But the departure was not to be peaceful, for to the surprise of the Spaniards, young Lady Inés flatly refused to leave the Giralda. Clasping her arms across her chest, she said in sharp, clear tones: ‘We love each other. We have been ordained by God to be man and wife and you cannot tear us apart.’ Well, they landed on her as if they were an army attacking a fort. The captain of the Spanish ship said solemnly: ‘Senorita Inés, you are the daughter of a conde. You represent the honor of Spain. You simply must …’
The condesa broke in: ‘You are a silly headstrong child. How can you possibly know …?’
But it was Fray Baltazar who uttered the sensible words: ‘Sweet child, it is marvelous in spring when flowers bloom for the first time. But the real meaning of the tree comes later, when it is laden with fruit, as God intended. You’ve had a wonderful introduction to love, none finer, but the great years lie ahead. Kiss this fine young man farewell, and let us head for those other, better years.’
I bit my lip when I heard him say those words, and I swore I would not allow my tears to be the last thing she saw of me, but my attempt at courage was not needed, for now Uncle Will stormed forward, shouting: ‘What about our ransom money?’ and other sailors took up the cry, and there might have been a riot spoiling everything, for the Spanish captain shouted in broken English: ‘No! No! Ransom nobody.’ But again Fray Baltazar assumed command, and as the men from the Spanish ships listened attentively, he reminded all of us of forgotten days: ‘When these Englishmen captured us, they could have killed us all, shot us, drowned us. I informed them that these two lovely women were from an important family that would pay a ransom for their safe return.’
He stopped and looked at us: ‘I cannot say what drove these men to save our lives, mine and Master Rodrigo included. I would like to think it was Christian charity. But if it was only the lure of money, I can assure you that they earned it. Here we are, all of us, unscarred. Captain, if you have any funds aboard your ship, you owe it to these men,’ and when there were murmurs against this decision, he said: ‘Captain McFee and I will row over to your ship to collect whatever you have.’ Some of us went along, of course, well armed, and a surprising number of coins was collected. When we brought them back to the Giralda, the priest delivered them with only four words: ‘A debt of honor,’ and the exchange was concluded, women for silver.
I wanted to ride in the boat with Inés to her ship, but that was not possible, for she rode in one of the Spanish boats, and it would be hoisted aboard as soon as its four passengers were discharged. So I stood by our rail, where my uncle and his gunners kept their aim on the Spanish ship in case treacherous moves developed, and as her boat moved farther and farther away I saw with aching heart that one of the young Spanish officers was tending Inés and wrapping a robe about her feet. Once aboard her deck, so many things happened that she had no chance to wave back at me, and slowly our two ships drew apart. We had sailed together for two hundred and ninety-five days, during which she captured my heart forever.
Then suddenly into one of the Spanish boats that had been left in the water leaped an officer, and the boat came speeding back to ours and voices cried in both Spanish and English: ‘Señor Ned! Mr. Ned!’ and when I rushed to the railing where the boat would touch ours, the young officer who had tended Inés with the robe shouted: ‘She says this is her present to you,’ and he handed up Master Rodrigo’s precious pearwood-and-ivory backstaff, to which a message had been tied: ‘Para Eduardo, mi querido navegante que nos traja a casa.’
SUN 21 JANUARY: On that final day, while I was attending to Señorita Inés, Captain McFee was acquiring important news from the Spanish captain. Spain and England were officially at peace, and the English king, to make happy his Spanish cousins, as he called them, had issued orders that all pirates, English or not, and especially those operating in the Caribbean, should be hanged: ‘There have been several dancing in the air at Port Royal, so beware.’ His warning was an act of kindness in our favor because of the decent way we had treated the Spanish prisoners.
