"I discovered what can occur when there is not proper organization,
Anglais. But now I am getting ahead of our story. Surely you remember
the island we had encamped on. Well, we waited on that cursed sand spit
several weeks more, hoping there would be another prize. But alas, we
saw nothing, _rien_. Then finally one day around noon, when it was so
hot you could scarcely breathe, we spied a Spanish sail--far at sea. By
then all our supplies were down. We were desperate. So we launched our
canoes and put to sea, with a vow we would seize the ship or perish
trying."
"And you took it?" Winston had set down his tankard on the railing and
was listening intently.
"_Mais oui_. But of course. Desperate men rarely fail. Later we learned
that when the captain saw our canoes approaching he scoffed, saying
what could a few dugouts do against his
guns. He paid for that misjudgment with his life. We waited till dark,
then stormed her. The ship was ours in minutes."
"Congratulations."
"Not so quickly, Anglais. Unfortunately, all did not go smoothly after
that. Perhaps it's just as well you were no longer with us, _mon ami_.
Naturally, we threw all the Spaniards overboard, crew and passengers.
And then we sailed her back here, to Basse Terre. A three-hundred-ton
brigantine. There was some plate aboard--perhaps the capitaine was
hoarding it--and considerable coin among the passengers. But when we
dropped anchor here, a misunderstanding arose over how it all was to be
divided." He sighed. "There were problems. I regret to say it led to
bloodshed."
"What do you mean?" Winston glared at him. "I thought we'd agreed to
split all prizes equally."
He smiled patiently. "Anglais, think about it. How could such a thing
be? I was the commander; my position had certain requirements. And to
make sure the same question did not arise again, I created Articles for
us to sail under, giving more to the ship's master. They specify in
advance what portion goes to every man, from the maintop to the keel .
. . though the commander and officers naturally must receive a larger
share. . . ."
"And what about now?" Winston interrupted. "Now that you Frenchmen have
taken over Tortuga? I hear there's a new way to split any prizes the
men bring in. Which includes you and Chevalier de Poncy."
"Oui, conditions have changed slightly. But the men all understand
that."
"They understand these French culverin up here. _Mes compliments_. It
must be very profitable for you and him."
"But we have much responsibility here." He gestured toward the
settlement below them. "I have many men under my authority."
"So now that you've taken over this place and become commandant, it's
not really like it used to be, when everybody worked for himself. Now
there's a French administration. And that means extortion, though I
suppose you call it taxes."
"_Naturellement_." He paused to watch as de Fontenay walked to the
edge of the parapet and glanced up at the mountain behind the fort.
"But tonight we were to recall those old, happy days, Anglais, before
the burden of all this governing descended on my unworthy shoulders.
Your _jolie_ mademoiselle seems to take such interest in what happened
back then."
"I'd like to hear about what happened while Hugh was on that raid with
you. You said he was to fire the first shot."
"_Oui_." Jacques laughed. "And he did indeed pull the first trigger. I
was truly sad to part with him at what was to be our moment of glory.
But we had differences, I regret to say, that made it necessary . . ."
"What do you mean?" She was watching Hugh's uneasiness as he glanced
around the fort, suspecting he'd probably just as soon this story
wasn't told.
"We had carefully laid a trap to lure in a ship. Mademoiselle. Up in
the Grand Caicos, using a fire on the shore."
"_Where_?"
"Some islands north of here. Where the Spaniards stop every year."
Jacques continued evenly, "And our plan seemed to be working
brilliantly. What's more, the Anglais here was given the honor of the
first bullet." He sipped from his tankard. "But when a prize blundered
into it, the affair turned bloody. Some of my men were killed, and I
seem to recall a woman on the ship. I regret to say the Anglais was
responsible."
"Hugh, what . . . did . . . you . . . do?" She heard her tankard drop
onto the boards.
"To his credit, I will admit he at least helped us bait the hook,
Mademoiselle." Jacques smiled. "Did you not, Anglais?"
