Pyrate's Boy, page 14
When the man resurfaces, Toombi grabs an oar and bashes him on the head. In return, he grabs the oar and tries to pull Toombi in. As all this is happening, I scan the surface for James and see a single hand rise above the waves, grasp the air and then disappear.
Although I can’t swim, I dive down into the water and flail wildly about in the watery blackness until finally my hand swipes the end of a chain. I take it in both hands and kick with all my strength until I reach the surface. I expect the worst, but it is Toombi who pulls me into the boat. James’s guard is nowhere to be seen, so we haul in the chain, hand over fist, until finally James is beside the boat.
‘Got you,’ I say as we drag him back in. ‘This is becoming a habit.’
I hear the whistle of a bullet just behind my head. I glance back and there, standing on the jetty, a pistol in his hand, is another of McGregor’s men.
‘Row!’ I yell to Toombi. ‘As fast as you can. To Port Royal!’
A bullet hits the bow and blasts a hole in the wood as big as my hand; fortunately it is above the water line.
In the bow, James coughs and splutters. He must have drunk a fair amount of seawater. Finally he lies back with his eyes open.
‘The stars,’ he says. ‘Thought I was going to die without a final sight of them.’
‘You’re not going to die,’ I tell him. ‘At least, not yet.’
‘He said he was going to kill me,’ he gasps. ‘Said my mother had tricked him. If she didn’t agree to marry him then he would kill us both.’
I don’t need to ask him who he’s talking about. McGregor is back in Jamaica.
35. THE RUINED TOWN
In what seems like no time, Port Royal looms up in front of us. The old harbour, called Chocolata Hole, its steps crumbling and its moorings collapsing, is deathly silent. Fort George looms behind.
I know that the grizzled old pyrates and the drunken buccaneers, the lusty cut-throats and the murdering thieves who once lived on the spit of land called Port Royal, are long gone. Today, there is no other place in the Colonies that pyrates would do more to avoid. It is not just the Royal Navy Headquarters at Fort George, but the outcrop of land where the gallows are always built, a new one for each hanging. Just in case anyone should forget, there is a tiny islet called Deadman’s Cay on the far side of the Fort, where the dead body of Calico Jack, the famous pyrate, was tarred and hung in a cage as a warning to others.
No wonder Port Royal has become a place of bad ends and nightmares, of ghosts and untimely demises.
We row as quietly as we can along the edge of the half-sunken city left behind by the earthquake and tidal wave so long ago. The remains of the town rise out of the water, its crumbling walls towering above us like cliffs. Half in the water, half out, a carriage with a wheel missing and its upholstery covered in seaweed sits in what might have been the entrance to a stable.
A vast doorway, one side half-toppled, the other leaning so far to the right it looks about to collapse, has a faded painted sign that reads The Sugar Loaf. Inside, it is pitch black. Who knows what is there? Toombi lifts an oar, causing us to veer sharply to the right and head silently through the door of the sunken tavern.
Here we spend a sleepless night. I assure James that although it wasn’t easy, we did deliver the jewels to Dunlop.
‘But then McGregor burst in and stole them.’ I tell him more, whispering in the darkness.
‘So they were only made of glass!’ James is shocked and, for a moment, silent. The jewels, it seems, have not brought him and his mother good fortune.
‘But Dunlop knew them,’ I tell James. ‘He’s your father! And he is coming.’ I pull the handkerchief from my pocket. ‘And he gave me this to hand to your mother in return.’
In the light of the moon, James stares at the two initials: I and A.
‘I thought his name was William?’
I decide that this is not the time or the place to reveal to James his father’s true identity.
‘Your mother will know it,’ I say. ‘It is her own needlework.’
He frowns then hands it back.
‘But what good will it do now?’ he says. ‘McGregor has taken her.’
‘Taken her where?’
‘To the ship, to your old ship.’
‘To the Tenacity? Where is she moored?’
James shakes his head.
‘I don’t know. But I do know that if he doesn’t get what he wants, he has sworn to set the ship alight and let it go down with all hands.’
