Pirate Latitudes

Hunter hardly heard the rest of her words: how he had taken her onto the galleon, then killed the English crew and set the ship afire. How he had told Lady Sarah that he would pretend he had saved her from the Spaniards, in order to justify his raid on Matanceros. She delivered her story in a high-pitched, taut voice, speaking rapidly, as if to finish the matter as quickly as possible.

“Thank you, Lady Sarah. You may step down.”

She left the room.

The tribunal faced Hunter, seven men with blank, expressionless faces, examining Hunter like a creature already dead. A long moment passed.

“We have heard nothing from the witness of your colorful adventures with the Boca del Dragon, or the sea monster. Have you any proofs?” Hacklett asked mildly.

“Only this,” Hunter said, and, swiftly, he stripped to the waist. Across his chest were the tears and scars of giant, saucerlike suckers, an unearthly sight. The members of the tribunal gasped. They murmured among themselves.

Hacklett banged his gavel for order.

“An interesting amusement, Mr. Hunter, but not persuasive to the educated gentlemen present. We can all surely imagine the devices you employed, in your desperate predicament, to re-create the effects of such a monster. The court is not persuaded.”

Hunter looked at the faces of the seven men, and saw that they were persuaded. But Hacklett’s gavel banged again.

“Charles Hunter,” Hacklett said, “this court finds you justly convicted of the crime of piracy and robbery upon the high seas, as charged. Do you wish to say any reason why sentence shall not be carried out?”

Hunter paused. He thought of a thousand oaths and expletives, but none would serve any purpose. “No,” he said softly.

“I did not hear you, Mr. Hunter.”

“I said no.”

“Then you, Charles Hunter, and all your crew, are adjudged and sentenced to be carried back to the place from whence you came, and thence on Monday next to the place of execution, the High Street Square in the town of Port Royal, and there to be hanged by the neck till dead, dead, dead. And after this, you and each of you shall be taken down and your bodies hanged from the yardarms of your vessel. May God have mercy upon your souls. Take him away, jailer.”

Hunter was led out of the Justice House. As he went out the door, he heard Hacklett laugh: a peculiar, thin, cackling sound. Then the door closed, and he was returned to jail.

Chapter 35

HE WAS TAKEN to a different cell; apparently the jailers of Marshallsea did not care one from another. He sat in the straw on the floor and considered his plight with care. He could hardly believe what had happened, and he was angry almost beyond understanding.

Night came, and the jail turned quiet except for the snores and the sighs of the inmates. Hunter himself was falling asleep when he heard a familiar hissing voice: “Hunter!”

He sat up.

“Hunter!”

He knew the voice. “Whisper,” he said. “Where are you?”

“In the next cell.”

The cells all opened at the front; he could not see the next cell, but he could hear well enough, if he pressed his cheek close to the stone wall.

“Whisper, how long are you here?”

“A week, Hunter. Were you tried?”

“Aye.”

“And judged guilty?”

“Aye.”

“So also me,” Whisper hissed. “On a charge of theft. It was false.”

Theft, like piracy, had a fatal outcome.

“Whisper,” he said, “what has happened to Sir James?”

“They say he is ill,” Whisper hissed, “but he is not. He is healthy, and under guard, in peril of his life, at the Governor’s Mansion. Hacklett and Scott have taken control. They tell all in the town he is dying.”

Hacklett must have threatened Lady Sarah, Hunter thought, and forced her to testify falsely.

“There is more rumor,” Whisper hissed. “Madam Emily Hacklett is heavy with child.”

“So?”

“So, it appears that her husband the Acting Governor never performs his uxorial duties upon the wife. He is not so capable. Therefore her condition is irksome to him.”

“I see,” Hunter said.

“You have cuckolded a tyrant, and all the worse for you.”

“And Sanson?”

“He came alone, in a longboat. There was no crew. He told the story that all died in a hurricane, save him alone.”

Hunter pressed his cheek against the stone wall, feeling the cool dampness. It provided a kind of solid comfort to him.

“What day is this?”

“Saturday.”

Hunter had two days before his execution. He sighed, and sat back, and stared out the barred window at the clouds across a pale and waning moon.

…

THE GOVERNOR’S MANSION was constructed of solid brick, a veritable fortress at the north end of Port Royal. In the basement, under heavy guard, Sir James Almont lay feverish upon a bed. Lady Sarah Almont placed a cool towel across his hot forehead, and bid him breathe easily.

At that moment, Mr. Hacklett and his wife strode into the room.

“Sir James!”

Almont, his eyes glazed with fever, looked over at his deputy. “What is it now?”

“We have tried Captain Hunter. He will hang on Monday next, as a common pirate.”

At this, Lady Sarah looked away. Tears came to her eyes.

“Do you approve, Sir James?”