Hunt for White Gold

Chapter Thirty-Eight





Quarter of Three in the Morning




Ten minutes from the beach to the fort. Bill Vernon again wiped the sweat from his brow and beard with his woollen cap.

‘Wait here, sailor.’ The guard held a hand out to the troop. ‘I’ll fetch Captain Tolliver. He can wake the governor, not I.’

Bill replaced his Monmouth and tapped his forehead. The soldier trotted up the steps to the ground floor barracks. Bill steadied his men who already showed blood in their eyes. One by one he whispered to them, pointing out the tower that the salt-raker had told them was Devlin’s gaol, the scaffolding that could be scaled easily and the faint light from Rogers’ rooms. They calmed as Bill’s patient voice and a twist of tobacco went round the group and he bade everyone follow his lead. Devlin was here and they would get him back even if they had to kidnap Rogers to do so.

Hard jaws bit into the tobacco and deft hands checked the pans of their locks as the captain of the watch stepped out of the fort to meet them, suspicion contemptuously dragging down the corners of his mouth as he looked them over. Bill opened his watch as he moved to meet the captain. A quarter to three. All Godly men were asleep under prayers, Bill consoled himself, his left hand on the hilt of his cutlass. The watch captain must be no saint to land such a duty. Only the wicked trod the earth at such an hour. That would make their work easier.


Two muskets. Four table-leg clubs. One bloodied bayonet. One room. For the second time in his life Devlin controlled a room. The first had been a year ago, on The Island, in the stockade, just himself and Dandon, and John Coxon at the door. He was holding onto a tiny corner of the world and waiting for the door to be stoved in. Waiting for the fire and the blood. He turned from the window where he could see the group of men huddled below. He did not share the view with his companions.

Dandon and Palgrave had the cannon upended. A smidgeon of acid had been poured and was eating through the white mass of porcelain and oysters sealing its mouth. All the pirates except Hugh, who licked his lips anxiously under his blood-caked face, held cuffs and linen to their noses against the stench of rotten sea-life and ammonia that fogged the room, their eyes darting to one another as the cannon mouth hissed.

‘How’s it coming?’ Devlin asked, closing the window despite the foetid atmosphere.

Palgrave nodded as the porcelain and shell cracked and fell into the barrel. Dandon raised his eyes to heaven trying to hold the gun steady.

‘Christ! Put it down!’ Devlin ordered, suddenly picturing the caustic mix eating through the bamboo tube inside. The whole daring escapade would be ruined in a moment and Peter Sam’s throat as good as cut.

Carefully they lowered the gun to the rug floor. Rogers’ clock ticked on his mantel. Quarter to three. No time to die. Certainly not sober. Discovery of the dead lobster was still more than an hour away, the end of his watch being at four, but the soldier in the passage with the leaking skull merely waited to be stumbled upon.

The Chinese gun vomited onto the rug, which burnt instantly with the spew. Palgrave tugged his gloves on tighter and gingerly lifted the rear of the gun. Until that point, even to him, the letters of Father Entrecolles had been but a legend, the gun he had taken with Sam Bellamy the previous April just an old silent scrap of bronze, the crouching dragon atop a portent, a promise.

Dandon grabbed some parchment from Rogers’ desk and placed it beneath the lip of the mouth. With Palgrave struggling two of the others helped him drag and shake the gun until, like a tongue, the fat bamboo tube slid out onto the paper. Six inches in diameter, a foot in length. Still green and fresh, sealed tight as it was for at least five years in the gun by anybody’s reckoning, the tube further sealed by a hardened cork stopper.

Devlin reached for it, was first to hold it. He recalled Coxon telling him how Dampier’s memoirs were discovered just so, sealed by cork in a bamboo tube. The mariner and navigator had been well aware that the end of his life would likely be occasioned by the sea, but at least his writings would remain dry.

‘Peter’s freedom, lads,’ he shook the tube in front of him. ‘Come from Madagascar to here. For this.’ Their answering grins stayed thoughts of the danger ahead. They had done what was required and found a back door from failure. There was always a way out, always a way to stay dry. Even the dead they had lost along the way were now smiling down on them – these last survivors of the Talefan, their brothers from the Shadow still there, still alive. And Devlin was now holding the secret of porcelain in his hands. King George himself had no more.

‘Hugh. Dandon. Look here,’ Devlin took them to the window and whispered to the rest to douse the lamp that lit the room. The lamp thus snuffed, Devlin creaked open the window and they peered down onto the scene below.