James blinks back a tear.
‘Even hers,’ he says.
They say it is always darkest just before the dawn. And it is just before sunrise that we hear the sound of hammering in the distance.
‘What’s that?’ James asks.
‘They’ve started to build the gallows.’
36. THE HANGING
We climb up a set of crumbling steps and from the vantage point of an attic room in the old tavern we can see everything. Gallows Point sticks out into the bay just beyond Fort George. Dozens of ships have left their moorings in Kingston and dropped anchor off the point to watch the hangings. Wealthy plantation owners and their wives, dressed up in their Sunday best, sit under the shade of colourful parasols on the decks of chartered boats. The rest, shop owners and harbour masters, bookkeepers and tavern boys, bob up and down in hired rowing boats. In fact, it seems as if the entire population of the town has turned out.
The gallows, newly built and still splintery and sticky with sap, sits on a bluff of grass above a small sandy bay. The ocean rolls lazily back and forth on the shore while the wind sighs softly along the beach. I wish for tornados or rainstorms, earthquakes or tidal waves but, judging by the sky, it is going to be a beautiful day. As the sun lights up the rope that hangs in three loops from the crossbeam of the gallows, I am filled with a cold, reckless misery. To be so close and to be able to do nothing is the worst feeling in the world.
With a creak, the metal door of the fort opens. A drum starts to beat as a doctor comes out, followed by a man dressed in black. The crowd bursts into a round of applause. I can’t bear it any longer. Without telling James or Toombi, I slip away, and creep down the stairs. I wade out of the tavern’s front door and through a large archway that was once the town’s main gate. And then I crouch behind a pile of rubble, the ruins of the town wall. I can see the man in black, the executioner, checking the gallows over, testing the ropes and the trapdoors beneath. The point is so exposed that I cannot get anywhere near without being spotted.
I edge around the back and approach the fort from behind, from the beach. The walls are steep and higher than they look, but I am good at climbing and within a few minutes, am up and over the top. As quietly as I can, I drop down on to the yellow dust of the parade ground.
The prison is right in the middle of the fort. It has a door at the front and three barred windows at the back. The door is guarded, so I make a run for the back. Nobody spots me, no one is looking. Once I get my breath back, I climb up until I can see through one of the windows. Directly on the floor below, sitting in a shaft of sunlight, is the captain.
‘Captain! Up here,’ I whisper. ‘It’s Silas!’
Black Johnnie turns and squints into the light.
‘Silas?’ he repeats. When he sees that it is, in fact, me, his cabin boy, he doesn’t look very pleased.
‘You must leave immediately. What on earth do you think you’re doing?
‘Toombi is with me,’ I go on. ‘Don’t lose heart. We’re trying to find a way.’
But he doesn’t seem to hear me.
‘Promise me something. Get out of here immediately. That is an order.’
I hesitate, I hum, I haw.
‘Promise me!’ he repeats. ‘It is my last wish.’
What can I do but promise?
Just then the door swings open and a great, ugly guard comes in. I duck down. He farts loudly before he speaks.
‘On your feet. You’ve been entertained here for far too long. The time has come, you grubby vagabond, the time has come to take a drop, to go for a sail, to meet your maker.’
And then he laughs, as if he has said something amusing, which he certainly hasn’t.
I slide down the prison wall until I am sitting at the bottom. What now? We are two boys and a former slave against the British Navy. We can’t fight them alone. We have no weapons, no plan, nothing.
The drum has started to beat again and the crowds on the boats let out a huge cheer. ‘Swing them,’ a voice booms out. ‘Swing them high!’ shouts another. ‘Let’s see the pyrates hang!’ yells a third.
Only a miracle can save them now.
I sit so still that a lizard shoots out of a crack in the brickwork and starts when it sees me. And then, with a flick of its tail, it darts back again. I wish that I could follow it. I wish that I could crawl into a hole and die. Instead, I know I must make myself stand up and try and get back out of the fort. I promised the captain.
I edge out of the shade and make a run for the nearest section of wall. From here, I slip around the perimeter, but, to my horror, run headlong into a soldier coming the other way.