So it took no prolonged debate for us to decide that we would not head northwest for Port Royal but due east for Barbados, and when this was announced, Captain McFee told us: ‘I do not know those waters.’ What happened next made me think that buccaneers weren’t too bad as sailors, after all, for as soon as we decided to head not for Port Royal but back to Barbados, the men cried: ‘That’s where Pennyfeather lives!’ and they elected me captain again, and for the past nine days I’ve been in sole command of the Giralda, and because Master Rodrigo was no longer on hand to harry me about his damned calendar, the first thing I did was move dates back, as this entry proves, to the real calendar as intended by God. However, I did use Rodrigo’s pearwood backstaff for navigating past St. Vincent and the Grenadines, coming at dawn this morning to Barbados itself, with the red sun rising behind its beautiful hills.
How excellent it was to reach home and find waiting in our harbor a ship from our Massachusetts colony which will carry my trusted friend Mompox—Spaniard-Indian-Negro—to Boston and freedom. As we parted for the last time he reminded me: ‘You must tell any ship headed that way to look out for David the Miskito,’ and then he asked quietly: ‘Ned, may I kiss you farewell?’ and out of regard for all that he had done for me, I said yes, to my uncle’s disgust.
We were now free to dock our ship and present our Letter of Marque and Reprisal proving that we had authority from the king to protect his interests at sea. The question then arose: ‘But have you conducted yourself in a worthy way and not as pirates?’ and now I handed over the letter from the Spanish captain which certified that ‘the officers and crew of the captured Spanish galleon Giralda did pay gentlemen’s respect to the Conde de Cartagena’s women during a long sea voyage,’ and we were thus doubly saved from hanging. This being Sunday, we thought it irreverent to distribute our prize money.
FRI 26 JANUARY 1672: Our voyage has officially ended, but it required all day for the king’s officials to determine and claim their legal share of our prize money, and several hours for us to divide the remainder among our men. After the spoils had been separated into fifty-six equal piles, we distributed them in this fashion: Captain McFee received three shares for his careful service, the first man who relieved him two, and me two for having brought us away from Cape Horn and onward toward Barbados. The thirty-eight sailors one full share each, the fourteen Indians each a half-share for their faithful help, and the sixteen slaves a quarter-share each, adding up to the proper total, less, of course, the fistful of coins we had given Mompox when he boarded his Boston ship. The slaves, to their delight, ended up with enough to buy their freedoms, and we wished them well.
So we returned to Bridgetown, me having lost Inés but, as Uncle Will reminded me, with Spanish gold aplenty to heal my wounds, and on that confusing note, here ends this Log of a Buccaneer.
NED PENNYFEATHER
• • •
When Will saw the lassitude into which his nephew had fallen over the loss of Inés, he challenged him: ‘You commanded a ship, surely you can command your own life,’ but Ned insisted: ‘Inés, I can’t forget her,’ and Will said: ‘You better. She’s in another part of the world,’ but Ned continued to mope, keeping to the small room that his uncle had rented in Bridgetown.
To distract his attention, Will suggested a daring excursion—they would visit Sir Isaac. And one morning, having no horses, they walked out to Saltonstall Manor, now even more resplendent with its lane bordered by young trees and hedges of croton. Banging on the door, they attracted several of the slaves working inside and could hear a woman calling: ‘Tell Pompey men he come,’ and promptly a black man in golden-yellow livery with big white cuffs opened the door and asked in a polite voice: ‘Gem’mum, what your pleasure?’
When Will snapped: ‘We want to see Sir Isaac,’ the slave said: ‘Well, now …’ but Will pushed him aside, strode into the reception area, and bellowed: ‘Isaac, come out!’ and when both Sir Isaac and
his lady appeared, Will said, with a bow: ‘We’ve come back.’
Icily, Clarissa said: ‘We heard. You’ve been pirating they tell us,’ and since neither she nor her husband made any gesture toward welcoming their relatives, Will asked: ‘Aren’t you going to ask us to stay?’ and after a grudging invitation was extended, Pompey was sent to fetch some refreshments.
In the interval, the older Tatums, now approaching their prosperous fifties, stared uneasily at the intruders, seeing in Will a battle-scarred veteran of naval brawling and in Ned a youth just entering his twenties whose life was surely already ruined from his years as a buccaneer. They were a sorry pair, and Lady Clarissa could feel no regrets at having been responsible for the branding of her brother-in-law: Let the world see him for what he is.
