Haitian Gold Read online

  He stayed silent for a moment, staring at the deck. It was unsettling awaiting the judgment from the only man with the authority to clear us.

  “Don’t expect they were here to parlay,” he said and looked me in the eye.

  “So, you have no further loyalty to the governor?”

  Again he stared at me and just shook his head.

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t care for that bastard Bodden. I was under his thumb for too long. Gruber, the one your man killed, was under orders from Bodden to watch me as well.”

  This was a surprising change in demeanor. Still, I wanted nothing left open to his machinations. “Let’s be clear here,” I started. “You are willing to denounce the governor and give testimony on our behalf.”

  “I am. And I’ll be looking for employment as well. Don’t expect I’ll be offered another posting in his majesty’s government after this.”

  I eyed him carefully and decided he was being truthful. “A position with the crew?”

  He smiled. “I’ve always dreamed of a life at sea,” he said almost boyishly.

  We needed his support, but instead of agreeing right away, I chose to delay just to be sure he was sincere. “I’ll put it to the men,” I said and walked away. I wasn’t sure if I could sell them on Pott’s worth, but a man of his intelligence, his cunning and his knowledge of the government could prove to be invaluable.

  I looked around, making sure everything was in order before turning to the companionway. With the logbook secured under my arm, I went to the cabin to see where I stood with Shayla.

  Chapter Nine

  I stood warily in front of the cabin door, steeling myself for the confrontation. Finally I summoned the courage to try the knob and found it locked from the inside. Despite my pleas, there was no answer when I called to her. It was a warm night, but I felt a chill deep in my bones and it was then that I knew what Shayla meant to me. One way or another, I had to rectify the situation, but with Rhames and the pirates voting against her, I had to tread carefully and be patient. I had sought for a way to placate her, but with the door locked, that would have to wait, too. The loss of her affection stung. I returned to the deck, hoping the night would change her mind.

  The dogwatch had been mine, but my mind was churning, so when Red came on deck at two, I sent him back to his bunk. If I was not to get any sleep, I might as well allow him his. The sun was breaking through the thin layer of clouds on the horizon, stretching its fiery tentacles towards the sky, and I sniffed the air for any sign of bad weather.

  With the dawn, men started moving around on deck. I tried to put Shayla from my mind and start planning the day. We would need to work quickly if weather was indeed on the way.

  “Rough night?” Mason asked as he came up beside me.

  “I’ve had worse,” I replied stoically. “We ought to get the longboats in the water before the weather hits.” He glanced to the sky and I could see he agreed with my concern.

  “Best get the rigging squared away,” he said.

  I looked up at the tangled web of spars and lines. “You think you’ll find what you need ashore?” I asked him. “I don’t see any trees the size of a mast.”

  “I had a look with the glass yesterday and checked the stores in the hold. The other ship has the hardware to make the scarf joints we need to splice smaller bits together.”

  This was indeed good news. Instead of having to find and shape one large tree into a mast, we could use several smaller pieces and join them together.

  Mason left to rouse the crew, and less than an hour later, the men were fed and divided into work parties. The skiff from the Panther and the longboat from the pirate ship were both loaded for their respective duties. The skiff, led by Rhames, was packed with half a dozen men, all heavily armed. Their duty was to scour the island for any survivors. I had seen several men jump from the frigate before she vanished, and if they were still alive they would need to be found. The larger longboat carried a score of men and all the tools we could find to aid them in cutting the trees needed for the mast. I watched until they landed on the beach and started my own work.

  With most of the men aboard the pirate ship, there would be room on the Panther’s deck for the women to mend the sails. I called for Lucy and sent a party into the rigging. Soon the torn canvas fell to the deck. Lucy was already on deck sorting through the sails when Shayla appeared. The two women spoke and started working together. It felt like a dagger stabbing me when Shayla’s glance passed over me without any sign of recognition.

  There was no point spending too much time on the Panther until Mason had stepped the new mast. With the two smaller boats gone, we rigged a line and a makeshift raft to shuttle men and materials between the ships. I climbed down the ladder, set my feet on the rough wooden planks and, hand over hand, pulled the raft to the pirate ship, where I jumped onto the ladder and climbed to the deck. I was glad for the separation from Shayla.

  The ship had been obviously jury-rigged, and I ordered all the sails and line taken down. The canvas was piled on the foredeck, out of the way, until the women were able to inspect and repair it. Next I had the men cut down all the lines while I climbed into the rigging myself and inspected the spars, ordering those that were not right to be removed. The masts were near bare when we finished.

  By noon, the spars that could be reworked or easily repaired had been set. We would need Mason’s skills to go further. I looked to the island. Both boats were still beached where the crew had left them. A pile of logs was stacked nearby and I could see several men sawing and planing them. I gathered the more capable men still aboard and told them what needed to be accomplished before Mason returned, then we shuttled half of the crew back to the Panther to start what work we could on her.

