12
Barney thought the Caribbean island of Hispaniola must be the hottest place on earth.
In the summer of 1563 he was still master gunner on the Hawk, three years after he had boarded the ship in Antwerp wanting to go only as far as Combe Harbour. He longed to go home and see his family but, strangely, he was not very angry about having been tricked into joining the crew. Life at sea was dangerous and often cruel, but there was something about it that suited Barney. He liked waking up in the morning not knowing what the day would bring. More and more, he felt that the sad collapse of his mother’s business had been, for him, an escape.
His main complaint was all-male society. He had always loved the company of women, and they, in turn, often found him attractive. Unlike many crew, he did not resort to dockside whores, who often gave men horrible infections. He yearned just to stroll along a street with a girl at his side, flirting and looking for a chance to snatch a kiss.
The Hawk had sailed from Antwerp to Seville, then to the Canary Islands. There followed a series of lucrative round trips, taking knives and ceramic tiles and clothing from Seville to the islands and bringing back barrels of strong Canary wine. It was a peaceful trade, so Barney’s expertise in gunnery had not been required, although he had kept the armaments in constant readiness. The crew had shrunk from fifty to forty through accidents and disease, the hazards of normal life at sea, but there had been no fighting.
Then Captain Bacon had decided that the big money was in slaves. At Tenerife he had found a Portuguese pilot called Duarte who was familiar with both the African coast and the transatlantic crossing. The crew had become restive at this dangerous prospect, especially after so long at sea; so Bacon had promised that they would return home after one trip, and get a bonus.
Slavery was a major industry in West Africa. Since before anyone could remember, the kings and chieftains of the region had sold their fellow men to Arab buyers who took them to the slave markets of the Middle East. The new European traders horned in on an existing business.
Bacon bought three hundred and twenty men, women and children in Sierra Leone. Then the Hawk headed west across the Atlantic Ocean to the vast unmapped territory called New Spain.
The crew did not like the slave business. The wretched victims were crammed together in the hold, chained up in filthy conditions. Everyone could hear the children crying and the women wailing. Sometimes they sang sad songs to keep up their spirits, and that was even worse. Every few days one of them would die, and the body would be thrown overboard with no ceremony. ‘They’re just cattle,’ Bacon said, if anyone complained; but cattle did not sing laments.
The first Europeans to cross the Atlantic had thought, when they made landfall, that they were in India, so they had called these islands the West Indies. They knew better now that Magellan and Elcano had circumnavigated the globe, but the name stuck.
Hispaniola was the most developed of many islands, few of which were even named. Its capital, Santo Domingo, was the first European city in New Spain, and even had a cathedral, but to his disappointment Barney did not get to see it. The pilot Duarte directed the Hawk away from the city because what the ship was doing was illegal. Hispaniola was governed by the king of Spain, and English merchants were forbidden to trade there. So Duarte advised Captain Bacon to head for the northern coast, as far away as possible from the forces of law and order.
The sugar planters were desperate for labour. Barney had heard that something like half of all Europeans who migrated to the West Indies died within two years, and the death rate was almost as bad among Africans, who seemed resistant to some but not all the diseases of New Spain. As a result, the planters did not scruple to buy from illicit English traders, and the day after the Hawk docked at a little place with no name, Bacon sold eighty slaves, taking payment in gold, pearls and hides.
Jonathan Greenland, the first mate, bought supplies in the town and the crew enjoyed their first fresh food in two months.
The following morning Barney was standing in the waist, the low, middle part of the deck, talking anxiously to Jonathan. From where they were, they could see most of the small town where they had at last made landfall. A wooden jetty led to a little beach, beyond which was a square. All the buildings were of wood but one, a small palace built of pale-gold coral limestone.
‘I don’t like the illegality of this,’ Barney said quietly to Jonathan. ‘We could end up in a Spanish jail, and who knows how long it would take to get out?’
‘And all for nothing,’ Jonathan said. The crew did not share in the profits of regular trading, just the prize money from captured ships, and he was disappointed that the voyage had been peaceful.
