The little boat was beginning to rock appreciably now, and Rackham gave the order to commence rowing again. They must not drift inshore: if the wind strengthened they might find themselves hard put to it to stand out to the Kingston.
‘Where the hell are they?’ snarled Bull suddenly. He kept turning his head at the end of each stroke to watch for the Kingston.
‘Wait! In oars!’ Malloy, craning over the bow, flung out a hand behind him. ‘I hear something.’
They ceased rowing, and Rackham, straining his ears against the noises of the sea, leaned forward between them.
‘Listen!’ Malloy turned his head towards them. ‘D’ye hear nothing?’
Holding their breath, they listened, and sure enough from somewhere in the gloom ahead came the faint but unmistakable creak of a ship. Bull breathed a gusty sigh of relief.
‘Wait for the light,’ ordered Rackham. He alone knew that there were other vessels than the Kingston on the coast that night, and he was taking no chances.
For several minutes they sat motionless, the little boat riding the swell, waiting to catch the flicker of a lantern from the ship. Then Malloy snapped his fingers and pointed, over to starboard. Following his finger they saw it: a single murky glimmer in the darkness which vanished almost as quickly as it had come.
‘Pull,’ snapped Rackham. ‘Those blasted farmers are so far east they’ll be in Africa before we can catch ’em!’
But Ben and Bull needed no urging. They swung on the oars like men rowing a race, driving the little boat towards the spot where the light had vanished, and suddenly the great bulk of the ship loomed above them out of the blackness.
‘‘Vast heaving,’ said Rackham. ‘It’s Kingston. Give them a hail, Malloy.’
Malloy stood up, one hand braced against the thwart, the other cupped to his mouth.
‘Kingston, ahoy! It’s Cap’n Rackham!’
And pat on the heels of his cry, like the voice of an actor on his cue, came back an answering hail. But it was not from the Kingston. Somewhere in the darkness to the eastward, a voice rang out: ‘In the King’s name!’
Even Rackham, prepared as he was for some intervention, was startled into an oath. That hail had certainly not been more than a quarter of a mile away, which meant that Rogers’ ship, somewhere out there in the darkness, had carried out its task to perfection.
Bull heaved himself up with a roar of blasphemous astonishment, stumbled against Malloy and nearly sent him into the sea. The boat swung out of control, with Bull’s oar floating away behind it, and then Ben brought her head round to the Kingston.
From the sounds that drifted down from the Kingston, the ship must have been thrown into utter confusion. A harsh New England voice which Rackham recognised as that of Bennett, his sailing master, was trying to issue orders through the tumult of shouts and fearful questions that had broken the stupified silence following that command from the darkness. And then the noise was stilled as though each man’s throat had been choked simultaneously.
A broad blade of flame licked out suddenly in the blackness to the eastward, dwindled, kindled, and blossomed into a great torch that illumined the sea and flung the Kingston into sharp silhouette against its crimson glare. While Rackham stared the drift of the boat carried them into the Kingston’s shadow and he realised that they were in danger of slipping out of reach of the ship, crippled as they were by the loss of an oar.
‘Pull!’ he shouted, and Ben flung his weight on the remaining oar. Rackham thrust the tiller over and they edged in towards the Kingston’s side.
Bull was shattering the night with his bawling. He was of the slow-witted kind who, when danger appears unheralded, must first of all identify it loudly for their own benefit and that of their fellows.
‘It’s the King’s men!’ he roared. ‘It’s the King’s men!’
The nose of the boat thumped the Kingston’s side. The arrival of the King’s force had been premature, and might have been disastrous with Rackham still in the boat when the success of Rogers’ plan demanded that he should be on the Kingston to supervise her surrender. Every second counted, for at any moment Bennett might open fire and ruin all. He swung himself on to the rail and took in at a glance the astonishing scene. Beyond the Kingston the sea was as bright as day, revealing three fully manned longboats within two cables’ lengths of the Kingston, and behind them, on the verge of that great circle of light, towering over the scene, a tall ship which could be nothing other than a man-of-war.
