Mad Morgan (28 page)
Authors: Kerry Newcomb
“Well met, Sir Richard,” Morgan said with a rueful grin. “Don't let my resurrection spoil your morning meal.”
“What are you doing here? Where did you come from?”
“Did you think the Don could hold me? Tell me, Sir Richard, had you washed your hands of me? Well, I'm the nettle in your garden and won't prune so easily.”
“Now, see here, Morgan,” said Hastiler, “I do not hold with what happened, but do not attempt to bring your troubles across the bay. I will not stand for it.”
“Too late. Trouble is here,” said Morgan.
“Have it your way,” Hastiler said. His hand slipped beneath his coat pocket and produced a flintlock pistol which he aimed at Morgan's stomach.
“Well done, Captain Hastiler,” Sir Richard exclaimed, beaming. His rouged cheeks and arched brows made him seem more foppish than usual. “Well now, you smug bastard, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Morgan raised one hand in a fist. At this signal more than two dozen men materialized out of the trees lining the road to Kingston. Another handful poked their heads and their weapons over the wall. Theirs had been the trickiest ascent, and Morgan had stalled his own efforts to see his men safely in place before he approached the terrace. Hastiler cleared his throat and looked around at the muskets and pistols trained on him.
“I may only get off one shot but it will be for you,” Hastiler promised, hoping to keep the upper hand in what had become an unpleasant standoff.
“Of course,” Morgan replied. “Rafiki!”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Mister Hastiler intends to see me dead. As soon as he has killed me, blow off his head.”
“With pleasure,” the African said.
“Ku-jeruhi.
I will personally cut out his heart.”
“Ku-jeruhi.
I will personally cut out his heart.”
“And you lads, see that the governor is caught in the crossfire,” Morgan said.
“Don't you worry, Monsieur Henri,” the Frenchman, Voisin, called out. “He'll have so much lead in him we'll be able to cut him up and use him for grapeshot.”
The governor shuddered. “For God's sake, Alan. Set down your gun.”
Hastiler hesitated, then slowly lowered the pistol and placed it on the table. He slid it across to Morgan who slid the weapon right back to the officer. The marine looked puzzled.
“Why don't you put that to use elsewhere?” the buccaneer explained. “With me in Panama.”
“My God, are you mad?” Sir Richard blurted out.
“You are a soldier,” Morgan continued, ignoring the governor's outburst. “Will you serve as some Don's lap dog and take arms against your own? Don Alonso came here in peace but he left a trail of blood in his wake. The lads he chained and tossed over the side to drown might not have been gentlemen, but they were your countrymen, they were English and deserved to die like men, not dogs.” Morgan lowered his voice and leaned toward the officer. “I say I know you, Alan Hastiler, that it sticks in your craw like a chunk of bone after a big feast. You cannot abide it. Join us. Sail with usâif not for gold or glory, then for honor.”
Hastiler said nothing, nor did he move or indicate what he was thinking. One way of life confronted anotherâboth of them importantâwhere did duty lie? Morgan's words set his spirit ablaze like Greek fire. The truth burned but could not be denied. The minutes crawled past, then, to Purselley's astonishment, the soldier took up his pistol and returned it to his coat pocket. The captain tried to think of all the reasons why he should not listen to the likes of the notorious Henry Morgan. But the memory of Port Royal in flames and the bodies of English men and women floating in the black water were etched upon his soul.
“I should like to see Don Alonso's face when he sees our colors at his gate,” the officer said. “For honor, then.”
“No! You mustn't.” Sir Richard rose from his chair and almost fell over backward. “This is madness,” he sputtered, searching for an argument. How to reason with a man like Henry Morgan? “The treaty ⦠you fools ⦠there is a peace treaty. Try to understand. England is not at war with Spain.”
“No,” said Morgan. “But I am.”
I
n mid-December while bitter temperatures assailed the thirteen English Colonies along the east coast of North America and swept across the Atlantic to bury Britain beneath a blanket of forgetful snow, a warm trade wind rippled the blue-green surface of the Kingston bay and sent the gentle tides to rock the ships nestled along the piers of Port Royal.
n mid-December while bitter temperatures assailed the thirteen English Colonies along the east coast of North America and swept across the Atlantic to bury Britain beneath a blanket of forgetful snow, a warm trade wind rippled the blue-green surface of the Kingston bay and sent the gentle tides to rock the ships nestled along the piers of Port Royal.
In the six weeks since Morgan's return, the Brethren of the Coast had managed to salvage the
Glenmorran
and the
Jericho
and the plucky little sloop
Bluefields
, to the delight of its captain, Dutch Hannah. Stronger than most men, “the duchess” worked as hard as any man when it came to hauling her sloop onto the shore for tarring. By the time the
Bluefields
was seaworthy, the woman's hands were as callused and rope-burned as any man's among her crew.
Glenmorran
and the
Jericho
and the plucky little sloop
Bluefields
, to the delight of its captain, Dutch Hannah. Stronger than most men, “the duchess” worked as hard as any man when it came to hauling her sloop onto the shore for tarring. By the time the
Bluefields
was seaworthy, the woman's hands were as callused and rope-burned as any man's among her crew.
