forward, across the stones. He was crying now, his body shivering from
the hard, cold paving against his face.
"Just tie him." The woman's voice came again. "He is only a boy."
The man's voice responded, in the strange language, and Hipolito
thought he could feel the sword against his neck. He had always
imagined he would someday die proudly, would honor Elvita by his
courage, and now here he was, cringing on his belly. They would find
him like this. The men in the vineyards would joke he had groveled
before the Protestant _ladrones_ like a dog.
"I will stay and watch him, and this place. Leave me two muskets." The
woman spoke once more, then called out in Ingles. There were more
footsteps on the stairs as the other men clambered up.
"Why damn me, 'tis naught but a lad," a voice said in Ingles, "sent to
do a man's work."
"He's all they'd need to spy us, have no fear. I'll wager 'twould be no
great matter to warn the fort. Which is what he'll be doin' if we . . .
"Senor, how do you signal the fort?" The woman was speaking now, in
Spanish, as she seized Hipolito's face and pulled him up. "Speak
quickly, or I will let them kill you."
Hipolito gestured vaguely toward the two bells hanging in the tower
behind.
"Take out the clappers, then tie him." The woman's voice came again,
now in Ingles. "The rest of you ready the lanterns."
The dugout canoes had already been launched, bobbing alongside the two
frigates anchored on the sea side of the Cayo de Carena. Directly ahead
of them lay the Point, overlooking the entry to Jamaica Bay.
Katherine felt the gold inlay of the musket's barrel, cold and hard
against her fingertips, and tried to still her pulse as she peered
through the dim moonlight. Up the companionway, on the quarterdeck,
Winston was deep in a final parlay with Guy Bartholomew of the
_Swiftsure_. Like all the seamen, they kept casting anxious glances
toward a spot on the shore across the bay, just below the _vigia_,
where the advance party would signal the all-clear with lanterns.
The last month had not been an easy time. After the death of Jacques le
Basque, Tortuga was plunged into turmoil for a fortnight, with the
English and French _boucaniers_ at Basse Terre quarreling violently
over the island's future. There had nearly been war. Finally
Bartholomew and almost a hundred and fifty seamen had elected to join
Winston in his attempt to seize a new English privateering base at
Jamaica. But they also demanded the right to hold Villa de la Vega for
ransom, as Jackson had done so many years before. It was the dream of
riches that appealed to them most, every man suddenly fancying himself
a second Croesus. Finally Winston and Bartholomew had drawn up Articles
specifying the division of spoils, in the tradition of the
_boucaniers_.
After that, two more weeks had passed in final preparations, as muskets
and kegs of powder were stockpiled. To have sufficient landing craft
they had bartered butts of kill-devil with the Cow-Killers on
Hispaniola for ten wide dugout canoes--all over six feet across and
able to transport fifteen to twenty men. With the dugouts aboard and
lashed securely along the main deck of the two ships, the assault was
ready.
They set sail as a flurry of rumors from other islands began reaching
the buccaneer stronghold. The most disquieting was that a French fleet
of armed warships had already been dispatched south by the Chevalier de
Poncy of St. Christopher, who intended to restore his dominion over
Tortuga and appoint a new French _commandant de place_.
Yet another story, spreading among the Spanish planters on Hispaniola,
was that an English armada had tried to invade the city of Santo
Domingo on the southern coast, but was repulsed ingloriously, with
hundreds lost.
The story of the French fleet further alarmed the English buccaneers,
and almost two dozen more offered to join the Jamaica expedition. The
Spanish tale of a failed assault on Santo Domingo was quickly
dismissed. It was merely another in a long history of excuses put
forward by the _audiencia_ of that city to explain its failure to
attack Tortuga. There would never have been a better time to storm the
island, but once again the cowardly Spaniards had managed to find a
reason for allowing the boucaniers to go unmolested, claiming all their
forces were needed to defend the capital.
The morning of their departure arrived brisk and clear, and by mid-
afternoon they had already made Cape Nicholao, at the northwest tip of
Hispaniola. Since the Windward Passage lay just ahead, they shortened
sail, holding their course west by southwest till dark, when they
elected to heave-to and wait for morning, lest they overshoot. At dawn
they were back underway, and just before nightfall, as planned, they
had sighted Point Morant on the eastern tip of Jamaica. Winston ordered
the first stage of the assault to commence.
The frigates made way along the southern coast till they neared the
Point of the Cayo de Carena, the wide cay at the entry to Jamaica Bay.
Then, while the _Swiftsure_ kept station to watch for any turtling
craft that might sound the alarm, Winston hoisted the _Defiance's_ new
sails and headed on past the Point, directly along the coast. The
attack plan called for an advance party to proceed overland from the
rear and surprise the _vigia_ on the hill overlooking the bay, using a
map prepared by their Spanish pilot, Armando Vargas. Winston appointed
Atiba to lead the men; Serina went with them as translator.