Rackham, gaining the deck, saw at once what had produced the dazzling light which illuminated the sea between the Kingston and the Governor’s little fleet. Between two of the longboats floated a large raft on which burned a great pile of lumber. Obviously they had towed it between them, and as soon as Malloy’s hail had been heard the order had been given to fire the highly combustible mass. Even as Rackham’s feet touched the deck another great tongue of flame shot up into the darkness, this time farther out to sea. A second raft had been set alight.
‘Stand by to go about!’ bawled Rackham. It was a hopeless order but at least it should give the Kingston’s crew proof of his intentions. ‘Lively, damn you! D’you want to be taken?’
It was Ben, acting promptly, who might have saved the situation for the pirates, and brought Woodes Rogers’ plans to nothing. Leaping among the bemused crowd of seamen on the Kingston’s deck, he cuffed and kicked them into some semblance of order, driving them aloft to work the ship while Bennett, taking authority upon himself, ran down to take what charge he could of the larboard guns.
Fortunately for Rackham and Rogers, the pirate at the wheel lost his head, and abandoning his charge, ran to take cover below. Rackham, bellowing an oath, scrambled up the ladder towards the poop, slipped intentionally and fell sprawling. He saw Ben coming across the deck, his face contorted with rage, but even as his lieutenant reached his side the boom of a gun rang out across the water and a shot whistled past the Kingston’s bows and whined away into the darkness.
Ben pulled up short, glaring over his shoulder towards the longboats.
‘Damn the drunk dogs!’ he shouted. ‘Cowardly bloody scum!’ For once his emotions had the better of him, and he raged and stamped, furious at the impotence of the rabble on the Kingston’s deck. Some were clustered like sheep about the mainmast, others had run below, while another party were dropping over the side into the boat which Rackham had just left.
‘Save your breath, Ben.’ Rackham pointed and his lieutenant groaned. The King’s ship was gliding across the fire-gleaming water, cutting off the Kingston’s escape, while the three longboats were closing in.
‘That’s the Unicorn,’ said Rackham. ‘She can blow us out of the water whenever she’s a mind to.’
‘We can fight her, cap’n!’ Ben, having seen one chance slip away, sought desperately to seize another. ‘Them flares won’t last for ever. See, they’re burning down now! If we can hold her off till they go out we can make open sea yet!’
‘With those to man the ship and fight her too?’ Rackham gestured towards the disordered huddle of men in the waist.
‘What odds? It’s Execution Dock if we’re taken. There’s still a chance, for Christ’s sake!’
‘If you can—’ Rackham was beginning, when he was cut short. The voice that had hailed the Kingston a few moments before was raised again from the leading longboat, now within pistol shot of the Kingston’s side.
‘In the King’s name! Lay down your arms!’
In the silence that followed Rackham could hear Bennett’s muffled voice forward exhorting the gunners. The fool would be letting fly in a moment.
‘Go forrard,’ he snapped. ‘Take command of the guns. Fire when I give the order, but not before.’
To his relief, Ben obeyed. With the lieutenant in charge, he could be sure that no shot would be fired from the Kingston unless he wished it.
‘Do you surrender? We have you at our mercy.’ The commander of the longboats was hailing again.<
br />
Every face on the Kingston’s deck was turned aft. Rackham walked over to the rail and shouted: ‘Keep your distance! You’re under our guns. Come closer and we’ll blow you to Florida!’
To his surprise his words brought a ragged cheer from the pirates in the waist. He noticed uneasily that one or two of the hardier spirits were passing arms among their fellows, and some, already armed; were crouching in the shelter of the rail. They might fight after all. And the flares on the rafts were beginning to burn lower. On the other hand, the Unicorn was standing in to point-blank range.
‘You may trust in His Majesty’s mercy,’ shouted the voice from the longboat again. ‘Governor Woodes Rogers has pledged his word that no harm will come to those who prove themselves loyal by immediate surrender.’
‘No harm?’ Rackham was echoing the thoughts of his crew. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Pardon,’ was the reply. ‘Pardon, on surrender of your ship and yourselves. If you resist, you can expect no mercy.’
