to the Far Blue Mountains (1976) (14 page)

"You'd like that. To have me go ashore and leave you to command!" He stared at me from under bushy brows. " 'Tis an unlikely thing."

He peered at me. "Who says you can handle a ship? Or a crew?"

"Ask them below there," I said, gesturing. "Now go below and get yourself a clean shirt, clean pantaloons and a trim for your beard after a shave. Don't appear on this quarter-deck without them."

He started to argue, his eyes peering at me. "Go," I repeated, "or you'll find yourself among the crew."

"You'll need a new sailing-master then," he said, "unless you can lay a course yourself, for there's no other aboard can do it."

"Show up here looking the way an officer on the poop deck should look, and you'll keep the job," I said harshly. "Otherwise I'll do it myself."

"You can lay a course, can you?"

"Aye," I said, "but I've no wish to displace you."

Grumbling, he went down the ladder, and with Lila following I went into the aftercabin.

Surprisingly, it was not so bad as I'd expected. But it was still not good enough to suit Lila. "Go! Leave this to me! And the cooking, too! Just see there's enough aboard to do with!"

Out on deck again I turned the crew to, late as it was, and set them mopping decks, coiling lines, and making things shipshape. There were enough good Newfoundlanders aboard so that the job was not a great one, but it stirred them about and let them know a new hand was at the wheel.

All the while I was thinking. I'd no wish to be a pirate, only to be ashore in Raleigh's land with Abigail, at the same time I'd grown up in an England of the Armada, of Raleigh, Drake, Frobisher and Hawkins. Sea-fighting was in the English blood, and the Spanish were sailing their great galleons up the coast from the Antilles, loaded with gold, some of them.

With the crew at work I went to the aftercabin and spread out the charts on the great table there. They were old, none so good as those aboard my own ship, yet good enough, and I'd a memory for the charts I'd left behind. Yet I studied them, supplying what else was needed from the memory of those other charts.

Westward and south, along the shores of the Gaspe then south past Nova Scotia and down the coast, holding well out to sea.

I was still at the charts when an hour had passed and the sailing-master returned. He'd done a good bit to himself, and looked fresh and clean ... at least, cleaner.

When he saw me studying the mouth of the great river of Canada, he shook his head. "Do not think on it. A strange ship has newly come there, a ship with many guns that flies no flag I've ever seen. He who commands is a pirate also, but like none I have ever seen. He owns but one hand. Where another was there is now a hook, sometimes a claw or talon. He is a young man, very strong, very quick, and I believe he does not leave. An Indian told me he is building a great house, a castle, perhaps, on a hill in the mountains."

"We will avoid him then." Looking at the men down on the deck, I noticed one, a strongly made fellow with fine shoulders and a well-shaped head. "That one down there. Who is he?"

"A Newfoundlander, and a good man, too. His name is Pike. Or so they call him.

He was a fisherman before he came with us, and a hunter of whales."

"And your name?"

"Handsel. The first name is Peter, but I am called Hans or Hands ... it does not matter which."

"You know this man Pike?"

He nodded. "He works well, and he fights well." Then he added, "I think he is the best seafaring man aboard. He knows the sea and he has a love for the ship."

That night the food upon the table was food Lila had prepared, and it was good.

The men ate, and ate, and pushed back from the table with a sigh. Watching them, I knew my struggle was over, for it is rare that sailors have such food and they would not risk losing her, even if they wished to lose me.

After a few days, I mused, I would have no trouble. Whoever heard of a revolution of fat men?

Long I studied the charts while the crew worked upon the deck, repairing lines and sails and simply dressing her up for sea. As the beauty of the ship became evident, their pride in her grew.

On the third day I was upon the deck and the man I had inquired about passed me.

Within the hearing of several, I stopped him. "Pike?"

He turned squarely to face me.

"Starting today you are sailing-master. You will direct the deck work, and the handling of sails. You will report to me ... and only to me."

"Aye!"

"The ship is our home, Pike. It is also our fortress, our refuge. I wish it treated so. If there comes a time when we must sail through the eye of a needle, I want her ready. Do you understand?"

"I will do that. She will be ready, Captain."

On the fifth day we sailed out of the harbor and set our course for the coast of the great land to the west, but I chose a route that would hold us far at sea and clear of the Gaspe.

Whoever the pirate was who had the claw hand, I had no quarrel with him. Let him go his way, and I mine, and mine was for Raleigh's land.

For three days the wind held true and we made good weather of it, seeing neither land nor ship, nor wishing it. My intent was to reach for the south, closer to home, and perhaps a Spanish ship.

On the sixth day in the morning watch there was a cry, "Sail ho!"

With the glass I'd found aboard I studied her. It was a small fishing vessel, nothing aboard, no doubt, but hardworking fishermen and their catch, and I'd rob no such man.

"The other would have," Handsel said grimly. " 'Twas said he passed nothing!"

"And wasted his time," I replied shortly, "judging by what's below."

Twice during the next few hours we sighted craft. One was another fishing vessel; the second was an Icelandic boat. Having been dealt with so justly at their hands, I had no intention of returning the favor by looting a craft that might belong to some friend of Thorvald's.

Now we moved in closer to the coast. It was a dangerous practice, and this I knew, but I believed that most Spanish craft came north along the great warm stream that flows along the coast of America until nearly opposite Raleigh's land, when they turned eastward for Spain.

We were still far tp the north, but there was ever a chance ...

Pike was at my elbow. "Captain," he spoke for my ears only, "there's a vessel beyond the island there." He indicated the direction with a nod. "Over the trees? Can you see?"

"Aye." I directed my glass that way and saw it plain, only the tips of her masts visible above the trees on the low, sandy island. Those masts should be showing well above the trees, and I had an idea about that.

