With Red Dog at the helm, two marksmen in the nests, and Mentor under cover with a match for the six loaded cannon, Jack devoted the rest of the crew to quick, efficient handling of lines and canvas under Quince's direction. He waited until the brig was two-thirds the way into the cove, past the barrels bobbing on her far side. Then he yelled “Now!”
The
Star
suddenly came alive. Reefed sails dropped, sheets tightened, the canvas bulged with air. The Spanish brig swung about and raised its starboard ports, ready to trade running broadsides out of the cove. Within two minutes the
Star
was within range, but it suddenly bore full to starboard as if it would break for sea without engaging. As it turned, and each cannon came to bear briefly on the enemy ship, the
Star
fired in succession. Mentor simply moved from one loaded piece to the next. A wide swath of scrap metal and nail flew at the brig with an elevation such that the metal careened about the weather deck and forced the men to seek cover. Simultaneously, the men in the
Star
's rigging fired their rifles but aimed only at the poop, forcing the captain and the officers to drop to the deck.
Jack recognized the confusion the
Star
had caused aboard the brig, but none of the
Star'
s tactics would seriously damage the
enemy vessel. As the captain gave the order for the first broadside, he must have rejoiced in the prospect of his ship-killing projectiles tearing into the fabric of the American pirate. But his joy was to be short-lived. Jack heard the captain stifle his order to reload. The brig lurched. Knowing he couldn't have possibly run aground, the captain would be questioning the helmsman. The man's panicked voice carried across the water, “Madre de Dios, Capitánâ”
Jack heard the shriek and rattle of chains tearing across the brig's rudder bearings. Almost the entire length of line from the
Star
cleared the water as the hawser tightened and pulled the floating barrels into the far side of the brig's rudder like a cannon shot. Jack motioned to Hansum, who, standing ready with an axe, chopped through the taut line before it ripped open the stern of the
Star
.
As the Spanish ship swerved crazily to port, clearly out of control, a cheer went up from the crew of the
Star
. Klett and the others on the forward deck lowered their trousers and waved their bare derrieres at the officialdom of the Spanish colony, while Quince broke into a brass-arm-above-his-head jig.
“Take her north,” yelled Jack, as they cleared the cove and gathered speed. He turned to examine the damage from the enemy's broadside, which had “torn up the furniture but done no real harm” in Mentor's view, when his sideways glance spotted the sail of a larger ship that had just beat its way out of Habana harbor. It was a large Spanish merchant that Quince surmised had been converted from a fifth rate, allowing it to carry a good array of guns while using the main gun deck for stowage of goods.
The ship was clearly not heading for them but seemed to be making for the Gulf Stream, the standard route for a return trip to Europe. The Stream would give it a boost on the northerly portion of its trip back to the Old World. Jack's first inclination was to pass it without incident, which would certainly suit the merchant. Homebound for Spain, it would have “plenty to lose,” in Quince's parlance. Most likely silver from the Potosà mint, porcelain and
silks that had made their way to Acapulco from the Manila trade, then over land toâ“Sweet Christ, Jacob, what the hell is that pennant she's flying?”
Jacob, looking through his glass from the crow's nest, yelled back down, “It's that same damned design we saw at de Silva's hacienda. . . . Blimey, Jack, that's the damn
Cubano Agresor
, de Silva's ship!”
No one needed orders from Jack. Red Dog locked the helm with the holding lines after setting an interception course for the ship. He had both hands free to inspect the two pistols in his jerkin, ensuring the powder was dry and the lucky chicken foot he had purchased in a strange dark shop in Habana was secure around his neck. Without question, the Brotherhood was in for another scrap.
The
Agresor
reduced sail and turned to meet the fast-approaching smaller three-master. Quince, who had been staring intently at the water separating the two vessels, turned to Jack. “Act like you're going to cross the T.”
“What? I don'tâ”
“Just do it, Jack. Please.”
Knowing Quince would never insist on something without good reason, Jack complied and began the classic naval maneuver of heading directly across the bow of the enemy, so he could fire his broadside in sequence at the ship, which would then only have bow chasers to bring to bear on the
Star
. In this situation, however, the move could be easily countered by the enemy turning to starboard and bringing about her own much larger broadside. Then Jack too caught sight of the streak of light green. “Lord, Quince, there's a reef there.... I had no idea.”
“Neither does he, lad.”
Though most eyes on the larger ship were distracted by the
Star
's maneuver, the lookout on the
Agresor
must have spotted the danger. Jack could hear him screaming to his captain. Seconds later there was a scraping soundâaudible even on the
Star
âand a
crunch. The Spaniard was on the rocks and probably had her hull holed beneath the waterline. Yelling carried over the waterâsome of it seemed to be in English. The
Star
jibed and headed toward her stern quarter, avoiding the fixed position of most of the other ship's cannon, and let go with a broadside.
The larger ship returned fire from the ordnance she could still bring to bear, then suddenly stopped. Jack saw a white flag raised on her mainmast. “What in hell,” he said aloud. “They must have more fight in them than that.”
Then the full extent of damage from the collision with the reef became apparent. The
Agresor'
s port side fell slowly to her bulwarks. The men on the
Star
were transfixed by the sight; all firing had ceased as the result of Quince's tactical genius. Men were already climbing into lifeboats or jumping ship. Jack heard the captain of the
Agresor
order his officers to shoot the deserters, but they seemed reluctant to do so.
When it seemed the drama could be no greater, the great ship suddenly groaned again and began to turn port down into the waves.
“Jesus, she's sinking,” muttered Red Dog. There was another screeching sound, and the men of the
Star
could hear the ballast shifting in the hull. Much of it crashed out of the lowered port side, along with wares and goods. The ship's cannon tore loose and plunged into the sea. Five minutes later the
Agresor
seemed to tilt bow down and settle on the long, sloping reef, her stern partially out of the water at a crazy angle.