The visit was extremely unpleasant, and even before the first cup of tea was passed, it was painfully obvious that Sir Isaac was already wondering how he could get rid of these unwelcome relatives. Leaning back and speaking as if from a distance, he asked: ‘And what do you two propose doing on Barbados this time?’ and Will replied, as he reached for his tea: ‘We’ll be looking around. By the way, pass me one of those little cakes?’ and Ned thought: He actually wants Uncle Isaac to lose his temper. But the plantation owner refused to rise to the bait. Turning to Ned, he asked, still from a great distance: ‘Where will you be looking? Several plantations seek overseers, but I suppose you’ll be off adventuring again?’
‘With mother gone …’
‘She died shortly after you left the last time. Lady Clarissa and I attended to her funeral.’
‘Thank you.’
‘She left a small fund for you. Mr. Clapton the banker has it in his care, and it’s growing, he tells me. Honorable man, Clapton.’
‘I’m glad to hear about the money. I’ve been thinking I ought to make my home in Bridgetown. I’ve seen the oceans.’
This statement, which implied so much, awakened no interest in the older Tatums, for whom the sea was no more than a highway from Barbados to London. The rest of the world’s oceans were superfluous, and Will, sensing that this was the case, said solemnly: ‘The boy was navigator of a great ship at nineteen, captain at twenty, fighting off the Spaniards.’
‘We’ve been warned,’ Clarissa said, ‘that those who fight Spaniards these days are to be hanged. New rules for new times.’
And so the frigid meeting ended, with no invitation to return, no inquiry as to what assistance the master and his lady might extend, and when Sir Isaac told Pompey in haughty syllables: ‘Direct the groom to saddle three horses and lead these men back to town,’ Will said crisply: ‘No thanks. We’ll walk,’ and down the long avenue of trees they trudged.
But when they reached their quarters Will said: ‘Ned, we’ve got to get serious about your future,’ and he suggested that they dip into their Giralda prize money, rent two horses, and ride straight eastward across the island to the wild Atlantic shore where he knew a sailor recluse named Frakes who had an unusual treasure.
It was a journey Ned would never forget, as exciting in its way as trying to negotiate the Magellan, for it carried him through parts of Barbados he had not seen before: lovely hills from whose crests he saw endless fields sweeping eastward; lanes through the heart of great plantations with green sugarcane stalks crowded like trees in a forest; little vales filled with multitudes of flowers; and clusters of brown shacks in which lived the slaves who made the prosperity possible. The ride, under a warm sun that peeped from behind white clouds sweeping from the unseen ocean, was an adventure into the heart of the splendid island, and as each new vista revealed itself he felt increasingly attached to this land. He knew then that he did not wish ever to leave Barbados. The buccaneer had become the settler.
Even at this late hour in their day’s journey, Ned still had no intimation of what the attraction of this old seaman Frakes could be. Now they reached the western edge of the central plateau which comprised most of Barbados and found themselves at the edge of a considerable cliff down whose face a narrow path led to the seashore below, and there surged the great Atlantic, a wild ocean whose waves beat upon a desolate shore completely different from that provided by the gentler Caribbean.
Reining in to savor the grand panorama, Ned cried: ‘It’s been hiding all these years,’ and his uncle replied: ‘Only the strong ones dared to come over here,’ and with his long right arm extended, he pointed to the remarkable feature which differentiated this shore from all others, and Ned saw for the first time that haunting collection of gigantic reddish boulders which at certain spots clustered along the edge of the sea, their feet deep in the water, their jagged faces tilted to catch the sun. At some locations they stood four or five together, like huge judges trying to reach a verdict, at others a lone giant defied the ocean, but at a spot that caught Will’s eye, a parade of nearly a dozen left the shore and marched out to sea, forming a peril to navigation attested to by the wrecked timbers of a cargo vessel that had strayed too close.
‘Where did they come from?’ Ned asked, and Will explained: ‘Either God dropped them accidentally when He was building the earth, or giants used them to play marbles.’
