A bell is ringing.
"Galleon ahoy!" shouts a pirate from the crow's nest. "To the East!"
I hasten to the deck to see the ship for myself. I cannot see anything. The lookout post is more than eighteen feet above me on the main mast and he must be using a spyglass.
My heart is beating fit to burst in my ears. Could it be a vessel sent by my husband-to-be to set me free? Or privateers bearing a Letter of Marque, dispatched to these climes to capture my abductors and send them to the gibbet?
A galleon, he said. No, I ramble. Galleons are Spanish or Portuguese ships. They have no care for a French damsel in distress who is all but married to a Scotsman.
"Muster!" shouts the Irishman from the quarterdeck.
I am ashamed to admit it, but I feel excited. It must be that I am more than ready to break the monotony. All the sailors have abandoned their current duties to assemble on deck. John the quarter-master takes his place beside the captain. They have a whispered discussion and then nod their heads with a knowing look.
Even if I am frightened to see all these weather-beaten faces around me, my curiosity prompts me to stay. I want to see what is going to happen. I try to make myself scarce and slip behind the rigging near the main mast.
"Sailors!" Steven starts with his strong voice. "We had agreed in Charleston to stop off on Tortuga before going on to New Orleans to deliver our package."
Nice... I take this very badly and I feel insulted. Nobody cares. They await the rest of the captain's announcement.
"We can continue with our initial plan. For the sale of the goods John and I are committed to paying you eight pieces of eight each. And for the others, to honour our other contract, it will be thirty-five pieces of eight for each of you."
"It will above be all the gibbet," I spit sourly through my teeth.
Nobody has heard my remark.
"For me that is all for the time being," he continues. "John has a different opinion. I will let him talk."
"Men!" shouts John.
It is the first time I have heard his voice. It is nasal and does not carry as far as the captain's voice. But there is nevertheless something in his attitude which fascinates the pirates.
"The galleon is packed with gold! And they are not on the right route to return to the continent. I fathom they may have a problem. What I propose is to get near enough to be able to gauge the situation."
"You ain't serious," cries the young ship's boy named Nick who took part in my abduction. "You ain't really thinking of attacking a galleon with our little brig?"
"Plainly speaking, yes," he answers. "What are a few pieces of eight when we can have gold ingots?"
This is suicidal. These sailors are mad. Completely insane. The expression on Steven's face shows that he shares my feeling. I find that reassuring; he is the captain. He will have the last word.
"For now," the captain says, "we cannot decide to attack, Nick. John, we shall do what you have said. We get near enough for Bappé to be able to describe exactly what is going on there. If our prey is too sizeable, we simply leave. We are much faster than them anyway."
The men nod one after the other. Nobody is really appeased by this announcement. Tension is at its highest as around fifteen sailors return to their stations for the change of course. I slip onto the deck, careful not to disturb the navigators in their manoeuvres.
Steven has returned to his place behind the wheel. He looks sullen and preoccupied. I am beginning to get to know him: he is displeased.
I quickly run up the steps to join him.
"You are not seriously thinking of attacking a ship three times the size of yours! Put my mind at ease," I whisper in his ear.
He hardly turns his head to give me that disdainful look that I know so well.
"No. But I may not have the choice[1]."
"What?" But you are the captain!" I retort. "Of course you have the choice. You order than we set sail for Tortuga. It is simple."
This time, he turns to face me. His lips stretch into a mirthless smile.
"That is not how it works, my lovely. Piracy does not respect naval rules. We have our own laws. If I order a retreat and the majority of my men follow the quarter-master, I shall be accused of being unfair and I have no wish to end my days on a desert island dying a slow death under a fiery sun."
"You would rather die under a cannon-ball?"
"Yes," he answers firmly.
"Not me," I retort placing my hand on the tiller.
If looks could kill, I would have been struck down by on the spot by the captain's eyes. I quickly remove my hands from the wood. Once again, I have gone too far. I think he hesitates to punish me and strike me. He glances around to check whether one of his seamen has seen the affront I have just inflicted on him.
"Enough for this time, woman! Let it not happen again."
I am consumed with anger. I cannot help but look daggers at him. Why do I suddenly feel the desire to shout out loud a word that would have the chaste ears of my loathsome mother ringing?
"You deserve to perish swallowed by the waves," I impart before retiring.
If I survive this madness, he will punish me for my lack of respect. This does not frighten me. I feel absolutely certain that this is the last day of my life.
Two hours later, another assembly is called. We can now see the ship with the naked eye. A massively muscular black man climbs down from the crow's nest with surprising agility. As soon as his feet hit the deck, he has a few words with Steven and starts to speak.
"It is a galleon. Almost all the sails are down. The hull has suffered damage. There is movement on board and it is drifting slightly. I think that their rudder blade is broken. And it is the only ship. No other ships in sight. They are usually to be found in the South, and never alone."
