Hunter waited. He heard shouted commands, then more silence. And then he saw the main anchor line plop into the water. They had cut the anchor. A moment later, the stern lines were also cut, and the ship drifted slowly away from the reef.
Once out of musket range, men again appeared on deck and in the rigging. The sails were let out. Hunter waited to see if she turned and made for the shore. The warship did not turn. Instead, she moved north perhaps a hundred yards, and another anchor was dropped in the new position. The sails were taken up; the ship rode gently at anchor, directly off the hills protecting the bay.
“Well,” Enders said. “That’s it, then. The Don can’t get in, and we can’t get out.”
By midday, Monkey Bay was burning hot and airless. Hunter, pacing the heated decks of his galleon, feeling the sticky ooze of softened pitch beneath his feet, was aware of the irony of his predicament. He had conducted the most daring privateering raid in a century, with complete success - only to become trapped in a stifling, unhealthy cove by a single Donnish ship of the line.
It was a difficult moment for him, and even more difficult for his crew. The privateers looked to their captain for guidance and fresh plans, and it was all too obvious that Hunter had none. Someone broke into the rum, and the crew fell to brawling; one argument evolved into a duel. Enders stopped it at the last minute. Hunter passed the word that any man who killed another would himself be killed by Hunter. The captain wanted his crew intact, and personal disagreements could await landfall in Port Royal.
“Don’t know if they’ll stand for it,” Enders said, gloomy as ever.
“They will,” Hunter said.
He was standing on deck in the shadow of the mainmast with Lady Sarah when another pistol shot rang out somewhere belowdecks.
“What’s that?” Lady Sarah said, alarmed.
“Hell,” Hunter said.
A few moments later, a struggling seaman was brought above, in the grip of the enormous Bassa. Enders trailed disconsolately behind.
Hunter looked at the seaman. He was a grizzled man of twenty-five, named Lockwood. Hunter knew him slightly.
“Winged Perkins in the ear with this,” Enders said, handing Hunter a pistol.
The crew was slowly filtering onto the main deck, surly and grim in the hot sun. Hunter took his own pistol from his belt, and checked the prime.
“What are you going to do?” said Lady Sarah, watching.
“This is none of your concern,” Hunter said.
“But-”
“Look away,” Hunter said. He raised his pistol.
Bassa, the Moor, released the seaman. The man stood there, head bowed, drunk.
“He crossed me,” the seaman said.
Hunter shot him in the head. His brains spattered over the gunwale.
“Oh God!” said Lady Sarah Almont.
“Throw him overboard,” Hunter said. Bassa picked up the body and dragged it, feet scraping loudly in the midday silence on the deck. A moment later, there was a splash; the body was gone.
Hunter looked at his crew. “Do you want to vote a new captain?” he said loudly.
The crew grumbled, and turned away. No one spoke.
Soon after, the decks were cleared again. The men had gone below, to escape the direct heat of the sun.
Hunter looked at Lady Sarah. She said nothing, but her glance was accusing.
“These are hard men,” Hunter said, “and they live by rules we have all accepted.”
She said nothing, but turned on her heel and walked away.
Hunter looked at Enders. Enders shrugged.
Later in the afternoon, Hunter was informed by his lookouts that there was new activity aboard the warship; all the longboats had been lowered on the ocean side, out of view of the land. They were apparently tied up to the ship, for none had appeared. Considerable smoke was issuing from the deck of the warship. Some kind of fire was burning, but its purpose was unclear. This situation continued until nightfall.
Nightfall was a blessing. In the cool evening air, Hunter paced the decks of El Trinidad, staring at the long rows of his cannon. He walked from one to the next, pausing to touch them, running his fingers over the bronze, which still held the warmth of the day. He examined the equipment neatly stowed by each: the rammer, the bags of powder, the shot clusters, the quill touch-pins, and the slow fuses in the notched water buckets.
It was all ready to use - all this firepower, all this armament. He had everything he needed except the men to fire them. And without the men, the cannon might as well not be there at all.
“You are lost in thought.”
He turned, startled. Lady Sarah was there, in a white shift. It looked like an undergarment in the darkness.
“You should not dress like that, with the men about.”
“It was too hot to sleep,” she said. “Besides, I was restless. What I witnessed today…” Her voice trailed off.
“It disturbed you?”
“I have not seen such savagery, even in a monarch. Charles himself is not so ruthless, so arbitrary.”
“Charles has his mind on other things. His pleasures.”
“You deliberately miss my meaning.” Even in the darkness, her eyes glowed with something like anger.
“Madam,” Hunter said. “In this society-”
“Society? You call this” - she gestured with a sweeping hand to the ship, and the men sleeping on the deck - “you call this society?”
“Of course. For wherever men gather, there are rules of conduct. These men have different rules from the Court of Charles, or of Louis, or even of Massachusetts Colony, where I was born. And yet there are rules to be upheld, and penalties to pay for breaking them.”
“You are a philosopher.” Her voice in the darkness was sarcastic.
“I speak what I know. In the Court of Charles, what would befall you if you failed to bow before the monarch?”
She snorted, seeing the direction of his argument.
“It is the same here,” Hunter said. “These men are fierce and violent. If I am to rule them, they must obey me. If they are to obey me, they must respect me. If they are to respect me, they must recognize my authority, which is absolute.”
“You speak like a king.”
“A captain is king, over his crew.”
She moved closer to him. “And do you take your pleasure, as a king does?”
He had only a moment to reflect before she threw her arms around him, and kissed him on the mouth, hard. He returned her embrace. When they broke, she said, “I am so frightened. Everything is strange here.”
“Madam,” he said, “I am obliged to return you safely to your uncle and my friend, Governor Sir James Almont.”
“There is no need to be pompous. Are you a Puritan?”
“Only by birth,” he said, and kissed her again.
“Perhaps I will see you later,” she said.
“Perhaps.”
She went below, with a final glance at him in the darkness. Hunter leaned on one of the cannon, and watched her go.
“Spicy one, isn’t she.”
He turned. It was Enders. He grinned.
“Get a well-born one across the line, and they start to itch, eh?”
“So it appears,” Hunter said.
Enders looked down the row of cannon, and slapped one with his hand. It rang dully. “Maddening, isn’t it,”
