Pirate Latitudes

Lady Sarah could make nothing of this conversation, although she recognized the tension and concern well enough. She remained by the railing, looking toward the horizon - where the sails of the pursuing ship were now clearly visible to her naked eye - until Hunter came over to her. Now that the decision was made, he seemed more relaxed.

“I did not understand a word of that,” she said.

“It is simple enough,” Hunter said. “You see the ship following?”

“I do.”

“And you see the island downwind, Cat Island?”

“I do.”

“There is a harbor there, called Monkey Bay. It is our first refuge, if we can make it.”

She looked from the pursuing ship to the island. “But surely you are close to the island, and there will be no problem.”

“You see the sun?”

“Yes…”

“The sun is setting to the west. In another hour, it will gleam off the water with a brightness to cause pain to the eye. And we cannot see the obstructions beneath, as we make for that bay. In these waters, a ship cannot sail into the sun unless you risk tearing out the bottom on coral.”

“But Lazue has entered the port before.”

“Aye, but it is a windward port. Windward ports are exposed to the storms and strong currents of the open ocean, and they change. A sand bar can shift in days, weeks. Monkey Bay may not be as Lazue remembers it.”

“Oh.” She was silent a moment. “Then why make for port? You have not stopped these three nights past. Sail on into the night, and lose the ship in darkness.” She felt very pleased with this solution.

“There is a moon,” Hunter said gloomily. “Third quarter, it will not be up until midnight. But it will be enough for the ship to follow us - we will have only four hours of true darkness. We cannot lose her in so short a time.”

“Then what will you do?”

Hunter picked up the glass and scanned the horizon. The pursuing ship was slowly gaining on them.

“I will make for Monkey Bay. Into the sun.”

“Ready about!” Enders shouted, and the ship came around into the wind, slowly, cumbersomely changing course. It took a full quarter of an hour before they were cutting through the water again, and during that interval, the sails of the pursuing craft had grown much larger.

As Hunter peered through the glass, he felt something about those sails was depressingly familiar. “You don’t suppose…”

“What, sir?”

“Lazue!” Hunter shouted, and pointed to the horizon.

Up above, Lazue put the glass to her eye.

“What do you make it to be?”

She shouted down: “Our old friend!”

Enders groaned. “Cazalla’s warship? The black ship?”

“None other.”

“Who commands her now?” Enders said.

“Bosquet, the Frenchy,” Hunter said, recalling the slim, composed man he had seen board the ship at Matanceros.

“I know of him,” Enders said. “Steady and competent seaman, he knows his trade.” He sighed. “Too bad it’s not a Don at the helm, we might have better luck.” The Spaniards were notoriously bad seamen.

“How long to landfall now?”

“A full hour,” Enders said, “could be more. If the passage is tight, we’ve got to get in some of this canvas.”

That would cut their speed even more, but it could not be helped. If they were to have control over the ship in confined waters, they would have to shorten sail.

Hunter looked back at the pursuing warship. She was changing course, her sails tilting as she wore to leeward. She lost ground a moment, but soon was moving ahead at full speed.

“It will be a very near thing,” he said.

“Aye,” Enders said.

Lazue up in the rigging stretched her left arm. Enders changed course, watching until she dropped her arm. Then he held steady. A short time later, her right arm was held out, half-bent.

Enders again corrected course, turning slightly to starboard.

Part IV Monkey Bay

Chapter 27

EL TRINIDAD MADE for the cove of Monkey Bay.

Aboard the Cassandra, Sanson watched the larger ship maneuver. “Blood of Louis, they’re making for land,” he said. “Into the sun!”

“It is madness,” moaned the man at the helm.

“Now hear me,” Sanson said, spinning on him. “Come about, and fall into the wake of that Donnish hog, and follow it exactly. I mean none else: exactly. Our bows must cut their form, or I will cut your throat.”

“How can they do it, into the sun?” moaned the helmsman.

“They have Lazue’s eyes,” Sanson said. “It may be enough.”

…

LAZUE WAS CAREFUL where she looked. She was also careful what she did with her arms, for the most casual gesture would cause a course change. At this moment, she stared westward, holding her left hand flat under her nose, blocking the reflection of the sun off the water just ahead of the bow. She looked only to the land - the sloping green contours of Cat Island, at this moment a flat outline, without depth.

She knew that somewhere ahead, when they were closer, the island contour would begin to separate, to show definition, and she would see the entrance to Monkey Bay. Until that moment, her job was to hold the fastest course bearing on the point where she expected to find the entrance.