"That I did. Except it caught an English fish, instead of a Spaniard."
Good Christ, no! Katherine sucked in her breath. The coldhearted
bastard. I am glad I brought a pistol. Except it'll not be for Jacques
le Basque. "I think you two had best spare me the rest of your heroic
little tale, before I . . ."
"But, Mademoiselle, the Anglais was our finest marksman. He could bring
down a wild boar at three hundred paces." He toasted Winston with a
long draught from his tankard. "Don't forget I had trained him well. We
wanted him to fire the first shot. You should at least take pride in
that, even if the rest does not redound entirely to his credit."
"Hugh, you'd better tell me the truth. Right now." She moved toward
him, almost quivering with rage. She felt her hand close about the grip
of her pistol as she stood facing Winston, his scarred face impassive.
"Did you fire on the ship?"
"Mademoiselle, what does it matter now? All that is past, correct?"
Jacques smiled as he strolled over. "Tonight the Anglais and I are once
more Freres de la Cote, brothers in the honorable order of boucaniers."
He patted Winston's shoulder. "That is still true, _n'est-ce pas_? And
together we will mount the greatest raid ever--on the Spanish island of
Jamaica."
Winston was still puzzling over Katherine's sudden anger when he
finally realized what Jacques had said. So, he thought, the old
_batard_ wants to give me the men after all. Just as I'd figured. Now
it's time to talk details.
"Together, Jacques. But remember I'm the one who has the pilot, the man
who can get us into the harbor. So that means I set the terms." He
sipped from his tankard, feeling the brandy burn its way down. "And
since you seem to like it here so much, I'll keep the port for myself,
and we'll just draw up some of those Articles of yours about how we
manage the rest."
"But of course, Anglais. I've already been thinking. Perhaps we can
handle it this way: you keep whatever you find in the fortress, and my
men will take the spoils from the town."
"Wait a minute. The town's apt to have the most booty, you know that,
Jacques."
"Anglais, how can we possibly foretell such a thing in advance? Already
I am assuming a risk . . ."
Jacques smiled and turned to look down at the bay. As he moved, the
railing he had been standing beside exploded, spewing slivers of mastic
wood into the evening air. When he glanced back, startled, a faint pop
sounded from the direction of the hill behind the fort.
Time froze as a look of angry realization spread through the old
boucaniers eyes. He checked the iron ladder, still lowered, then yelled
for the guards below to light the linstocks for the cannon and ready
their muskets.
"Katy, take cover." Winston seized her arm and she felt him pull her
against the side of the house, out of sight of the hill above. "Maybe
Commandant le Basque is not quite so popular with some of his lads as
he seems to think."
"I can very well take care of myself. Captain. Right now I've a mind to
kill you both." She wrenched her arm away and moved down the side of
the citadel.
"Katy, what . . .?" As Winston stared at her, uncomprehending, another
musket ball from the dark above splattered into the post beside
Jacques. He bellowed a curse, then drew the pistol from his belt and
stepped into the protection of the roof. When he did, one of the guards
from below, wearing a black hat and jerkin, appeared at the top of the
iron ladder leading up from the courtyard. Jacques yelled for him to
hurry.
"Damn you, _vite_, there's some fool up the hill with a musket."
Before he could finish, the man raised a long flintlock pistol and
fired.
The ball ripped away part of the ornate lace along one side of
Jacques's collar. Almost before the spurt of flame had died away,
Jacques's own pistol was cocked. He casually took aim and shot the
guard squarely in the face. The man slumped across the edge of the
opening, then slid backward and out of sight.
"Anglais." He turned back coolly. "Tonight you have just had the
privilege of seeing me remind these _cochons_ who controls this
island."
Even as he spoke, the curly head of de Fontenay appeared through the
opening. When Jacques saw him, he beckoned him forward. "Come on, and
pull it up after you. Too many killings will upset my guests' dinner."
The young Frenchman stepped slowly onto the platform, then slipped his
right hand into his ornate doublet and lifted out a pistol. He examined
it for a moment before reaching down with his left and extracting
another.