‘Pardon.’ The word was on every tongue. ‘The King’s pardon!’ Gone were the expressions of fear and anger. Their voices were eager now. Rackham turned to meet the surge of men who flocked towards the poop. Leaning on the rail he looked down on them.
‘What shall it be?’ he shouted. ‘Will you fight or surrender to the King?’
With one voice they answered him, their swarthy faces upturned. ‘Pardon! We’ll take the pardon! Tell him we’ll take the pardon!’ Their shouts rose in a deafening clamour.
He raised both hands, and the noise subsided. Even as it was dying away and he was preparing to say ‘So be it,’ a thought occurred to him. He waited until the last murmur had faded. Then he glanced at the shrouds, where the men aloft were already descending, at the main hatchway, where others were crowding up to the deck. Then when every eye was on him, and everyone was silent, he hooked his thumbs into his belt, and looked down at them.
‘You cowardly scum,’ he said, and turned away. He felt that it was a touch of which Governor Woodes Rogers would approve.
4. MAJOR PENNER
On the following morning, less than twelve hours after their capture, the Kingston pirates were admitted to the Royal pardon. It was an impressive ceremony enacted with considerable solemnity on the broad square of the Fort, and New Providence turned out in force to see it. Along one side of the parade awnings had been erected for the most consequential spectators: the planters, merchants, and gentlefolk and their women who constituted the pick of the island’s society, and before them, in a canopied chair, sat the Governor, magnificent in lilac taffeta and plumed castor, with Master Dickey at his elbow.
Marshalled in front of the Governor, with Rackham at their head and a hollow square of garrison infantry about them, stood the filibusters of the Kingston, none the better for a night in the Fort’s wet stone cells. Blinking in the dazzling sunlight they listened as Master Dickey addressed them in the name of the most high and mighty prince, George, of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, King, and catalogued their misdeeds as form demanded. Elsewhere round the parade ground the area was packed with a throng of townsfolk, intent on the show.
To Rackham the formalities were interminable. He wanted to sign his name and swear his oath and be away to the Sampson house to make his peace with Kate. But he must wait and listen, while the long paragraphs dragged on, watching the well-to-do standing respectfully attentive beneath their awnings while the common folk shuffled and exchanged whispers with their neighbours.
A figure in the ranks of the planters behind the Governor’s chair caught Rackham’s eye, and he recognised Penner, the former Army officer turned pirate whom he had not seen since his last sojourn in Providence two years ago. It was with a shock of surprise that he identified the bluff, red face and corpulent frame in that company of respectable respected, until he realised that Penner, too, must be a pardoned man; was probably by now a citizen of worth and standing in Providence. It was a heartening thought, and he smiled slowly as Penner inclined his head and half-lifted a hand in token of recognition.
Master Dickey’s voice claimed his attention again. The formalities over, the name of King George having been suitably glorified, and that of Governor Rogers likewise praised in its degree, the secretary rolled up his document and presented another, which Woodes Rogers again approved, and Dickey proceeded:
‘… whereas these several misguided subjects of our Sovereign Lord, having erred from the ways of duty, yet having repented them of their sins, shall, under this solemn oath and contract, be admitted to said Majesty’s most gracious and Royal pardon, and to them shall be restored said Majesty’s protection, that they may move again in, and be restored to, the proper ways of duty and love to their rightful and most merciful Sovereign.’
Woodes Rogers doffed his castor, an example which every male in the square followed, and prepared to administer the oath. It was a simple document, in contrast to those which had gone before, calling for complete repentance in those who took it, enjoining them to be temperate and truthful, and demanding from them the solemn promise that they would forsake for ever the practice of piracy on the high seas. Finally, it gave assurance that any who broke the oath would be promptly hanged.
‘John Rackham, hold up your right hand,’ commanded Master Dickey. ‘Do you so swear?’
Rackham waited a fraction of a second, savouring the last moment before he should be a free man. ‘I do,’ he said.
‘Benjamin Thorne, do you so swear?’
He was a free man now – as free as Rogers, as Penner, as the King!
