The Jezebel's Daughter (24 page)

XXIX

Hog Island, Bahamas

January, 1718

In order to avoid Nassau, we took a very circuitous route from Havana to New Providence, approaching from the north-east. Soon, the bulk of Sun Caye was between us and Nassau. We had timed our arrival in the area to coincide with sunrise, forcing anyone looking for us to stare directly into the rising sun, limiting our chances of being spotted.

Just as soon as the caye was in view, the watch in the crow's nest called out, “Sails, Captain! Harbored at Hog Island!”

Sebastian, standing at the binnacle, pulled a spyglass from the sash at his waist and looked due west of our position. Ben and I joined him and he passed the spyglass to Ben and asked, “What do you think? Looks like another brigantine, right?”

“Aye, Captain,” Ben answered and handed me the spyglass. “She be a brigantine. No colors though. Pirate?”

I peered through the glass and immediately spotted the sails. “It looks like there's more than one ship there,” I said. I squinted harder, willing the blurry images to sharpen. “I think I see maybe two other sloops, anchored just beyond the brigantine.” I glanced back at Sebastian. “His Majesty's Navy wouldn't send sloops, would they? I mean, fifth- or sixth-rates would be much more forceful.”

He nodded and turned to Harris, who was standing behind us at the wheel. “Mr. Harris, take us closer to Hog Island, but keep us out of gun range.” Harris snapped to and the ship began to tack starboard, moving towards the larger island. “Mistress Jones, please inform the gun crews to ready themselves.” He glanced at me. “Just in case.”

“Aye, Captain,” I said with a nod and moved to the quarter deck's gunwales and looked down onto the weather deck. “You heard the captain, boys!” I called out. “Ready gun crews!” The men snapped to and I felt a tiny frisson of excitement from the immediacy of their movement. I had never before felt anything even remotely like it. The men were working in concert to carry out an order I had given them, and it didn't matter that I was a woman. They were obeying me, just as they had obeyed Hamilton before me.

As we grew closer to the other ships, I saw that I had been correct. There were indeed two sloops anchored near the brigantine. A small tent city had been erected on a pristine beach and the watch in the crow's nest called out, “I see Rackham, Vane, and England's banners, Captain!”

“Bloody hell,” Sebastian said. “Raise the black, Mr. Duquesne. Mr. Harris, bring us in. Ben, a word?” He turned to the free man and grabbed his arm, pulling him away from me and in for a hushed conversation. Ben flashed me a quick glance and nodded resolutely. Sebastian patted him on the shoulder and headed down to the weather deck, calling out for one of the boats to be readied.

Ben came to stand next to me and I raised a brow. “He's told you to keep me aboard the ship, hasn't he?” I said through clenched teeth.

“Yes. He be worried about you on the beach with all them other men.”

“That's nonsense,” I said angrily. “He's undermining me, showing the men that he has no faith in my ability to take care of myself.”

“Or he be keeping the quartermaster safe in case something happens to the captain.” He took my wrist and turned me toward him. “Quit pouting. What if he be killed? Who will get the crew safe?”

I opened my mouth to answer him but snapped my teeth together without speaking. Crossing my arms, I sighed petulantly. “Fine. I'll stay aboard, safe and sound, like some sodding princess in a tower.”

Ben chuckled and patted my shoulder. “Good girl. Keep Harris at the wheel and Duquesne at the gunwales. We try to signal if things be going sideways.” He disappeared down the main hatch, no doubt to gather his weapons together. I was grateful that he was going with Sebastian; out of all the other crew members, he was the only one I trusted to keep Sebastian safe.

They left with three other crew members moments later in the jolly-boat. I stood at the gunwale, my gaze locked with Sebastian's as he was rowed ashore, memorizing his face and the look in his eyes. I hadn't let him kiss me before he left, out of fear of somehow offending the rest of the crew, but now I regretted it. So much for making the most of the precious time I had.

