Pirate Freedom (44 page)

At night, and sometimes by day, Novia and I talked about what we would do with our share of the gold. We would buy a hacienda in New Spain. Or a big farm in the New Jersey colony Capt. Burt had told me about once. Or a fine house in Madrid. Or Havana. A sugar plantation on Jamaica.

We would have the yard that had built the
Castillo Blanco
build a ship like that for us, hire a crew, and sail it around the world.

As time wore on we talked about what Novia might do if I were killed, and what I might do if she were. I am not going to go into that here. Some things are too personal, and that is one of them.

The tenth day was clear and warm, just like the first nine. It was about halfway through the forenoon watch when the
Weald
signaled
ENEMY IN VIEW
. After that, we followed
Weald
, in accordance with orders.

I did not get a good look at the three treasure ships until the day was more than half gone. There was a big galleon (later I learned she was the
San Felipo
), and two other ships that were only a little smaller (the
Socorro
and the
Zumaya
). So far, we had not worried them enough to make them turn back, which was what we wanted.

What we did not want was for them to keep going after sundown. Most Spanish ships hove to after sundown, and that was what we were expecting and hoping for. These kept going. That may have been SOP for the treasure ships, or it may just have meant that the captain of the
San Felipo
was getting a little concerned.

If it had been up to me, I would have gone for them that night. Capt. Burt decided to wait until morning. Having said that, I should also say that he had good reasons for it. First, we might wear down the Spanish crews a little if they were made to stand to their guns as long as we were in sight. Second, and more important, they could have put out their lights and scatted. If they had done that, we would have had a good chance of getting one, but not much chance of getting all three.

All three were what we wanted.

I slept on deck that night, which was no great hardship. About the time I was yawning and stretching, the
Weald
made signal:
CROSS BOW OF LEAD SHIP GOOD LUCK CHRIS
.

We crammed on as much sail as
Sabina
would carry in that wind, which was pretty much everything. The Spanish ships were strung out, as I saw
when we got closer. The big galleon was in back to protect the smaller ships. One of those was about a quarter mile in front of her, and the other out in front of that one by about half as much.

I stayed west out of range of the galleon's guns. She fired anyway, throwing up fountains a hundred yards to starboard. It is a trip to be shot at and missed. It gets the old heart pumping and brightens up the eyes something wonderful.

When we got out front and put the wheel over, all that torment we had gone through in the Strait of Magellan paid off. This was fair weather, just a good stiff following wind. We put the helm over, brought the yards around, and had everything drawing again faster than any diesel-engine sailor would have thought possible.

The Spanish captain was ready for us and began his turn the moment he saw us go about. We fired as soon as our guns bore and got off the first broadside.
Zumaya
answered before the echoes had died away. Counting her guns was easy—she carried eight per side, five in the main battery and three on the weather deck. I guessed them twelve-pounders. If I was right, we were throwing a little more metal.

What really counts, though, is how much metal hits. The general rule with guns like we had is to aim at the base of the mainmast and pray to hit something. We were aiming a little higher and firing chain shot, because the last thing we wanted to do was to sink her. Novia was running up and down our weather deck checking aim, and Boucher was doing the same thing down below. But chain shot is slower to load and less accurate than round shot, and we were taking some punishment.

It looked bad until the Spanish captain tried to get fancy. His idea was to lag a little, then turn north again and rake us. It was the kind of thing I have seen a lot of guys do in fights—a good idea for somebody faster. We swung
Sabina
north again, it was our broadside to his bow, the same thing Capt. Burt had wanted originally.

I do not know how much damage altogether it did to
Zumaya
's rigging, but her formast went down and there seemed to be a good deal more.

"Shall we lay alongside, Captain?"

That was Bouton, and I told him I was not ready to die quite yet.

"But, Captain—"

"How long for the rest of them to catch up?"

He had not thought of that. I could see it in his face.

There was more fencing. One of our ships—usually the
Weald
—would engage the big galleon broadside-to-broadside. While the galleon was busy with whoever it was, somebody else—
Snow Lady, Rescue, Fancy
, or us— would cross her stern.

Or try to.

A minute can be forever when there is that kind of fighting. All afternoon (and we did it all afternoon) takes a year. There would be an hour or more of jockeying for position. Then hard shooting for five minutes or so, and then another hour or two of tacking, turning and edging around. I had musket men in the rigging, and Nazaire swore he hit the captain. If he did, I did not see any sign of it.

We did our best to keep track of them during the night and lost them anyway. Capt. Burt thought they had gone back to Callao. I did not get to speak to him, but I know he did from the orders he gave.
Sabina
was to look north, with
Magdelena
and
Princess
. I was in command. If we found them, Rombeau and I were to engage, and send Harker south.
Weald, Snow Lady, Rescue
, and
Fancy
would look south and send to us if they found the chase.

So what he thought was pretty plain.
Sabina
and
Weald
had taken more punishment than the others—
Weald
most of all, I would say, but it was the biggest we had and so was more able to take it.