  Halfway between the ships, with a unique vantage point to study both their riggings, I remembered my idea. Once aboard and after issuing orders, I went below to my cabin. There I took paper and pencil and started to sketch the rigging of the two schooners. The ships were slightly different, but with a bit of work, we could rig them the same. The Panther would be disguised and we would have duplicate parts for each ship. I started to draw and was so involved in my work that I jumped when I saw a man standing at the cabin door.

  Not sure of his intentions, I covered my sketches and stepped back toward the shelves behind me that held the brace of pistols I had found hidden in the bunk of the pirate ship. I nodded. He entered and put his hands out, saying something in a strange dialect that sounded oddly French. I had been around Lafitte’s crew and knew the singsong sound of Creole. This was close but not quite the same. I looked at him blankly, not understanding. When he repeated himself and continued to approach, I reached for one of the pistols. He yielded a few steps, backing into the passageway, but kept his gaze fixed on me. There we stood facing each other, both unable to communicate.

  “He says he knows these gold bars and says there are many more,” Shayla said bitterly just before she appeared in the doorway.

  I kept one eye on the man while I watched her sidle past him and into the cabin. “You know his language?” I asked.

  She shot me a withering look, one that only a woman can give, telling me without any words that I was a dullard.

  “Seems I might be more valuable to you than you think,” she said.

  “They slighted you. I did what I could,” I said, immediately regretting my tone.

  “You dismissed me,” she said and turned away.

  “Can we put this aside for now? Let’s see where this leads,” I pleaded.

  Shayla turned around. “It’ll cost you some of that gold he’s talking about.”

  I looked at the man and back to Shayla. “I’d split my share with you until I can get you voted in?”

  Shayla shrugged, silently telling me we weren’t finished, but for the moment, she had been placated.

  I turned to the man at the door. He was a large man, and, though he appeared to be in the prime of his life, I noti
ced small signs of aging. The veins on his hands stood proud, and his ebony skin belied the wrinkles and splotches that normally show with age. I could see the small lines around his large eyes and the distinct crease that outlined his jaw. There was something different about the man, and I recalled the air of authority with which he’d carried himself with the other members of the crew. I could also tell he was getting fidgety. I lowered the pistol to set him at ease.

  “Please ask him to explain,” I prompted her.

  They spoke for several minutes and I waited patiently for her to translate. I glanced back and forth between them as they talked, but I couldn’t help but linger on her. Finally, the man grew silent and Shayla turned to me.

  “This is Pierre,” she said. “He has little English or would speak for himself. He was a man of some importance in Haiti during the slave revolt of 1794.”

  I remembered the revolt well. I had been a boy in Holland then, and it was all the talk about how the slaves had taken the island from the French. A decade later, the news was more disturbing. The liberated slaves had massacred almost the entire white population. This was unsettling news to the Dutch and English who made fortunes from their holdings in the Caribbean. The ratio of slaves to whites on many of the islands was as much as ten to one and they feared more uprisings.

  Though she recounted much of what I already knew, I listened carefully, trying to sort out the foreign-sounding names. It seemed that Pierre had been high in King Henri’s cabinet until he had fallen out of favor for advocating for the people. She paused and turned to me.

  “I’m sorry, but I cannot understand all the political nuance.” Turning back to Pierre, she continued, “Henri must have feared him and sold him into slavery.”

  Tears welled in her eyes and I suspected there was something else, something more personal than the Haitian power struggle. “Is that all?” I asked, not failing to notice the sympathetic look they exchanged.

  She turned away from him. “He says there was a deal with the English that many thought would beggar the island. They were to pay an enormous sum in gold, and England would ensure they were accepted into the community of nations.”

  I had heard about this as well but remembered that very little had been paid.

  “Henri accumulated the gold, often stealing from his own people. He acted in good faith with a few small payments, but over the years he became paranoid and changed. He convinced himself that the French would take the country back, despite his alliance with England.”

  “But what of the gold?” I moved forward on my chair, anxious for him to continue. Pierre continued, speaking passionately to Shayla.

  “He was in charge of the construction of the Citadel, a massive fortress in the mountains. There were several large hidden vaults he was forced to construct for the treasure, but before it was completed he was taken and sold as a slave.”

  “Is there any indication of the size of the treasure?” I asked.

  “That’s a bit hard to interpret, but if governments were involved, it’s probably large.”

  “Will he lead us to it?” I asked, focusing on the big man’s face. By the tone of her voice, I could tell she was asking more questions.

  “For his freedom and a portion of what you recover,” she said.

  “He’s already free. What kind of split is he asking? And let him know I cannot make this decision alone. I have to sell it to the crew,” I said.

  They spoke for a minute. “Half,” she said.

  That was too much. Rhames and the men would never accept such a large share leaving their coffers. “Tell him we’ll have to talk to the other men,” I said, not relishing the task.

  Chapter Ten

  I sat on deck, deep in thought, avoiding the looks of the men as they went about their duties. Despite the prospect of treasure, I was morose. The flotsam and jetsam found on shore brought back memories of our pirate past. How many men had needlessly died over our greed? Rhames had found no sign of survivors. To that tally I now had to add the men from the frigate.

