Pirates and Prisoners Chapter 9 Storms and Spies

[Jeff Thomas]

Outside the rundown warehouse, rain hammered the roof, which seemed to develop a new leak every minute. Tabitha and Caitlin huddled under the worn blankets and listened to the storm. They didn’t have a room; the landlord had rented them a corner of attic space at a ridiculous price. But they had no choice if they wanted to get inside for the night.

Caitlin thought they were on the island of Hispaniola but was not positive. The townspeople spoke French and Spanish, and the man who owned the warehouse spoke Dutch. It had taken them three weeks to get this far. The pace left them wondering if they would ever see Boston. So far, they traveled on small boats that carried people and light cargo between the many Caribbean islands. They paid their way by cooking and cleaning for the crews, which reduced reliance on Caitlin’s money. But it was hard work, made worse by the constant propositions from men who assumed they were available.

“I’m sorry we ended up here, Tabitha,” Caitlin said plaintively. “I had no idea life would be so crazy.”

“You could not have known.”

“I should have. There’s a war on, it should be obvious that life would be hard.”

“We will survive. That is more than we could expect if we stayed in St. Eustatius.” Tabitha’s voice broke. She could not continue talking. Her last word on Henri, her “husband,” was that the crown prosecutor in English Harbor wanted to hang him for smuggling guns, which the court characterized as “treason.” Whenever she thought of him, her next thought was, “they may have hanged him already.”

Overhead the flash of a lightning bolt shone through the cracks in the wall, at the same instant, the crash of thunder deafened both women. The wind howled as it tore a section of the roof loose, which disappeared in a second. Tabitha screamed and clutched at Caitlin, who shook with fear and tried, and failed, to look brave.

“We have to move,” Caitlin yelled, her mouth close to Tabitha’s ear. “Come on, follow me.”

Caitlin ran to the stairs leading to the storehouse’s lower level. The side of the building facing the waterfront was level with the ground; the far wall was built into the side of the hill. Caitlin pointed toward a corner where the side wall met the back wall. “In that corner, it’s more sheltered.”

They huddled in the corner, shivering as their clothing was thoroughly soaked from the rain. Caitlin’s cloak already weighed too much because of the coins she sowed into the seams. Her corset was similarly loaded down, but she now trusted Tabitha completely. Three weeks on the run together had forged a close bond between them. She had given a small amount to Tabitha, providing her with insurance if they separated. More money was hidden in the false bottom of her travel valise. Hopefully, even if one stash was discovered, the others might be safe.

Another flash of lightning lit up the room. This time several seconds went by before thunder shook the building. “I think the storm went right over us.”

“I hope so, Miss Caitlin, I don’t think I can take much more of this.” Tabitha’s voice shook with fear and cold.

Caitlin patted the other woman’s back. “We’ll get through this. You’ll see.” Caitlin chuckled.

“What are you laughing at?”

“I’m trying to sound more confident than I feel.”

“I believe you will get us through this. I do.”

Sometime during the night, the storm abated. When they crawled out from under the wrecked pile of mud bricks and rotting wood, they saw the extent of the storm’s damage. The town, not large to begin with, was gone. Every structure of any sort was now rubble. Enormous puddles of muddy water covered the streets. Uprooted trees lay at all angles, covering the remains of ruined walls and roofs. People picked through the piles of junk, trying to scavenge anything useful.

The two women joined a group picking through the remains of a farm market. They found part of a loaf of bread and a few root vegetables. “We have to get off this island before we starve,” Caitlin remarked.

“How?”

“We must find someone with a boat.”

Tabitha laughed. “Every boat on this island has been pounded to pieces. We won’t find a boat.”

But three days later, Caitlin found a boat, or rather, a small ship. A two-masted bark had lost one of its masts in the storm and put into the town’s harbor to effect repairs. Caitlin, who had been gleaning food on the waterfront, watched the ship drop anchor. Even with her meager knowledge of the sea, she could tell it had lost its after mast. Shortly a longboat rowed to what remained of the town dock. A man, obviously in command from how he treated the other man, climbed onto the dock and spoke to the harbor master.

