I spent the next few months under the command of Captain De La Roca and our reputation became legendary and notorious on the high seas of the Caribbean. We plundered merchant ships and trading convoys with breathtaking impunity, taking in a king’s ransom in gold, silver, spices and jewelry. They could never catch or stop us, only finding the empty remnants of cast adrift vesels along the way.
The word soon spread like wildfire under the superstitious Dutch, French, English and Spanish crews that plied their trade in the Atlantic. Somewhere out there in the rat’s nest of islands near the Jamaican archipelago roamed a fierce some pirate ship, one of the most brutal known in the new world. If caught, one would do well not to expect mercy of any sort. The sailors spoke under themselves in the smokey English tavern and decadent French brothels, and they would always talk of the behemoth known simply as the Moor, of the vile Captain with the burnt off face commanding the demonic crew and finally they would talk of the child. A shudder would go through even the hardiest of sailors when the blond haired devil was mentioned. They would call me a witch, a satanic apparition sent from hell to torment good Christian sailors.
“I heard she can conjure spirits from her bare hands and that an ungodly force is protecting her.” They whispered to each other, always crossing themselves afterwards. It didn’t matter to me what they called us, just that the fear would grow in their hearts each and every day. As expected, we soon had a bounty on our heads. The infuriated governors of the surrounding islands had issued a kill on sight order for each of the crew with a reward of a thousand gold coins per head brought in. We did our damnest to drive the reward up, turning the Caribbean as far as the Gulf of Mexico into our own private playground, virtually grounding trading to the Americas. I would stand on the tables at the Port Royale Inn, waving a reward poster and mocking their pathetic attempts at capturing us. It was always a raucous affair and the rum would flow as the pirates celebrated their newest conquest. They had grudgingly accepted me as one of their own, even though I could still see the fear in their eyes; it was something that never quite left them.
We spent many an evening in the dingy tavern, downing copious amounts of pilfered wine and spirits and feasting on great slabs of roast beef while singing dirty folk songs of the high seas. We would talk of latest kills and how the last captain pissed himself and jumped overboard to get away from us. And all the while, Captain De La Roca stood in the background, like a teacher observing a group of unruly children. But each and every man there owed him a debt of gratitude, he had guided us safely and skillfully through many a sea borne battle and had always brought us home intact.
Meanwhile, Gavorche and I had formed a great friendship and I came to love cooking under his guidance. Though there had been many calls for me to join the rest of the crew up on the deck, I had always known that my place was in the galley, right next to the big mountain of a cook. We had some good times down there and the crew ate like kings. We serve them only the finest meals courtesy of many a blue blood that had his precious cargo intercepted by us. The spices and the laughter flowed beneath decks and little Adelmar grew into a tenacious and very well fed animal. He was very protective of his mistress and many a pirate that came too close to me bore the bite marks of the wolf.
It was one evening, very much like a hundred ones before that, the cook and I were in the galley preparing French onion soup with roast beef for mains. We chatted amiably about politics and Greek philosophy as the ship made its way towards the Bahamas, set for another lucrative raiding trip. I turned to Gavorche in a serious tone.
“Do you think you will ever go home?” I asked.
“Home?” He asked, putting down his knife for a moment.
“Back to France I mean. Would you ever go home and start up your restaurant again?” It was a strange question but it was bugging me for a while now.
Gavorche smiled and shook his head. “No little one, for a long time that was all I longed for but now this place starts to feel like home. It’s like I belong here, even if my customers are filthy savages, they are my filthy savages. And you Mon Cheri? Do you long for home?”
I lowered my head onto his chest as his big hands tapped me gently on the back. “I don’t even know where home is anymore, if it even exists.” I knew blood thirsty pirates didn’t cry but I was feeling home sick and very close to tears.
“If it is meant to be little one, then it shall happen for you. You must just not lose faith okay?” I nodded as he handed me a handkerchief to wipe my tears away. “Now why don’t you go up on deck and get some fresh air? The roast beef is not ready yet and I can watch the spit for you. And tonight, when these drunken thugs are fast asleep; we shall have pudding and cure all the ails of the world. How does that sound?”
“It sounds fantastic.” I hugged him tightly and whistled to Adelmar. He was busy chewing a bone in the corner but his ears quickly perked up and he trotted after me. All was quiet on the ship as we headed up to the deck. A heavy grey mist had rolled in, blanketing everything around us for miles. I shivering involuntary as I leaned on the railing. The ship was drifting cautiously along, St Michelle keeping its heading steady at the helm. Most of the crew was below deck in the warm bowels of the ship. There was no reason for them to be about and we were still miles for any land or shipping lanes. For once, everything was at peace and that suited me just fine. I sighed deeply and looked over the rolling mist laid out in swathes before me.