As they talked, a young man in clerical black came out of the main door of the palace and walked, looking important, across the square, down the beach and along the jetty. Coming to the gangplank he hesitated, then stepped onto it and crossed to the deck.
In Spanish he said: ‘I must speak to your master.’
Barney replied in the same language. ‘Captain Bacon is in his cabin. Who are you?’
The man looked offended to be questioned. ‘Father Ignacio, and I bring a message from Don Alfonso.’
Barney guessed that Alfonso was the local representative of authority, and Ignacio was his secretary. ‘Give me the message, and I’ll make sure the captain gets it.’
‘Don Alfonso summons your captain to see him immediately.’
Barney was keen to avoid offending the local authorities, so he pretended not to notice Ignacio’s arrogance. Mildly he said: ‘Then I’m sure my captain will come. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll find him.’
Barney went to Bacon’s cabin. The captain was dressed and eating fried plantains with fresh bread. Barney gave him the message. ‘You can come with me,’ Bacon said. ‘Your Spanish is better than mine.’
A few minutes later they stepped off the ship onto the jetty. Barney felt the warmth of the rising sun on his face: today would be very hot again. They followed Ignacio up the beach. A few early-rising townspeople stared at them with lively interest: clearly strangers were rare enough here to be fascinating.
As they crossed the dusty square, Barney’s eye was caught by a girl in a yellow gown. She was a golden-skinned African, but too well-dressed to be a slave. She rolled a small barrel from a doorway to a waiting cart, then looked up at the visitors. She met Barney’s gaze with a fearless expression, and he was startled to see that she had blue eyes.
With an effort Barney returned his attention to the palace. Two armed guards, their eyes narrowed against the glare, watched silently as he and Bacon followed Ignacio through the gate. Barney felt like a criminal, which he was, and he wondered whether he would get out as easily as he had got in.
The palace was cool inside, with high ceilings and stone floors. The walls were covered with tiles of bright blue and golden yellow that Barney recognized as coming from the potteries of Seville. Ignacio led them up a wide staircase and told them to sit on a wooden bench. Barney figured this was a snub. The mayor of this place did not have a string of people to see every morning. He was making them wait just to show that he could. Barney thought this was a good sign. You do not bother to slight a man if you are about to throw him in jail.
After a quarter of an hour, Ignacio reappeared and said: ‘Don Alfonso will see you now.’ He showed them into a spacious room with tall shuttered windows.
Alfonso was obese. A man of about fifty, with silver hair and blue eyes, he sat in a chair that appeared to have been made specially to fit his unnatural girth. Two stout walking-sticks on a table beside him suggested that he could not walk around unaided.
He was reading a sheaf of papers, and once again Barney thought this was for show. He and Bacon stood with Ignacio, waiting for Alfonso to speak. Barney sensed Bacon becoming angry. The disdainful treatment was getting to him. Barney willed him to stay calm.
At last Alfonso looked up. ‘You’re under arrest,’ he said. ‘You have been trading illegally.’
That was what Barney had been afraid of.
He translated, and Bacon said: ‘If he tries to arrest me, the Hawk will flatten his town.’
This was an exaggeration. The Hawk’s guns were minions, small cannons that would not destroy any well-built masonry structure. They were too small even to sink a ship, unless by extraordinary luck. The four-pound cannonballs were designed to paralyse an enemy vessel by wrecking its masts and rigging, and killing or demoralizing the crew, thereby depriving the captain of all control. Just the same, the Hawk could inflict a good deal of unpleasant damage on the little town square.
Barney scrambled for a more conciliatory way of phrasing Bacon’s rejoinder. After a moment he said to Alfonso in Spanish: ‘Captain Bacon suggests that you send a message to his crew, telling them that he has been detained quite lawfully, and that they should not fire the ship’s guns at your town, no matter how angry they may feel.’
‘That’s not what he said.’ Clearly Alfonso understood some English.
‘It’s what he meant.’
Bacon said impatiently: ‘Ask him how much he needs to be bribed.’
Again Barney’s translation was more tactful. ‘Captain Bacon asks what it would cost to purchase a licence to trade here.’