A bearded giant in Monmouth and blue was conversing with a lobster of white trim. The blink of the light had caused the bearded man to look up through the scaffolding, whereupon Hugh praised the Lord that the face of Black Bill Vernon was below them.

‘Aye,’ Devlin whispered. ‘Maybe two dozen of us at least, I reckon. How does that fill your balls, Hugh?’

‘Like sand, Cap’n. Sure if I hadn’t thought I’d ever see the dawn!’

Devlin slapped Hugh’s back. ‘Ways to go, mate. Yet our hour.’


Eamon Tolliver, captain of the watch, followed Bill’s glance up at the scaffolding but saw only darkness. He had listened to the tale of Captain Coxon and Captain Gale sending two boats of men ashore and now he looked over the motley group of sailors armed to the hilt. They looked like seamen and it was possible that the pirate Devlin’s ship was attacking from the north. Rogers would have to be stirred, much as he regretted it, and men would have to be roused from their beds to man a defence. Somehow he still had his doubts, however.

Perhaps it was the long black beard. Perhaps it was the untidy hair and scarfed heads of the sailors. Something itched in him but then was scratched by the big man insisting that a signal be fired to the Delicia that they had arrived and were ready.

Tolliver begged to hear the question again.

‘Fire a gun to the Delicia, Cap’n. Let Cap’n Gale know all is well.’

Tolliver was appeased. Legitimacy would indeed ask for such. A single salvo from the embrasure. Captain Gale would be looking for a salute from his men.

Tolliver looked up to the towers. ‘The signal gun is on the far side. I’ll order some men over to it. Mister Vernon, your men should stay here. I’ll rally a squad and we’ll head for the north shore. Coxon will engage I hope?’

Bill pulled out a square of paper and angled it beneath the torchlight of the tower, unfolding it and squaring his shoulder with Tolliver who sidled in to see. It was a map – further proof of legitimacy. Conspiracy did not show you its maps.

‘Coxon is here,’ Bill tapped to Northwest Point. ‘The pirate vessel is at North Cay and will make the beach at any moment, if not already. They’ll be in at the north of the town.’ This was the first time Tolliver had ever seen a map of the island. To him it resembled the Isle of Wight and he was much surprised at the small size of his new home. Bill carried on. ‘The Delicia is here, facing south. She’ll turn and head north at our signal. Coxon will engage with the pirate ship.’ He folded back the paper. ‘Whatever you see fit to command, Cap’n. We be your men.’

Tolliver rallied his thoughts. Some men to fire the gun. Twenty more to accompany the sailors. Five more men to guard the cells. Summon the militia. He suddenly had a dry mouth at the thought that the moment had come to wake Rogers. Then he heard the window open high above and swung round to the sight of the legs coming through and seeking out the wooden walkway of the scaffolding.

A brown boot was followed by a dark trouser-leg and then joined by a white shirt. Then a man with a musket looked down at him with the face of the pirate Devlin, not in his cell.

‘Punk me mother! They’re free!’ Tolliver yelled. He pushed Bill to respond. ‘Shoot him! Shoot that man! That’s the pirate Devlin!’ He watched Devlin swing along the scaffolding to the ladder and other bodies followed through the window, more weapons in their hands.

‘Shoot! Guards!’

Tolliver’s pair of soldiers swung off their muskets and aimed high only to feel their heads pushed over by pistols at their temples and they quickly rested their hands.

Tolliver heard a dozen pistols shake into life around him but his eyes were stuck to the scaffolding, and he stood back from the oncoming barrage as he watched the pirates above swinging between the poles.

‘Fire!’ he commanded, and immediately regretted his words as at least six pistols hovered exclusively at his face.

‘Begging your pardon, Cap’n,’ Black Bill explained apologetically over the pistol barrel levelled at Tolliver’s eye. ‘He be with us.’

Tolliver took in all the grins and hungry looks and raised his arms. Bill lowered his pistol. ‘Good man,’ he winked.

‘Who be you then?’ Devlin stepped down from the ladder and walked straight to Tolliver, briefly nodding to Bill. The bamboo tube was passed back to Dandon.

Tolliver brought down his arms and introduced himself warily.

‘Then you should take better care of your prisoners, Captain. I haven’t eaten for hours. No wonder I was inclined to leave.’ Devlin reached in and pulled Tolliver’s sword from his belt. ‘You’d best tell Rogers of our departure. Tell him I took your sword. Nothing you could do.’