  My concerns moved further afield. We had dropped a log line the night before and observed a two-knot current. It had been twenty-four hours since the attack. Simple math put the debris coming ashore on Grand Cayman sometime the next day. No doubt it would be found and recognized as being from the frigate. Our window for repairs had just shrunk.

  It was late now and the moon had risen. Looking into the rigging, I was pleased to see how much work had been done. The freedmen were fast learners. It would only take a few days to fabricate and step the mast on the Panther. The pirate ship would be ready sooner. If Rhames agreed, he could use her to patrol the area for any sign of trouble until the Panther was seaworthy. I thought about taking the raft over to the pirate ship to discuss it with Rhames but decided against it. I didn’t want to infect anyone else with my mood.

  The man on watch was glad when I relieved him. I was restless and wouldn’t sleep. My mind, still heavy with death, turned to the gold. I knew it would only take time and a strong argument to sway Rhames, but we were seafarers, and a trek into the mountains of Haiti was not in our favor. I sat on the bench by the helm. The weather portended by the morning sky had not arrived. Without the expected rain, I would need to check the fresh water stores. With this many men aboard, I knew we had to be low.

  Taking a lantern, I climbed down into the hold. I did my best not to wake any of the sleeping men sprawled on the deck and thought about postponing my inspection when I heard whispers from the far corner. It wasn’t idle conversation but a council of sorts. Five men were engaged in a heated discussion, their voices held low. I recognized Pierre’s voice among them. He was speaking forcefully, but I was unable to understand what he said.

  On a ship, secret meetings were bad business. Mutinies were planned in such ways. I thought of our conversation earlier and wondered if Pierre didn’t mean to take one of our ships to Haiti and go after the treasure himself. I needed to get a handle on the situation and break up the group. Pretending to trip over a crate, I cleared my throat. The men fell silent. I wanted them to know I was there without alarming them, so I hummed as I moved past the barrels, checking them for water as I went, but I could still feel their eyes on me.

  If there was a threat, this was not the time to deal with it. I nodded to the group and took my time checking two other barrels before making my way to the ladder and climbing back on deck. Relieved to be in the air and away from the intrigue, I sat back down and tried to recall anything I’d heard that might shed light onto the men’s discussion.

  “Why don’t you go below and get some rest?”

  I jumped when I saw Mason standing by the wheel.

  “Can’t solve the problems of the world by yourself,” he said and lit his pipe.

  I filled him in on the French captain’s log and Pierre’s claim on the treasure. At the mention of the gold, I saw the bowl of his pipe glow brighter. The story of the men below was another matter, and we agreed at first light we would question Pierre.

  I left Mason at the helm, walked gingerly around several men sleeping on the deck and made my way below. The cabin door was closed and I took a breath before opening it. Mason was right, of course. Despite our earlier reconciliation, an ongoing domestic feud betrayed weakness to the crew. Those that hadn’t witnessed Shayla jumping from the pirate ship during our meeting had surely heard about it.

  The door opened silently and I stepped in. She was asleep on the bunk, the moonlight washing over her hair and highlighting the impish grin on her face. I couldn’t wake her. Instead, I sat in the chair and just watched her.

  “You could have made yourself a bit more comfortable.”

  When I heard her voice, I realized I had fallen asleep. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, and Shayla sat on the bunk, pulling a comb through her hair.

  “I didn’t want to wake you,” I mumbled.

  “Dear me. A proper gentleman,” she said, pulling her hair behind her head and tying
it with a piece of cloth.

  “You know I stood up for you,” I stuttered, realizing I was placing myself under her judgment. “It just didn’t go like I planned with the men.”

  “No, it didn’t. But I’m a patient woman. And now with William dead, I expect I’m a bit more valuable.”

  It wasn’t forgiveness, but the bitterness was gone. For the first time, I thought of how precarious her position was. She and her father were now without a home and at the whim of me and my crew.

  Shayla motioned me over and I sheepishly moved to the bunk and sat beside her. “If we’re together, we’re together,” she said. “That means the good and the bad.”

  I saw the trap, but I didn’t care to avoid it.

  Mason had the crew divided into three teams, with each assigned a specific duty. I had impressed on him the night before that we were not as safe as we thought, and from the looks of the men as they worked, the message had gotten through. I nodded to the work party and headed to the stern, where I climbed down to the raft and pulled myself across to the pirate ship. It was time to reach an agreement with Rhames.

  I came onboard the pirate ship and found Rhames at the forepeak, pulling a line through a pulley to tension the forestay. He grunted acknowledgment, and not wanting to take him away from his work, I jumped in to help.

  By lunchtime, the ship was ready for canvas and I looked across to the Panther. Mason was supervising the three crews as they shaped the fittings where the logs would be joined together to form a new mast. It was tedious work, I knew, and required the skill of a master carpenter. Even with Mason’s expertise and the size of the workforce, the repairs to the Panther were two days behind those of the pirate ship.

  I went to the open water cask on deck and drank from the ladle. Rhames joined me. “Slow going, eh?”