There was a pause. Would Alfonso angrily refuse, and jail them for corruption as well as illegal trading?
The fat man said: ‘Five escudos per slave, payable to me.’
Thank heaven, Barney thought.
The price was high, but not unreasonable. A Spanish escudo was a coin containing one-eighth of an ounce of gold.
Bacon’s reply was: ‘I can’t pay more than one escudo.’
‘Three.’
‘Done.’
‘One more thing.’
‘Damn,’ Bacon muttered. ‘I agreed too easily. Now there’ll be some supplementary charge.’
Barney said in Spanish: ‘Captain Bacon will not pay more.’
Alfonso said: ‘You have to threaten to destroy the town.’
Barney had not expected that. ‘What?’
‘When the authorities in Santo Domingo accuse me of permitting illicit trade, my defence will be that I had to do it to save the town from the wrath of the savage English pirates.’
Barney translated, and Bacon said: ‘Fair enough.’
‘I’ll need it in writing.’
Bacon nodded agreement.
Barney frowned. He did not like the idea of a written confession of crime, even if it was true. However, he saw no way around it.
The door opened and the girl in the yellow dress walked in. Ignacio glanced at her without interest. Alfonso smiled fondly. She crossed the room to his chair as casually as if she were family, and kissed him on the forehead.
Alfonso said: ‘My niece, Bella.’
Barney guessed that ‘niece’ was a euphemism for ‘illegitimate daughter’. Alfonso had fathered a child with a beautiful slave, it seemed. Barney recalled the words of Ebrima: Slaves are always used for sex.
Bella was carrying a bottle, and now she put it on the table with the walking-sticks. ‘I thought you might need some rum,’ she said, speaking the Spanish of an educated woman with just the hint of an accent Barney did not recognize. She gave him a direct look, and he realized her eyes were the same bright blue as Alfonso’s. ‘Enjoy it in good health,’ she said, and she went out.
‘Her mother was a spitfire, rest her soul,’ Alfonso said nostalgically. For a moment he was silent, remembering. Then he said: ‘You should buy Bella’s rum. It’s the best. Let’s have a taste.’
Barney began to relax. The atmosphere had changed completely. They were now collaborators, not adversaries.
The secretary got three glasses from a cupboard, drew the stopper from the bottle, and poured generous measures for the other men. They drank. It was very good rum, spicy but smooth, with a kick in the swallow.
Bacon said: ‘A pleasure to do business with you, Don Alfonso.’
Alfonso smiled. ‘I believe you have sold eighty slaves.’
Barney began to make an excuse. ‘Well, we weren’t aware of any prohibition—’
Alfonso ignored him. ‘So that means you owe me two hundred and forty escudos already. You can settle the account here and now.’
Bacon frowned. ‘It’s a bit difficult—’
Alfonso interrupted him before Barney had time to translate. ‘You got four thousand escudos for the slaves.’
Barney was surprised: he had not known that Bacon had made so much. The captain was secretive about money.
Alfonso went on: ‘You can afford to pay me two hundred and forty right now.’
He was right. Bacon got out a heavy purse and laboriously counted out the money, mostly in the larger coins called doubloons, each containing a quarter of an ounce of gold and therefore worth two escudos. His face was twisted in a grimace of discomfort, as if he had a stomach-ache. It hurt him to pay such a large bribe.
Ignacio checked the amount and nodded to Alfonso.
Bacon stood up to leave.
Alfonso said: ‘Let me have your threatening letter before you sell any more slaves.’
Bacon shrugged.
Barney winced. Rough manners irritated the Spanish, who valued formalities. He did not want Bacon to spoil everything by offending Alfonso’s sensibilities just before leaving. They were still under Spanish jurisdiction. He said politely: ‘Thank you, Don Alfonso, for your kindness in receiving us. We are honoured by your courtesy.’
Alfonso made a grandly dismissive gesture, and Ignacio led them out.
Barney felt better, though he was not sure that they were completely in the clear. However, he wanted to see Bella again. He wondered whether she was married, or courting. He guessed she was about twenty – she might have been less, but dark skin always looked younger. He was eager to know more about her.
