Pistoleer: Pirates Read online

  "Aye,” Daniel replied. "and the same scheme can be used beyond growing things like tobacco and sugar. Think about it. You could run plantation mines, plantation fisheries, or plantation lumber mills all in the same way. All you need do is gain a monopoly on the trade. Can you imagine living in a place where the productive land was not owned by the locals? Worse, where it was owned by a foreign company."

  "You mean like in the Huntingdon Fens?" Robert pointed out. "where it will be true soon enough if Charlie keeps enclosing the commons. I take it then that you will not move your clan to Virginia?"

  "Not a chance,” Daniel replied. "In truth, I have no more interest in Virginia at all. I no longer want to sail up the James River or to visit the towns along its banks. I did learn something useful from some settlers, however. They speak well of the Island of Bermuda. Well enough to want to live there themselves."

  "Taylor mention Bermuda,” Robert replied, "but he told me that it was a small island in the middle of the ocean, and difficult to find."

  "I've looked it up on the charts and he told you true. Back when we left that free port on Gran Bajamar, had we turned east rather than west, we would have come to Bermuda."

  "But that would be so far from anywhere, and across open sea."

  "These settlers had fond memories of it, and they said that coconuts grew there. They also told me that the quickest way from England to Virginia is to sail south to the Canary Islands and then sail due west to Bermuda and then on to Virginia." His friend didn't seem to be interest, so Daniel changed the subject. "What did Taylor say about the two kiddies we took aboard?"

  "He wants them back, at least the girl. I think he is one of those men who is sexually aroused by little children." Robert had no sooner said the words than Daniel pulled his pistol from his belt and checked the prime. "No, Danny. If your clan ever do settle in the Carolinas then this will your closest English town. We must stay friendly with Taylor, though I admit that the thought of it brings bile to my throat."

  "Rob, if you give the kiddies back to him, then I swear that I will go ashore with them and stuff this barrel in his mouth and pull the trigger,” Daniel said, and Robert knew better than anyone else that he was capable and willing to do just that.

  "Is Weston ashore with the rest?" Robert asked. "He may know of a way to placate Taylor."

  "He's hiding in the command cabin."

  "Is his fever back?"

  "Nay, I said hiding and I meant hiding. He refuses to step out onto the deck,” Daniel smiled. "Perhaps we should go and ask him the why's of it."

  Weston was sitting on a reed mat on the floor while updating the ship's charts. He looked thin but surprisingly healthy for a man who had been fighting bad-air fevers. He looked up at them and said, "I am just scraping off the names of the Pamlico villages that are no more."

  "Why aren't you ashore?" Robert asked. "And don't tell me that you don't yearn to stretch your legs in an English speaking town."

  As if swallowing the first lie that came to his voice, Weston cleared his throat. "Taylor is still the factor here. Once, long ago, I sold him some cannons for the fort. The company had given him a goodly sum to put cannons on the walls, and I brokered a deal that cost him only half of what he had been given. Just because the cannons did not shoot quite as well as brand new cannons, he called me a cheat and would have strung me up if I had not fled Virginia."

  "What was wrong with the cannons?"

  "I don't know. They looked good. Bronze fourteen pounders off a Spanish galleon. Used for sure, but still serviceable. They were salvaged by a privateer of my acquaintance."

  "Salvaged? From the sea?" Robert asked. "How long were they under salt water?"

  "I don't know. More than a year, less than two."

  "Inside the barrel chamber where the powder burns hottest, the copper would have changed and it would have been leached out of the bronze by the salt water,” Robert hissed in anger at such trickery. "They would look good on the outside, but inside they would be corrupted. When fired under load anything could happen. The ball may bounce around in the barrel, the barrel may split, the barrel may blow up, hot spots could form that would make the reloading dangerous. I wonder how many gun crews your cannons killed?"

  Daniel had been strangely silent. Too silent. Robert swung around just in time to push down the barrel of the cocked pistol that had appeared in Daniel's right hand. Once Daniel stopped fighting to raise the pistol, Robert nodded to Weston to continue the story of the salt water cannons.