Inland, from where the procession started, stood a small, rudely built house whose lone doorway revealed how enormously thick were the stone walls into which it had been set. ‘Frakes?’ Ned asked, and his uncle nodded, whereupon the travelers descended to the plain below. On their arrival at the stone cottage with heavy moss growing across the roof, Ned still had no inkling of why the journey had been made. When Tom Frakes came to the door, Ned saw a tall lanky man with a wild head of hair and a scraggly beard which looked as if he trimmed it with dull scissors, but only occasionally. He wore tattered trousers and shirt, the former held about his nonexistent waist by a rope whose ends were frayed. His face was as timeworn as his clothes, for he had few teeth, a badly broken nose and eyes that watered sadly. He appeared to be in his late sixties, but that might have been deceptive, for he had lived a hard life which was now approaching its battered end.
Recognizing Will as a former shipmate, he left the doorway to clasp him about the shoulders: ‘Dear Will, come in, come in!’ But then he stopped, stared at Ned, and asked: ‘Who’s the lad?’ and when Will replied: ‘My nephew,’ the old man shouted: ‘Twice welcome!’ and into the cottage they went.
Ned expected the interior to resemble its owner, an unholy mess. Instead, it was a revelation—neat, with furniture, some of it elegant, properly disposed against walls that were decorated with fine paintings expensively framed. The floor was covered by two rugs, probably from Persia or some similar country, and the three chests which stood in corners were finished with heavy brass trimmings.
‘This is a treasure trove!’ Ned cried admiringly, and Will explained: ‘Frakes salvages wrecks that pile up on his rocks out there,’ and the ships that went astray must have been preciously laden, for the old sailor owned some items of great value.
And then from the small inner room came his greatest possession, his daughter Nancy, a lovely girl of sixteen, dark, lithe and unusually beautiful. In that first moment, within seconds, really, it was clear to everyone that Will Tatum had brought his nephew Ned on this long trip in hopes that he would find this child of the storms attractive and perhaps want to marry her. Old Frakes, his time running out, was delighted, and Nancy was breathing deeply, for she had begun to wonder if she was ever going to meet a young man. Ned was spellbound.
The visit lasted three wonderful days, during which Frakes led explorations of storm-beaten wrecks while Ned and Nancy trailed behind, kicking at rocks and speculating as to how those gigantic boulders had found their way to the shore. Later, when the visitors were alone, Will confided: ‘Government suspects that on stormy nights he keeps a bright light showing on his cottage to confuse captains into thinking it’s a lighthouse. Next morning he combs the wreck,’ and that afternoon Frakes, in what was obviously an encouragement to Ned, showed his guests a storeroom attached to t
he back of the cottage in which he had amassed a treasure in baled carpets, fine furniture, silver settings and an endless number of practical tools and small machines, all salvaged from ships which had crashed onto the rocks at his doorstep.
‘A young couple could do wonders with these things,’ Frakes said, and when Will asked ‘What?’ the old sailor said: ‘Depends on the couple.’
Next day Will suggested that the young people have a picnic by themselves, and when Nancy led the way to a height from which they could watch the surging Atlantic thunder upon the boulders, Ned asked: ‘How did your father get here?’ and she explained that he had gone buccaneering with Will Tatum, had heard from him about Barbados, and had come here at the end of their cruise to inspect: ‘When he returned to England he asked Mother and me one foggy November day: “Who’s for Barbados and the sun?” and he didn’t have to ask twice.’
‘Was it your mother who taught you to be a lady?’ and she replied, eyes lowered: ‘Yes, that was always Mother’s dream,’ and Ned, bursting with sentiment, blurted out: ‘She taught you well.’
On their last day Will said abruptly: ‘Time we got down to business,’ and as the four sat on grassy mounds among the boulders he broached the subject that had preoccupied everyone: ‘Frakes, you’re an old man. You have a splendid daughter who ought to be getting married. I’m not so young anymore, and I have a nephew here who also ought to be finding himself a mate. What do you young people say?’