When I could no longer see his face clearly, I shifted my attention to the small tent city on the beach. A welcoming crew had assembled and I could make out the bright yellow calico shirt of Jack Rackham through the spyglass. The presence of three of the most notorious pirate crews in the Caribbean gathered together just a mile or so outside of Nassau wasn't a good sign. Perhaps there was more to the rumors of a new governor than we had originally thought.

I watched as Sebastian and Ben climbed out of the boat and dragged it up the shore. He shook hands with Rackham and two other men. I didn't recognize either of them, but assumed they were Charles Vane and Edward England. The stories and reputations of these three men made me a little fearful for Sebastian's safety and once more, I was thankful that Ben was with him.

I watched through the spyglass for as long as I could, until Sebastian and Ben were led away into a large tent and I lost sight of them. Duquesne stood at the gunwales with me. “He'll be fine, Mistress,” he said in a comforting voice. “You needn't worry for him.”

I regarded him with shock, which I quickly hid. Duquesne hardly ever spoke to me and never in such a manner. “Thank you, Mr. Duquesne. Are the gun crews still at the ready?”

He nodded and I handed him the spyglass. “Keep me updated. I want to know the instant they leave that tent. I'll be in the captain's cabin.”

I retreated downstairs into the cool, dimly-lit cabin. My legs felt like they were made of aspic and gave out as soon as I closed the door behind me. I sank to the floor, my feet splayed out in front of me. My heart was pounding in my chest and I felt as though I couldn't breathe deeply enough. I just needed to hold myself together until Sebastian came back. I stayed on the floor, giving myself a single moment of weakness, then drew myself up and sat at Sebastian's desk.

About an hour later, there was a knock at the cabin door. “Enter,” I called out, looking up from the ship's log in which I was writing an entry about the weather, the seas, and what was happening on the beach.

A skinny boy with spots on his face entered the cabin and immediately took his hat off and tucked it beneath his arm. “Ma'am,” he said, nervously clearing his throat. He was one of the cook's boys. What was his name? Robert? Rupert? Robin!

“Yes, Robin?” I said, laying aside my quill. “News from the beach?”

He bobbed his head in a nod, still refusing to meet my eyes. “Yes, ma'am. Captain sent Black Pete in the boat, says you're to go back to the beach with him. Says you're to bring your weapons and all the charts you corrected.” He darted a glance at my face and I smiled as gently as I could.

“Thank you, Robin. Dismissed.” He nodded again and shot out the door into the passageway like a ball from a pistol. I quickly finished my entry and went to my own cabin to dress more appropriately and collect my weapons. I selected a black cotton skirt, crisp black linen shirt, and a black wesket with scarlet red braiding along the edges. After slipping my feet into my boots, I strapped my saber and pistols to my hips and put on a long scarlet red frock coat with deep cuffs, a high collar, and real brass buttons. Then I went to Ben's cabin to collect together all the charts and maps I had worked on during my two years with the crew. I rolled them up carefully and put them inside a long tube made of water-tight leather and headed topside.

I stopped at the binnacle, where Duquesne was standing. “You have the ship,” I said to him. “Keep to the normal watch schedules, but please stand an extra man at the gunwales with a glass to watch the beach.”

His gaze swept me from head to toe and I saw his confidence in me coalesce in his eyes. He nodded and said, “Yes, ma'am. Black Pete's in the boat, waiting for you. Good luck. And be careful.”

I smiled gratefully at the boatswain and climbed down the ladder on the side of the ship, alighting with ease into the jolly-boat waiting there. Black Pete helped me to my seat in the bow and took up the oars. The man's nickname was something of a joke. He had straggly, thin white-blond hair, blue eyes, and almost translucent skin that turned an alarming shade of red in the sun. He spent most of his time in the hold, keeping an eye on the livestock—a milch goat, a half dozen chickens and a particularly ornery goose—that sailed with us and provided us with a little fresh food on long journeys. But he was the fastest rower in the crew. Sebastian would want him to shuttle people back and forth between the ship and the assemblage on the shore.

“They're giving you plenty of shade on shore, right?” I asked, turning to glance back at him over my shoulder.