But instead of grabbing me or raising the alarm, he simply gives me a strange look and keeps on running towards the entrance of the fort.
With my heart pounding, I scale the wall, clamber up and over the other side, and make a run for the edge of the ruined town. Once more I can lie flat out on the grass without being seen. The captain, Billy the Fiddle and Catherine are standing in a row to the right of the gallows. Each has a black hood over their head. But the drummer has stopped drumming. A plume of smoke rises above Kingston. The church bell is ringing. Something is happening.
Since voices carry much further on water than on land, even though they are quite far away, I can hear the plantation owners shouting to each other from boat to boat.
‘The slaves…’ one shouts. ‘They are escaping!’
‘But I have just paid handsomely,’ says another. ‘I can’t afford to lose that money.’
‘Pull up the anchor,’ shouts a third. ‘We must return immediately!’
‘Who could have done such a thing?’ wails a woman. ‘They cannot have released themselves!’
I have an idea who might have crept into the empty town looking for me, found the slaves in their pen and freed them: Oscar, Jonathan and the others. I shake my fist in the air with joy. Good work!
As the flotilla of boats off Gallows Point pull up their anchors, turn around and head back to town, two dozen soldiers from the Fort climb aboard a dinghy and follow them. Only three are left behind, along with the doctor and the executioner. Maybe they will call off the hanging? But one by one the executioner pushes the prisoners up the gallows steps until the captain, Billy the Fiddle and Catherine each stand in front of a noose.
I remember the advice Black Johnnie once gave me. When in doubt, do the opposite of what they would expect. The soldiers have a musket each, but I know that now is the time. It is now or never.
I look around for something to arm myself with but find nothing. I have only my slingshot. I pull it out of my pocket and place a pebble in its cradle. Then I stand up, hold it out in front of me, let out a blood-curdling cry and charge.
‘Yaaaaaarrrrr!’
As I run across the grass towards the gallows, the expression on the faces of the soldiers slowly changes. It starts with surprise and then transforms into fear. The sight of me must be more frightening than I ever expected. But even before I reach them I am aware of the dull rumble of footsteps behind me. I glance over my shoulder. And there, led by Toombi, armed with axes and swords, machetes and cutlasses, their faces scarred or covered in tattoos, is the crew of the Curby Dodger. Toombi must have gone back to fetch them. No wonder the soldiers drop their weapons and hold up their hands.
‘Get to your knees,’ shouts one pyrate, who has clearly done this sort of thing before. ‘One move and you’ll get my knife through your heart.’
The soldiers offer no resistance. The doctor starts to sob and his knees give way of their own accord. Only the executioner jumps off the gallows and tries to make a run for it. The pyrates catch up with him on the beach.
‘This is for my brother,’ says one and gives him a punch in the belly. ‘You strung him up three years ago.’
‘And this is for my father,’ says another, giving him a kick. ‘When he swung, he left ten children to starve.’
‘No doubt he deserved it,’ the executioner yelled.
The pyrates, as one, all raise their weapons. The executioner cowers with his hands above his head.
‘Stop,’ yells the captain. Toombi has pulled the black hoods from their heads. The three condemned prisoners stand blinking in the bright sunlight. ‘Don’t hurt him.’
The pyrates are astonished – speechless in fact.
‘Don’t hurt him, after all he’s done?’
‘But that’s not right. We need vengeance!’
‘Then row him out to Deadman’s Cay and leave him there,’ says Black Johnnie. ‘Let him take his chances with the tide. A slow death is far, far worse than a swift one.’
This, the pyrates all agree, is true.
Across the bay, Kingston harbour is filled with boats all jostling with each other to dock. Even from here we can tell by the raised voices and the clash of bow on bow that there is pandemonium. The town, in contrast, has gone deadly quiet. I hope the slaves have run as fast as they can in all directions. I hope they never get caught.
Black Johnnie, Billy the Fiddle and Catherine are helped off the gallows. Someone produces a bottle of rum and they all, even Catherine, take a drink.