  "One did explode but did no harm. The gunners did not trust it and were careful to light it with a long fuse. I explained that they were old cannons and that the gunners had used too much powder. They loaded another with less powder and I fired it myself. It was fine."

  "Aye, using less than half a charge I'll wager,” Robert did some calculations in a head. "That means a loss of three quarters of the aimed range. Perhaps still range enough to control the mouth of the James River but not enough to control the mouth of the Chesapeake. Had it been me, I would have lynched you."

  The seriousness of the moment disappeared in a gale of laughter from Daniel. When he could speak again he said, "I thought those slave catchers were just being polite when they told us that we had nothing to fear from the fort's cannon. Nay, they spoke the literal truth."

  With a smile, Robert caught up to the thoughts of his friend. "Well that changes everything. Thank you Tom. As usual, your knowledge of the history of this coast has saved us some trouble. Come outside with me Daniel, but first uncock your pistol and shove it back under your belt. Weston has done us a great service. Unintentionally, of course, but a service still."

  * * * * *

  Feeling truly rested for the first time in months, Robert left his landlubber feather bed and his spacious room in Taylor's house and joined the factor for an early breakfast. He had learned much from Taylor over the last two evenings, none of it palatable, but all of it useful to know. He would pass the knowledge on to Daniel in case his clan decided to settle along this coast.

  When he left the house to rejoin his ship, Taylor said quietly to him, "I will be with my slave catchers on the other side of the creek. Put the lass ashore anywhere on that side and they will grab her."

  Kecoughtan was not much of a town but it was the largest Robert had seen since San Agustin. Not so fine as San Agustin, and with no gracious or grand buildings, but large enough to have streets and street corners, some cobbled, but most not. Front street, as was usual in English colonies, was the street that ran along the warehouses and docks and was the street closest to where the Swift floated in Sunset Creek. The other streets were Main street with houses and business fronts, Back street with cabins, huts, and stables, and River street which ran along the river bank and crossed the ends of each of the other streets.

  As he walked towards his ship with his gear over his shoulder, he wondered at how powerful men like Taylor could lose their senses over twittery immature lasses like the Irish girl. How far would Taylor go to capture her? Would he order the fort to fire on the Swift. The Swift dare not return the fire, not and still be welcome in English ports.

  If it were up to Daniel, a slaver like Taylor would have had a fatal accident by now. Unfortunately, so long as Taylor lived, and wielded so much power in Virginia, they had to be nice to him. The thought made him shudder. Taylor had not needed to admit to carrying the French Pox because his misshapen face bespoke the truth. The man was a snake. He couldn't possibly give the girl to him.

  The Swift was alongside a wharf with the crew already at work and the passengers filing aboard. It had been a long journey for them, but not a hard one. Still, they were grumbling. They wanted it to end. They wanted to be in Plymouth already. Well too effing bad for them.

  "Are you ready to leave?" Daniel asked as Robert stepped aboard. "You are the last to board. Our water casks are full. Have you arranged everything with Taylor?"

  "Aye, let's get out of here."

  "Then I su
ggest that we run out the oars,” Daniel said, "to take us out of the Hampton River and over to the other side of the James River as far from the fort as possible. Then we'll make a wide arch into the Chesapeake. I trust we are taking the kiddies to Saint Mary's."

  As the men rowed the Swift out of the creek a hailing 'hoot' came from some men on the far side point of the creek, from the small dock of the plantation there. The man who hooted was standing beside Taylor. Robert called back to them, "Sorry, Thomas. The pilgrim women are protecting her and would not trust me with her." He shrugged as a sign of his helplessness and then waved.

  Taylor also waved, but not at him. He waved to some mounted men on the other side of the Hampton River. At the signal, they kicked their horses and made off in the direction of the fort. The rest of the crew and passengers did not see this for they were looking and waving in the direction of the town. "Remember to keep us as far from the fort as you can,” Robert reminded Daniel.