“Yes, ma'am,” he answered with a smile that transformed his homely face into something approaching angelic. “Thanks for thinkin' of it.”

He rowed us quickly ashore and I helped drag the boat up the sand. “They're in the big tent, Mistress,” Black Pete said, pointing to a large tent in the middle of the chaos. I nodded my thanks to him and headed further up the beach. Two rather large and well-armed Negro men stood on either side of the entrance to the tent. I smiled at them and the one to my right pulled aside the flap, allowing me entrance.

I stepped inside and paused for a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the dim interior. My nose was assaulted with the stench of tobacco, ale, rum, and the distinctive scent of male musk. When my eyes adjusted, I glanced around and saw every face in the tent was male and they were all staring at me.

“Everything settled on the ship now?” Sebastian asked me, standing and indicating and empty seat next to him. Ben was standing behind Sebastian and as soon as I took my seat, he exited the tent, leaving just seven men and myself seated around a small square table that was covered with maps and charts and what looked like—at first glance, anyway—ships' articles.

I shot Sebastian a very confused look but nodded an affirmative to his question. “Aye, Captain,” I answered, working to make my voice steady and confident, despite my shaking hands and watery bowels. “Everything's just fine.”

“So, this is the famous Mistress Jones we've heard so much about,” said a particularly dangerous-looking man sitting across from me. “Doesn't look like much more than a pretty girl to me.”

“Now, Charles,” Sebastian said with a smirk. “The bluebottle is pretty, too, but its sting can stop a man's heart.” One corner of the other man's mouth pulled up in a sneer and I felt Sebastian take my hand beneath the table and give it a gentle squeeze. “I assure you, Charles,” Sebastian said and looked over the rest of the faces at the table, “and anyone else who might be questioning my decision to make Mistress Jones the
Jezebel
's quartermaster, that she is worth her weight in gold. Show them the charts, Loreley.”

I stared at him for a moment before I went to the table in the middle of the room. I awkwardly went through the maps already laid out there, looking at them and trying to determine which crew they belonged to and what they were showing. Finally, unable to make heads or tails of what I was looking at—and being acutely conscious of the restive men watching me with expressions ranging from boredom to outright disgust—I shifted them all to the side and unrolled the
Jezebel
's charts. A short, pleasant-looking man with a large, expressive blue eyes joined me and helped unroll and tack them down. “Thank you for your help, Mr...”

“England. Edward England. Captain of the
Cadogan
. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mistress Jones.” He took my hand and kissed the back of it in a most gentlemanly manner before retaking his seat.

Another man, Jack Rackahm—I recognized his calico shirt—stood and approached the table. “What are we looking at?” he asked me, his dark brown eyes shrewd and calculating.

“Well, Captain Rackham,” I answered. “This is the collection of charts I inherited from the last mate of the
Jezebel
. I've made many corrections and additions to them as we sailed throughout the region. I believe they are the most accurate of their kind.”

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat and summoned another man—short and squat with a generous, silver-threaded black mustache—to his side. Rackham dug through the stack of charts I'd pushed aside until he found one and pulled it out. He laid it down next to mine and said, “Featherstone? What do you think?”

The mustachioed man leaned forward and inspected the two charts closely. I saw that Rackham had selected a section of the north-east coast of the French colony of Guadeloupe. I glanced at Sebastian and he favored me with a loving smile and a wink. The confidence and pride he had in me shone in his face, further bolstering my own feelings.

“'Tis handy work, Jack,” Featherstone said. “Details are good. Much better than our own.” He looked up at me and fixed me with a hard stare. “You say you did these yourself, girl? How?”

“I learned from a British sailor, the mate of the
Resolution
,” I answered simply. Featherstone stared at me for a moment longer and then nodded curtly before he and Rackham took their seats.

“So you will stipulate that she has earned her place at this table?” Sebastian asked once I'd rolled up our charts and settled down at his side once more. “The charts are the least of her talents. She created our secret weapon, as well. The secret weapon that has made the
Jezebel
the most successful ship in these waters.”