‘Well, that was a near thing,’ says Billy and rubs his neck.
‘You broke your promise,’ the captain says sternly to me.
My face grows hot and then cold again.
‘I had no choice,’ I reply.
And then he hugs me so hard that I think I might suffocate.
‘I forgive you this time,’ he whispers. ‘Will somebody please tell me? Where have all the people gone?’
‘I think the children did it,’ I say. ‘Catherine’s friends. I met them after you were captured. They freed the slaves in Kingston. They saved us all.’
Catherine face breaks into the sweetest smile but she says nothing.
Then it all seems to dawn on us at the same time. The three prisoners have escaped the gallows but how can we all now escape Port Royal?
‘If only we had the Tenacity,’ says Billy the Fiddle.
And then sailing round the headland, almost as if she had heard us, comes our ship.
37. TWO SHIPS
It feels as if it takes an hour for the Tenacity to reach us, but in truth it cannot have been more than a few minutes. The beautiful ship sails right into the harbour and drops anchor. As we watch, a woman in a white dress appears on the deck.
‘Who on earth?’ says Black Johnnie.
‘It’s Isabella,’ I say.
Behind her are three of McGregor’s men, all armed with muskets. And then a thought occurs to me.
‘Where’s James?’ I ask.
No one has seen him for quite some time. I’m starting to get a bad feeling. And then a voice shouts out.
‘Mama?’
McGregor and James are standing on the crumbling steps at Chocolata Hole. He has a knife to the boy’s throat.
‘I will kill the boy,’ he shouts to us. ‘Unless you agree to my demands.’
‘James,’ Isabella cries out. ‘Please! He is my son. Don’t hurt him.’
‘Send a skiff for us both,’ he shouts to his men. ‘And then send it back for the prisoners, the black man and that boy.’
My joy turns to despair in an instant. Whatever he wants us for cannot be good. Black Johnnie rubs his neck as if he can feel the noose around it again. Even Billy the Fiddle cannot even think of anything cheerful to say. To almost die once in one day is bad enough.
‘Go,’ the captain tells the pyrates who remain. ‘Go back into Port Royal. The soldiers won’t find you there.’
But they do not move. They stand in silence as the skiff returns and, one by one, we climb inside.
‘We’ll be here,’ one says. ‘If you need us.’
‘Thank you,’ says Black Johnnie.
By the time the captain, Billy the Fiddle, Catherine, Toombi and I reach the decks of the Tenacity, James is being comforted by Isabella. Her face is dirty and the dress is torn. She can’t have come aboard without a struggle. McGregor, however, has changed into a fresh waistcoat and jacket.
‘Well, well,’ he says. ‘You are as slippery as eels, it seems I need to keep my enemies close.’
He casts a glance back at Kingston. Now the commotion has died down a little, a few boats have begun to head back in the direction of Port Royal to see what has transpired.
‘Pull up the anchors,’ McGregor shouts. ‘We need a little privacy, I think.’
As I have said, with the wind blowing in the right direction, the Tenacity can move at quite a clip. Today, the surface of the sea is tipped with white and the westerly breeze is filled with dashes of rain. In no time, the island of Jamaica is just a blue rock on the horizon.
‘What is he going to do to us?’ I ask the captain.
Black Johnnie shakes his head.
‘I have no idea,’ he says.
‘Isabella,’ McGregor says. ‘It is time. Captain Harkin. Please?’
And then I get it.
‘He wants you to marry him!’ I say.
The captain shudders.
‘I cannot marry him,’ he says. ‘He is a man!’
‘Not you: Isabella! He wants you to marry him and Isabella!’
‘But I have no authority…’ he begins.
‘Catherine?’ I say. ‘Tell him.’
‘A ship’s captain can record births and deaths,’ she says. ‘And he can marry people, I think.’
So it is that the captain stands on the bridge with Isabella and McGregor in front of him and two of McGregor’s men pointing their muskets behind.
‘Captain McGregor,’ says Isabella, ‘I beg you to reconsider.’