"I said to pull up the ladder, damn you. That's an order."
De Fontenay began to back along the railing, all the while staring at
Jacques with eyes fearful and uncertain. Finally he summoned the
courage to speak.
"You are a _bete_, Jacques, truly a beast." His voice trembled, and
glistening droplets of sweat had begun to bead on his smooth forehead.
"We are going to open Purgatory and release the men you have down
there. Give me the keys, or I will kill you myself, I swear it."
"You'd do well to put those guns away, you little _fou_. Before I
become annoyed." Jacques glared at him a moment, then turned toward
Winston, his voice even. "Anglais, kindly pass me one of your pistols.
Or I will be forced to kill this little _putain_ and all the rest with
my own bare hands. I would regret having to soil them."
"You'd best settle this yourself, Jacques. I keep my pistols. Besides,
maybe you should open that new dungeon of yours. We never needed
anything like that in the old days."
"Damn you, Anglais." His voice hardened. "I said give me a gun."
At that moment, another guard from below appeared at the opening. With
a curse, Jacques stepped over and shoved a heavy boot into his face,
sending the startled man sprawling backward. Then he seized the iron
ladder and drew it up, beyond reach of those below. He ignored de
Fontenay as he turned back to Winston.
"Are you defying me too, Anglais? _Bon_. Because before this night is
over, I have full intention of settling our accounts."
"Jacques, _mon ami!_" Winston laughed. "Here all this time I thought we
were going to be _freres_ again." He sobered. "Though I would prefer
going in partners with a commander who can manage his own men."
"You mean this little one?" He thumbed at de Fontenay. "Believe me when
I tell you he does not have the courage of--"
Now de Fontenay was raising the pistol in his right hand, shakily. "I
said to give us the keys, Jacques. You have gone too far."
"You will not live that long, my little _matelot_, to order me what to
do." Jacques feigned a menacing step toward him. Startled, de Fontenay
edged backward, and Jacques erupted with laughter, then turned back to
Winston. "You see, Anglais? Cowards are all the same. Remember when you
wanted to kill me? You were point-blank, and you failed. Now this
little _putain_ has the same idea." He seized Winston's jerkin. "Give
me one of your guns, Anglais, or I will take it with my own hands."
"No!" At the other end of the citadel Katherine stood holding the
pistol she had brought. She was gripping it with both hands, rock
steady, aimed at them. Slowly she moved down the porch. "I'd like to
just be rid of you both. Which one of you should I kill?"
The old boucanier stared at her as she approached, then at Winston.
"Your Anglaise has gone mad."
"I was on that English ship you two are so proud of attacking." She
directed the flintlock toward Winston. "Hugh, the woman you remember
killing--she was my mother."
The night flared with the report of a pistol, and Jacques flinched in
surprise. He glanced down curiously at the splotch of red blossoming
against the side of his silk shirt, then looked up at de Fontenay.
"That was a serious mistake, my little _ami_. One you will not live
long enough to regret."
The smoking pistol de Fontenay held dropped noisily onto the boards at
his feet, while he raised the other. "I said give to me the keys,
Jacques. Or I will kill you, I swear it."
"You think I can be killed? By you? _Jamais_." He laughed, then
suddenly reached out and wrenched away the pistol Katherine was
holding, shoving her aside. With a smile he aimed it directly at de
Fontenay's chest. "Now, mon ami . . ."
There was a dead click, then silence. It had misfired.
"I don't want this, Jacques, truly." De Fontenay started to tremble,
and abruptly the other pistol he held exploded with a pink arrow of
flame.
"Anglais . . ." Jacques jerked lightly, a second splotch of red
spreading across his pale shirt. Then he dropped to one knee with a
curse.
De Fontenay stepped hesitantly forward. "Perhaps now you will
understand, _mon maitre_, what kind of man I can be."