  The Swift rowed up the James River a ways before making a wide horseshoe to pass through the narrows protected by the fort while staying as far from the fort as possible. They were still within two miles of the fort, and possibly still within range of their guns. Smoke blew out from one of the fort's cannons. "The fort is giving us a salute,” Daniel called out to the crew and passengers. The knowing crew ducked their heads down and rowed harder while the passengers clapped in glee at the honor. The sound from the cannons finally reached them, and with it the whistle of a ball, but it splashed down well short of them.

  None of the passengers seemed to wonder at why a saluting cannon was loaded with a ball. They just pointed in wonder at the water spout the ball had spewed up and argued whether or not it was a whale spout.

  As they left the narrows and reached Chesapeake Bay, the fort blew another shot at them. This also fell well short, and Robert grinned and said, "They are using half loads." Weston was standing close by and Robert shook his hand and told him, "Thankee, Tom. Selling bad cannons to bad men is praiseworthy indeed." Weston opened his mouth to reply, but Robert had already turned away and was calling down to the oarsmen. "Some of you ship your oars and hoist them sails so we can all take a rest."

  * * * * *

  Chesapeake Bay was similar in many ways to Pamlico Sound. It was large, with many islands, peninsulas, and rivers. In one important way, however, it was very different. It had hills. Yes there were a lot of low lying swampy forest land, but there were also dry highlands and ridges. It suddenly made sense why this great waterway would be chosen by the early settlers over Pamlico.

  Daniel lost himself in his looker for hours at a time. Weston sat on the deck next to him and carefully printed the features of this long bay onto one of their English charts. At Daniel's insistence he marked every hill with a cross and with his estimation of its height. It was from using the chart that Weston pointed out the mouth of the Potomac River, up which was the Catholic colony of Saint Mary's.

  That afternoon they anchored in the creek which created Saint Clements Island, on which was built Saint Mary's Cittie, the only Catholic colony on the Chesapeake. Perhaps the only English Catholic colony in the entire New World. The Brownist passengers refused to visit a papist colony, so they stood the watch so that the crew could all stretch their legs in the village. It was a very different layout from Kecoughtan because the streets were organized around the church rather than along the docks.

  Robert took the two Irish youngsters in tow and walked towards the church in search of Andrew White, the resident Jesuit. The village was strangely empty until they reached the church. The church was brimming with folk. A fat man with a bald head and wearing a black habit came forward from the church door with his arms outstretched.

  "By the saints,” he told Robert, "we are relieved to see you."

  "You must have us mistaken for someone else, for you cannot be expecting us,” Robert replied to the bear-like hug.

  "By the cut of your ship my flock were expecting pirates or slavers. We are most relieved that you are neither."

  "How do you know?" Robert glanced over his shoulder at his crew now stretching their legs along the banks of the island. After months at sea they certainly looked like pirates especially the men who had trimmed their hair in the Duhare way.

  "Because you have Puritans aboard, so you are carrying settlers,” the Jesuit turned and signaled to the church and only then did people came out through the door. "Where are you bound for?"

  "Are you Andrew White?" the Irish boy asked.

  "I am, son, and bless you for knowing my name. And what are your names, and what ship is that?"

  After some introductions, the boy pleaded with the Jesuit, "My sister and I beseech you to give us safe haven from the Virginia slavers."

  "Why of course. That goes without saying. Any slave who reaches my church have their shackles removed and may live as free men so long as they do not go into debt."

  The lad and lass were joyous, but Robert was not pleased by the Jesuit's assurance. If you arrived in a colony with nothing but the clothes on your back, then debt was a given. "They have nothing. How can they live without going into debt?"

  "They just need a sponsor. Someone who will keep them while they find a way of keeping themselves." White turned the lad towards the church and told him, "Go children, and tell the folk your story. If you do not find a sponsor amongst them, then tonight you may eat at my table and sleep in the church."

  "Wait,” Robert called out, "I risked my ship to save these two from the lurid clutches of Thomas Taylor and his plantation managers. I will not have them taken in by yet another plantation manager."