They had gone ashore two hours before midnight, giving them four hours
to secure the _vigia_ before the attack was launched. A signal of three
lanterns on the shore below the _vigia_ would signify all-clear. After
they had disappeared up the trail and into the salt savannah, the
_Defiance_ rejoined the _Swiftsure_, at which time Winston ordered the
fo'c'sle unlocked and flintlocks distributed, together with bandoliers
of powder and shot. While the men checked and primed their muskets,
Winston ordered extra barrels of powder and shot loaded into the
dugouts, along with pikes and half-pikes.
Now the men stirred impatiently on the decks, new flintlocks glistening
in the moonlight, anxious for their first feel of Spanish gold. . . .
Katherine pushed through the crowd and headed up the companionway
toward the quarterdeck. Winston had just dismissed Bartholomew, sending
him back to the _Swiftsure_ to oversee final assignments of his own men
and arms. The old boucanier was still chuckling over something Winston
had said as she met him on the companionway.
"See you take care with that musket now, m'lady." He doffed his dark
hat with a wink as he stepped past. "She's apt to go off when you'd
least expect."
She smiled and nodded, then smoothly drew back the hammer on the breech
with an ominous click as she looked up.
"Then tell me, Guy, is this what makes it fire?"
"God's blood, m'lady." Bartholomew scurried quickly past, then glanced
uncertainly over his shoulder as he slid across the bannister and
started down the swaying rope ladder, headed for the shallop moored
below.
"Hugh, how long do you expect before the signal?"
"It'd best be soon. If not, we won't have time to cross the bay before
daylight." He peered through the dark, toward the hill. "We've got to
clear the harbor and reach the mouth of the Rio Cobre while it's still
dark, or they'll see us from the Passage Fort."
"How far up the river is the fort?"
"Vargas claims it's only about a quarter mile." He glanced back toward
the hill. "But once we make the river, their cannon won't be able to
touch us. It's only when we're exposed crossing the bay that we need
worry."
"What about the militia there when we try to storm it?"
"_Vargas_ claims that if they're not expecting trouble, it'll
be lightly manned. After we take it, we'll have their cannon, together
with the ordnance we've already got. There's nothing else on the island
save a few matchlock muskets."
"And their cavalry."
"All they'll have is lances, or pikes." He slipped his arm around her
waist. "No, Katy, after we seize Passage Fort, the Spaniards can never
get us out of here, from land or sea. Jamaica will be ours, because
this harbor will belong to us."
"You make it sound too easy by half." She leaned against him, wishing
she could fully share his confidence. "But if we do manage to take the
fort, what about Villa de la Vega?"
"The town'll have to surrender, sooner or later. They'll have no
harbor. And this island can't survive without one."
She sighed and glanced back toward the shore. In the moonlight the blue
mountains of Jamaica towered silently above the bay. Would those
mountains some day stand for freedom in the Caribbean, the way Tortuga
once did . . .?
She sensed Winston's body tense and glanced up. He was gazing across
the bay toward the shore, where a dim light had suddenly appeared. Then
another, and another.
"Katy, I've waited a long, long time for this. Thinking about it,
planning it. All along I always figured I'd be doing it alone. But your
being here . . ." He seemed to lose the words as he held her against
him. "Tonight we're about to do something, together, that'll change the
Americas forever."
The oars bit into the swell and the dark waters of the bay slapped
against the bark-covered prow, an ancient cadence he remembered from
that long voyage north, ten years past. Where had all the years gone?
Behind him was a line of dugouts, a deadly procession of armed, grim-
faced seamen. All men of Tortuga, not one among them still welcome in
any English, French, or Dutch settlement.
Was it possible to start over with men like these? A new nation?
"_Mira_," Vargas whispered over the rhythm of the oars. His dark eyes
were glistening as he pointed toward the entry to the harbor, a wide
strait that lay between the Point of the Cayo de Carena and the
mainland. Around them the light surf sparkled in the moonlight. "Is not
this _puerto_ the finest in all the Caribbean?" He smiled back at
Winston, showing a row of tobacco-stained teeth. "No storm reaches
here. The smallest craft can anchor safely, even in a _huracan_. "
"It's just like I figured. So the spot to situate our cannon really is
right there on the Point. Do that and nobody could ever get into the
bay."
Vargas laughed. "Si, that is true. If they had guns here, we could
never get past. But Jamaica is a poor island. The Passage Fort over on
the river has always been able to slow an assault long enough for them
to empty the town. Then their women and children are safe. What else do
they have worth stealing?"
"Hugh, is this the location you were talking to John about?" Katherine
was studying the wide and sandy Point.
"The very place. That's why I had him stay with the _Defiance_ and keep
some of the lads."
"I hope he can do it."