“Somewhere out there, far far away my family is waiting for me. I know papa is still looking for me, I just know he would never give up.” I said in thought to Adelmar. The grey wolf sat back on his haunches and wagged his tail happily. “We just need to keep going, no matter what lies ahead of us.” I patted his head and scratched him behind the ear. As I rested my arms on the railing again, I saw him out of the corner of my eye sitting up straight and sniffing the night sky. He growled, baring his teeth.
“What is it boy?” I strained my ears to the sounds of the ghostly night. I nearly missed it, the unmistakable whine of imminent death rushing towards us. I grabbed the cub and dived to the side, split seconds before a cannonball slammed into the starboard side of the ship, igniting a massive fire and sending a million splinters cascading through the air.
“Alarm! Alarm!” I shouted as St Michele fought valiantly with the wheel. The crew poured out on to the deck and immediately started putting out the fire. Captain De La Roca appeared next to me, still hastily putting on his white shirt. Like a macabre theater play, the mist clouds parted and we saw our adversary across the water. A British Man of War was lying near us, ready to pounce on the damaged pirate ship. He must have picked us up and followed behind in the mist. His timing was perfect, waiting till nightfall when the crew was at their most relaxed. Its cannons thundered again and hit us broadside just as we started to turn, sending bodies flying through the air.
“Arm cannons!” Shouted St Michelle, handing over the helm as he started directing the crew on deck.
“Belay that order quartermaster!” Said the Captain suddenly, peering out over the blood soaked water. “Set the sails, full rudder; we have to outrun her.”
“Captain?” Asked the Moor in surprise.
“We cannot go head to head with that brute; she will slaughter us where we stand. We will run and lose them in the mist till we can regroup. Make our heading south east. Is that order clear?”
“Yes sir! You heard him maggots, move!” The crew worked like maniacs to get the ship moving again. It limped away into the night, a fire still raging in her mid quarters. We still had a bit of the devil’s luck on our side; we were the fastest ship in these waters and could easily outrun the heavy man of war. But I knew it was only a matter of time till the Imperial vessel caught up with us. We would have to dock somewhere for critically needed repairs and then it would be on us. Our worst fears came true when we saw lights of two more war ships through the fog on either side of us. They had planned it perfectly; the hunters had boxed us in and were now closing the trap on us. There would be no escape and none of us expected any mercy at their hands.
“Where are we heading captain?” Shouted St Michelle over the spray of water. “It would be better to turn and fight than run away like cowering dogs.” He had made his peace with the creator and was ready to die. He would not go quietly at the hands of the English swine.
“Have faith old friend, we are not beaten yet.” The Captain urged the crew to give him more speed as he took over the wheel, spinning it wildly. I could hear the splashing of cannon balls in the water near us. Our luck held and the British could not get a straight shot on us. The pirate ship groaned mightily with sound of splintering wood, she was on her last legs and fading fast. We flew through the night, asking everything we could from the vessel and she responded magnificently.
“Just a little bit more old girl, just keep it together for a little bit longer.” The Captain said, barely audible over the sound of cannon fire and the rushing past of water.
“It’s too late; we are not going to make it.” There was an eerie, defeat tone in the North African’s tone as he bowed his head and waited for the end.
“There!” Shouted the Captain, gripping the wheel tightly and pointing in the distance. We stared out into the fog and saw the vague outlines of an old stone fort looming up ahead.
“The monastery of San Bernadino? That place is just a ruin.” Scoffed the Moor incredulously.
“It’s so much more than that my friend. It’s my backup plan. I had it stocked with cannon shot many years ago. I just we will find out if anyone else has been there lately. Now hold on!” Wicked sharp reefs jutted out of the ocean, ready to tear any passing ship to shreds in seconds. The Captain calmly, despite all the chaos surrounding him, steered the pirate vessel safely through the maze of rocks and through the other side.
“That won’t hold them for long but have a few minutes to get to the fort.” He spun the wheel violently for the last time and deftly docked the ship in a nearby cove. “Everyone off and make for the fort, take as much ammunition as you can!” The crew worked furiously and was soon streaming up the hill to the old monastery with the ammo crates in hand. We could see the three war ships in the distance moonlight sailing around, looking for a gap in the reefs. Their frustrated captains left fly with multiple salvos but it landed well short of the fort.
“The gods of the underworld are on our side tonight it seems, their cannons cannot reach us up here. They will have to come on foot if they want us.” St Michelle said as he quickly gathered firewood to start a fire. The pirates were going like madmen, readying the fort’s cannons and their muskets. Finally, we slammed shut the old wooden gates. There would be no running anymore. Whatever happened now, we were in it till the bitter end. We bunkered down and waited for the assault to hit us like a tidal wave. One by one, the ships launched longboats packed with soldiers. The ominous shapes drew closer with each passing moment. There must have been close to four hundred soldiers by our count in the end. Their red shirts littered the beach as they made their landing. The officers climbed out, arrogantly eyeing the decaying pile of rubble on the hill. They knew they had us trapped like rats in a cage. Our graves would be dug behind those walls.
But we would not go quietly without one hell of a fight.
That was for damned sure.