He watched in disbelief as Jacques slowly slumped forward across the
boards at his feet. Then he edged closer to where the old boucanier
lay, reached down and ripped away a ring of heavy keys secured to his
belt. He held them a moment in triumph before he looked down again,
suddenly incredulous. "_Mon Dieu_, he is dead."
With a cry of remorse he crouched over the lifeless figure and lovingly
touched the bloodstained beard. Finally he remembered himself and
glanced up at Winston. "It seems I have finished what you began. He
told me today how you two quarreled once. He cared nothing for us, you
or me, friend or lover." He hesitated, and his eyes appeared to plead.
"What do we do now?"
Winston was still staring at Katherine, his mind flooded with dismay at
the anger in her eyes. At last he seemed to hear de Fontenay and turned
back. "Since you've got his keys, you might as well go ahead and throw
them down. I assume you mean to open the dungeon."
"_Oui_. He had begun to lock men there just on his whim. Yesterday he
even imprisoned a . . . special friend of mine. It was too much." He
walked to the edge of the platform and flung the ring of keys down
toward the pavement of the fort.
As the ring of metal against stone cut through the silence, he yelled
out, "Purgatory is no more. Jacques le Basque is in hell." He abruptly
turned and shoved down the ladder. In the courtyard below, pandemonium
erupted.
At once a cannon blazed into the night. Then a second, and a third.
Moments later, jubilant musket fire sounded up from the direction of
the settlement as men poured into the streets, torches and lanterns
blazing.
"Good God, Katy, I don't know what you've been thinking, but we'd best
talk about it later. Right now we've got to get out of here." Winston
walked hesitantly to where she stood. "Somebody's apt to get a mind to
fire this place."
"No, I don't . . ."
"Katy, come on." He grabbed her arm.
De Fontenay was still at the railing along the edge of the platform, as
though not yet fully comprehending the enormity of his act. Below him a
string of prisoners, still shackled, was being led from the dungeon
beneath the "dovecote."
Winston forcibly guided Katherine down the ladder and onto the stone
steps below. Now guards had already begun dismantling the _boucan _with
the butts of their muskets, sending sparks sailing upward into the
night air.
Then the iron gateway of the fortress burst open and a mob of seamen
began pouring through, waving pistols and cheering. Finally one of them
spotted Winston on the steps and pressed through the crowd.
"God's blood, is it true?"
Winston looked down and recognized Guy Bartholomew.
"Jacques is dead."
"An' they're all claiming you did it. That you came up here and killed
the bastard. The very thing we all wanted, and you managed it." He
reached up and pumped Winston's hand. "Maybe now I can stand you a
drink. For my money, I say you should be new commandant of this piss-
hole, by virtue of ridding the place of him."
"I didn't kill him, Bartholomew. That 'honor' goes to his _matelot_. "
The excited seaman scarcely paused. "'Tis no matter, sir. That little
whore is nothing. I know one thing; every Englishman here'll sail for
you, or I'm not a Christian."
"Maybe we can call some of the ships' masters together and see what
they want to do."
"You can name the time, sir. And I'll tell you this: there're going to
be a few changes around here, that I can warrant." He turned to look at
the other men, several of whom were offering flasks of brandy to the
prisoners. Around them, the French guards had remembered Jacques's
store of liquor and were shoving past, headed up the ladder. In moments
they were flinging down flasks of brandy.
Bartholomew turned and gazed down toward the collection of mast lights
below them. "There's scarcely an Englishman here who'd not have left
that whoreson's service long ago, save there's no place else but
Tortuga the likes of us can drop anchor. But now with him gone we can .
. ."
"Until further notice, this island is going to be under my
administration, as representative of the Chevalier de Poncy,
_gouverneur_ of St. Christophe." De Fontenay had appeared at the top of
the steps and begun to shout over the tumult in the yard. His curls
fluttered in the wind as he called for quiet. "By the Code of the
boucaniers, the Telle Etoit la Coutume de la Cote, I am Jacques's legal
heir. Which means I can claim the office of acting commandant de place.
