After watching a couple of our lessons on the main deck, many of the crew signed up to learn Mark’s style of elegant swordsmanship too. Even Jack saw the benefit.
Feeling confident with our improved skills, we took a double-masted schooner with ease just south of Port Royal. Its plentiful booty and supplies kept us fed and watered for a whole month.
Our next take was not so easy.
5
It was early morning when we rounded the westernmost point of Jamaica into Orange Bay. A heavy mist hung over the water and the sun had not yet broken through. Although the coast must have been only a furlong from our ship, we could not make it out. The only sound was the faint flutter of the Roger overhead and the sea lapping at the hull as William sliced slowly through the water. They were my least favourite conditions to sail in – let alone attack a ship – but Jack insisted we needed another take that day as we were running short on supplies, and there was always a sloop in Orange Bay – seeing as it was the last mooring before Montego Bay and its bustling markets.
We did not reckon on finding three ships moored together.
Before we knew it, we were upon them, their masts looming high through the mist, like crosses on Golgotha. Mark and I stood next to each other on the forecastle along with most of the crew, ready for battle. I glanced at Mark and saw concern plain on his face. I looked back at Jack – at the helm – and his face held worry, too. But there was no turning back now.
Jack spun the wheel to bring us alongside the first ship and his urgent whisper reached us easily on account of the mist’s thick silence: “Stealthy take, lads!”
We hoisted the gangways over the taffrail and crept quickly and quietly onto the first Spanish sloop. Its main deck was deserted; its crew no doubt still slumbering below decks.
“Take the crew’s quarters,” I murmured to the lads.
They stole away to the starboard doorway which led down below deck, leaving Mark and me up top. There was no noise but creaks from the main masts and muffled steps from the crew as they descended the stairs below us.
“Captain’s quarters are open, Annie,” Mark whispered.
I ignored the jolt of pleasure I felt from his term of endearment and followed his gaze. He was right: the door to what would be the captain’s cabin lay wide open.
“Anyone on the helm?” I asked urgently.
“Not that I can see.”
“Where are the barrelmen?”
Mark looked upwards to the crow’s nest. “Nowt there.”
“I don’t like this one little –”
“AVAST!”
Out of the mist, three dozen men charged from the second ship alongside. They clambered over gangways and swung down from rigging-lines armed with swords, grappling irons, and clubs. Instantly, Mark surged forwards with his sword drawn and took on the first of them.
“Main deck!” I hollered, hoping the crew could hear me.
I fired my pistol at the most dangerous-looking Spaniard I could see, who was armed with two flintlocks and a wild look in his eyes. A heart-stopping booooom thundered through my chest as a cannon fired behind me and tore through the oncoming crowd, eliminating at least five of the horde. Swirling sulphurous fumes and smoke filled my nostrils. My ears rang. Breathless, I looked behind me to see Jack lighting the second gun’s fuse on the William. Then, with a rallying cry, he leapt over the taffrail to join the fight.
Cries echoed through the smoke and mist as the second cannonball hit the crowd. I fought on, slashing a neck, an arm, a face, another neck. My shirt clung to my chest with sweat and blood. Jack appeared next to me and fired both pistols into the melee before discarding them and drawing his cutlasses. Ahead, I could make out Mark’s long blade swishing left and right, slashed with red.
Musket shots whistled through the air, heralding our crew’s arrival from below decks. Panic broke out among the Spaniards when they realised they were now outnumbered. They started to retreat, jumping overboard to escape. Huge plumes of water splashed up and over the rails. Some of our crew ran to the taffrails and began picking them off in the water with their pistols, one by one. As the enemy dispersed, I looked around for Mark.
Beside me, Jack sneered. “Bloody Spaniards. Couldn’t fight on their own, had to join with the other ships. Bloody coat-tail cowards.”
I turned and punched him in the face, hard. He stumbled back, grasping his nose.
“Ahh! Anne – what the –”
“How many times have I told you? Never attack in the mist! Bloody Spaniards…? Bloody brainless, Jack. That’s what you are.”
I stalked off in a blind rage to find Mark. I found him on the sterncastle deck, hunched over, clutching at his side. My stomach dropped.
“You’re hurt.”
“It’s just a scratch, Annie. Nowt to lose your head over.”
He smiled at me and tried to stand up. His face twisted in pain. Moving closer, I gently lifted his hand away and opened his coat. His shirt was slashed open along his belly and a bright red patch bloomed through the cotton.
“Oh, bilge, Read. That there is no scratch. Let’s get you back to quarters and fix you up.”
I hoisted his other arm over my shoulder and walked him slowly back onto the William, glaring at Jack as we passed. He held a bandana to his bloody nose and eyed me warily.
“Search all ships for booty!” he barked to the crew.
“We’ll be in captain’s quarters,” I called back to him.
“Bloody
