The Noble Pirates (32 page)

I have never seen a more disturbing sight than Anomabu. What would have been a veritable paradise in 2011 was a scene from hell in 1719. The beauty of the blue waters, golden sand beaches, and emerald thickets of palmettos was lost in a scene of human suffering: long lines of naked, shackled natives trudged on the beach, the more reluctant of them receiving the sharp lashes of the slavers’ whips and canes. The waves were crowded with canoes and periaguas, themselves crammed with slaves, as they were rowed by African boatmen to the ships. The steady beating of native drums carried hauntingly in the thick, wet breeze. A cloud of mosquitoes hovered in the haze above our heads, and the ominous shadows of sharks cut through the waters below our feet. A sad little settlement of wood houses, mud huts, and a decaying fort sat in the hills beyond the beach, barely peeking out from a jungle that threatened to swallow it.

Howel didn’t even bother boarding the ships at first, forcing them to send a boat of representatives to him. A boat of six wary, dirty, unhealthy-looking men was sent from the
Princess
, and Howel welcomed them aboard the
Royal Rover
with his usual warmth.

“Greetings, gentlemen,” Howel said with a smile, standing with his legs apart and his hands behind his back. “Since I realize I have already wasted a good amount of your precious time, I will get to the point.”

“We ain’t got nothing but slaves,” one of the fellows grumbled, his brow furrowed, his eyes on the floor.

Howel’s smile broadened. “Ah, is that so?” He looked at Walter. “I think we’ll look for ourselves, just in case you are mistaken, my good man.”

Walter and nine others rowed to the
Princess
to loot it while Howel spoke amicably with the slavers. “I am afraid that I lost several men recently, and am therefore looking for replacements for me crew,” he told them with an apologetic smile. “Should there not be enough volunteers, I will have to force some of you. Men I want and men I will have, for I intend to fight a piracy that gives no quarter.” As I watched the men’s faces, I suspected that this was not an altogether disappointing – or shocking – bit of information to them. Their eyes shifted from Howel to their ship in the distance, where the looting was taking place in earnest. The
Princess
was being stripped of everything and anything of value – its liquor, arms, carpentry tools, doctor’s chest, and meat.

It came as a great surprise to all aboard the
Royal Rover
when suddenly the sails of the
Princess
began to rise and shudder, filling slowly with wind. Cries could be heard aboard the slaver as it began to move through the water, heading toward the fort.

The
Princess
was being retaken from the pirates, and it was slowly being sailed closer to the fort, so as to be under the protection of its guns.

Howel was not frantic in his orders, simply firm and slightly bemused. More of Howel’s men were sent quickly to the
Princess
, and with a brief struggle and no lives lost, the pirates regained control of the slave-ship.

“Bring those bold rebels to me,” Howel ordered, his eyes alight with interest.

The crew of the
Princess
was duly brought aboard the
Royal Rover
, and two bound men were thrust in the forefront. The rebels – the men who had taken the
Princess
and tried to run it into the protection of the fort.

“This one,” Walter told Howel, pointing to the bigger of the two men, “was the brains behind it, Cap’n. John Roberts, is his name. He’s third mate o’ the
Princess
, and from what I hear, he’s a skilled seaman. The men respect ‘im.”

Howel stepped forward, taking his time as he looked the two men over carefully. Both men were big – bigger than most. Unlike their emaciated and poxed shipmates, these two were brawny fellows with defiant looks in their eyes.

“What are you called?” Howel asked the first man, a red-faced Scot with a missing front tooth.

“John Stewart,” the Scot growled, eyeing Howel suspiciously.

Howel chuckled. “You’re an angry man, John Stewart. You’ll make a charming pirate.” He then stepped over to the second rebel, a tall, muscular man with ebony hair and a dusky complexion. “And you’re John Roberts, then.”

The second rebel lifted his head and returned Howel’s gaze unflinchingly. He was several inches taller than Howel, than most of the men except Sam for that matter, and he had black eyes that were heavily-lidded, giving his face an arrogant, almost bored expression. He surveyed the smiling pirate chieftain coolly, taking his time before answering, “Aye, that I am.”

Howel paused, his eyes focusing on a silver dragon charm that glinted from around John Roberts’ neck. “
O ble wyt ti’n dod?
” Howel asked in Welsh.

“
Casnewydd-Bach
,” Roberts replied, his expression unchanging.

“You’re a brave Welshman, John Roberts,” Howel said. “I meself have a weakness for brave Welshmen. Will you sign the Articles?”

Roberts straightened almost indiscernibly. “I will not,” he replied disdainfully.

Howel grinned, pulling a pistol from his baldric and cocking it. “I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood me, John Roberts,” he said, his fiery blue eyes locking with Roberts’ icy black ones. “You
will
sign the Articles. I’ve never had to force a man to join me, but I will gladly do the honors for such a respected countryman.”

He stepped back slowly, still staring at Roberts, the pistol held loosely in his hand. Finally breaking the gaze, Howel glanced around at the faces of the slaver’s crew and said, “Which of you will enter with me? For if you do not enter willingly, I promise I will make gentlemen of you all!”

Most of the men were willing, excited even. They came forward, some pretending to be reluctant, all eventually donning a new set of clothes and a smug look on their faces. Some danced about happily and put ribbons in their hats. This was the best thing that could have possibly happened to them.

Thirty-four men joined Howel’s crew that day, and although there was some ambiguity as to whether the captains of the slavers were favored by their crews, Howel spared them. He then gave the
Morrice
to his
Marquis del Campo
prisoners and set them free.