The other thing was that I had the three fastest ships. The prevailing winds are north along that part of the coast, and he must have figured that if the Spanish had taken off north, they would make good time. It would be no use to send any ships but the fastest we had after them. On the other hand, running home to Mama would mean a lot of tacking. Our ships could probably out-tack the Spanish even if they were in good shape, and
Zumaya
had no foremast and would have trouble tacking even with a good captain and a handy crew.

Anyway, off we went with six men at the pumps and a dozen more trying to plug shot holes. That sounds like we were limping along, but actually we were not. I had the log cast three times, and one of those readings was sixteen knots. That was flying for a ship like
Sabina
, and I knew darned well that the Spanish were not going to make that kind of speed.

The thing was that I had thought about the same things Capt. Burt had, and had come up on the other end. There were three things they could do: go back to Callao, go west into the Pacific, and go north to Panama.

I tried to put myself into the head of the galleon captain:
"Callao is close,"
I said to myself,
"but it's upwind. It might take us every bit as long to get there as it would for us to get to Panama. So that's strike one. My orders don't say a thing about going back there, and everybody in town will say I'm a quitter. Strike two. Worst of all, it's what they'll expect. So strike three and out
.

"Heading off into the Pacific is something they'll never expect, so that's a point in its favor. Ball one. But just look at all the problems. The farther we go, the longer it will take to get back. Strike one. We're not carrying enough food and water—water especially—to sail west for a week or so and then come back, angling north for Panama. Strike two. When we get back, we'll likely find the pirates hanging around near Panama waiting for us, and have to fight them anyway. Strike three. But none of that is the worst. It's against orders. If I do it, people may think I'm running off with the gold myself. Those people could include the captains under me and even my own crew. So that's absolutely out. No way!

"That leaves Panama. Sure, it's farther—strike one—but look at all the good stuff. It's what my orders call for—one base. Nobody's goin' to talk about cowardice or stealing—two bases. They won't expect it—I'm rounding third. It's downwind— home run! 'Well, Admiral Valdes, sir, God and all His saints were with me, and Captain Burt hung his curve.' "

I told everybody to get ready. We had drawn the long straw, and they were ours.

Which they almost were. We caught up with them about noon,
Princess
scooted off to tell Capt. Burt as ordered, and Rombeau and I got out in front and turned broadside-on. The idea was to keep them dodging and tacking until
Weald
and our other ships showed up. It worked twice, and then they caught on.

I had expected them to scatter, but they came at us in a line ahead, the
San Felipo
in the lead. It meant she was heading into our broadsides, and as long as she was bow-on we really pounded her.

She pounded us a little bit, too. She had six bow chasers, and they looked like four twelve-pounders and two twenties to me. We had the upper hand and did some real damage, but it was no picnic.

We wore ship as she came on, turning so as to keep our broadsides toward her. I kept hoping she would veer off. But hit or missed, or maybe replaced, her skipper had guts.

And big guns on the lower deck, probably thirty-two-pounders. She got it from both sides as she passed between us, but she gave as good as she got, and better.
Socorro
and
Zumaya
followed her. All I can say about them was
that they pounded us some more. Maybe we pounded them a little, too. I know we tried, and tried hard.

This gets painful. Fr. Wahl keeps a bottle of Scotch in his bedroom, or so he says, and has invited me to join him whenever. Tonight I am going to knock on his door and take him up on it. If things go as I hope, I will get a drink or two—no more than two—and an hour's good talk.

Then go to bed. More tomorrow.

A LOT OF
men were dead, and a lot more were hurt so badly that they died in the next couple of hours. When a wooden ship is hit by a cast-iron cannonball, it throws splinters every which way. It throws them hard, and some are big. We did the best we could for our wounded, but our best was not much.

I am not going to list all the men who died here. I will list the one woman—otherwise you will feel sure it was Novia. It was Azuka. As for the rest … Well, a lot of the names I have mentioned over and over in telling my story will not be mentioned anymore.

Novia and I were not hurt, or at least not badly. I would say that there were about thirty of us who were not. Why God ruled that we were to be spared, I cannot say.

His mysteries lie beyond our comprehension.

The Spanish might have turned around and sunk both our ships. Or
maybe
Magdelena
could have gotten away. What I know for sure is that we could not have. Anyone's guess is as good as mine as to why they did not. Mine is that their assignment was to carry the gold to Panama, not to fight pirates. They may also have seen
Princess
run off to fetch
Weald
and the rest of our ships.

Magdelena
chased them, and we did our best to keep up. After six hours or more of that, Novia came up from the hold and said, "She sinks tonight, Crisóforo. It is best, perhaps, if we go before the sun. No?"

It was, and we did. I signaled Rombeau, and he hauled wind. Our longboat was stove, but we got a few men into the jolly and the piragua.
Magdelena
's longboat took the rest, the sound and the wounded.

The dead we left on board.

No. I did not go down with my ship, but I was the last to leave. That night, when we were alone in the cabin Rombeau gave up for us, Novia and I held each other and she cried. I did not, but I wanted to. I would have felt better, I know, if I had. I could not.

I WOULD NOT
want to go back to the three or four days that followed, but I must write about them here for the record to be complete.