. . ."
Bartholomew yelled up at him. "You can claim whatever you like, you
pimp. But no Englishman'll sail for you, an' that's a fact. We'll spike
these cannon if you're thinking to try any of the old tricks. It's a
new day, by all that's holy."
"What do you mean?" De Fontenay glanced down.
"I mean from this day forth we'll sail for whatever master we've a mind
to."
De Fontenay called to Winston. "You saw who killed him, Monsieur. Tell
them." He looked back toward Bartholomew. "This man knew Jacques better
than any of you. His friend, the Anglais, from the very first days of
the _boucaniers_. He will tell you the Code makes me . . ."
"Anglais!" Bartholomew stared at Winston a moment, then a smile erupted
across his hard face. "Good God, I do believe it is. You've aged
mightily, lad, on my honor. Please take no offense I didn't recognize
you before."
"It's been a long time."
"God's blood, none of us ever knew your Christian name. We all thought
you dead after you and Jacques had that little shooting spree." He
grasped Winston's hand. "Do you have any idea how proud we were of you?
I tell you we all saw it when you pulled a pistol on that bastard. You
may not know it, sir, but it was because of you his band of French
rogues didn't rape that English frigate. All the Englishmen amongst us
wanted to stop it, but we had no chance." He laughed. "In truth, sir,
that was the start of all our troubles here. We never got along with
the damn'd Frenchmen after that. Articles or no.
"Hugh, what's he saying?" Katherine was staring at him.
"What do you mean?"
"Is it true you stopped Jacques and his men from taking our ship? The
one you were talking about tonight?"
"The idea was we were only to kill Spaniards. No Englishman had done
anything to us. It wouldn't have been honorable. When Jacques didn't
agree with me on that point, things got a little unpleasant. That's
when somebody started firing on the ship."
"Aye, the damn'd Frenchmen," Bartholomew interjected. "I was there,
sir."
"I'm sorry the rest of us didn't manage to warn you in time." Winston
slipped his arm around her.
Suddenly she wanted to smother him in her arms. "But do you realize you
must have saved my life? They would have killed us all."
"They doubtless would have. Eventually." He reached over and kissed
her, then drew back and examined her. "Katy, I have a confession to
make. I think I can still remember watching you. When I was in the
longboat, trying to reach the ship. I think I fell in love with you
that morning. With that brave girl who stood there at the railing,
musket balls flying. I never forgot it, in all the years. My God, to
think it was you." He held her against him for a moment, then lifted up
her face. "Which also means I have you and yours to thank for trying to
kill me, when I wanted to get out to where you were."
"The captain just assumed you were one of them. I heard him talk about
it after. Nobody had any idea . . ." She hugged him. "You and your
'honor.' You changed my life."
"You and that ship sure as hell changed mine. After I fell in love with
you, I damned near died of thirst in that leaky longboat. And then
Ruyters . . ."
"Capitaine, please tell them I was the one who shot Jacques. That I am
now _commandant de place_." De Fontenay interrupted, his voice
pleading. "That I have the authority to order them . . ."
"You're not ordering anything, by Jesus. I'm about to put an end to any
more French orders here and now." Bartholomew seized a burning stick
from the fire in the boucan and flung it upward, onto the veranda of
the "dovecote."
A cheer went up from the English seamen clustered around,
and before Jacques's French guards could stop them, they were flinging
torches and flaming logs up into the citadel.
"_Messieurs, no_. Please! _Je vous en prie. Non_!" De Fontenay stared
up in horror.
Tongues of flame began to lick at the edge of the platform. Some of the
guards dropped their muskets and yelled to get buckets of water from
the spring behind the rock. Then they thought better of it and started
edging gingerly toward the iron gates leading out of the fortress and
down the hill.
The other guards who had been rifling the liquor came scurrying down
the ladder, jostling de Fontenay aside. As Winston urged Katherine
toward the gates, the young _matelot_ was still lingering forlornly on
the steps, gazing up at the burning "dovecote." Finally, the last to
leave Forte de la Roche, he sadly turned and made his way out.
