Tim Severin: Buccaneer

Hector recovered himself. 'I was in Africa for some months and out of touch. ‘I received little news from home.'

Coxon pursed his lips as he thought over Hector's statement.

Whatever Sir Thomas Lynch meant to the buccaneer, the young man could see that it was enough to make their captor reconsider his plans.

'Then I will make sure that you are united with your family,' the buccaneer said at last. 'Your companions will stay aboard this ship while she is taken to Petit Guave, and I will send a note to the authorities there that they are associates of Sir Thomas's nephew. It may stand in their favour. Meanwhile you can accompany me to Jamaica — I was already on my way there. ’

Hector's mind raced as he searched Coxon's statement for clues as to the identity of his supposed uncle. Sir Thomas Lynch had estates on Jamaica, therefore he must be a man of substance. It was reasonable to guess that he was a wealthy planter, a man who had friends in government. The opulence and political power of the West Indian plantation owners was well known. Yet at the same time Hector sensed something disquieting in Coxon's manner. There was a hint that whatever the buccaneer captain was proposing was not entirely to Hector's advantage.

Belatedly it occurred to Hector that he should put in a good word for the Laptots who had proved their worth on the trans-Atlantic voyage.

'If anyone is to be put on trial in Petit Guave, captain,' he told Coxon, 'it should not be either Benjamin here, nor his companion. They stayed with the ship even when their previous captain had died of fever. They are loyal men.'

Coxon had resumed his scratching. He was raking the back of his neck with his nails. 'Mr Lynch, you need have no worries on that score,' he said. 'They will never be put on trial.'

'What will happen to them?'

Coxon brought his hand away from his collar, inspected the fingernails for traces of whatever had been causing the irritation, and wriggled his shoulder slightly to relieve the pressure of the shirt on his skin.

'As soon as they are brought to Petit Guave, they will be sold. You say they are loyal. That should make them excellent slaves.'

He looked straight at Hector as if to challenge the young man into raising an objection. 'I believe your uncle employs more than sixty Africans on his own Jamaican plantations. I am sure he would approve.'

At a loss for words, Hector could only stare back, trying to gauge the buccaneer's temper. What he saw discouraged hope. Captain Coxon's eyes reminded him of a reptile. They protruded slightly and the expression in them was utterly pitiless. Despite the balmy sunshine, Hector felt a chill seeping deep within him. He was not to allow himself to be deceived by the pleasantness of his surroundings, with the warm tropical breeze ruffling the brilliant sea, and the soft murmuring sound as the two ships were gently moving against one another, hull to hull. He and his companions had arrived where self-interest was sustained by cruelty and violence.

TWO

Coxon's tatterdemalion company wasted little time in securing their prize. Within half an hour L'Arc-de-Ciel had been cast off and was bound for Petit Guave. Hector was left on the deck of the buccaneers' ketch wondering if he would ever see Dan, Jacques and the others again. As he watched the little sloop grow smaller in the distance, Hector was uncomfortably aware of Coxon standing not ten feet away and observing him closely.

'Your shipmates should reach Petit Guave in less than three days from now,' the buccaneer captain observed. 'If the authorities there believe their story, they'll have nothing to worry about. If not. . .' He gave a mirthless laugh.

Hector knew that Coxon was goading him, trying to get a reaction.

'Unusual, isn't it . . .' the captain went on and there was a hint of malice in his voice, 'that Sir Thomas Lynch's nephew should associate himself with a branded convict? How does that come about?'

'We were both shipwrecked on the Barbary coast, and had to team up if we were to save ourselves and get clear,' explained Hector. He tried to make his answer sound casual and unconcerned, though he was wracking his brains to think how he could learn more about his supposed relative, Sir Thomas Lynch, without arousing Coxon's suspicion. Should the buccaneer discover he had been hoodwinked, any hope of reuniting with his friends would be lost. It was best to turn the questioning back on his captor.

'You say you are bound for Jamaica. How long before we get there?'

Coxon was not to be put off. 'You know nothing of the island? Didn't your uncle speak of it?'

'I saw little of him when I was growing up. He was away much of the time, tending to his estate' — that at least was a safe guess.

'And where did your spend you childhood?' Coxon was probing again.

Fortunately the interrogation was interrupted by a shout from one of the lookouts at the masthead. He had seen another sail on the horizon. Immediately, Coxon broke off his questioning and began bawling orders at his crew to set more sail and take up the chase.

Amid all the activity Hector sauntered over to the freshwater butt placed at the foot of the mainmast. It was only a few hours to sunset yet the day was still uncomfortably hot, and a pretence of thirst was an opportunity to move out of Coxon's earshot.

'What's Jamaica like?' he asked a sailor who was drinking from the wooden dipper.

'Not what it was,' replied the man. He was a rough-looking individual. The hand which held the pannikin lacked the top joints of three fingers, and his nose had been badly broken and set crooked. He smelled of stale sweat. 'Used to be a grog shop at every corner, and harlots on parade in every street. They'd stroll up and down in their petticoats and red caps, as bold as you like, ready for all kinds of fun. And no questions asked about where you got your silver.' The man belched, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and handed Hector the dipper. 'That changed when our Henry got his knighthood. Things went quiet, but it's all still there if you know what to look for, and hold your tongue afterwards.' He gave Hector a sly look. 'I reckon that even though he's Sir Henry now, he still looks after his own. His sort will never be satisfied, however much he's got.'

Another titled Jamaican, and a rich one, Hector thought to himself. He wondered who this Sir Henry might be, and if he had any dealings with his 'uncle'. He took a sip from the pannikin.

'Wouldn't mind getting a taste of those harlots myself,' he observed, hoping to strike a comradely note. 'We were more than six weeks at sea from Africa.'

'No whoring this cruise,' answered the sailor. 'Port Royal is where the strumpets wag their tails, and the captain stays clear of that port unless he's invited in. Nowadays he carries a Frenchy's commission.'

'From Petit Guave?'

'The deputy governor there gives them out already signed and the names left blank. You fill in what you want and then go a-hunting, just as long as you let him have a tenth of any takings. Used to be much the same in Jamaica until that bastard Lynch started interfering.'

Before Hector could ask what he meant, he heard Coxon's steps on the deck behind him, and the captain's voice snapped.

'Enough of that! You're speaking to Governor Lynch's nephew. He'll not wish to hear your opinions!'

The sailor glared at Hector. 'Nephew to Lynch, are you! If I'd known, I'd have pissed in the dipper before you drank from it,' and with that he turned and stalked away.

Hector brooded on the sailor's information throughout the two days and nights it took to reach Jamaica. The pursuit of the distant sail had been abandoned when it became clear that there was no hope of catching the prey. Each night the young man bedded down on a coil of rope near the sloop's bows, and by day he was left alone. Any buccaneer who came his way either ignored him or gave him a black look so he presumed that his alleged relationship to Lynch had become common knowledge. Coxon paid him no attention. When dawn broke on the third morning he was feeling stiff and tired and concerned for his own fate as he got to his feet and looked out over the bowsprit towards their landfall.