Pirate Freedom (38 page)

It is a mortal sin to take your own life. I know that, and it was one of the things the monks pounded home to us—do not kill yourself so that your soul can be with God. It will not. You are not free to reject His gift of life.

But I think I would have killed myself if Novia had not been there. She had hidden among the Kuna, as I ought to have guessed. Pinkie brought her to me when we had been marching for almost a week, saying that Novia was my wife, too. I did not bother to explain that we were not married. I just said that I did not have two wives. Novia was my wife and Pinkie was not—not that I did not like her. (The last thing I needed was an enemy among the Native Americans.) I did like her, she was a wonderful woman and very beautiful and smart. Only not my wife.

Pinkie would not hear of it. She was my wife. Novia was my wife. The other woman was my wife, too.

Novia and I just stared at each other. What other woman?

It was Azuka. I am sure it was funny, but none of us could laugh. We could only hold each other and try to bring each other some comfort. Willy was dead. Jarden had tried to kill Azuka, and she had run away from him. It took me a long time to get the whole story, and I never did get all of it. Willy had drowned crossing some little river. Jarden had tried to kill her because she would not stop crying for Willy. I told her I understood, she could cry all she wanted, and if Jarden or anybody else tried to kill her I would stop it quick. Novia said the same thing.

(That was when I found out that the best way in the world to make yourself feel better when you have hit bottom is to try to get somebody else to feel better. There are certain things in life that are truly worth knowing, and that is one of the big ones.)

So Azuka had run away, and I was the only person she could think of who might protect her. She had started asking about me, where was I, when she stopped running. It had made Pinkie think she was another wife.

For the next week or so, I kept telling Novia that she should have let me know she was along sooner. And she kept saying that she had been afraid I might really kill her. I think the thing she was really afraid of was that I would have wanted to take her back, and there would have been a big fight with Capt. Burt.

That is all I am going to say about the march, except that people kept getting sick, day after day after day. Later, Capt. Burt told me there was one day when we lost twenty men.

Anyone would think we would not have had the strength left to attack Santa Maria when we got there, but we did. There were houses to keep off the rain, cisterns full of good water, food, and a navigable river. A Spanish army could have killed us all before an hour was out, but we would have gone for its throat like mad dogs. Which was pretty much what we were by then.

The really crazy thing was that there was hardly anyone in the town to fight. The Spanish settlers just gave up, and there were only about a dozen soldiers. We took the whole town just by saying we had taken it.

There was no mule train, though, and only a little gold. Everybody we captured said that the officer in charge of the mule train had decided that Santa Maria was too dangerous. He had taken the mules and the gold back along the coast to Panama.

We had another meeting the next day—not just the captains, the whole bunch of us. I was starting to hate those meetings. It seems to me that the more people there are at a meeting the more nuts there are, and the nuts are always the loudest people there. At this one, what seemed like just about everybody wanted to follow the mule train again. It was only a day and a half ahead of us, maybe two days, and if it beat us to Panama—it could not by much—we would take Panama and the gold, too.

Finally Capt. Burt stood up and said very sensibly that it was common knowledge that Panama had been rebuilt and fortified since Henry Morgan had taken it and burned it, and we had no more chance of taking it than we would have of taking Mexico.

They did not like that, but he was the senior captain there, and they had to let him talk.

Which he did, pointing out that there were supposed to be about two thousand soldiers in Panama now. Maybe more. If we caught up to the mule train now, it was bound to be close to there, and some of the soldiers guarding it were bound to make it back there. It would mean that we would be crossing the isthmus driving tired mules carrying heavy loads of gold, with a thousand or more soldiers after us.

He sat down, we voted, and it was something like five hundred and ninety for chasing the mule train. Capt. Burt stood up again and said he was not going. He was going to lead a party back to Portobello and the ships. If nobody would go with him, he was going back alone.

I jumped up then and said he would not have to. I would be with him, and so would Novia. By noon, it had all been settled. Capt. Burt would go back, with Rombeau and me, and Capt. Gosling. We would have about sixty men. Both the women would go with us, of course.

Captains Dobkin, Cox, Isham, and Ogg would go after the mule train with the rest, including the Kuna. Capt. Dobkin would be in command of their group. For our part, we promised to tell the men that had been left on their ships what had gone on when we got back to Portobello.

Which we did.

Both groups marched as soon as everything had been decided, Dobkin's because they were hoping to overtake the mule train and knew that one hour might make all the difference. Us, because we were worried about our ships, and most of all because we wanted to put the whole fool enterprise behind us.

We were slower even so. As well as I can remember now, Dobkin's bunch had left a couple of hours before we had everyone rounded up and ready to go. Dobkin's bunch, I said. That did not include the Kuna, even though the Kuna had promised to guide them. The Kuna stayed behind. I was hardly aware that they were still there when Novia and I were rounding up as much food as we could find and filling empty wine bottles with good water.

And of course, stealing anything else we could find that seemed worth carrying back to Portobello. It was a couple of doubloons and a ring—or that is all that I can remember.

Finally we left, after getting together all the men we could find. Jarden went with Dobkin, I am sure. Antonio stayed with us. So did Azuka and Mahu, and various others. There is little point in my trying to write a roster here. I would be certain to make some mistakes.