‘Isaac Nelson, do you so swear?’
Free. And not only a free man but an honest one – his past forgotten, himself absolved by the most regal authority in the world.
One by one the pirates filed forward to sign, or make their marks upon, the heavily sealed document on the Governor’s table.
Rackham, in his impatience, scrawled his signature without a glance at the wording of the document. But as he turned from the table he was intercepted by the jovial Major Penner, who had come forward from beneath the awnings.
‘John, lad, welcome home!’ The burly Penner seized his hand. ‘This is the best of fortune. Did ye start to see me in such company, eh?’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the planters. ‘It’s not to be wondered at. I took the pardon two years ago, when Rogers first arrived. And behold me now!’ He laughed resoundingly. ‘A man of substance, as you see. And more than that,’ – his merry grey eyes twinkled as he dug Rackham in the ribs – ‘‘tis what yourself shall be, and quickly, or I’m no judge. And how has Fate treated you? No need to tell me. None. I heard of your surrender. Plaguey hard, to give up a fortune, but there – what’s a few broad pieces beside a Royal pardon?’
‘Major, I—’ Rackham was impatient to be away, but the burly Major had his arm in a bear-like grip. ‘There is someone I must see—’
‘All in good time, lad,’ Penner reproved him. ‘What? There’s no guarda costas behind ye now. Time is on our side, and your first hour as a pardoned man ye shall spend in my company. For I’ve much to tell you. No buts, lad. I’ll hear none of them. It would be rank mutiny, no less. Will you deny one of His Majesty’s officers?’ He released Rackham and stepped back, grinning like a schoolboy.
Rackham was intrigued in spite of himself. ‘A King’s officer?’
‘No less, John. A commissioned privateer, with His Majesty’s blessing, the Governor’s favour, a stout ship, and a clear conscience.’ He dropped his voice confidentially. ‘And making more than ever I did on the Account, too. It astonishes me. For years folk like you and I stood outside the law, gentlemen of fortune, as we called ourselves, and lucky we are to be still sound and sane. And what now? I take a Royal pardon, ply the same old trade – or nearly – and sleep sound o’ nights. I’ve a house of my own and half a dozen slaves, and I’m fair on the way to buying a plantation. It’s providence, so it is.’ And Major Penner complacently shrugged his massive shoulde
rs and looked about him. The Governor and his aides, followed by the gentry, had retired to the Fort to partake of refreshments, and the square was given over to the throng. Penner and Rackham were surrounded by the jostling crowd who had come to congratulate the redeemed pirates and bear them off to celebrate in the New Providence taverns. The dust they raised was irritating, and Penner could hardly make himself heard above the babble of voices.
‘Come where we don’t have to talk as though we were hailing a main-top,’ he said, and taking Rackham by the arm he led him along the edge of the square and through the inner gate of the Fort. A broad stone stairway led up to the parapet upon which the Governor and his company were being regaled: half-way up there was an embrasure in the wall, and it was into this and on to a narrow stone seat that Penner drew him.
‘Before we go aloft, I’ll tell you what is in my mind,’ he confided, settling himself on the stonework. ‘It’s this way. Since last night, when I heard you were taken, I’ve been on the watch for you, for fear Burgess of Hornigold would clap their hooks into you. I’m privateering, as I said, and good sailormen aren’t too plentiful. I want you, John, as sailing master. In fact, if I had the pick of the coast, I wouldn’t take another. You share in the prizes next to me, and in a couple of voyages you’re a made man.’ He paused. ‘Well, what d’ye say? It’ll be as easy to you as drawing breath. You’re young, you know the life, there’s none of the risks of piracy – well, just a few, say – cruises are short and the money’s in it.’ He waited eagerly for Rackham’s answer.
Rackham smiled and shook his head. Counting as he was on marrying an heiress, it was impossible to entertain serious thoughts of the relatively paltry sums that could be picked up privateering. True, he had not a penny to his name, but he had owned little more two years before when he had successfully courted Kate Sampson.
Penner saw his smile and groaned. ‘There’s a woman in it,’ he said. ‘I know from the face of ye.’