Tolliver almost thanked him. The soldier’s muskets were plucked from their hands and they huddled next to their captain, all three of them forgotten, worthless, as the pirates welcomed Devlin back into their brood, although respectfully quiet considering the hour of the morning.

Devlin caught Bill’s eye. ‘Where away, Bill? We have a plan?’

‘Some,’ Bill said. ‘Boat’s on the shore. Wasn’t expecting to see you so soon, Cap’n. Thought we’d have to break you out. Should’ve known better.’ He looked at Devlin’s six companions. ‘Is this all that remains?’

Devlin did not answer but moved through the crowd towards the path, pulling the rest with him like a magnet. Dandon tugged at Palgrave’s sleeve to accompany them but Palgrave pulled back.

‘If I may, sir, I should prefer to stay. Take the pardon as it were,’ he bowed in gratitude.

Dandon looked to Tolliver then back to Palgrave, ‘They may kill you, sir.’

Palgrave sucked on his lip. ‘I’ll say I was forced. My remaining should benefit me greatly in that.’ Shyly he held his voice lower for only Dandon to hear. ‘I have had enough of that Chinese bad luck and a belly full of adventure, sir. Teach waits out there for you as well as the English ship. I’ll take my chances here for now.’

Dandon turned away to follow the others. Lamps had begun to be lit in some of the windows of the town. Sleepers awoken by Tolliver’s shouts and the stamp of men’s feet began to bob their heads out of doors.

Palgrave called out once more to Dandon’s back. ‘That is not to say, sir, that at some other time I would not be pleased to re-acquaint. Good luck to you in finding your friend!’ Dandon showed no sign of hearing him. Palgrave sighed and walked slowly to Tolliver who was already pushing his men up the steps to wake Rogers.

‘Captain Tolliver, sir, I should …’ But Tolliver was running up the steps towards the barracks, his blank white scabbard flapping like a tail, and Palgrave was left alone.

This sight provoked in him an assessment of his lot. He thought about Black Sam Bellamy and Blackbeard, about Devlin, and lastly about himself and the family he had left behind to pursue this mad life.

Hoy por mi, mañana por ti. Today me, tomorrow thee.

His solitude was broken by the approach of the cloaked Charley to his designated plot beneath the fort, his great bowl of a bell held silently in his hand. Three o’clock had come. The Charley looked at Palgrave’s grey face, the open doors of the fort and the odd number of townsfolk who had begun to gather around it.

‘All’s well?’ his voice croaked to Palgrave.

‘I don’t think so, mate.’ Palgrave looked at the path where Devlin and his men had vanished into the night. ‘I most definitely do not think so.’


Woodes Rogers’ bedroom door flew open at the words and he appeared dressed in his cambric nightshirt, his cropped hair betraying a restless night. The soldier jumped at the sudden sight.

‘What do you mean the pirates have escaped? How?’

The guard stuck to the doorframe as Rogers reached for his coat and keys. ‘Don’t know, sir. Captain Tolliver is getting the barracks together to give chase.’

Rogers swept into the corridor and headed for the stairs and the yard outside where Tolliver would gather his men. ‘Give chase? The barracks? For six men?’

‘No, sir,’ the soldier tipped his hat back. ‘Others came to the fort. Least twenty of them. We led them up here from the beach. All his, sir. All Devlin’s.’

Rogers stopped and glared back, needing to hear no more. The idiocy of the army. Marlborough had clearly been a miracle. ‘Palgrave too? Has he gone?’ He resumed his stomping to the stair.

‘Don’t know, sir,’ the soldier dogged Rogers’ heels. ‘Don’t know why Devlin should want to escape: he’d be free this morning.’

Rogers froze at the words, then changed his course instantly to bolt for his office.

The corner turned, they were confronted by the corpse of John Hamlin and its caved-in bloody skull. Rogers flew to his door and took the key from his coat, his hands shaking as he rattled the lock again and again with no effect. He shot a look at the soldier and received a shrug in reply.

Rogers removed the key and knelt to press his eye to the metal plate. The room beyond lay in darkness but Rogers only needed to see one thing. His vision rolled to the floor, and in answer two sparks of red glinted back. He sprang up at the sounds of Tolliver’s men’s cantering outside beginning to fill the morning. His voice spoke to no-one.

‘He came for the gun. Devlin. For the papers. Just for the papers.’ His words trailed too feebly for the soldier to hear, but his next ones were louder as he stormed to join Tolliver, wiping a sliver of frothing drool from his sunken mouth.