The screams as we tramped away are the part I remember most clearly. I have heard those screams in my sleep on and off ever since. Behind us, the Kuna were spearing the Spanish we had spared—the men, the women, and the kids. I do not believe I had ever felt sorry for any Spanish up to that moment.

WE REACHED PORTOBELLO ready to drop. Just the same, we put out the same day. A Spanish pinnace had been sighted the day before, everyone felt the galleons could not be far behind, and the mates left in charge had practically been holding their crews at pistol-point. When they heard that Dobkin, Cox, and the rest were not with us, they hoisted anchor within an hour. We would meet in the Saint Blaise Islands to decide what to do next.

Before we got there, however, Capt. Harker joined us in his sloop, the
Princess
. Novia and I watched him board the
Weald
and speculated a good deal on what news he might bring—a sport in which we were soon joined by Boucher. When I saw signal flags being run up the mizzen of the
Weald
, I felt certain the signal was to be "All Captains." When the flags were shaken out, however, it was only "Capt. Chris" who was asked to join Capt. Burt.

To head off a row I took Novia with me, and Capt. Burt made no objection.

TWO DAYS, AND I
have written nothing. My passport came, but no one is answering the telephone at the Cuban consulate in New York. None of the airlines I have called is offering service to Havana yet. Nor would I wish to try to make my way to the airport through this snow, to be entirely honest; mono service is not to be relied upon in weather as cold as we have had.

Before I write any more, I ought to explain that I have been generally called Capt. Chris or Fr. Chris because of the length and difficulty of my last name. Few know it, and fewer can pronounce it correctly. As for spelling out my name in signal flags, there is not a signalman in the world who would not abbreviate it.

After mass today, I went trolling for some pirate Web sites and found several. One offered a short biography of a Capt. Cos or Kruss, believed to have been Dutch or German. It was not until I read that he had disappeared after sailing from Havana alone in a small craft that I realized that I was "Capt. Cos," although the detail that Cos was said to have made his wife his chief lieutenant should have alerted me.

WHEN THE FOUR
of us were seated in Capt. Burt's cabin, he said, "You two have met Captain Harker before, I know. I left him at Long Bay to speed the bigger vessels to me, and he's done well. I've already given him his company's share of what we got at Portobello and Santa Maria. That was little enough, I'm afraid."

Harker nodded. "Not what we were hoping for, but bad luck can't last forever."

"Exactly. Forgive me now, Hal. I'm goin' to repeat a few things you've already heard.

"Chris, you know what I planned earlier. Maracaibo's a different article from that damned Portobello. Or Santa Maria, either. Portobello may be the most disease-ridden town in the world. Maracaibo's healthy. Portobello's a coastal place. Because it is, the good cits feel exposed and are forever demandin' more protection from the Spanish Crown. Maracaibo's an inland port, at the tail end of the Gulf of Venezuela. Think of jolly old London, up the Thames from the sea. Better still, think of Santa Maria, miles and miles up its river from the Gulf of Saint Michael."

I nodded.

"You say Maracaibo is not like." Novia looked worn and tired, as all of us except for Harker did. "How is different?"

"Santa Maria's little more than a fishing village, Señora. Maracaibo's a city, larger than Portobello and Santa Maria combined."

"A rich city," Harker added.

Novia shrugged. "Ver es creer." I doubt that either Capt. Burt or Harker understood her.

"A damnation rich city. The cacao trade alone …" Burt shook his head. "Great fortunes have been made in that. More are bein' made every day. Besides that, the land behind Maracaibo's prime cattle country. Hides, tallow, and dried and salt beef flow like water through the city, tons of 'em."

"What is cacao?" I asked. "I've never heard of it."

Novia grinned. "We say chocolate, Crisóforo. What is your English word?"

Capt. Burt answered for me. "Pretty much the same, Señora—chocolate." He turned to me. "Chocolate's made from cacao beans, and they say the best beans in the world are grown in Venezuela."

"About this I do not know," Novia told him. "Three things only, I know. Of these primero, my first, is that chocolate costs silver in Coruña, where it is drunk at the tables of the most rich. Segundo, my second, is that this Maracaibo has been warned of us. Tercero, my third, is that Crisóforo and I have only marineros sufficient for the work of our sails. Because I know these three things, I listen and listen. But I do not believe."

Capt. Burt smiled. I could not see his hands, but I suspected that he was rubbing them together. "Everythin' you say is true, Señora. As to the price of chocolate, I can only set my seal to your own assessment. It's awfully valuable. Because it is, great sums reach Maracaibo. As to the second—"

Harker interrupted him. "Can we trust her, Captain? She's Spanish."

"I'd trust her," Capt. Burt said slowly, "as far as I'd trust any man I know."

I said, "You can certainly trust Novia—and me—enough to tell us we'll be going back to Port Royal to refit and fill our ship's companies."

"I won't lie to either of you." Capt. Burt smiled again. "We're not. I mean to recruit among the logwood cutters of Campeche and the Cimaroons of Honduras."

Novia looked sidelong at me, and when I did not speak asked, "They are good marineros there, Capitán?"

"They ain't seamen at all, Señora. You and Chris will have to train 'em. Which you'll do, I know, and first rate."

"They're good fighting men," Harker added.

Captain Burt nodded. "That takes care of your third point, Señora. As for your second, I'm fortunate to have a captain who speaks Spanish so well that he can pass as a Spaniard."