"He'll wait till sun-up, till after we take the fort. But this cay is
the place to be, mark it."
"You are right, senor," Vargas continued as they steered on around the
Point. "I have often wondered myself why there was no port city out
here. Perhaps it is because this island has nothing but stupid
_agricultores_. "
Their tiny armada of dugouts glided quickly across the strait, then
hugged the shore, headed toward the mouth of the Rio Cobre. Now they
were directly under the _vigia_.
As they rowed past, five figures suddenly emerged from the trees and
began wading toward them. Winston immediately signaled the dugouts to
put in.
Atiba was grinning as he hoisted himself over the side. "It was
simple." He settled among the seamen. "There were only two whoreson
Spaniards."
"Where's Serina?" Katherine scanned the empty shoreline. "Did anything
happen?"
"When a woman is allowed to sit in council with warriors, there are
always damnable complications." Atiba reached and helped one of the
English seamen in. "She would not have us act as men and kill the
whoresons both. So she is still up there on the mountain, holding a
musket."
"You're not a better man if you murder their militia." Katherine
scowled at him. "After you take a place, you only need hold it."
"That is the weak way of a woman, senhora." He glanced toward the hill
as again their oars flashed in the moonlight. "It is not the warrior
way."
Winston grimaced, but said nothing, knowing the killing could be far
from over.
In only minutes they had skirted the bay and were approaching the river
mouth. As their dugouts veered into the Rio Cobre, the whitecaps gave
way to placid ripples. The tide had just begun running out, and the
surface of the water was flawless, reflecting back the half-moon. Now
they were surrounded by palms, and beyond, dense forests. Since the
rainy season was past, the river itself had grown shallow, with wide
sand bars to navigate. But a quarter mile farther and they would be
beneath the fort.
"Jamaica, at last." Winston grinned and dipped a hand into the cool
river.
Katherine gazed up at the Passage Fort, now a sharp silhouette in the
moonlight. It had turrets at each corner and a wide breastwork, from
which a row of eighteen-pound culverin projected, hard fingers against
the sky. "I just pray our welcome celebration isn't too well attended."
As they rowed slowly up the river, the first traces of dawn were
beginning to show in the east. She realized their attack
would have to come quickly now. Even though the _vigia_ had been
silenced, sentries would doubtless be posted around the fort. There
still could be a bloody fight with small arms if they were spotted in
time for the Spaniards to martial the militia inside. Let one sentry
sound the alarm and all surprise would be lost.
"I think we'd best beach somewhere along here." Bartholomew was
sounding with an oar. The river was growing increasingly sandy and
shallow. "She's down to no more'n half a fathom."
"Besides that, it's starting to get light now." Winston nodded
concurrence. "Much farther and they might spy us. Signal the lads
behind to put in."
"Aye." He turned and motioned with his oar. Quickly and silently the
dugouts veered into the banks and the men began climbing over the
sides. As they waded through the mud, each carrying a flintlock musket
and a pike, they dragged the dugouts ashore and into the brush.
"All right, masters." Winston walked down the line as they began to
form ranks. "We want to try taking this place without alerting the
whole island. If we can do that, then the Spaniards'll not have time to
evacuate the town. Remember anything we take in either place will be
divided according to the Articles drawn. Any man who doesn't share what
he finds will be judged by the rest, and may God have mercy on him." He
turned and gazed up the hill. There was a single trail leading through
the forest. "So look lively, masters. Let's make quick work of this."
As they headed up the incline, the men carefully holding their
bandoliers to prevent rattling, they could clearly see the fort above
the trees. Now lights began to flicker along the front of the
breastwork, torches. Next, excited voices began to filter down, faint
in the morning air.
Armando Vargas had moved alongside Winston, his eyes narrow beneath his
helmet and his weathered face grim. He
listened a moment longer, then whispered, "I fear something may have
gone wrong, senor."
"What are they saying?" Winston was checking the prime on his pistols.
"I think I hear orders to run out the cannon." He paused to listen.
"Could they have spotted our masts over at the _cayo_? It is getting
light now. Or perhaps an alert was sounded by the _vigia_ after all."
He glared pointedly back toward Atiba. "Perhaps it was not so secure as
we were told."
Behind them the seamen had begun readying their flintlocks. Though they
appeared disorganized, they handled their muskets with practiced ease.
They were not raw recruits like Barbados' militia; these were fighting
men with long experience.
They continued quickly and silently up the path. Now the moon had begun
to grow pale with the approach of day, and as they neared the rear of
the fortress they could see the details of its stonework. The outside
walls were only slightly higher than a man's head, easy enough to scale
with grapples if need be.
As they emerged at the edge of the clearing, Winston suddenly realized
that the heavy wooden door at the rear of the fort was already ajar.
Good Christ, we can just walk in.
He turned and signaled for the men to group. "It's time, masters.
