Wake of the Perdido Star (33 page)

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Authors: Gene Hackman

BOOK: Wake of the Perdido Star
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The account of Paul and Brown meshed well. De Vries had approached Yatoo with a seemingly reasonable offer. They would forget his indiscretion in harboring murdering brigands who had attacked a peaceful merchant enterprise if Yatoo would aid in their undoing. If, in other words, Yatoo would betray the few whites living under his protection and facilitate their capture by the Dutch, they would not only forgive him but become his ally. In fact, they would help Yatoo subdue the neighboring islands that had long been trouble to him in exchange for their being allowed to keep the captives. He explained that they were indeed not slavers but merchants engaged in the securing of laborers. These laborers would eventually be able to buy their way to freedom after enjoying the many benefits of a rich plantation life. The Dutch had correctly deduced the nationality of the white men from the account of Papaloan warriors involved in the skirmish weeks earlier, plus another Papaloan's description of the flag that the strangers flew over their makeshift camp at Star Islet. However, they didn't seem to have knowledge of the shipwreck or that the islet was in fact a salvage camp for the
Star
; they apparently assumed the Americans were a group of renegades or stragglers let off by some vessel.
All Yatoo had to do was arrange a parley with the Yanks on the open beach near the village. The
Peter Stuyvesant
, the Dutch vessel, would anchor just offshore, a fortnight hence, and a delegation would land, unarmed, to speak with the Americans. The latter could bring their guns, and the Dutch, though without weapons, would have the assurance of safe conduct because of the presence of their armed vessel. They had checked the water depth on the way in to visit Yatoo and had determined that Belaur had an excellent harbor. They could anchor their ship much closer to the beach than at Papalo, allowing them to more easily take on trade goods.
Yatoo need not worry further about the recent unpleasantness. They would see to the American renegades. The chief of Belaur would not only be forgiven his involvement in the murder of two of their men, but be given ten Papaloan slaves as tribute.
The chief made a great show of thinking about the Dutch offer and finally assented—but only if the number of Papaloans was raised to fifteen and he was given two muskets with powder, shot, and anything needed to operate them. Brown later said he felt chills run down his spine when Yatoo so solemnly agreed. “I had to remind myself that we wouldn't be hiding there if he really intended to double-cross us,” he told Jack.
It was immediately clear to the Americans what the Dutchman's intent was: capturing them was the driving force of the visit, but with a dose of treachery they could also neutralize Yatoo. He was the only native chieftain that had the temerity and power to offer serious resistance. Crushing him would teach all the islanders in the archipelago a grim lesson.
Clearly, the Dutch were ignorant of the existence of the
Star
's remains in accessible waters. They also didn't seem to know how many Americans there were, or how well armed. Wisely, Yatoo had been of little help in that regard; he spoke of the Yankees as if they were a handful of survivors with a gun or two, and not much to be concerned about. At this point, Paul couldn't resist an aside. “The distinction between what those blackbirders are doing and slavery must be a subtle one. I can't grasp it at all.”
Several of the men murmured agreement, but Cheatum stirred restlessly.
“Might be. But they're operating legal-like and your smart remarks will get choked off quick by a noose if we ever get in front of a magistrate—even in an American court. And these savages, they'd fare well by selling us out.”
“Cheatum.” The voice was Quince's. “We've already voted on this and you still have time to back out. Don't be such a damned fool—Yatoo didn't fall for that prattle.”
“From what Brown said, Yatoo seemed ready to sell us all in an eye-blink,” Cheatum retorted. “Hell, he's as ready to take Papaloan slaves as the pope is to accept Presbyterians.”
“Yatoo's no saint, but he's no fool either. Don't you think it unusual he was so ready to betray us with our men listening in?”
“He could still be planning a double cross: that's an awful strong force to take on out of loyalty to a bunch of stranded white-eyes.”
“No. If the thought ever entered his mind, it left during that talk. Yatoo was just confirming how much of a liar the Dutchman was. The chief knew the demands he was making were ridiculous—hell, the Dutch went overboard on their first offer. They're figgerin' him for an ignorant savage and he was wondering how far they'd go.” Quince lit his pipe. “Also, didn't it strike you funny that he was having this kind of parley with the Dutch and he didn't even have his warlord there?”
“What of it?” Cheatum was petulant, but from his inflection it was clear he was curious.
“Jawa was meeting with some Papaloan refugees when the Dutch's guard was down and sizing up the prisoner pens—hell, he even got aboard their goddamn ship for a look-see, acting like a Papaloan coolie. I just got back from a meeting with him, and that's what he told me.”
Jack smiled. The Dutch had seriously underestimated the shrewdness and boldness of the “savages” of Belaur.
“Anyway, quiet now and just listen, without yammerin', to the whole events of the meeting best as Paul and Brown can remember, all of ye.” He looked pointedly at Paul and Cheatum. “Then we can think about it over dinner, and everybody will have their say at council.”
Paul finished relating the details of what they had overheard without further interruption.
As the Right Honourable Brotherhood settled back on a full stomach, Quince dispensed a ration of grog and told them all to lay off any further rum or sakau for the evening. Jack admired Quince's instinct about such things. Instead of a babbling free-for-all, he had his men eat, gather their thoughts, and think before embarking on a disciplined discussion.