"Pike, have a look. What do you think of her masts?" He peered through the glass, then turned to me. "She's stepped her topm'sts, Captain. Whoever she is, she's stepped her topm'sts not to be visible. For some reason she's lying up."

"Aground?"

"She's on an even keel. She's making repairs, I'd say, or being looted."

Taking the glass I studied the shore. The island was low and sandy with a few sandhills covered with coarse grass, and the sandy ridge along the backbone of the island was covered with pines.

There was a mild sea running and we eased the whipstaff to guide her in closer along shore. I saw no sign of life anywhere.

Night was coming on and I liked not the look of the shore.

"Captain?" Pike said. "We've a man aboard knows this island."

I lowered my glass, incredulously. "Aye, we call him Blue, for there's an odd color to his skin. He was fishing off the Banks and was blown away for several days ahead of a storm. He once landed here for water ... there's springs on the other side."

"Have him up. I would speak with him."

Still no sign of life or movement. Was she a dead ship, then? Or some trick of the eye and no ship at all? Or were we watched from beneath the pines, yonder?

Blue was a lean, long-armed man with a face scarred by powder or some such thing, giving it a blue cast. "I know her," he said, "and there's a fair anchorage beyond the island, good holding ground if the weather be good. More than one ship has watered there."

It was growing dark, but through the glass which I handed him he could barely make out the masts. "I've a feeling about her," he said, taking the glass from his eye, "and I'd be hard put to say the why of it, but I am certain sure she is Flemish. My eyes are better than most and I seem to see a heart-shaped dead-eye in her rig-and the Flemish do like them so."

Under his guidance, and with careful use of the lead, we worked our way about the end of the island, with no lights showing.

In a small cove Blue knew, we dropped our anchor and lowered a boat. With a dozen men, I led a reconaissance.

Up the low, sandy shore, over the sandhills and along the edge of the trees.

Walking quietly was not an easy thing, for there was much debris-fallen limbs, broken twigs, and leaves. Yet we managed it, and slowly, warily, we made our way through the trees.

Blue caught my arm, pointing.

Not one ship, but two! Closer to the shore was a Flemish galleon, a fine craft of a type they'd been building no more than ten or a dozen years, beautifully ornamented along her gundeck. Obviously her masts had been stepped to avoid any sudden escape, but her way out of the inlet was blocked by the other ship, of which we could make out very little in the darkness.

An awning had been spread and several men were seated under it, drinking. At least, three were drinking and the fourth sat opposite them, his hands tied behind him. Further along the beach another fire had been lighted and we heard shouting and laughter from there, drunken laughter, it seemed.

"A fine place!" One of the men was saying. "A dozen times I've used it, and a dozen good ships looted and their loot taken aboard our own craft at our leisure."

He pointed a finger at the bound man. "Come now! We know there's gold aboard, and the gold we will have, or we'll take your hide off, an inch at a time."

He was a big man, by the look of him, although he was seated on a cask. He had a dark, saturnine look about him, with a taunting, evil face, and his companions looked no better. I glanced toward the beach to see how many men were there ... a dozen? More ... many more.

At least thirty, and there might be fifty. How many were left aboard? And was there anybody on the captured vessel?

Abruptly, I turned and led the way back out of the brush. "Blue, keep an eye on that ship." I pointed to the captured vessel. "Let no one see you, but keep an eye on them. If there's any move, come to me at once."

On the shore we got into the boat, and in a matter of minutes I was sitting in the aftercabin of the fluyt with Pike and Handsel.

"You will stay with the fluyt," I told Handsel. "At the first light, bring her off the mouth of their cove, and have her ready for action. Can you do it with a dozen men?"

"With this craft I can. The Dutch build their ships to be worked by few hands."

"Bring her around at daylight, then, and train your guns on the pirate ship, but do not fire unless fired upon."

Turning to Pike, I said, "You take a dozen men and seize the ship. Go around by boat ... 'tis all in darkness yonder by their ship. Slip aboard and take over.

When you have her, run up a white flag or any bit of white cloth on the fo'm'st."

"And you?"

"We'll go the way we went before, meet Blue, and take the master of the ship and his prisoners. Be wary now, I want to lose no men, but if you move with swiftness and silence you'll have them. Most of the crew is ashore and drunk."

Pike turned to leave. "Pike?" He stopped. "I trust in your judgment. If at any point you think the job cannot be done, return to the fluyt. You'll get no argument from me."

All was dark and still when we next came through the pines. The fires still flickered on the beach, but few men stirred. Most were already in a drunken sleep.

Under the awning the three men sat, still baiting the captured captain. "You have until daybreak. Think it over," the pirate was saying, "or else we'll skin you alive."

Softly I came to the edge of the pines. The wind had swept clear the sand upon that side, and it was but a dozen steps to the side of the awning. A moment I hesitated there, drawing my sword from its scabbard. Blue moved off to my right, drawing his cutlass. Three other men were with us, and we moved in closely.

"Skin you!" the dark man repeated drunkenly. "We'll skin you alive! There's gold. I know there is gold."

"There is no gold," the prisoner replied calmly. He had a fine look of contempt for them. "I am a merchant venturer. We have cloth for trading with the Indians, and we hope to obtain furs. We have some knives, some tools. We are none of us wealthy men."

I had walked quietly forward. "I believe you, my friend, and I shall be content with your cargo. You may keep your vessel and your hide."

"Wha-what?" One of the men came to his feet, the others just stared. But their captain did not move. His back to me, he simply spoke quietly.

"Whoever you are, you had best leave. The ship is mine, the cargo is mine, and this man's skin is mine."