Caitlin moved closer to the men as they talked. The shipmaster needed a mast. The harbor master sounded like he had a mast but wanted considerable money for it. Eventually, they agreed on a price, accepted by the bark’s commander only because he had no choice. As he turned back to the dock, Caitlin called out to him.

“Sir, my servant woman and I are trying to reach Georgia. Can you take us there?” She smiled at him, “we can help with running your ship. Cooking and the like.”

He looked her up and down and licked his lips. “Yes, I bet you could.” He thought for a moment and nodded. “Yes, I can take you to Savannah.”

Caitlin closed her eyes and leaned back slightly, then she opened her eyes and looked directly at the captain. “Thank you. We will help make this a productive voyage for you.”

The captain smiled, “I’m sure you will.”

*

Marcus Cunningham leaned over the rail and pretended to look at Boston harbor. He knew that offshore the Royal Navy tried to blockade the city, strangling commerce. They weren’t wholly successful but made things miserable for Boston’s populace. Ships crowded the harbor, most riding at anchor, neither loading nor unloading.

But Cunningham had no interest in the harbor, at least not now. He was listening to the conversation among several sailors preparing barrels full of supplies for the coming trip. They were discussing Captain Allen and his habits. One of the men had been with Allen and Cunningham (named Harrowstone) for several voyages. Two had joined the crew in St. Eustatius, and two others had just signed on here in Boston. One, a fellow named Hobbs, was part of the group of sailors freed when Allen captured their ship.

“I can tell you this because I saw it for myself. This Captain Allen does not use the lash.”

The new crewman, named Carver, laughed, “Spare the lash? I’ve never seen a captain not use the lash.” He glared at Hobbs, “I know men like you. Tell me stupid stories to get myself in trouble later.” He spat over the side, “Men like you like seeing men like me whipped. And Captains always use the lash to control ones like us.”

Harrowstone looked up from his work. “Silence.”

“Don’t tell me to be silent.”

“You do not know Captain Allen.”

At the rail, Cunningham suppressed a desire to laugh. Everyone that knew him knew Harrowstone’s habit of short sentences and shorter words. But Harrowstone wasn’t done.

“Mr. Allen is not like the others. He’s fair. He cares for us. You’ll see.” He paused for a second or two before driving his point home. “He’s good at our business. That’s why we like working for the man.”

The whole group was silent. Cunningham turned to look at the sailors. As he did, Hobbs started clapping his hands slowly. The others laughed; Hobbs leaned over and clapped Harrowstone on the back. “I’ve lived days without hearing you speak that many words.”

“Had a lot to say,” Harrowstone muttered. The others laughed again.

“Get back to work, you lot,” Cunningham yelled in mock anger. “Or I will take treat you to the lash myself.”

This provoked more laughter. Cunningham smiled; they would start this journey with a happy crew.

*

The following day was a Sunday. Benjamin had little use for religion; a believing sailor conducted a brief morning service, not well attended. After he finished, Benjamin made his announcement. “Tomorrow afternoon, we will sail with the tide. We will do our best to make this a profitable voyage. I trust all of you to do your jobs. This afternoon will be a day of rest; I recommend you write to your loved ones. When we set the anchor watch, I will take your letters ashore and post them. If you have other business ashore, take care of it. Just make sure you are back aboard. If you miss the ship, you don’t collect the half of your signing we held back.”

Benjamin heard several men thank him, but the response was muted. “I have another announcement,” he said with a smile. “It seems we have a keg of beer that won’t fit in the hold. I’ve ordered the ship’s cook to open it for this afternoon.”

That produced a ragged cheer. Benjamin stepped away from the quarter-deck rail and waved toward Cunningham, who dismissed the men.

“I think we shall have a good voyage,” Cunningham said, “I feel it in my bones.”

“I hope so,” Benjamin said quietly, “let’s not count our plunder before we take it.”