  "Have no fear, captain. There are no plantations in Mary's Cittie, and there will never be any if I have any say in it. We came here to farm for food and to make our way by profitable trade with the native clans. If we allowed plantation men to settle here, it would sour our good standing with the locals. Slavers would bring violence to this peaceful place."

  "So you grow no tobacco here?" Robert asked.

  "Of course we grow tobacco. Tobacco is used instead of coin along the Chesapeake. The difference is that every farm grows a little tobacco, alongside more important crops, crops that you can eat."

  "So there are no slaves?" the boy asked.

  "Bond slaves with terms limited to five years. No others." White replied softly, convincingly. "We do not enslave the native clans, for our lives are made all the better if we all live in peace. We do not buy blacks, nor do we abide the whipping of men, nor do we allow the Virginia slave catchers to hunt here. All folk are welcome here, so long as they allow our church and our devotions. Are your Puritans coming ashore?"

  "They refuse to,” Robert told the monk. "They are Brownists. The men ashore are my crew. Some of them are Puritans, but none of them are Catholic. Daniel here is an Anabaptist."

  "Oh,” White said and his smile turned into a frown. "We in Mary's Cittie are not that different from you Anabaptists you know. We came here to make a new life in a commune where we can live according to our faith and away from the prejudices of others. Isn't that exactly what Anabaptists search for in the New World?"

  "That is part of our quest, true,” Daniel replied. "More urgent is my need to find a warmer place to live than the Fens along the North Sea. How are the winters along the Chesapeake?"

  "Here on this island, a few weeks of snow, no more, but it is much colder as you travel further north. The local natives tell us that there is a mountain ridge to the west of here where the depth of the snow is a problem each winter. They know this because they have fishing camps here in the lowlands, and farming camps on dryer land, and hunting camps in the highlands, and they travel between them as if they were migrating birds."

  Weston had arrived and stood listening. Robert was impatient that no decision had been made about the youngsters despite all of the fine words. "Will you vouchsafe the youngsters?" he interrupted.

  "I will." White replied as he stared at the captain and at the new man
who looked vaguely familiar, but he could not place him. The captain did not introduce him.

  "Do you know of a man by the name of William Claiborne from Lynn in the Fens?" Daniel asked. "I was told by his father that he has a fur trading post at the north end of Chesapeake Bay. He is supposedly doing well for himself."

  "That is not a name you should call out in Mary's Cittie,” White replied. "Yes I know him, but he is gone. Two years ago our ships and his ships had an armed set to in the bay, and he lost. His trading fort on Kent Island is now run by us."

  "So where would he be now?" Daniel asked. "I promised his old father to bring news of him."

  Weston interrupted. "Daniel, remember our discussions when I was talking my way onto your ship. I told you of some foolish English who were trying to settle some islands off the coast of Panama. You must remember. The island was called Roatan, and I showed you where it was on the charts. That is where Bill Claiborne is now."

  "Why didn't you mention Claiborne when you told us about Roatan?"

  "How was I to know that you knew the man. He has been a Virginian since the massacre of '22, and this is your first time here." Weston looked at White. "Padre, would you have any of the Jesuit bark from Peru. You know, the cure for the bad-air fevers?"

  "Would that I did,” White replied. "Most of us suffer from the fever, off and on. So Claiborne is in the Caribbean then. That is a relief. Since he lost Kent Island to us, he has been pressuring the Burgesses of Virginia, and the courts in England to have it returned to him. He is wasting his time and his bribes, of course. The King's politics is against his venture."

  "How do you mean?" Weston urged. He was always greedy for knowledge that may profit him.

  "King Charles has ceded us the patent for the north end of the Chesapeake, and not just to favour his Catholic supporters in England, but to counter the expansion of the Dutch colonies along the Delaware River. He couldn't trust the Virginians not to join with the Dutch, so he placed our Catholic colony between them. Clairborne is a Puritan and a friend to the Dutch, so Kent Island is lost to him forever."