J. Allan Dunn

“ Looped about them, twisted across his horny, seamy palm, was a length of the chain that had held the baroque. It was Simon who had snatched loose the charm in his death-struggle. Somewhere, on the shifting sands of the lagoon or in the belly of some fish, attracted by the gleaming thing with its gold-tipped horns, lost irretrievably was the amulet, and with it the luck of Barthelemy Portuguese.
How can luck profit a man when he believes it gone forever? ”

“ Then came the bump of the smaller ship, and out of the smoke shot grappling-hooks that caught in the galleon’s rigging and tied the craft together.
BART left the tiller with a prodigious leap, his men already scrambling up by the easy path of the galleon’s strakes, the carved port sills, the hot muzzles of the guns; silent, because of the steel they lipped, eager to slay, pouring over the rail, jumping down to tackle the swiftly formed resistance of the marines with their musketry, the baffled gunners with their rammers and the Spanish officers, springing into the fray with flashing swords. ”

“ THEY came with their eyes gleaming, shifting occasionally to the galleon, standing on, her big bulk and press of sail holding her to the water as if she was cargo-logged—so little did she lift or roll—compared with the quick motion of the Swan.
“Two thirds of you know naught as yet of filibuster ways,” said Bart. “You will know more before the sun sets, I’ll warrant. There was nothing ever won at any time, in any part of the world, without risk. Our cannon are small use, we will take her with hot lead and cold steel. ”

“ With him they broke irons, struck down the taunting sergeant-hangman, floated ashore on the jars, lay in the swamp and struggled through cayman-haunted streams and mangrove thickets until at last they rafted across the final river. Bart was no boaster; neither did he hide his light under a bushel.
“That’s the kind of a man I am,” he ended. “That’s the way I hang on when luck seems indifferent. And when she smiles, her smiles are golden. Eighty thousand crowns and more was the value of Montalvo’s galleon. This one will be richer picking. We’ll put her to sea and go find Montalvo. ”

“ An hour after nightfall, when the watches were being changed, Simon the cross-eyed slipped over the rail. He could swim like a seal. The shore was less than a league away. Fear of the friars made fins of his legs and arms. One watch thought the other had thrown his corpse overside. He was not worth mentioning. Once Bart thought of him as he gnawed his nails in the foreroom underneath the butt of the sprit.
“That’s what he gets for croaking,” he told himself. “He’s no great loss, even to himself. I wonder if he crossed my luck, after all. We’ll find out at Campeachy.” ”

“ Over thirty Spaniards were dead or dying. Wounded crawled into the scuppers where the blood collected to the swing of the ship or trickled back on the opposite roll, making the planks slippery with the crimson fluid, clotting in the sun. Dead men lay with arms outflung and legs drawn up, blind eyes looking to the sky. Couples were locked together from the final struggle. Not a fighter on either side but bore some wound.
The buccaneers, more than half-naked, smeared with blood of both sides, appeared devils rather than men. ”

“ Then they went to work methodically clearing the deck of bodies, flinging overboard the Spanish, laying aside their own for later burial, covering them with a sail. They knew that Bart would take care of the loot, that there would be wine enough for all, that there were things that must be done before the feast was commenced.
From the poop the affrighted survivors of the galleon watched the splash of the corpses, the feeble striking out of some who quickened when they struck the water. From the depths sharks, vultures of the ocean, came swarming, ravening, tearing at their meal. ”

“ They worked out of the deep indent north of the hook of the Cape and headed for the Caribbean and Jamaica. They had barely cleared the point when it seemed that every able man was at the rail, staring and pointing to where, coming fast down upon them, converging on three tacks, with towering canvas, three galleons came on.
For the first time Bart cursed his luck.
With only fifteen men, half of them weak and unable, he could not hope to work the ship with any speed or precision. To fight against such odds was worse than foolishness. ”

“ In a trice the banner was fastened to the staff and the filibuster stood waving it. The moon silvered the device, the glow of the fire tinged it with sinister crimson. The final note found the whole company grouped about him, shouting in enthusiasm born of the feast, the wine, the song and the infection of Lucky Bart’s enthusiasm.
“That’s the flag to fight under,” he cried. “Death to our enemies! Death to all Spaniards unless they hand over the loot they have robbed from the Indians. ”

“ He faced them with his face asnarl, his teeth showing white in his beard, red rapier in hand, threatening them as a hunter cracks whip over the heated pack, leaping for the kill. As they subsided unwillingly he picked out two and bade them stand guard over the huddled dons on the poop, ruefully surveying the bloody waist of the galleon where nearly fifty men lay helpless, gouting blood. Two more he told off to go through the lower decks, disarming all they met and at the same time relieving them of personal wealth. For this he picked his own men, choosing the cooler heads. ”