Meanwhile Sir William Jolly tended the myriad hurts and injuries that beset the repairs. The physician was constantly being summoned, and kept too busy to keep from dwelling on the fact that his daughter and Henry Morgan seemed inseparable. Something had happened to change the buccaneer, his experience in Panama had marked him. He seemed driven by an almost desperate desire to return to Panama City. Sir William suspected that only by conquering the stronghold could Morgan purge whatever demons were plaguing his soul.
Henry Morgan, on the other hand, was merely bemused by the physician's diagnosis when he broached the subject near twilight, on
a humid evening in mid-December. Sir William and Morgan were standing in the doorway of Edward Pastusek's carpenter's shop, a ramshackle stucture that could have passed for a barn. Pastusek, a Moravian, had come to Jamaica and found his skills as a woodworker and shipwright to be in immediate demand. The gregarious craftsman had converted the barn into a space suitable for his labors.
a humid evening in mid-December. Sir William and Morgan were standing in the doorway of Edward Pastusek's carpenter's shop, a ramshackle stucture that could have passed for a barn. Pastusek, a Moravian, had come to Jamaica and found his skills as a woodworker and shipwright to be in immediate demand. The gregarious craftsman had converted the barn into a space suitable for his labors.
“Demons and plaguesâLord help us, Will, you're beginning to sound like the Black Cleric. Best dispatch you to the
Jericho
and unleash that long face of yours on LeBishop,” Morgan told him while overseeing his own special project.
Jericho
and unleash that long face of yours on LeBishop,” Morgan told him while overseeing his own special project.
Two years ago he had raided an armory in Santiago de Cuba and made off with a shipment of
patereros
, Spanish mortars. The weapons had a barrel a few inches longer than a swivel gun's, were of a similar bore, but fired an explosive shell much like a grenade, a round spherical projectile with an inner fuse. If fitted with a crude but functional stock, under the supervision of Pastusek and old Israel Goodenough, the
patereros
could be handled and fired by a single individual. The weapons were light enough to be transported across the isthmus and would provide the pirates with a kind of artillery when they reached the walls of Panama City.
patereros
, Spanish mortars. The weapons had a barrel a few inches longer than a swivel gun's, were of a similar bore, but fired an explosive shell much like a grenade, a round spherical projectile with an inner fuse. If fitted with a crude but functional stock, under the supervision of Pastusek and old Israel Goodenough, the
patereros
could be handled and fired by a single individual. The weapons were light enough to be transported across the isthmus and would provide the pirates with a kind of artillery when they reached the walls of Panama City.
“Scoff all you may,” Sir William drily observed. “But I see what I see.”
Morgan tied a black bandanna around his head to keep the perspiration from his eyes. He was dressed for the expedition, in brown sleeveless waistcoat, plain linen shirt, dark brown breeches, and black boots. “Nothing escapes you, eh, old friend?”
“Nothing. More especially when it concerns my only daughter,” said Sir William, lowering his voice. “Any man that would take advantage of Nell's ⦠heart ⦠and cause her pain, will have to answer to me.”
“Then they'll answer to us both,” Morgan said. “For I treasure her. And hold her in the highest esteem. And when I am done with Panama, I shall say more.”
“So be it,” the physician replied, satisfied. “Though I wish you would refuse to bring her along.”
“Nell is one of us, old man. It is her right to come along. And besides, she can manage her own fate. She is no stranger to fire and sword. And I warrant she could shoot the eye out of a sandfly at twenty paces.” Morgan returned his attention to the assembly of mortars. “Israel, keep the men working until all the
patereros
are completed and loaded aboard the
Glenmorran.”
patereros
are completed and loaded aboard the
Glenmorran.”
“As you wish,” Israel replied. “Hear that, lads, not a drop of jack iron for the lot of you until we're finished here.” The half dozen men seated in a circle around a common room grumbled and cursed their fate but continued to work.
Morgan followed Sir William out from the warehouse and into the street where Nell approached them, marching down the street at the head of a ragged parade of British soldiers. Morgan recognized Sergeant Robert McCready just behind Nell, and with him several of the marines hauling pushcarts down the street to the recently repaired sloops.
“What have we here, Nell?” Morgan called out.
Nell grinned and indicated the pushcarts and the column of marines behind her. “Sergeant McCready remembered these recently-received stores, black powder and shot, that came in on the Westerly during your absence.”
The homely little sergeant beamed with pleasure. He harbored no grudge at the manner in which Morgan had escaped his confinement weeks earlier. “I figure since you intend to make me as rich as a Saracen prince, robbing the governor's magazine is the least I could do.”
“That, and lend your hand at the cookfires,” Morgan said, waving the column past. Nell remained by his side, dressed as a young squire but smelling like a woman, all lilac water and pink hibiscus.
“Look at them,” she said. “It has happened, just as you said.” She was looking down the waterfront at the recently patched ships that comprised Morgan's armada.
