Voyage of Plunder (15 page)

For the next day and night we sailed hard across the Gulf of Aden toward India, every stitch of canvas full and bellied. On the morning of the second day, just as a pale stream of sunlight pierced the horizon, the lookout cried, “Sail ho! One point off the leeward bow!” After looking through his eyeglass atop the fore crosstrees, Josiah reported that the
Defiance
and the
Sweet Jamaica
were chasing two ships of the pilgrim fleet. They were miles ahead, and we would be on them by midafternoon.

Then, surprising us all, bold as brass, Timothy drew his cutlass and ran to the rail, hair flogging in the wind. He screamed like an animal, high-pitched and shrill. His eyes bulged. He swiped his cutlass through the air. “We'll get you, you bloody devils! Run away from us, will you!”

There followed a moment of stunned silence before men drew their weapons and screamed alongside Timothy—a bloodthirsty chorus. Pistols banged. The air swirled with smoke.

And upon Timothy's words, the roar of the pirates, the pistol fire, an excitement unlike any I'd ever known raced up my spine, cool and prickling.

O God, O God, forgive me.

ometime after high noon, after we downed a hurried meal of salt pork and biscuit, we passed both the
Sweet Jamaica
and the
Defiance.
Four or five cable lengths ahead of us sailed the two pilgrim ships, the closest being the
Surat Merchant.

She was broad across her beam, armed with thirty guns. Swirls of gold surrounded the high stern windows. Atop her mainmast flew a flag—green, with two crossed golden scimitars. Basil said it was the flag of the Surat grand mogul.

Even at the distance, I glimpsed people glancing back at us over the transom. I well imagined their terror. I well imagined the commands, the preparations, the weeping among the passengers, the secreting away of
jewels and money in the hopes that the pirates wouldn't be any the wiser.

All the excitement I'd felt when Timothy had issued his bloodthirsty scream had vanished in the heat of the day. Instead, I felt nothing but shame for my momentary weakness and a pity for these people who were about to be attacked. I prayed they would be wise and surrender quickly for then they could expect quarter, mercy, even gallant treatment if the mood so struck the pirates. But if they did not surrender …

I mopped the sweat from my face with my kerchief and then tied it around my head. For the hundredth time I checked my weapons—my pistols, my boarding ax, my cartouche box, my daggers, my cutlass. Both of us shirtless, Timothy and I stood on the upper deck in plain view. There was no sense hiding behind the bulwarks, for the two ships were no doubt well aware of who chased them.

The powder box was positioned nearby. Timothy and I had filled it earlier with twenty-five shots. Should we need to fire our long guns, we were to be powder monkeys, hauling the shots from the powder box to our respective cannon crews. The swivel gun in the bow was already loaded, primed, and ready to fire. Basil stood beside it, awaiting orders.

The
Surat Merchant
rose and plunged through the swells, whitewater dashing her rails. But her mad dash to escape was futile, for there was no ship so fast as the
Tempest Galley.

Three cable lengths. Two. One.

Josiah cried, “To your battle stations, men!”

Weapons were checked for the thousandth time—pistols crammed into sashes, hooked onto crossbelts, tied to the ends of long ribbons and draped about the neck.

All was ready.

All waited.

“Ready to fire bow chaser!” Josiah ordered.

Slowly … slowly we drew closer, the
Surat Merchant
now but one hundred feet off the leeward bow.

“Fire!”

And with Josiah's command, Basil struck the match to the vent, shouting, “Give fire!” then ducking and covering his ears. Orange fire burst from the bow gun, and a loud boom split the air. We all watched as the iron ball sailed harmlessly over the
Surat Merchant's
stern.

A warning shot.

Surrender or else, it said.

We held our breaths, waiting for the merchant ship to turn head to wind so we could board her.

I tightened my grip on my cutlass, tasting the salt of my sweat.

With no warning, flame and smoke burst out of her two stern gun ports. I stood stupidly, half wondering what was happening when, a second later I heard the boom of cannon, followed by the sound of shot whistling overhead. A cannonball punched through the main course. Another glanced off the foremast with a sharp crack of timber. I cursed and ducked behind the powder box before I realized that if any shot hit the powder box, I'd be blown to a million pieces. As suddenly as it had begun, there followed a silence.

Josiah drew his cutlass and jumped atop the bulwarks, hanging on to the shrouds. Rage darkened his normally pale features. He pointed his cutlass at the
Surat Merchant.
“Run up the bloody flag and prepare to fire a broadside down their miserable throats! There will be no quarter this day!”

A flag the color of blood was raised on the main halyard. No mercy, it meant. To the hair-raising screams and curses of pirates,
I laid aside my weapons and went to work as a powder monkey.