Cunningham looked at Benjamin and suddenly remembered a bitter time aboard Venus following Moses Allen’s capture by the Royal Navy. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to stir up memories.”

“Not your fault.” Benjamin didn’t speak for a full minute. “I have a more important goal this trip beyond money. However, I doubt my ability to carry it out.” He sighed a long slow exhalation. “We will…no, I’m not going to deliver tired platitudes about serving our country. We’ll give the crew a bit of a night off and get to work in the morning.”

“Are you sure you did the right thing telling the men they could go ashore?”

Benjamin shrugged. “What are they going to do? It’s Sunday, the public houses are closed, and we have a barrel of open and free beer. Even most ladies of pleasure don’t ply their trade on Sunday.”

“Good plan,” O Reilly said as he entered Benjamin’s cabin, “Throw a party to prepare the crew to pillage the Seven Seas. We will kick bloody English assess clear across the Atlantic Ocean.” He grinned evilly. “Assuming, of course, that we empty their purses first.”

The sound of three men laughing broke the tension in the room.

*

“I’m going to take the captain up on his offer to let us go ashore,” Seaman Carver told a friend, “I have some business to take care of before we leave.”

“Save yourself the trip,” the man answered, “I’ll buy your share of the voyage here and now.”

“I’m not that stupid,” Carver said. “Besides, the vultures are already circling.” They could see the many merchants gathered on the quay from their place on Venus' deck, knowing the ship was due to sail in the morning. A few wealthy-looking men moved among them, bankers ready to pay cash now to buy shares in the voyage. It was an interesting gamble; cash now to buy a man’s share of his ship’s voyage. Many sailors could not resist the temptation of money now, against the dream of riches later. When he gave out the signing bonus when he joined the crew, Carver sat through Allen’s lecture condemning the practice.

Carver walked down the gangplank. Several men surrounded him as he reached the quay. “Beat it,” he said, “Get lost; I don’t need you. He pushed through the crowd and began walking briskly toward his first of two meetings.

It was a short walk to the tiny house overlooking the harbor. He knocked on the door, which opened immediately, but only a crack. “What’s your business?” The man was dressed in a shabby coat. Mud, inescapable on the streets of Boston in the winter, streaked his boots.

“I have a letter for a Mr. Symthe.”

“You have something to tell me?”

Carver smiled. “Long live George III.”

“Come in, my friend.” The man turned and walked into the house. “I am Mr. Smythe. Tea?”

“No, thank you, I must return to my ship soon.”

“Certainly. Where is this letter.”

Carver reached into his coat to a concealed pocket. He produced a letter and handed it to Smythe. “It isn’t much. This captain I’m sailing with is an odd duck, but I’m not sure he’s the one you want. The crew think he’s some sort of saint; they idolize him.”


“You’re sailing in the morning?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t know when I’ll be able to communicate with you again. I will pass what I can to other contacts.”

“Of course. This is a tricky business. Is he going back to the Caribbean?”

“I believe he might, if nothing else to catch more favorable wind. Many of the crew, including at least one of the officers, think he wants to go to Gibraltar. I’ve arranged a contact there.”

“Indeed.”

“There is another matter with this captain.”

“Yes?”

“I was unable to find any confirmation of this rumor, but I’ve heard from several men that Captain Allen paid off the voyage at the dock in St. Eustatius without including the continental government in the settlement.”

Smythe, finding the conversation boring, had leaned back in his chair. He sat up suddenly, the chair’s front legs banging as they hit the floor.

“You are telling me he defrauded his government?”

“Yes, sir. A couple of crewmen also told me he included his girlfriend in St. Eustatius in the settlement.”

Smythe picked up a quill and paper. “I must write this down.”

“It is in my report. I thought it would be useful.”

“Indeed. Thank you. That may be more useful than anything else. “

Smythe stood as if the interview had ended. Carver cleared his throat.

“Oh, yes. Here.”

Smythe set a half-dozen coins on the table. “Thank you for the information.”

“You are welcome.”

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