Michael Crichton - Pirate Latitudes

“How long will it stay there?” Morton asked.

“It may leave at any time. Or it may wait until the next fleet departs, next year. Or it may wait for a Spanish warship to arrive and escort it home.”

“Can it be captured?” Morton asked.

“One would like to think so. In aggregate, the treasure ship probably contains a fortune worth five hundred thousand pounds.”

There was a stunned silence around the table.

“I felt,” Almont said with amusement, “that this information would interest Captain Hunter.”

“You mean this man is a common privateer?” demanded Hacklett.

“Not common in the least,” Almont said, chuckling. “Captain Hunter?”

“Not common, I would say.”

“But this levity is outrageous!”

“You forget your manners,” Almont said. “Captain Hunter is the second son of Major Edward Hunter, of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. He was, in fact, born in the New World and educated at that institution, what is it called-”

“Harvard,” Hunter said.

“Umm, yes, Harvard. Captain Hunter has been among us for four years, and as a privateer, he has some standing in our community. Is that a fair summation, Captain Hunter?”

“Only fair,” Hunter said, grinning.

“The man is a rogue,” Hacklett said, but his wife was looking at Hunter with new interest. “A common rogue.”

“You should mind your tongue,” Almont said calmly. “Dueling is illegal on this island, yet it happens with monotonous regularity. I regret there is little I can do to stop the practice.”

“I’ve heard of this man,” Hacklett said, still more agitated. “He is not the son of Major Edward Hunter at all, at least not the legitimate son.”

Hunter scratched his beard. “Is that so?”

“I have heard it,” Hacklett said. “Further, I have heard he is a murderer, scoundrel, whoremonger, and pirate.”

At the word “pirate,” Hunter’s arm flicked out across the table with extraordinary speed. It fastened in Hacklett’s hair and plunged his face into his half-eaten mutton. Hunter held him there for a long moment.

“Dear me,” Almont said. “I warned him about that earlier. You see, Mr. Hacklett, privateering is an honorable occupation. Pirates, on the other hand, are outlaws. Do you seriously suggest that Captain Hunter is an outlaw?”

Hacklett made a muffled sound, his face in his food.

“I didn’t hear you, Mr. Hacklett,” Almont said.

“I said, ‘No,’ ” Hacklett said.

“Then don’t you think it appropriate as a gentleman to apologize to Captain Hunter?”

“I apologize, Captain Hunter. I meant you no disrespect.”

Hunter released the man’s head. Hacklett sat back, and wiped the gravy from his face with his napkin.

“There now,” Almont said. “A moment of unpleasantness has been averted. Shall we take dessert?”

Hunter looked around the table. Hacklett was still wiping his face. Morton was staring at him with open astonishment. And Mrs. Hacklett was looking at Hunter and when she caught his eye, she licked her lip.

…

AFTER DINNER, HUNTER and Almont sat alone in the library of the mansion, drinking brandy. Hunter commiserated with the governor over the appointment of the new secretary.

“He makes my life no simpler,” Almont agreed, “and I fear it may be the same for you.”

“You think he’ll send unfavorable dispatches to London?”

“I think he may try.”

“The king must surely know what transpires in his Colony.”

“That is a matter of opinion,” Almont said, with an airy gesture. “One thing is certain; the continued support of privateers will be assured if it repays the king handsomely.”

“No less than an equal division,” Hunter said quickly. “I tell you, it cannot be otherwise.”

“But if the Crown outfits your ships, arms your seamen…”

“No,” Hunter said. “That will not be necessary.”

“Not necessary? My dear Hunter, you know Matanceros. A full Spanish garrison is stationed there.”

Hunter shook his head. “A frontal assault will never succeed. We know that from the Edmunds expedition.”

“But what alternative is there? The fortress at Matanceros commands the entrance to the harbor. You cannot escape with the treasure ship without first capturing the fortress.”

“Indeed.”

“Well then?”

“I propose a small raid from the landward side of the fortress.”

“Against a full garrison? At least three hundred troops? You cannot succeed.”

“On the contrary,” Hunter said. “Unless we succeed, Cazalla will turn his guns on the treasure galleon, and sink it at anchor in the harbor.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Almont said. He sipped his brandy. “Tell me more of your plan.”

LATER, AS HE was leaving the Governor’s Mansion, Mrs. Hacklett appeared in the hall, and came over to him. “Captain Hunter.”

“Yes, Mrs. Hacklett.”

“I want to apologize for the inexcusable conduct of my husband.”

“No apology is necessary.”

“On the contrary, Captain. I think it entirely necessary. He behaved like a boor and an oaf.”

“Madam, your husband apologized as a gentleman on his own behalf, and the matter is concluded.” He nodded to her. “Good evening.”

“Captain Hunter.”

He stopped at the door and turned. “Yes, Madam?”

“You are a most attractive man, Captain.”

“Madam, you are very gracious. I look forward to our next meeting.”

“I as well, Captain.”

Hunter walked away thinking that Mr. Hacklett had best look to his wife. Hunter had seen it happen before - a well-bred woman, reared in a rural gentry setting in England, who found some excitement in the Court - as no doubt Mrs. Hacklett had - if her husband looked away - as no doubt Mr. Hacklett had. Nevertheless, on finding herself in the Indies, far from home, far from the restraints of class and custom… Hunter had seen it before.

He walked down the cobbled street away from the mansion. He passed the cookhouse, still brightly lit, the servants working inside. All houses in Port Royal had separate cookhouses, a necessity in the hot climate. Through the open windows, he saw the figure of the blond girl who had served dinner. He waved to her.

She waved back and turned away to her work.

…

THEY WERE BAITING a bear outside Mrs. Denby’s Inn. Hunter watched the children pelt the helpless animal with rocks; they laughed and giggled and shouted as the bear growled and tugged at its stout chain. A couple of whores beat the bear with sticks. Hunter walked past, and entered the inn.

Trencher was there, sitting in a corner, drinking with his one good arm. Hunter called to him, and drew him aside.

“What is it, Captain?” Trencher asked eagerly.

“I want you to find some mates for me.”

“Say who they shall be, Captain.”

“Lazue, Mr. Enders, Sanson. And the Moor.”

Trencher smiled. “You want them here?”

“No. Find where they are, and I’ll seek them out. Now, where is Whisper?”

“In the Blue Goat,” Trencher said. “The back room.”

“And Black Eye is in Farrow Street?”

“I think so. You want the Jew, too, do you?”

“I am trusting your tongue,” Hunter said. “Keep it still now.”

“Will you take me with you, Captain?”

“If you do as you are told.”

“I swear by God’s wounds, Captain.”

“Then look sharp,” Hunter said, and left the inn, returning to the muddy street. The night air was warm and still, as it had been during the day. He heard the soft strumming of a guitar, and, somewhere, drunken laughter, and a single gunshot. He set off down Ridge Street for the Blue Goat.