"That is good," says John enthusiastically. "They must have already come through one attack. All we have to do is finish them off."
"How can we board with their cannons?" asks Steven.
Good news: he remains hard-headed. The bad news is that he really seems to be contemplating a sea battle.
"A fire ship," suggests a pirate to my right. "The currents are strong around here. We place ourselves in a strategic location, send it all off and bang."
"The galleon could sink before we have had time to loot it," retorts the Irishman.
"Well, at least we will have had the merit of finishing off those bloody Spaniards!" the Chinaman rages.
I notice a something going on between Cook and Steven. Steven moves his chin from left to right almost imperceptibly. Cook speaks out.
"I should rather go back to Tortuga with my head on my shoulders and my tail between my legs," objects the pirate placing himself near his captain. "I do not want to risk my bitch of a life when that ship may already have been emptied by friends of ours."
Other men answer this proclamation favourably.
"Let us vote on it!" suggests Steven. "To port, those who want to attack, and to starboard those who would prefer a serene return to Tortuga to purchase themselves a pretty tart."
A few laughs help the tension to fall. He is strong. He interrupted the debate at a time when he had the advantage.
But he is not strong enough faced with the lure of money. Thirty or so pirates have joined John and the Chinaman and around ten of them have moved to starboard.
"It is decided!" storms the captain. "Bappé, climb back up there with Jack and Rodgers. I want to know exactly what we are up against. Leng, don't take your eyes off the sea. If a fish leaves its shoal, I must be informed. John, you look after the fire ship. We're going to put everything in it. The whole stock of kegs. And I'm warning you, men, we need to bring bounty back, because the brethren will not appreciate that we have used their goods. Sharpen your blades and load your guns."
No, no, no, no. They cannot be serious. They are going to do it! I understand why they say that the golden age of piracy is past[2]. With such hotheads, they are bound to disappear. They believe themselves to bebloodthirsty warriors. They are merely suicidal.
"Do you realize that you are going to get us all killed with your stupidity!" I am losing my temper.
All the bandits turn to face me with a stupefied look. Had they forgotten that I was on board? I do not know if I have the right to speak out, but I fully intend to have my opinion heard.
"The galleons are armed with sixty to seventy cannons. It would only take one ball to send us to the bottom of the sea. And the soldiers are men who have been trained in warfare, are well-fed and are probably more numerous than you are. Stop this madness!"
The first time I was paralysed by another's eyes was in 1742. We were staying with cousins to the north of Paris. My sister Sophie and I had escaped the watchful eye of our governess and had hidden in a passage-way used exclusively by the servants.
My uncle surprised us. He was but an earl, a witness to the hierarchical rise of his sister who was married to a marquis. He hated her. It was understandable. He hated us too. I was ten and Sophie thirteen. The madman thought that he could seize the opportunity to brutalise us and correct our frivolous behaviour in his dwelling. He took it out on her. My Sophie.
I do not really know what happened. I ran and I pushed him. He fell, rolled down the stairs and hit his head. He died instantly.
The servants arrived. They looked at us, shocked and afraid. I was paralyzed. I can still see their accusing looks. An elderly lady, dressed in black, ordered us to run back to our apartments, to hide and act as if everything was normal.
We pretended to be sad and surprised when Mother told us of the death of her dear brother during the afternoon. Crushed by the hooves of a horse in the stables.
That was the day I understood that even servants could lie, betray and mislead. It was not then the privilege of nobility. It was also the day I became a murderess. Sophie did not thank me. And since that day, she has installed a distance between us which still breaks my heart.
Today, I can feel that malicious numbness. I have been bold enough to act. To speak. And they have listened to me. In itself, this is a miracle. A short-lived miracle, nevertheless, because they laugh out loud. The whole deck bursts out laughing.
"Ha ha! That's a good one, the captain's tart," croaks a malodorous sailor, placing his disgusting hand on my head and rubbing my hair as if I was a pet.
In an instant, the pirates become serious again to direct their attention to the coming battle. Nobody takes any notice of me. Nobody except John. I sense in him a hatred for the woman I am and the desire to take me. Not to honour pleasure, but to aggravate my suffering and submission.
"Slacken the mainsail! Hoist the Jolly Roger[3]!" orders Steven. "Get moving, men. The first one I see dawdling will be put on the fire ship!"
It takes me less than a second to move to his side.
Had he not promised to protect me from his crew? He can still do this, even if he cannot protect me from Spanish soldiers…
[1] Pirates used a model of governance similar to democracy. The complete fraternity and freedom they claimed made piracy a pioneering movement of anarchy.
[2] Buccaneer period: 1650-1690. Golden Age of piracy: 1690-1730.
Decline of piracy: 1730-1900
[3] The pirate flag, which often shows a skull above crossed shinbones.