do no harm if set free of those shackles while we are at sea. Were he foolish enough to jump overboard we would not be heaving-to, as he is probably well aware; and if he is not, well, it will save us a hanging.”
Spotswood yawned expansively. “I give him into your care, Lieutenant. But mark this,” he wagged a warning finger, “If I lose my prisoner, I will hang you instead.”
Maynard nodded, saluted smartly and left before his superiors could change their minds.
Some minutes later, calling for the bo’sun, he hurried down through the for’ard scuttle into the darkened gloom of the below-deck world of the common sailors. Hoped he was not about to make the biggest mistake of his life.
Forty Two
Jesamiah was feeling wretched. He needed to urinate, had a head that was throbbing like all the drums of a massed battalion and felt nauseous because he had not eaten for over twenty-four hours. The shadows of a carried lantern bobbed and flared alternately as he heard footsteps approaching, but he did not look up. What would be the point? No one would have any sympathy for him; probably the opposite, he had already been kicked several times by jack tars as they had hurried past. His only pleasure, setting sail had not been as smooth and efficient as his own crew would have achieved. Either these men were lubberly raw recruits or the Captain was not respected. Maybe both.
“Acorne.”
Looking up into the bo’sun’s scowling, cragged face, Jesamiah made no answer. Was surprised to find the bosun’s cane that he carried and used with malicious spite was tucked away beneath his armpit. That cane was normally in constant use rapping legs, arms, buttocks, backs and heads; ‘starting’ anyone who was slow to move or obey. Bo’suns were a sadistic lot who could make life aboard ship one of utter misery for their victims. The harsh, often undeserved, discipline they wielded could not be avoided for there was nowhere to hide aboard a ship. Jesamiah was more surprised when the man bent down to unlock the ankle and wrist shackles that tethered him in an uncomfortable sitting position to the deck.
“On your feet.”
There was someone else standing behind him, but Jesamiah dared not look around, for that would be playing into this bastard’s hands. He flexed his legs, suppressed a gasp as cramped muscles screamed a protest.
“I said get up!” The cane dropped into the man’s hand.
“Easy, Bo’sun, I’ve told you before you are too handy with that cane. Captain Acorne is trying his best to comply.”
Maynard. Robert Maynard. What was this? Were they to hang him now? Where no one would notice or give a damn?
A pair of sturdy hands slid beneath Jesamiah’s arms and assisted him to rise, held him firm while the blood flowed back into his legs in an agony of needles and pins.
“I can manage from here, Bo’sun, thank you.” Maynard’s voice was pleasant, rich and deep, like a mug of steaming, velvet-smooth hot chocolate.
Grunting disapproval, the bo’sun marched away, his raised voice floating back a moment later as he reprimanded some unfortunate found lacking.
“I was unable to convince the Governor that you would appreciate a cabin, but you can at least get reasonable shelter to leeward beneath the Captain’s gig. And I have ordered the galley cook to fetch up hot food and a tankard of something equally warming. I’ve had to pay him of course; I’ll be expecting you to reimburse me at your earliest opportunity.”
Bewildered, Jesamiah took a sideways look at Maynard as the Lieutenant attempted to support his waist and aid him to walk a step or two to get the circulation going.
“It would help,” Maynard said, “if you were to put your arm around my shoulders and at least try to put one foot in front of the other.”
Jesamiah draped his arm as directed, but stood still. “I don’t understand. What the fok is going on?”
“I assume you have no objection to giving me your word that you will make no effort to escape, nor cause me embarrassment?”
Jesamiah looked blank.
“You have the title of Captain. Your rank, in my opinion, deserves courtesy. I have therefore secured your temporary parole – and I tell you this, if you let me down I will personally put the noose around your neck and kick you off a barrel.”
Taking a few tentative steps, Jesamiah nodded his gratitude. “Where are we headed?”
“Williamsburg.”
A few more steps and the cramp began to ease.
Maynard released his hold and fetched a bundle he had left at the foot of the ladder. He tossed it to Jesamiah, who caught it awkwardly. Then passed Jesamiah two old, worn, longboots. “Your boots and clothes. Your boy left them behind, I managed to retrieve them. They will be more suitable than what is left of that finery you have on.”
Clutching the bundle to his chest, Jesamiah remained quite still, utterly perplexed. “Jasper said the militia came to arrest my crew.”
“That they did.”
“Was it you who warned them? Told them to run?”
Maynard shook his head. “I would not be that disloyal to my rank. Though I happen to believe you are telling the truth.”
Jesamiah began to strip off the disgusting apparel he had on and to replace them with his old familiar clothes – equally dirty but far more comfortable. “Navy believing a pirate? Now I’ve ‘eard everythin’.”
“I also happen to admire your sailing skills. I think it stupid and a waste to hang someone who can handle a ship as well as you can.”
Jesamiah laughed. “So you want to recruit me into the Service, do you? I hate to disappoint you, mate, but I’d rather hang.” His wrists and ankles, he noticed in the faint lamplight, were chafed raw; the blood dried into a black mess. The sores would sting like mad later. He put the embroidered waistcoat back on, then his beloved long coat and rummaged in the pockets. No weapons, nothing, every pocket was empty.
“Our bo’sun gave it a thorough search,” Maynard apologised. “I’m sorry. It was that or keep on what you wore previously.”
Touching the gold hoop in his right earlobe, Jesamiah remembered his acorn was not there, then felt for the ragged ribbon tying his hair back. It was loose, he re-tied it, said; “No matter. I have all I need, should I need it.”
With Maynard’s occasional assistance Jesamiah found he could move reasonably well now the cramps had eased, even up the steep, narrow ladder to the open deck above. The night was cold and fresh, the blackness overhead studded with bright stars. He took a few deep breaths then made his way to the heads for’ard. He had been tempted to piss where he stood on the deck but some poor sod would only be punished for it, and it was not the crew’s fault he was here.
Maynard was waiting in the waist. “You are not thinking of jumping, I trust?” he queried, as Jesamiah stood at the rail peering at the black solidity of the distant shoreline. “I would hate to admit to Governor Spotswood that I made a fool of myself.”
Turning slowly, Jesamiah rested his elbows on the rail, leant back, “There are many things that I am, but stupid ain’t one among ‘em, Rob. There’s a lot of cold water and strong currents between us and the shore, an’ I ain’t keen on swimming at the best of occasions.” He paused, looked directly at the Lieutenant. “Mrs Mereno. She should have vouched for me.”
Maynard shook his head. “I questioned her personally. She said she was sent below. Saw nothing except you chasing after the
Fortune of Virginia
, and heard cannon fire.”
“And my Letter of Marque was in my desk drawer. I put it there myself before I sailed from Nassau.”
“There was no letter, Captain Acorne.”
The cook’s boy delivered a bowl of stew. Most of it was weak stock and gristle, but sitting cross legged on the lift and dip of the deck and spooning it down, Jesamiah reckoned he had tasted worse. The tankard of rum which followed was well watered, but tasted as good as the elixir of the gods. Figuring this could well be his last drink for quite a while, he swallowed the lot down, then wrapping his coat tight about his body, went to sleep thinking, as he dozed, that his shoulder was healing remarkably quickly, considering.
There was only one reason why the letter had not been in that drawer. Alicia had removed it. Which left a new riddle to be answered.
Why?