The surface was eerily still. Full lifeboats were being rowed toward the Cuban shorelineâperhaps a dozen miles awayâand several heads bobbed on flotsam in the water between the downed ship and the
Star
.
“Pick up the survivors!” yelled Jack.
As he turned to consult with Quince, he heard a commotion from the lifeboats.
“Hey, Jack, you won't believe what kinda human trash we found here.”
Jack's heart went to his throat, praying it was de Silva. But as he ran to the port side, he could see it wasn't. The ugly blob of humanity dragged into the
Star'
s launch was Cheatum. Minutes later he was on deck, mumbling words of pure terror, then defiant curses.
Jack stood over him. “Men, cut off one of his fingers,” he said, “every minute he doesn't tell us something we want to know about that ship. Then throw his balls to the sharks.”
Cheatum turned white.
“No, wait, change that order, don't throw his sacks to the sharks. I forgot our friends Yanoo and Matoo love the nuts of their enemies for dessert.”
“Youâyou wouldn'tâ”
Jack exploded. He kicked Cheatum full in the face and motioned to the Belauran natives to hold him down spread-eagled on the deck.
“You traitorous bastard, you think I'm playing games?”
Jack took a thick, sharp-bladed skinning knife from its sheath and drove it into the deck between Cheatum's legs, inches from his crotch. The man screamed although the blade hadn't touched him. Jack worked the blade free and pushed it edgewiseâhardâinto Cheatum's groin, beginning a sawing motion which soon parted the canvas trousers. Paul leaned back against the rail, almost as pale as Cheatum, and murmured in a low voice, “Jack, uhâ” He went silent as he caught Quince's glare. The first mate told Paul to hurry over the side and help Hansum gather survivors in one of the launches.
With the first feel of the cold blade, Cheatum lost all defiance; he started whimpering and screaming and told everything he knew. Jack pulled the blade slowly upward, making a shallow incision. “Faster, you pig, I want to know everything.” Cheatum gagged and choked and begged for forgiveness. Jack released the pressure slightly. “Your greatest gift from us will be a quick death after we carve you.”
Doing anything he could think to appease Jack, Cheatum told of the count's riches on the ship, how he had taken the job as ship's master from the count, and how de Silva himself was down in the ladyhole. Jack's eyes went wide. Seeing a chance for some mercy, Cheatum quickly described how the count had been on the ship the whole time and gone down to check his dearest treasure box when the ship turned.
“And not only that, JackâI beg ya don't cut meâthe Chinaman, Quen-Li, he's down there, too.”
This news shocked all of them. The men froze in place, listening hard.
“Could he have escaped?” Most of the men glanced unconsciously toward the lifeboats heading for shore.
“NoâJackâhe couldn't. Don't kill me, please.”
“He couldn't what?”
Cheatum was at the limit of terror; all were aware that he was defecating on the deck and ready to pass out.
Jack eased the blade away from Cheatum's groin. “Ten seconds, everything you know and you may live without having to join a choir.”
“The Chinaman was chained in the hold aft. Just above the ladyhole where de Silva had his personal strongbox. When he found out who Quen-Li was, de Silva had him beat bad and was takin' him back to Spain as a prisoner for the crown.”
“I'll bet you tried to save him, didn't you, Cheats? Any chance either one could still be alive?”
“NoânoâI don't . . . I don't think so.”
Knowing he had heard all that Cheatum knew, Jack let the man go. He turned, sheathing his knife. Cheatum curled into a fetal position, retching.
Jack riveted his gaze on the Spanish wreck with the others, praying for anything that would allow him to save Quen-Li's life. “Where the hell is the ladyhole?” he asked Quince. He was familiar with the term for a secluded area in the bowels of a ship, where
women and valuables were sometimes hidden, but he had never seen one.
Quince was ahead of him, answering before he was through. “There!” He pointed to the part of the ship that hadn't slipped under yet. “Christ, Jack, the ladyhole's deep in the stern and the way it's upended, Quen-Li might not be drowned!”
Jack raced for the rail, but the boats had pulled away. Seeing Paul and Hansum as the only ones in hailing distance, he screamed for them to stop. He wanted to tell them to return for him but knew that might take a moment too long. The Spanish ship was balanced precariously in her present position and might slide down the reef face at any time.
“Paul, for God sakes! Quen-Li might be in yon stern section!”
Paul and Hansum quickly waved to Jack then turned and headed for the ship's stern. Jack was going to yell to them to send back the other launch for him, but Hansum and Paul were already rowing like madmen and couldn't hear him.
“Christ, Quince, I need a boat!” Jack shouted. “Paul and Hansum are going to risk their lives to find Quen, I know itâdamn, they're gonna get caught in that hulk if it goes under.”
“Yer right, the two of 'em's got more heart than common sense, and they love that Chinaman. . . . There, the billyboat under those tarps; let's get it over the side. Brown! Red Dog! Matoo! C'mere and help us get this thing in the water.”
Jack yelled back to the sailors as he dropped into the billyboat. “When you get enough men back here from the other launch, see if you can maneuver the
Star
and anchor where her stern will swing parallel to the wreck site.”
As Jack and Quince and Matoo pulled for the
Agresor
, they could see and hear it move again. “Hurry, Matoo,” Jack yelled. The Indian, though he could make a canoe paddle sing, had little experience with oars. As powerful as he was, he could not keep up with Jack's frenzied pace.
Their boat soon banged unceremoniously into the launch Bob
and Paul had rowed over and tied to the ship's port rail. It was empty. Jack, beside himself, yelled down one of the aft companionways. “Paul, Bob, where in hell are you?”