Three sloops, the
Glenmorran, Jericho
, and
Bluefields
, a Dutch flute called the
Sea Spray
, the
Wolfbane,
a single-masted schooner; and the English brig, the
Westerly
, would transport the force Morgan had assembled. Throughout November and into December, his call had gone out across the island, far beyond the rum-soaked confines of Port Royal. Sons of shopkeepers and plantation owners abandoned their Kingston homes for a chance at adventure and Spanish treasure. Fierce Maroons, the dark-skinned descendants of slaves and former enemies of the Spaniards, drifted down from their well-guarded villages in the Blue Mountains and the Cockpit Country, and last, but hardly least, Captain Hastiler and his Royal Marines.
Glenmorran, Jericho
, and
Bluefields
, a Dutch flute called the
Sea Spray
, the
Wolfbane,
a single-masted schooner; and the English brig, the
Westerly
, would transport the force Morgan had assembled. Throughout November and into December, his call had gone out across the island, far beyond the rum-soaked confines of Port Royal. Sons of shopkeepers and plantation owners abandoned their Kingston homes for a chance at adventure and Spanish treasure. Fierce Maroons, the dark-skinned descendants of slaves and former enemies of the Spaniards, drifted down from their well-guarded villages in the Blue Mountains and the Cockpit Country, and last, but hardly least, Captain Hastiler and his Royal Marines.
The column of soldiers led by McCready filed past some of the rowdy crew of the
Jericho
; they persisted in admonishing the men in uniform, who for the most part remained unperturbed by the louts. Morgan scowled and shook his head. “If I didn't need them ⦔ he said aloud.
Jericho
; they persisted in admonishing the men in uniform, who for the most part remained unperturbed by the louts. Morgan scowled and shook his head. “If I didn't need them ⦔ he said aloud.
“But you do,” said an icy-smooth voice behind them. Thomas LeBishop materialized out of a nearby alley. In his funeral garb, the Black Cleric blended into the deepening shadows. “My lads are a bit rough about the edges, but they've never backed away from a fight.” LeBishop sauntered forward, peered in at the activity in the shop then rejoined Morgan in the street.
“I have business elsewhere,” Sir William grumbled, and headed off down the waterfront. His business involved a visit to any number of taverns. He was welcome in them all.
“Nell, see those powderkegs are distributed among the ships. If we hit a storm I don't want one ship to have all the powder and shot.”
The young woman nodded and hurried off to rejoin McCready's column. That left Morgan alone with LeBishop. The man in black quietly appraised Morgan.
“I don't trust you, Henry Morgan. I fear you may be leading us to a grim end.”
“Then why come along?”
“The damn Spaniard betrayed me as well as you.” LeBishop glanced aside at the buccaneer. “Why didn't you tell the others what happened out in the bay, that it were me and Tregoning that night in the johnnyboat?”
“To what end would it serve but to fuel division among us?” Morgan said. “Besides, I understand you, Thomas LeBishop.”
“And you have made your peace, eh? Because you need me and my men for what lies ahead,” LeBishop said, stroking his scarred cheek. “And I also have unfinished business in Panama City.”
Morgan did not like the sound of that. “Be advised. You sail beneath my flag in this venture. I will not tolerate further treachery.”
“A warning? You forget, no man is my equal with a blade,” said LeBishop. “When we reach Panama City, if we haven't got ourselves lost in crossing the isthmus, stay out of my way.” He removed his hat, wiped his bald, bony skull with a silk scarf, a cold smile on his face. “I am told Sir Richard Purselley is preparing to leave the island on the Dutch merchantman.”
“I suggested he might come to harm if he remained,” Morgan explained.
“Do not mistake me for Sir Richard,” the Black Cleric warned, and stalked off toward the pier and his ship, the
Jericho.
Jericho.
Morgan gave him a hard look. “LeBishop!” he snapped. The man in black spun on his heels, thinking he had been called out by
el Tigre
del Caribe
. LeBishop prepared to defend himself. His long bony fingers
clutched at his cutlass. Then he relaxed, realizing Morgan had not made a move toward him.
el Tigre
del Caribe
. LeBishop prepared to defend himself. His long bony fingers
clutched at his cutlass. Then he relaxed, realizing Morgan had not made a move toward him.
“I've read your Bible. I know you chapter and verse,” Morgan said, his own, gunmetal-gray eyes promising a dire fate. “Do not cross me again.”
“The devil you say.”
“No,” said Morgan in a voice smooth as silk on a sliver of steel, “the devil I
am
.”
am
.”
The Black Cleric frowned and swung about, lurched forward, and continued on his way.
Morgan sighed. And heard his father whisper in his ear.
“The lure of Spanish gold will keep Thomas LeBishop in line, my lad,”
the ghost cautionedâor was it the first night breeze stolen from the darkening bay?
“But once you take the city ⦔
the ghost cautionedâor was it the first night breeze stolen from the darkening bay?
“But once you take the city ⦔
Morgan knew the rest.
“There'll be hell to pay.”
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