‘I’ll make myself abundantly clear, Master Rackham. And while I’m about it, I may say that your calm acceptance of my part in this dirty business is far from flattering. Here am I, with as nice a conscience as any Presbyterian that ever sang psalms, colloguin’ wi’ knaves and a misguided lassie to take a buccaneer’s head frae the rope. Doubtless ye think I’m being well feed: well, I’m not. Not one penny piece, God be thanked. If I betray my master I’ll do it wi’out that stain, at least.’
‘I’ll tell ye this,’ he went on, ‘if Mistress Sampson had come to me when first she conceived this … this damned folly, I would have moved heaven and earth to turn her from it. I would have seen ye hang and thanked God to be rid of a knave, and hauled on the rope mysel’. But she had been tae Coates first and she was not to be turned. What, then, was I to do? Go to Woodes Rogers and say: “Look here, your lady wife-to-be is aiding the escape of the ruffian Rackham that used to be her jo’?” Eh? Could I do that?’ His face was flushed and angry. ‘Ye know I could not. And no more could I sit by and let her gang her ain gate. For she needed someone she could trust and by the grace of God she had chosen me. If I abandoned her the whole business would miscarry. So I promised her my help. And so ye see that your life or your dirty neck doesnae matter a pinch o’ bad snuff to me. But her happiness does, and so does that of another that you’ve never thought on, and that’s Woodes Rogers.’
He went over to his desk and sat down and picked up his quill and snapped it between his fingers. His voice sounded tired, as though his outburst had sapped his energy.
‘Rogers took me out o’ the gutter – ye didnae know that. He saved me from a life of pinch and peck at a clerk’s stool where I’d have earned a few paltry shillings and a poor man’s grave. He brought me out here, gave me this good life, honoured me wi’ his trust, made me his friend, and I would put this hand in the fire for him. And now I must betray him.’
He turned the broken quill over in his hand and rubbed it between his fingers.
‘But in betraying him I hope to serve him. He loves this lassie, and she’s no’ unkindly set towards him. If he should find out what she’s done – well, folk don’t die o’ heart-break, but it would wound him as nothing else ever could. Even suppose she escaped the law, even suppose they were wed in spite of all – d’ye think he’d ever know a moment’s ease for the rest of his days? He would wonder about you, and what ye meant to her: it would be his life spoiled as well as hers – and I love them both too dearly to let that happen. So that’s why ye must live.
‘If you fail to-day, there’s an end to them. There’s an end to Woodes Rogers’ work, forbye. And for that reason alone I’d cheat him behind his back in this. Aye, so that he can go on doing what he started in the Bahamas two years ago. With her he’ll go on to greater things: without her it’s odds he’ll go nowhere at all.’
Rackham took a long time to answer. Bitterness was a useless thing. It was enough that he was going free, and yet there was a tiny seed of misery and regret in his mind and he could see no way to rid himself of it.
From somewhere far off came the flat report of a cannon, muffled by the distance and the morning rain. Master Dickey cocked his head.
‘There goes the first of your friends,’ he said.
Rackham put down his glass. He felt suddenly sick. That gun, then, meant Bull, or Carty, or Malloy, or Dobbins: it could have meant Jack Rackham. He felt the sweat breaking out on his face. God, it might be Ben. Ben, the loyal companion and stout seaman, dying under a butcher’s knife in front of a jeering crowd. Nausea seized him and he held on to the table for support.
Master Dickey was watching him gravely, and his face had lost something of its harshness.
‘At all events, ye can console yourself that the Bonney woman isnae hanging with them,’ he said. ‘Ye’ll ken she had a reprieve, since when she’s been paramour tae this Bernard that calls himself a chief justice. It’s one of those guilty secrets that’s a public scandal – everyone kens except the Governor and it’s odds he wouldnae understand it if it was shouted in his ear. God help the Government! And it goes beyond sayin’ that she’ll no hang in the long run either.’
‘Thank God,’ said Rackham quietly.
Dickey looked at the clock. ‘It’s time you made ready. Put you on that jacket on the chest yonder, and the bonnet, and listen to me.’
As Rackham was fastening the jacket Dickey crossed the room to a side door near his desk. He threw it open revealing a flight of stairs going downwards.