Outside in the square, he said to Bacon: ‘We need rum on board – we’re almost out. Should I buy a barrel from that woman, his niece, Bella?’
The captain was not fooled. ‘Go on, then, you randy young bastard.’
Bacon headed back towards the Hawk, and Barney went to the doorway from which he had seen Bella emerge earlier. The house was of wood, but otherwise built on the same pattern as Carlos Cruz’s home in Seville, with a central arch leading through to a courtyard workshop – a typical craftsman’s dwelling.
Barney smelled the earthy odour of molasses, the bitter black treacle that was produced by the second boiling of sugar cane and was mainly used to make rum. He guessed the smell came from the huge barrels lined up along one side of the yard. On the other side were smaller barrels and stacked bottles, presumably for rum. The yard ended in a little orchard of lime trees.
In the middle of the space were two large tanks. One was a waist-high square of caulked planks, full of a sticky mixture that was being stirred by an African with a large wooden paddle. The brew gave off the bready smell of yeast, and Barney assumed this was a fermentation tank. Alongside it was an iron cauldron perched over a fire. The cauldron had a conical lid with a long spout, and a dark liquid dripped from the spout into a bucket. Barney guessed that in this cauldron the fermented mash was distilled to produce the liquor.
Bella stood over the bucket, sniffing. Barney watched her, admiring her concentration. She was slim but sturdy, with strong legs and arms, no doubt from manhandling barrels. Something about her high forehead reminded him of Ebrima, and on impulse he spoke to her in Manding. He said: ‘I be nyaadi?’ which meant How are you?
She jumped with shock and turned around. Recovering, she spoke a stream of Manding.
Barney replied in Spanish. ‘I don’t really speak the language, I’m sorry. I learned a few words from a friend in Seville.’
‘My mother spoke Manding,’ Bella said in Spanish. ‘She’s dead. You spooked me.’
‘I’m sorry.’
She looked thoughtfully at him. ‘Not many Europeans bother to pick up even a few words of any African languages.’
‘My father taught us to learn as much as possible of any tongue we came across. He says it’s better than money in the bank.’
‘Are you Spanish? You don’t look it, with that ginger beard.’
‘English.’
‘I never met an English person before.’ She picked up the bucket at her feet, sniffed it, and threw its contents on the ground.
Barney said: ‘Something wrong with the rum?’
‘You always have to discard the first fractions of the distillate. They’re poisonous. You can save the stuff and use it for cleaning boots but, if you do, sooner or later some idiot will try drinking it and kill himself. So I throw it away.’ She touched the tip of a slender finger to the spout and sniffed it. ‘That’s better.’ She rolled an empty barrel under the spout, then turned her attention back to Barney. ‘Do you want to buy some rum?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Come with me. I want to show you the best way to drink it.’
She led him to the far end of the yard. She picked small pale-green limes from the trees and handed them to him. Barney watched her, mesmerized. All her movements were fluid and graceful. She stopped when he was holding a dozen or so of the fruits. ‘You have big hands,’ she said. Then she looked more closely. ‘But damaged. What happened?’
‘Scorch marks,’ he said. ‘I used to be a gunner in the Spanish army. It’s like being a cook – you’re always getting minor burns.’
‘Shame,’ she said. ‘Makes your hands ugly.’
Barney smiled. She was sassy, but he liked that.
He followed her into the house. Her living room had a floor of beaten earth, and the furniture was evidently home-made, but she had brightened the place with bougainvillea blossom and colourful cushions. There was no sign of a husband: no boots in the corner, no sword hanging from a hook, no tall, feathered hat. She pointed to a crude wooden chair and Barney sat down.
Bella took two tall glasses from a cupboard. Barney was surprised: glass was an expensive luxury. But selling rum was her business, and all drinks tasted better out of glassware.
She took the limes from him and halved them with a knife, then squeezed their juice into a pottery jug. She knew he was staring at her, and did not seem to mind.
She put an inch of rum into each glass, stirred in a spoonful of sugar, then topped up the glasses with lime juice.
