Hunt for White Gold

Chapter Twenty-Six





Woodes Rogers paused, holding the bottle of Red Sack Madeira over the two tall-stemmed glasses and looking up in surprise at Coxon’s explanation for missing their luncheon appointment.

‘You had a funeral? A funeral for a diseased whore?’ He resumed pouring, his shock dissipating with the gentle trickle of the limed wine that kept so well in the smothering heat of the Bahama Islands.

‘I knew her.’ Coxon took the glass held out by Rogers under raised eyebrows and offered his explanation. ‘She was one of the women with Devlin on the island, Governor.’

Rogers purred his understanding, ‘Ah, you had a connection with the strumpet. You thought you might give her a noble burial. For old times, eh?’ Rogers winked.

‘She recalled more of me than I did of her, Governor.’ Coxon sipped his warm Madeira. ‘I remembered only that she had hair a colour off of red.’

‘You favour the auburn then, John?’

Coxon disliked the turn of the conversation. ‘I only know of it from the church windows and paintings of my youth: when Eve is shown before the apple she is golden-haired. After the fall, she is always painted red.’

‘I have never noticed, John. That is most interesting. Come, take a sit with me, I have a matter to discuss but first tell me how the fever goes.’ Rogers retired to his desk, peeling off his waistcoat to relax in linen and cuffs against the warmth of the afternoon, the sounds of hammering and squeaking pulleys beyond through the broken-paned windows, as the fortifications and repairs dragged on.

Coxon scraped a chair across the room as he spoke. ‘The death of the girl is an unpleasant fact. Very few of the old residents are ill, no more than one might expect in these climes. I had her room smoked and all her effects burned and I suggest that should be common practice.’

Rogers put a pen to his log and studied Coxon carefully. ‘All her effects? I had heard that you buried some with her? You had eight of your men attend to the hole with a carriage of goods, did you not?’

Coxon never hesitated. ‘Some of her larger furniture I had buried rather. There are some of medicine that suggest that fevers may carry in fumes. I would also suggest that large funeral pyres are to be avoided, Governor, in what is mostly a wooden town unless it is to be upon the beach. I burnt her clothes and bed linen in a brazier, broke up her bed and closet and buried it with her in the hills.’ Coxon sniffed as if the memory disgusted him. He placed down his empty glass on the desk and wiped one hand with the other.

Rogers made a note, scratching rapidly, then leant back and toyed with the fletch as he resumed his habit of continuing a conversation he had already started in another room.

‘The two captains have returned from our trading mission. Finch and Arnot.’

‘So soon?’ Coxon counted the days in his head.

‘So soon that they managed to lose one of the ships in their haste.’

‘I don’t understand, Governor?’

‘Pirates, John. They turned pirate. Thirty-two of them took the Mumvil Trader. The Buck returned this morning whilst you were in the hills with your whore. The news is probably the talk of the taverns, and my head the target for their jibes.’ He tossed down his quill in dudgeon.

Coxon could not help raising a corner of his mouth in mirth and scorn. Although Finch and Arnot were Bahama traders the scheme of crewing the ships with former sea-dogs was clearly sailing towards disaster.

Rogers spied the edge of the smile. ‘Seems the leader of them was one of your men, John, as were the ones that followed. A man named Toombs. Did you know of him?’

Coxon shifted and scratched his forehead irritably. ‘He came on in Bristol before we met the fleet. Rum sort indeed, look of the lash about him. At least we have not lost both ships.’

Rogers’ throat rumbled in disagreement. ‘It’d have been better by far if we had. I know these fellows from back in Madagascar. Part of their power is to let men go, allowing talk of the horror over a noggin and how fortunate they were to have escaped with their lives. The most successful pirates spread more legends than sailcloth.’

Coxon heard German shouts from the scaffolding outside. An abundance of foreign capital had been invested in manual work since the pirates had refused to take up the hammer to rebuild the fort. One Teuton was abusing the other for his ineptitude. Coxon listened in amusement at the German curses volleying back and forth.

‘What do you suggest we do, Governor?’ He smoothed his short hair forward nervously.

Rogers sat up. ‘We can fight! I have sworn to rid these islands of pirates and that is exactly what I intend to do. This is my last chance, John,’ he looked morosely into his wine. ‘Not even forty and this my last chance to make something of my life.’

Coxon leant forward. ‘You have done more than most men, Captain Rogers, and now you’re governor of all the Bahamas.’

Rogers dropped his head. ‘Aye. Ten years I’ve been at sea. At the cost of my family. My wife. My brother. Not a bean to show for it whilst those who have yet to leave the teat of England grow fat on what we bring them back.’

‘Nobody ever got rich from adventure, Governor. It is the ones that follow that reap the rewards.’

Rogers nodded into his glass as he drained it then wiped his lips as his eyes bored into the future.

‘Hornigold is out a-hunting south of here. He may find these bastards who have taken the Mumvil and bring them back. All I have is this place, John. My mark on it will be the eradication of pirates from her waters. I have a fort, a hundred men, and warships to defend her.’ He stood up and crossed to the window to look down over Nassau. ‘It can be done. This disease will clear if we can survive the summer.’ He turned to Coxon’s back. ‘And I’ll not allow these pirates the chance to encourage others with their success. No-one will enjoy the tale, I’ll make sure of that.’

Coxon twisted round in his seat, ‘Governor?’ he queried, already fearing the response.

‘We have a proper gallows in the square. Before these scum take measure of my failure I want you to hang nine more of the pirates. And reward the loyal men of the Buck with an extra acre of land as an example of the rewards for loyalty to the King.’

Coxon shot up. ‘To the King or to Woodes Rogers, Governor? I have not come here to hang men.’ He kept his voice peaceful as if to a friend making a terrible mistake.

Rogers’ eyes stopped dreaming of the future and he stepped closer. ‘Men? My soldiers are men. We are men. These are pirates, John. You should know them by now.’

‘These are pirates who have taken the King’s proclamation. They are colonists now. Your colonists. They need food not fewer mouths to feed, Governor, and I will not hang subjects just to prevent a few tall tales slurring around a tavern.’

‘Those tall tales, as you put them, could amount to insurrection if left to fester, Captain, and I will not have it! Not on my island!’ He brushed past Coxon to grab for the Madeira again. ‘No! I will not have it, sir! Men will hang before I have it!’

Coxon ignored the brimming glass held out to him. ‘I’ll not hang them, Governor,’ he flapped his hat, shaking off the dust of the morning funeral. ‘I’ll hang the ones Hornigold brings back, if any, and I’ll hang any pirate past September who hasn’t taken the proclamation.’ He squared his hat and touched it in salute. ‘And that is all I’ll do. Find another captain for your meat hooks. Good day, sir.’ He dipped his head and made for the door.

‘And your pirate Devlin, John?’ Rogers sang out as he put the glass to his lips. ‘Would you not hang him even if he turned up and took the proclamation? Or do you judge every pirate as entitled to a peaceful life?’

Coxon did not stop, uttered no comment he might rue, but only clicked the door shut gently behind him, catching Rogers’ faint chuckle as he walked away. There was no need for the governor to know that Devlin was returning to Providence soon enough for his gold – the very gold that had now returned to the earth, still guarded by the same girl to whom Devlin had entrusted his valuable secret. Only now she had taken the secret to her grave.