‘At the bottom of this flight ye’ll find a passageway. Beyond is a wee closed court, wi’ a door. It’s unlocked and beyond lies the street ye can look down on from this window.’ He beckoned Rackham and pointed. ‘Not the first turn to your right but the second, where the handcart stands. D’ye see? Down yonder lie the quays and there ye’ll find the Willem Damman. The master’s name is Haas. Your name is Martin. There’ll be nae questions asked, but ye’d best lie low once ye’re aboard. By to-night ye’ll be far from here.’ He paused. ‘Is all clear to you?’
‘Yes.’ Rackham was beginning to feel a tightening of his stomach muscles at the thought of that lonely walk to the unknown brig. ‘Yes, I think so. Sir, for what ye’ve done, and … for your help … there’s little I can say …’
‘Ach, tut!’ exclaimed Master Dickey. ‘D’ye think I care for thanks. I’ve told ye why I do this, and it is not in your interest.’
‘Even so,’ said Rackham, ‘I do thank you. I would thank her, too, if …’
‘Not a word!’ snapped Dickey. ‘Not one word goes to Mistress Sampson, understand that! The thing’s over and done wi’. Calico Jack Rackham’s dead, and good riddance to him.’
They stood in silence for a few moments, and once again the gun sounded in the distance. Master Dickey referred again to the clock and turned away, his hands clasped behind him.
‘It seems a long while since ye came in my window at Providence,’ he remarked. ‘Aye, a long while, and a queer way things have gone. Weel, it’s no for me tae judge, God knows. We are what we are – and there it is.’ He cleared his throat. ‘What I said a minute since was true: my concern is for Mistress Sampson and my friend Woodes Rogers, but that doesnae mean I’m ill pleased at how things have fallen out. Ye see, as a man grows older he sees that there’s no good folk or bad folk, but just … weel, just different ones in different conditions. A man has only a share in shaping his destiny – the rest is chance. That holds for most of us, for all except those that are strong enough to mould life to their own liking. And some are lucky, and some are not. I think you’re one of the unlucky ones. And because I’ve been like that, too, until fortune served me, I can view mankind, I hope, wi’ a tolerant eye. There’s no’ many perfect, and there’s no justice at all. I see greater rogues about the street every day o’ the week, like this greasy villain Coates, that I have to tak’ my dinner wi’. Aye, and Kinsman, who’s naught but a rascal-at-arms, when all’s said. Or this other scoundrel Bernard, pervertin’ justice for lust’s sake. D’ye think you’re worse than they? No, but ye’re unluckier, and no sae clever, perhaps. I’m no justifyin’ ye, for God knows the Archangel Gabriel couldnae do that, but there’s others as bad that ‘scape whipping. So I’ll no lose sleep because ye cheat the rope, laddie, which is a maist un-Presbyterian thing tae say. Perhaps it’s because I know Mistress Kate wouldnae risk what she’s risked for just any man; whatever it is, I’m no sorry ye’re going free.’
The distant gun boomed, and he stopped short as though aware that he was talking too much.
‘Time for ye to start,’ he said, and abruptly held out his hand. ‘God speed.’
Rackham shook hands, and then the door closed, and Dickey was alone. He went over to the window and looked down into the street.
There were few folk about – a porter with his bale, a woman with a baby on her hip, a group of idlers at the first corner. Tobias heard the faint sound of a door closing somewhere beneath him, and then he saw Rackham in
the street, striding swiftly forward with his collar turned up against the wind. No one so much as glanced at the tall man in the sailor’s jacket who hurried past them without glancing to right or left; Tobias watched his figure grow gradually smaller until it reached the second turning. There he hesitated for a moment before turning quickly down the street that led to the quays.
Tobias shook his head, smiling gently to himself. He felt philosophic and strangely content. The work that awaited him on his desk seemed of little importance; he had much to think about, not least of the new chapter that must be added presently to his journal. But not for a while yet; it would be safer stored away in his mind until the time came when he could set it down without fear of consequences. That would be a long time, he reflected, years perhaps. But some points he could jot down at once in case they slipped his memory, wording them carefully so that none but himself could understand them. Then in time they could be combined and related in an ordered narrative. In the meantime there were other matters to attend to.
Master Dickey turned away from the window and went back to his desk, whistling.
George MacDonald Fraser, Captain in Calico
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