“ Given time, Bart could have whipped them into line; but reaction had set in upon him. Strong as he was, his reserves had been burned up in the fearful trip to Golfo Triste. Excitement had offset the wine the first night, the liquor had given a fuel to his laboring engine that had produced a spurt of energy and, passing, left little but ashes.
A tremendous lassitude of body and mind took possession of him. The slightest movement, even to think, without action, was a strenuous matter. Nature, too far stretched, was inevitably relaxing. ”

“ Before noon he heard the baying of hounds on the edge of the swamps, the shouts of the trainers. He caught a glimpse of Indians gliding along the margins and lay quietly hidden in his tree.
To escape along the coast to Golfo Triste, more than half-way to Havana, some forty leagues of mangrove swamp, forest and jungle, through streams infested with caymans and crocodiles, through a wilderness where he must live on roots and shell-fish, unarmed against jaguars and the giant boa—that was his objective. ”

“ The Swan swam steadily on, Bart back at the helm with four pistols in his belt and two at the end of the sling over his shoulder—good for six lives, as he used them. They were weapons of his own design, and several of his crew had their duplicates.
Once fired, in the turmoil of a boarding or repelling rush, a pistol was little good, save as a possible missile to be flung into the face of a foeman. To use the butt meant shift of grip, and a knife or sword was better. A pistol was only an encumbrance. One had no time to reholster in a fire-and-slash affair with the press all about you. ”

“ Lucky Bart, they call me, or Barthelemy Portuguese, of the Swan, sometime buccaneer, now turned freebooter. There is not one of us but has paid the company twice what their goods are worth at a high profit. How do you propose to collect your money, my man?”
The officer drew himself to his meager height. His voice shook with sudden rage as he answered the titter that echoed Bart’s speech while his men held off the suspicious hounds that snuffed at their calves.
“I have heard of you,” he said. “And for you and your pirate crew there is especial mention in the warrants. ”

“ The dead were forgotten; the wounds of the living, patched up in rude fashion, discounted in a golden dream. The galleon itself was worth a big sum, and Bart purposed to sell it to the best bidder and get himself a craft less cumbersome and with the speed his trade demanded.
He almost regretted the Swan; but he knew that the fame of this his latest exploit would bring him recruits by the score. He had his fortune, but his ambitions had swelled. His luck was with him; there would be other strokes like this, easier victories with an increased crew of picked rovers.
Simon was the only growler. ”

“ It was he who came finally aft to the tiller, his black eyes apparently gazing at the tip of his long, blue-veined nose as he essayed to look Bart in the face. Simon was grinning; he trod the deck resolutely and showed that he had sea-legs and a sound stomach.
“Yon ship, they tell me—not being very sea-wise myself,” he said, “is not a warship of the fleet, but a merchantman. She is the more likely to be well lined, yet she is well provided for fighting. Twenty culverin show from her ports, ten to a broadside. There will be soldiers as well as mariners aboard, passengers as well as officers. ”

“ It was every man for himself. Simon was on the poop, his cross-eyes seeming to shrink from the sight of the leaping death all about them.
The sea shouldered and heaved beneath them. It appeared to be putting itself to one supreme effort as a man moves to toss down the heavy burden he has carried to the dump. ”

“ Again and again the broadsides roared harmlessly, and the pirates yelled in derision. Hour after hour the long-distance fight went on while Bart kept rough tally of the Spaniards put out of the fight.
He marked with satisfaction every time a sniper hit a man who exposed himself on the poop-deck. The passengers and all those not actually concerned with the working or fighting of the ship had gone to shelter. A man down on the poop meant an officer, an increasing demoralization of the galleon’s company. ”

“ Out came Bart’s rapier, licking swiftly about the other’s steel, wrenching it from his hand to send it into the fire, scattering red flakes.
“Yield!” shouted the freebooter. “Surrender, you fool; we’re three to one. Throw down your weapons if you want to keep your lives.”
It needed no order from the officer. The deputy collectors flung their pistols and hangers to the ground. Freebooters and buccaneers pressed in and quickly bound them, laying them on the ground in a long row like so many foot-roped calves. ”

“ His men, carried to the boucans, fully believing they were to be smoked to death, a credence strengthened by the coarse jests of the buccaneers, their cries drowned in laughter, appealed to him by name.
“If my second pistol had not missed fire,” he said desperately, “I would have settled your account in full—with a bullet.”
“Not you. Bart’s luck is not to be broken by a bill collector.”
The freebooter touched his neck-chain lightly to feel the charm move against his flesh.
“I like you none the less for crowing with the knife at your throat. You are a game cock. I take it you will sign?” ”

“ Bart’s original crew handled her, and she frustrated every effort of the galleon’s crew to work their clumsy vessel for effectual shots. There was wind enough, and the Swan’s sailing qualities, with Bart’s seamanship, did the rest.
Wherever a Spaniard showed in porthole or rigging, or exposed on the poop, there sped a bullet from men expert in their arms, with skill gained in hunting the cattle or defending themselves against Spanish raids on the mainland. They crouched behind the rail and yelled whenever a shot found its mark. ”