Mentor spoke first. Jack noted he had an odd way of waving his hands in front of himself before talking, as if making way for the impact of his own observations.
“Those slack-jawed, clay-pipe-smokin' Dutch bastards. If they anchor in that cove off the village, all they need do is release their stern hook and the
Stuyvesant
would swing broadside to the parley. Then, when they was in range they'd snug off to the hook and they'd have a row of iron dogs pointed right at us.”
“Aye,” from Coop. “They wouldn't need to have their men armed on the beach if they had a dozen cannon full of metal scrap pointed at us.”
Quince nodded. “That's what they're about, lads. I don't know how they plan to get their own people out of the way, but they could sure sweep the beach clear of anything living from that range. Besides, they'd kill every native man, woman, and child and make that village look a pile of smoking palm trees. That would take care of us and be a lesson every village and tribe in the whole island chain wouldn't have any trouble understanding.”
Jack listened carefully, but a corner of his mind was working feverishly. The Dutch perhaps had forty or fifty Europeans capable of using firearms and a ship that could deliver a withering broadside. The more he thought about it, the key seemed to be in surprise, in capitalizing on the enemy's confidence and arrogance. Something was needed to spur them, make them act rashly, without thinking.
They had to get the Papaloans on their side. Jack remembered the look on that woman's face in the clearing; there were probably many people from Papalo who would be willing to forget their differences
with Yatoo. Indeed, that's what Jawa must have had in mind, given the latest intelligence from Quince. He could not have gotten on board that ship without help from the Papaloans. And, damn, they had a fine ship. A three-master, a bit bigger than the
Star
. If only—
“Jack, what say ye? I know yer pot's simmerin' and we best let you vent the steam a'fore you bubble over,” Quince said.
“How about we give them a reason to come at us with their emotions instead of their brains? Why not raid that damned pinnace they came to Yatoo's meeting in, and have the Papaloans help us?”
Jack knew the Papaloans already knew of him; his reputation as Dyak, one of Yatoo's foreign warriors, had grown with the retelling. The Papaloans would respect a man who had attacked a boatload of their warriors and fought with skill and ferocity.
Quince eased back against his backrest.
“It's plain to anybody that the Dutchman's purpose is to nail us and Yatoo,” Jack continued. “They don't need him to help gather slaves. This isn't Africa—nowheres to run—and they have plenty of native help from other islands anyway. Partly thanks to us, Yatoo's been the first serious threat to their profits, and they're not about to let it go unavenged.”
“Go on, lad,” from Mentor.
“We need to make sure they don't get a chance to train their guns on the village and—we need to take that damn ship.”
“Yer daft,” from Smithers. “Once we—”
“Hear me out.” Jack's tone was that of a request, but his eyes burned a warning that stilled Smithers in mid-sentence. “We've spoken already of maybe taking a ship. Why not this one now? She's a beauty—fast, well built—”
“We know. But she's also armed,” Quince said. “When we spoke of taking some ship before, we were thinking more of borrowing a lamb than attacking a lion.”
“True, Skip. But these men have no intention of letting us live—if not for what we did, then, as Paul has been hinting, for what we know. I don't think the Dutch want anyone seeing what
they're up to here—it's not going to go down well in Europe. We either run, leaving the Belaurans to the wrath of the Dutch, losing the remains of our ship, and risk being caught anyway—or we turn the tables on them. From all that's been said, I think they've seriously underestimated both us and the Belaurans.”
Jack spent the night convincing the council of his plan. It was daring, he agreed, but nothing short of some daring move could get them out of their predicament.
“What if we insist the parley take place in the hook, the sandy spit just south of the village?” Jack asked. “Then the village wouldn't be under their guns.”
“They'd cut us to pieces—” Smithers interrupted, but Quince cut him short with a wave of his hand.
“Where you going with this, Jack?”
“We need to sting them. Make them mad, put them in a lather to come after us even if it means meeting at the spit, where it's harder to maneuver their ship and they can't cover the village. We set a trap for them when they position for their broadside and cut their lines, so they run aground. Then their cannon won't do them any good, and more importantly we have a chance of getting their ship.”
“How in hell are you gonna cut their stern line?” Smithers asked. “Ya figger they won't have a half dozen muskets and a swivel gun ready to maul any boat or swimmer that gets near to it?”
“What if they can't see us?”
“You gwin' ta make us invisible, Jack?”
“What if we were already positioned underwater, on the path the ship's stern would have to swing to?”
“The bell? But it would stick out like a sore thumb against that white bottom.” Paul voiced his concern.
“I'm thinking we could cover it with a blanket that we dunked in something sticky and stuck sand and coral to it somehow.”
“Tar'd do it,” Coop said. “We got least a barrel of it.”
The council went late into the night. The seamen were hardened
to a world of risk and had weathered storms and survival by being tough once decisions were made. They were under their greatest threat yet, but once they resolved to follow Jack's plan, no further bickering would be tolerated.
The meeting that followed among Quince, Yatoo, Jawa, and Jack also went well. Jawa's usually impassive face broadened into a brief flicker of pleasure when he understood the crux of the plan. In turn Jawa explained to Yatoo that “the Dutch think we're animals and that we and the Americans have the hearts of women for battle.” Yatoo said nothing but his jaw muscles tensed below the skin.

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