Vargas thinks they may have spotted our masts, over at the Point, and
started to ready the guns." His voice was just above a whisper. "In any
case, we'll need to move fast. I'll lead, with my lads. After we're
inside, the rest of you hit it with a second wave. We'll rush the
sentries, then take any guards. After that we'll attend to the gunners,
who like as not won't be armed."
Suddenly more shouts from inside the fort drifted across the clearing.
Vargas motioned for quiet, then glanced at Winston. "I hear one of them
saying that they must send for the cavalry."
"Why?"
He paused. "I don't know what is happening, but they are very
frightened in there, senor."
"Good God, if they get word back to the town, it's the end of any
booty."
"Hugh, I don't like this." Katherine stared toward the fortress. There
were no guards to be seen, no sentries. Everyone was inside, shouting.
"Maybe it's some kind of ruse. Something has gone terribly wrong."
"To tell the truth, I don't like it either." He cocked his pistol and
motioned the men forward. "Let's take it, masters."
Some fifty yards separated them from the open door as they began their
dash forward across the clearing. Now they could hear the sound of
cannon trucks rolling over paving stone as the guns were being set.
Only a few more feet remained. Would the door stay open? Why had there
been no musket fire?
As Winston bounded up the stone steps leading to the door, hewn oak
with iron brackets, still no alarm rose up, only shouts from the
direction of the cannon at the front of the breastwork. He seized the
handle and heaved it wide, then waved the others after him. Atiba was
already at his side, cutlass drawn.
Now they were racing down the dark stone corridor, a gothic arch above
their heads, its racks of muskets untouched.
My God, he thought, they're not even going to be armed. Only a few feet
more . . .
A deafening explosion sounded from the front, then a second and a
third. Black smoke boiled up as a yell arose from the direction of the
cannon. The guns of the fort had been fired.
When they emerged at the end of the corridor and into the smoky yard,
Spanish militiamen were already rolling back
the ordnance to reload. The gunners froze and looked on dumbfounded.
"!Ingles Demonio!" One of them suddenly found his voice and yelled
out, then threw himself face down on the paving stones. One after
another, all the others followed. In moments only one man remained
standing, a tall officer in a silver helmet. Winston realized he must
be the gunnery commander.
He drew his sword, a long Toledo-steel blade, and stood defiantly
facing Winston and the line of musketmen.
"No." Winston waved his pistol. "It's no use."
The commander paused, then stepped back and cursed his prostrate
militiamen. Finally, with a look of infinite humiliation, he slowly
slipped the sword back into its scabbard.
A cheer went up from the seamen, and several turned to head for the
inner chambers of the fortress, to start the search for booty. Now the
second wave of the attack force was pouring through the corridor.
"Katy, it's over." Winston beckoned her to him and and boxed
ceremoniously. "Jamaica is . . ."
The yard erupted as the copestone of the turret at the corner exploded,
raining chips of hard limestone around them.
"Great God, we're taking fire from down below." He stood a moment in
disbelief. Around him startled seamen began to scurry for cover.
Even as he spoke, another round of cannon shot slammed into the front
of the breastwork, shaking the flagstone under their feet.
"Who the hell's in charge down there? There were no orders to fire on
the fort ..."
Another round of cannon shot crashed into the stone facing above them.
"Masters, take cover. There'll be hell to pay for this, I promise you."
He suddenly recalled that Mewes had been left in command down below.
"If John's ordered the ships into the bay and opened fire, I'll skin
him alive."
"Aye, and with this commotion, I'll wager their damned cavalry lancers
will be on their way soon enough to give us a welcome." Bartholomew was
standing alongside him. "I'd say we'd best secure that door back there
and make ready to stand them off."
"Order it done." Winston moved past the gunners and headed toward the
front of the breastwork, Katherine at his side. As they approached the
Spanish commander, he backed away, then bowed nervously and addressed
them in broken English.
"You may receive my sword, senor, in return for the lives of my men. I
am Capitan Juan Vicente de Padilla, and I offer you unconditional
surrender. Please run up your flag and signal your gunships."
"We've got no flag." Winston stared at him. "Yet. But we will soon
enough."
"What do you mean, _mi capitan_? You are Ingles." His dark eyes
acquired a puzzled expression. "Of course you have a flag. It is the
one on your ships, down in the bay."
"Hugh, what's he talking about? Has John run up English colors?"
Katherine strode quickly past the smoking cannon to the edge of the
breastwork and leaned over the side.
Below, the bay was lightening in the early dawn. She stood a moment,
then turned back and motioned Winston to join her. Her face was in
shock. He shoved his pistol into his belt and walked to her side.
Headed across the bay, guns run out, was a long line of warships.
Nearest the shore, and already launching longboats of Roundhead
infantry, were the _Rainbowe_ and the _Marsten Moor_--the red and
white Cross of St. George fluttering from their mizzenmasts.