Barney took a glass and sipped. It was the most delicious drink he had ever tasted. ‘Oh, my soul,’ he said. ‘That really is the best way to take it.’
‘Shall I send some rum to the Hawk this afternoon? My best is half an escudo for a thirty-four gallon barrel.’
That was cheap, Barney thought; about the same price as beer in Kingsbridge. Presumably molasses cost next to nothing on this sugar-growing island. ‘Make it two barrels,’ he said.
‘Done.’
He sipped more of the zesty drink. ‘How did you get started in this business?’
‘When my mother was dying, Don Alfonso offered her anything she wanted. She asked him to give me my freedom and set me up with some way of making a living.’
‘And he came up with this.’
She laughed, opening her mouth wide. ‘No, he suggested needlework. The rum was my idea. And you? What brought you to Hispaniola?’
‘It was an accident.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, more a series of accidents.’
‘How so?’
Barney thought of Sancho in Seville, the José y María, the killing of Ironhand Gómez, the raft down the river Leie, the Wolman family in Antwerp, and Captain Bacon’s deceit. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘I’d love to hear it.’
‘And I’d love to tell you, but I’m needed on board ship.’
‘Does the captain ever give you time off?’
‘In the evenings, usually.’
‘If I make you supper, will you tell me your story?’
Barney’s heart beat faster. ‘All right.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Yes.’ He stood up.
To his surprise, she kissed his lips, briefly and softly. ‘Come at sundown,’ she said.
*
‘DO YOU BELIEVE in love at first sight?’ Barney said to Bella three weeks later.
‘Maybe, I don’t know.’
They were in bed at her house, and the sun had just risen. The new day was already warm, so they had thrown off the bedclothes. They slept naked: there was no need for nightwear in this climate.
Barney had never set eyes on anything as lovely as Bella’s golden-brown body carelessly splayed across a linen sheet in the morning light. He never tired of gazing at her, and she never minded.
He said: ‘The day that I went to speak to Don Alfonso, and I glanced across the square and saw you come out of this house rolling a barrel, and you looked up and met my eye – I fell for you right then, not knowing anything at all about you.’
‘I might have turned out to be a witch.’
‘What did you think, when you saw me staring at you?’
‘Well, now, I can’t say too much, in case you get a swollen head.’
‘Go on, take the risk.’
‘At that moment, I couldn’t really think at all. My heart started beating fast and I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. I told myself it was just a white man with peculiar-coloured hair and a ring in his ear, nothing to get excited about. Then you just looked away, as if you hadn’t really noticed me, and I figured it really was nothing to get excited about.’
Barney was deeply in love with her, and she with him, and they both knew it, but he had no idea what they were going to do about it.
Bacon had sold almost all the slaves, and those that remained were mostly rejects, men who had fallen ill on the voyage, pregnant women, children who had pined away after separation from their parents. The hold of the Hawk was bursting with gold, sugar and hides. Soon the ship would sail for Europe, and this time it seemed Bacon really did mean to go to Combe Harbour.
Would Bella go home with Barney? It would mean giving up everything she knew, including a successful business. He was afraid to ask her the question. He did not even know whether Bacon would permit a woman on board for the voyage home.
So should Barney give up his old life and settle here in Hispaniola? What would he do? He could help Bella expand the rum business. He could become a sugar planter, perhaps, though he had no capital to invest. It was a big step to take after less than a month in a place. But he wanted to spend his life with Bella.
He had to talk to her about the future. The unasked question was always in his mind, and perhaps hers too. They had to face it.
He opened his mouth to speak, and Jonathan Greenland walked in.
‘Barney!’ he said. ‘You have to come, now!’ Then he saw Bella and said: ‘Oh, my good God, she’s gorgeous.’
It was a clumsy remark, but Bella’s beauty could have a distracting effect on a normally intelligent man even when she was fully clothed. Barney smothered a grin and said: ‘Get out of here! This is a lady’s bedroom!’
Jonathan turned his back, but did not leave. ‘I’m sorry, Señorita, but it’s an emergency,’ he said.