Riding the coastal current, we sailed toward the Bight of Benin and into the Gulf of Guinea. That afternoon, the new crew members signed the Articles, including John Roberts. Of all of them, he was the only one I truly felt was disinclined to go on the account. I watched as he scribbled his name, the corners of his mouth downturned in a frown, his eyes giving nothing away.

It was true that the man had an aura about him. And it wasn’t simply his imposing physical presence, either; he was obviously at home on the sea, and moved with an ease, a confidence that was remarkable. It was hard to peg his age, but he looked to be in his late thirties, which was fairly old for a pirate. He had a broad, sculpted face that was not handsome, but Roberts nonetheless struck me as the sort of man that women found attractive, if only for his cool self-possession. He spoke to hardly anyone, preferring to keep to himself, but he watched his new crewmates – particularly his new captain – carefully, his dark eyes shifting astutely from face to face. At one point, I looked up to find his eyes resting on me, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Our eyes met for a split second, and he gave me what seemed to be a contemptuous smile, exposing a set of very white, very straight teeth. He had no reason to believe I was other than what I seemed – that is, a simple cabin boy – but I shuddered nonetheless.

He was a shrewd observer, that Roberts, and something troubling lurked in the depths of those arrogant, black eyes. It frightened me.

The morning immediately after the capture of the three slave-ships, Howel Davis captured another Dutch vessel – and this time, he hit the jackpot.

The Dutch ship showed her heels the instant it spotted the black flag, but the
Royal Rover
was much faster. After a brief chase, the
Royal Rover
sailed up next to the prey and fired a broadside. That ended the chase, as the Dutch ship struck its colors and asked for quarter. Howel Davis, being the merciful pirate that he was, always gave his surrendering prisoners quarter. He then sent a boarding party to assess the prize, and was astounded when the pirates returned, revealing that the Governor of Accra was on board, and the ship carried fifteen thousand pounds in cash.

“Holy Christ!” Howel cried upon hearing the news, his eyes widening, his grin stretching from ear to ear. He then looked at me, and I could tell he wanted to swoop me up into his arms. I pursed my lips, unable to hide the smile in my eyes.

Walter, as quartermaster, set about dividing up the loot, and while Howel, Walter, and the other pirate “officers” got larger cuts, the regular hands each got one hundred pounds, an enormous amount compared to the salary of a slave-ship sailor, which was a measly two pounds per month. The new recruits did not share in the booty, since they had been with the crew for just one day. They watched hungrily as the pirates sorted the coins into individual piles, drinking their newly acquired liquor and laughing amongst themselves.

Only John Roberts surveyed the proceedings with interest rather than longing. He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, listening intently as a dispute between two crew members was set to a vote. I could see the wheels turning in that head of his as he learned the pirate system of democratically divided power. He must have been surprised, as I had been, to see that beneath the facade of lawlessness, there was an egalitarianism enforced by a strict set of rules.

The crew voted to put into Cameroon and careen their ships, the
Royal Rover
and the leaking
King James
. They finished converting the
Royal Rover
into a pirate ship by tearing down any remaining bulkheads and clearing the deck of clutter. The
King James
was a different matter – the hull was badly damaged, and required considerable timber for repair. As Howel, Walter and the crew debated what to do, Howel unexpectedly turned to John Roberts and asked, “Roberts, what think you?”

Roberts had been leaning against a stack of timber in the shadows, his arms crossed on his chest, listening to the proceedings impassively. Now, upon being addressed, his eyes flickered to Howel. “The hull’s too damaged,” Roberts answered after a pause, the sound of his deep voice causing heads to turn in his direction. “She’ll spring another leak in time, holding you back. I say strip her and leave her.”

A vote revealed the majority agreed with Roberts, and afterward he approached Howel. He pointed to the
Royal Rover
, which lay beached on her side as Howel’s men cleaned her. “She’s quite a ship,” he said.

Howel turned, surprised by Roberts’ apparent desire to converse. “Aye, that she is,” he replied. “She’s more than a match for any ship that wants to fight her.”

Roberts slowly ran his eyes over the large hull before saying, “We can make her even faster, stronger. That is, if you’re willing to make some changes.”

Shading his eyes from the sun to better see Roberts, Howel asked, “Aye? What sorts of changes?”

Roberts smiled enigmatically, and that was when he began speaking in Welsh. The two Welshmen retreated beneath the palms, speaking in their native tongue of things that I would not have understood even if they had been said in English. Howel’s eyes were bright as they spoke, and I felt just a hint of jealously at being unable to bring such a look to his face. He may have been a notorious pirate with the most fearsome pirate crew on the Guinea Coast, but as Howel Davis spoke with John Roberts, he could not hide the homesick longing from his countenance.

Later that night I crept into Howel’s tent, and in the stagnant heat we lay speaking softly to one another. It was too unbearably hot to make love, to even touch each other. As I wiped the sweat from my face, I lamented our lack of an air-conditioned bedroom with clean, running water and freshly laundered bedsheets. Hell, I would have settled for Governor Agostinho’s suite back in São Nicolau in a heartbeat.

Howel would not stop raving about John Roberts. It was starting to get on my nerves. “He’s brilliant, Sabrina,” Howel said, lying on his back in a state of near nakedness, a hand thrust behind his head and his chest glistening with perspiration. “The man knows a tremendous amount about sailing rigs, courses, currents, longitude… A real bit o’ luck, getting ahold of him.”

“How can you trust him?” I asked. “How do you know he’s not trying to trick you?”

Howel smiled. “Sabrina. You’ve been with pirates long enough to know the answer to that. What good would that do him? If a pirate is a rebellious dog that defies authority, then the common sailor is a beaten bitch that’s too weak to utter a whimper. No, Roberts is too strong for that. He knows the best course for him is to stick with us and aid us in any way he can. This is his lot too, now.”