Soon we were directly abeam the merchant ship. The deck shivered as flame and cannonballs belched from the
Tempest Galley.
My bones rattled and my ears rang, like a punch in the gut and a box on the ears at the same time. I staggered back to the powder box for more charge, breathing smoke, teeth gritty with gunpowder.

Timothy was all smiles, dipping his arm into the powder box. “Another treasure, Daniel. Do you hear me? We're going to roll in it tonight. A hundred diamond rings for every one of my mother's fingers and toes.”

Again I heard the thunderous roar from the
Surat Merchant.

Whum.p!
A shot hit the bulwarks in a spray of splinters. Someone screamed. Another shot dropped in the ocean below, showering a cannon crew with water. Droplets hissed and danced on the cannon's hot barrel. “Blood and thunder!” Will Putt yelled, wiping his eyes. “Heathen dogs! See if they get me wet!”

“Fire!” shouted Josiah, and again the deck trembled beneath me as I covered my ears against the barrage. Once the sound began to fade, Josiah cried, “Stand by the braces! We'll ram her with our bowsprit and board her!”

We soon left the
Surat Merchant
behind us on our leeward quarter. Behind the
Surat Merchant,
I saw the
Defiance,
bloody flag flying atop her mainmast, fire a shot off her bows—a puff of smoke in the distance, a faraway boom. Ahead of us, the other merchant ship sailed onward, scarce looking back at her beleaguered companion.

“Helmsman, hard to starboard!” commanded Josiah. “Brace in the yards, men!” The
Tempest Galley
turned, stern to wind, her bowsprit now pointed like a sword at the approaching
Surat Merchant.
“Prepare for impact!”

For a moment, all was silent as we watched the
Surat Merchant
plow through the water.

Then someone dangling from the rigging, dagger in hand, cried, “Death!”

One hundred and forty pirates erupted with piercing screams, battle cries, and the chant: “Death! Death! Death!”

Pirates swarmed the bulwarks, waving their weapons above their heads. Pistols flashed in the afternoon sun. Cutlasses gleamed. Eyes glinted from beneath blood-red kerchiefs. The deep beat of a drum pounded through my heart. Fiddles, flutes, and an accordion wailed and screeched—discordant and ugly. Gooseflesh rushed over my skin. Shivers clawed down my spine.

Death! Death! Death!

I stood at the rail on the fo'c'sle deck, watching in gathering horror as the two ships drew closer … closer … bent upon a collision course. The
Surat Merchant
tried to change course, but she was too sluggish, there was not enough time.…

“Death!” shrieked Timothy from beside me. He lit and tossed a grenado. It fell short, hissing into the water.

I drew my cutlass, my heart in my throat.

Forty feet…

Death! Death! Death!

Thirty …

Men heaved grenadoes and stink pots aboard the merchant ship. Explosions erupted. I saw a man fly through the air, musket still in hand, into the water below.

Just then, flame and smoke burst from one of the swivel guns on the
Surat Merchant's
bow.

Whump!

Death cry cut short, Timothy flew backward, hit.

“Timothy!” I cried.

He lay against the foremast.

Death! Death! Death!

Timothy held his innards in his hands. He blinked and stared at his innards, then at me, his face a mask of disbelief.

“My God! No!” I knelt beside him. Tried to stuff his guts back into his belly. They were soft, slimy, and hot.
Oh, God! They won't fit! There's too many of them!
“Don't die, Timothy! Don't die!”

His mouth moved wordlessly. Open. Closed. Open. Then, “My mother. Tell her … tell her … I …” His eyes rolled back in his head.

“No!” I shrieked.

Suddenly the ships collided. I fell to the deck, stinging my cheek, my dagger gouging my side. Timothy flopped over, his lifeless eyes staring at me, a small bloody cannonball lodged in the foremast behind him. Pirates rushed past us, swarming aboard the
Surat Merchant.
I stood and picked up my fallen cutlass, hands slippery with Timothy's blood.

And I turned with the others and surged over the bowsprit and aboard the merchant ship, cutlass held high, a scream ripping from my throat.

Death! Death! Death!

mad rush of bodies.

Into the swirling smoke.

It was as if time stood still—I saw the gaping mouths, howling death. The daggers, cutlasses, pistols clutched in every hand. The intensity in every eye. The brightly colored clothes, some already stained with blood. I smelled the gunpowder, the sweat, the sulfur from the stink pots, the exhilaration, the fear.

Then it was as if time rushed forward, faster, faster. A blur of pirates, running, running, arms waving, swords flashing. Indian soldiers, hundreds of them, turbaned, drawing cutlasses, firing muskets. A collision of pirates and soldiers. The blast of smoke. Of flame. Screams. The man beside me falling backward, punched through the chest with
lead. A chop of steel, a spray of blood. A turbaned head rolling across the deck.