‘It’s all right,’ Bella said, pulling the sheet over her. ‘What’s the crisis?’
‘A galleon approaching, fast.’
Barney leaped out of bed and pulled on his breeches. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said to Bella as he pushed his feet into his boots.
‘Be careful!’ she said.
Barney and Jonathan ran out of the house and across the square. The Hawk was already lifting its anchor. Most of the crew were on deck and in the rigging, unfurling the sails. The mooring ropes had been untied from the jetty, and the two latecomers had to leap across a gap of a yard onto the deck.
Once safely on board, Barney looked across the water. A mile to the east was a Spanish galleon bristling with guns, coming at them fast with a following wind. For three weeks he had forgotten about the danger he and the rest of the crew were in. But now the forces of law and order had arrived.
The crew used long poles to push the Hawk away from the jetty and out towards deeper water. Captain Bacon turned the ship west, and the wind filled the sails.
The galleon was riding high in the water, suggesting it carried little or no cargo. It had four masts, with more sails than Barney could count at a glance, giving it speed. It was broad in the beam, and had a high aft castle, which would make it relatively clumsy to turn; but in a straight race it could not fail to catch the Hawk.
Barney heard a distant bang that he immediately recognized as cannon fire. There was a nearby crash, a cacophony of breaking timbers, and a chorus of shocked yells from the crew. A huge cannonball passed a yard from Barney, smashed through the woodwork of the forecastle, and disappeared.
The ball had been much bigger than the four-pounders with which the Hawk was armed, so the galleon must have heavier guns. Even so, Barney thought their gunner must have been lucky to score a hit at the range of a mile.
A moment later the Hawk turned sharply, throwing Barney off balance. He was suddenly afraid that the ship had been badly damaged and was out of control, perhaps sinking. The prospect of dying at sea terrified him – but only for a moment. He saw that Captain Bacon was spinning the wheel, intentionally turning north, broadside to the wind. Fear was replaced by bafflement. Clearly Bacon had realized that he could not outrun the Spaniard – but what was his alternative plan?
‘Stop staring, you bloody idiot,’ Jonathan roared at Barney. ‘Get down on the gun deck where you belong!’
Barney realized he was about to experience his first sea battle. He wondered if it would also be his last. He wished he had been able to go home to Kingsbridge one more time before dying.
He had been under fire before. He was scared, but he knew how to control his fear and do his job.
He went first to the galley, in the forecastle. The cook was bleeding from a flying splinter, but the kitchen had not been wrecked, and Barney was able to light a taper at the fire. He heard a second bang and tensed, waiting for the impact, terrified all over again; but the ball had missed.
Down in the hold, the few remaining slaves figured out what was going on, and they began to scream in terror, no doubt fearing that they were about to die chained to a sinking ship.
There was a third explosion, again without impact, and Barney’s guess was confirmed: the first shot had been lucky. The gunner of the galleon must have made the same deduction, and decided to save his ammunition for better opportunities, for there was no fourth explosion.
Barney returned to the waist, shielding his flame with his hand. Most of the crew were on deck or up in the rigging, adjusting the sails in accordance with Captain Bacon’s shouted orders. Barney ran across to the companionway, the hooded hatch leading to the lower decks, and scrambled down the ladder, carrying his burning taper.
The crew had already opened the gun ports and untied the ropes that kept the minions in position when not being used. Now the heavy gun carriages could roll back on their wheels under the recoil from the shot. Sensible men took great care walking around the gun deck when the cannons were untied: someone standing behind a gun at the moment of firing could be crippled or killed.
Each gun had beside it a chest containing most of what was needed to fire: a leather gunpowder bucket with a lid; a pile of rags for wadding; a slow-burning match made of three woven strands of cotton rope soaked in saltpetre and lye; tools for loading the gun and cleaning it between shots; and a bucket of water. The ammunition was in a big chest in the middle of the deck next to a barrel of gunpowder.
There were two men to each gun. One used a long-handled ladle to scoop up exactly the right quantity of gunpowder – an amount weighing the same as the ball, although good men made small adjustments when they knew the weapon. Then the other rammed some wadding down the barrel, followed by the ball.