"Senhor, what is happening here?" Atiba was racing up the steps leading
to the gate, carrying his cutlass. "I swam to shore and came fastly as
I could."
"There's been a little revolution up here, my friend. And I'll tell you
something else. There's likely to be some gunpowder in that citadel.
For those demi-culverin. I don't have any idea how many kegs he had,
but knowing Jacques, there was enough." He took Katherine's hand. "It's
the end for this place, that much you can be sure."
"Hugh, what about the plan to use his men?" She turned back to look.
"We'll just have to see how things here are going to settle out now.
Maybe it's not over yet."
They moved onto the tree-lined pathway. The night air was sharp,
fragrant. Above the glow of the fire, the moon hung like a lantern in
the tropical sky.
"You know, I never trusted him for a minute. Truly I didn't." She
slipped her arm around Winston's jerkin. "I realize now he was planning
to somehow try and kill us both tonight. Thank heaven it's over. Why
don't we just get out of here while we still can?"
"Well, sir, it's a new day." Guy Bartholomew emerged out of the crowd,
his smile illuminated by the glow of the blaze. "An' I've been talkin'
with some of my lads. Why don't we just have done with these damn'd
Frenchmen and claim this island?" He gleefully rubbed at the stubble on
his chin. "No Englishman here's goin' to line the pockets of a
Frenchman ever again, that I'll promise you."
"You can try and make Tortuga English if you like, but you won't be
sailing with me if you do."
"What do you mean, sir?" Bartholomew stood puzzling. "This is our best
chance ever to take hold and keep this place. An' there's precious few
other islands where we can headquarter."
"I know one that has a better harbor. And a better fortress guarding
it"
"Where might that be?"
"Ever think of Jamaica?"
"Jamaica, sir?" He glanced up confusedly. "But that belongs to the pox-
eaten Spaniards."
"Not after we take it away from them it won't. And when we do, any
English privateer who wants can use the harbor there."
"Now, sir." Bartholomew stopped. "Tryin' to seize Jamaica's another
matter entirely. We thought you were the man to help us take charge of
this little enterprise here of pillagin' the cursed Spaniards'
shipping. You didn't say you're plannin' to try stealin' a whole island
from the whoresons."
"I'm not just planning, my friend." Winston moved on ahead, Atiba by
his side. "God willing, I'm damned sure going to do it."
"It's a bold notion, that I'll grant you." He examined Winston
skeptically, then grinned as he followed after. "God's life, that'd be
the biggest prize any Englishman in the Caribbean ever tried."
"I think it can be done."
"Well, I'll be plain with you, sir. I don't know how many men here'll
be willing to risk their hide on such a venture. I hear the
Spaniards've got a militia over there, maybe a thousand strong. 'Tis
even said they've got some cavalry."
"Then all you Englishmen here can stay on and sail for the next
commandant Chevalier de Poncy finds to send down and take over. He'll
hold La Tortue for France, don't you think otherwise. All those
commissions didn't stay in Jacques's pocket, you can be sure. He's
bound to have passed a share up to the Frenchmen on St. Christopher."
"We'll not permit it, sir. We'll not let the Frenchmen have it back."
"How do you figure on stopping them? This fortress'll take weeks to put
into any kind of shape again, and de Poncy's sure to post a fleet down
the minute he hears of this. I'd say this place'll have no choice but
stay French."
"Aye, I'm beginnin' to get the thrust of your thinkin'." He gazed
ruefully back up at the burning fort. "If that should happen, and I
grant you there's some likelihood it just might, then there's apt to be
damned little future here for a God-fearin' Englishman. So either we
keep on sailin' for some other French bastard or we find ourselves
another harbor."
"That's how I read the situation now." Winston continued on down the
hill. "So why don't we hold a vote amongst the men and see, Master
Bartholomew? Maybe a few of them are game to try making a whole new
place."