In a few minutes, all the starboard guns were loaded. Barney went around with his taper lighting the slow matches. Most of the men wound a rope match around a forked stick, called a linstock, so that they could stand well clear of the gun when putting the flame to the touchhole.
Barney peered through a gun port. The Hawk was now side-on to the stiff easterly breeze, bowling along at eight or nine knots, with the faster galleon half a mile away and bearing down on its starboard side.
Barney waited. At this range he might hit the galleon, and he might do some minor damage, but it would not be the best use of his armaments.
The attacking ship was approaching nose-on to the Hawk, so could not use its powerful broadside cannons. Two small explosions indicated that the gunner was trying out his foredeck guns, but Barney saw from the splashes that both balls had landed harmlessly in the sea.
However, the fast vessel would soon come close enough to turn at an angle and deploy its broadside guns, and then the Hawk would be in trouble. What the hell was Captain Bacon’s plan? Perhaps the old fool had none. Barney fought down panic.
A crewman called Silas said impatiently: ‘Shall we fire, sir?’
Barney held his nerve with an effort. ‘Not yet,’ he said with more assurance than he felt. ‘They’re too far off.’
Up on deck, Bacon yelled: ‘Hold your fire, gunners!’ He could not have heard Silas, but his instinct had told him the gun deck would be getting restless.
As the galleon came closer, the angle improved for shooting. At six hundred yards, it fired.
There was a bang and a puff of smoke. The ball moved slowly enough to be visible, and Barney saw it rise on a high trajectory. He resisted the temptation to duck. Before the ball came close he saw that it was going to hit. But the Spanish gunner had aimed a fraction too high, and the ball flew through the rigging. Barney heard canvas and rope rip, but it sounded as if no woodwork was damaged.
Barney was about to fire back, but he hesitated when he heard Bacon yelling a stream of orders. Then the Hawk lurched again and turned to leeward. For a few moments it had the wind behind it, but Bacon continued turning through one hundred and eighty degrees and then headed south, back towards the island.
Without needing to be told, all the gunners switched to the port side of the gun deck and loaded the other six minions.
But what was Bacon up to?
Looking out, Barney saw the galleon change direction, its prow swinging around to intercept the Hawk’s new course. And then he understood what Bacon was doing.
He was presenting Barney with the perfect target.
In a minute or two the Hawk would be broadside-on to the nose of the enemy ship, and three hundred yards away. Barney would be able to attack with raking fire, putting one ball after another into the vulnerable bow of the galleon and all along the length of its deck to the stern, causing maximum damage to its rigging and crew.
If he did it right.
The range was so close that he had no need of the wedges that elevated the gun barrels. Firing dead level, their range should be perfect. But the target was narrow.
Silas said: ‘Now, sir?’
‘No,’ Barney replied. ‘Stay ready, stay calm.’
He knelt beside the foremost gun and stared out, watching the angle of the galleon, his heart thudding. This was so much easier on land, when gun and target were not rising and falling on waves.
The enemy ship seemed to turn slowly. Barney fought the temptation to start firing too soon. He watched the four masts. He would fire when they were in a straight line so that the first obscured the rest. Or just before, to allow for the time it would take the ball to travel.
Silas said: ‘Ready when you are, sir!’
‘Get set!’ The masts were almost in line. ‘Fire one!’ He tapped Silas on the shoulder.
Silas put the burning tip of his rope match to the touchhole in the gun barrel.
The explosion was deafening in the confined space of the gun deck.
The cannon sprang backwards with the recoil.
Barney peered out and saw the ball smash into the forecastle of the galleon. A cheer went up from the crew of the Hawk.
Barney moved to the next gun and tapped the man’s shoulder. ‘Fire!’
This ball went higher, and crashed into the galleon’s masts.
Barney could hear tremendous cheering from on deck. He moved sternwards down the line, concentrating on trying to time the shots to a fraction of a second, until all six guns had fired.
He returned to the first gun, expecting to find Silas reloading. To his dismay, Silas and his mate were shaking hands, congratulating each other. ‘Reload!’ Barney screamed. ‘The swine aren’t dead yet!’
Hastily, Silas picked up a gun-worm, a long-handled tool with a pointed spiral blade. He used it to extract residual wadding from the barrel. The detritus came out smouldering and sparking. Silas trod on the embers with a horny bare foot, apparently feeling no pain. His mate then picked up a long stick thickly wrapped in rags. He dipped it in the water bucket then plunged it down the barrel to extinguish any remaining sparks or burning fragments that might, otherwise, have ignited the next charge of gunpowder prematurely. He withdrew the sponge, and the heat of the barrel quickly evaporated any traces of water. The two men then reloaded the cleaned gun.
Barney looked out. The bow of the galleon was holed in two places and its foremast was leaning sideways. From the deck – now only two hundred yards away – came the screams of the wounded and the panicked cries of the survivors. But the ship had not been crippled, and the captain kept his nerve. The galleon came on at barely reduced speed.
Barney was dismayed by how long his gunners took to reload. He knew, from battlefield experience, that a single volley never won a fight. Armies could recover. But repeated volleys, one after another, decimating their ranks and felling their comrades, destroyed morale and caused men to run away or surrender. Repetition was everything. However, the crew of the Hawk were sailors, not artillerymen, and no one had taught them the importance of rapid, disciplined reloading.
The galleon came straight at the Hawk. Its captain no longer wanted to fire his broadside guns. Of course not, Barney thought: the Spaniards did not want to sink the Hawk. They would prefer to capture the ship and confiscate its illegally acquired treasure. They were firing the small foredeck guns, and some shots were hitting the rigging; but the Hawk was narrow, making it easy to overshoot or undershoot. The galleon’s tactic, Barney now saw, would be to ram the Hawk then board.
By the time the Hawk’s guns were ready, the galleon would be less than a hundred yards away. But it was taller than the Hawk, and Barney wanted to hit the deck rather than the hull, so he needed to elevate his guns slightly. He ran along the line adjusting the wedges.
The next few moments felt long. The galleon was moving fast, nine or ten knots, its prow foaming the swell, but it seemed to approach by inches. Its deck was crowded with sailors and soldiers, apparently eager to leap aboard the Hawk and kill everyone. Silas and the gunners kept looking from the galleon to Barney and back: they were itching to put their matches to gunpowder. ‘Wait for my word!’ he shouted. Slightly premature shooting was the greatest possible gift to the enemy, allowing him to get close in safety while the gunners were reloading.
But then the galleon was a hundred yards away, and Barney fired.
Once again Captain Bacon had presented him with the perfect target. The galleon was heading straight for the guns of the Hawk. At such close range Barney could not miss. He fired all six guns in rapid succession, then yelled: ‘Reload! Reload!’
Then he looked out, and saw that his shooting had been even better than he had hoped. One ball must have struck the main mast, for, as he watched, it was falling forward, pushed by the wind. The pace of the galleon slowed as some of its sails collapsed. The main mast fell into the rigging of the damaged foremast and that, too, began to topple. The ship was now only fifty yards away, but still too far for its men to board the Hawk. It was crippled – but, Barney saw, it was nevertheless drifting into collision with the Hawk, which would then be boarded anyway.
But Bacon acted again. He turned the Hawk to leeward. The east wind filled the sails. The ship picked up pace. In moments the Hawk was speeding westward.
The crippled galleon could not catch up.
Could it be over?
Barney went up on deck, and the crew cheered him. They had won. They had beaten off a larger, faster vessel. Barney was their hero, though he knew the battle had really been won by Bacon’s skill and his quick, agile ship.
Barney looked back. The galleon was limping towards the harbour. Hispaniola was already receding.
And so was Bella.
Barney went to Bacon at the wheel. ‘Where are we heading, Captain?’
‘Home,’ said Bacon. ‘To Combe Harbour.’ When Barney said nothing, he added: ‘Isn’t that what you wanted?’
Barney looked back at Hispaniola, disappearing now into a haze under the Caribbean sun. ‘It was,’ he said.