.
xxx
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"Charles, I shan't trust you aboard my ship, unless I carry you as a prisoner, for before I know it I'll have you conspiring with my men to knock me on the head, and run away with my ship pirating."
From her hiding place in the underbrush, Eleanor scowls as she hears the man's verdict. So much for Captain Holford being an old buccaneer acquaintance of Vane's; so much for Vane's initial good spirits as he watched the Royal Mary put in at their island to replenish her fresh water store en route from Jamaica down to the Bay of Honduras; so much, in fact, for the hope of getting off this island. Their current place of residence could be much worse, true; the fact that it has fresh water springs inland, thus saving them from dying of thirst, is alone enough to recommend it; but after two weeks surviving by catching fish and crabs, getting handouts from fishermen who occasionally visit the island, and sleeping on a heap of palm fronds just off the beach, she is definitely ready to go somewhere that has properly cooked food and real beds.
Watching Holford talking to Vane on the beach, she can sense the mutual mistrust, and is by now convinced that on Vane's side, the mistrust is well justified. In her years of working as a fence and dealing with all manner of shady characters, Eleanor has learned to be a quick and pretty accurate judge of people, albeit aside from her stupendous error of judgement in Vane's case; and Holford strikes her instantly as a smarmy, cautious, calculating bastard, at once ruthless and hypocritical – rather like her late father, in fact. She is glad she insisted on staying concealed, having flatly refused Vane's suggestion that he try to secure passage for her alone should his conversation with Holford prove difficult – as it duly did – telling him that if he was not coming with her, she was not going. If only Deal could have a way of knowing where his senior partner has ended up, she muses; seeing how Vane made him captain of the other sloop, and knowing his loyalty, Eleanor is sure he would be here in no time… assuming he did not drown in the hurricane, that is.
"Peter, I know you wouldn't put much trust in an oath upon my honour, but I assure you that I have no such intention…" Vane says presently, not yet having abandoned all hope of persuading the other man. "All I want is to get off this island," Vane finishes.
"You might easily find a way to get off, if you had a mind to do it," Holford counters evasively. "I am going down the bay," he continues, "and shall return here in about a month, and if I find you upon the island when I come back, I'll carry you to Jamaica…"
Well, maybe he will relent and give them passage, after all…
"…and there hang you."
If she had not resolved to stay concealed, she would have walked right up to them and punched this prick in that smug, mocking face of his.
"Which way can I get away?" Vane shrugs.
"Are there not fishermen's boats that come upon the beach? Can't you take one of them?" Holford replies.
"What," Vane shoots back with a bitter laugh, "you'd have me steal a boat then?" Considering how the fishermen have helped them stay alive by sharing some of their catch and bringing them tinder and flints so they could light a fire to cook, she can see where his resistance to the idea comes from.
"Do you make it a matter of conscience," replies Holford, continuing his mockery, "to steal a boat, when you have been a common robber and pirate, stealing ships and cargoes, and plundering all mankind that fell in your way!" Apparently he forgets in his pretence at righteous indignation that a few years ago he himself was a common robber and pirate, albeit not as successful as Vane. "Stay here and be damned if you are so squeamish!" Holford finishes triumphantly and marches off, back to the rowboat that is waiting to take him to the Royal Mary.
xxx
As the imposing ship fades away toward the horizon, she watches Vane stagger off along the beach away from her, the misery obvious in his hunched shoulders; and doubly hates Holford for being the reason, so long as the Royal Mary is still in sight, that she cannot leave her concealment for fear of Holford being tempted to return so as to carry her off alone. Not that she could help much with what is the other, perhaps even the greater cause for Vane's distress: earlier, at the start of this ill-fated exchange, Holford gave him the news that Blackbeard had been killed not far from his base at Ocracoke island back at the end of November, after a long chase and a tense two-day battle with a Navy ship. And while Eleanor cannot think of a good thing to say to comfort him, having been implicated in his rift with his mentor a few years back, and while she knows that saying that at least he died fighting is best avoided as it can give Vane really bad ideas, she just wants to be there next to him in case he needs her.
xxx
As it turns out, Blackbeard's death is not the only loss suffered by the pirate brotherhood in recent weeks – nor even the most painful as far as Vane is concerned.
When she finds him at sundown, smoking as he looks out upon the darkening sea on deck of the Princess, whose captain visited their island for the same reason as Holford but on his way to Jamaica via Grand Cayman and believed their story of being passengers from a recently wrecked trader enough to give them passage, she instantly knows that something is wrong when he looks away without greeting her. Not that it stops her from walking over to stand next to him; still, she knows better than to push for an answer until he tells her what the matter is.
"He's dead," he says after a while, in a flat, colourless tone, without turning to her.
"Blackbeard?" she ventures.
He shakes his head in silence.
"Jack," he finally says, and apparently his voice gives out. "They told me he was hanged on Jamaica a week ago," he adds eventually.
"And Anne?" she asks, almost hoping to hear that the other woman has shared her partner's fate.
He shakes his head again. "She was in prison, but she was never brought before the court. Her father is a prominent lawyer in the Colonies," he continues. "Wouldn't be surprised if he pulled strings to get her out. And she pleaded that she was with child."
"Well, at least Jack will have left an heir…" Eleanor ventures; it is meant to lighten the mood, but she can tell that it is not helping much.
"I wouldn't even bet on it being his," Vane argues darkly. "You know what that hag told him before he was executed?"
Eleanor is not even sure she wants to know; but seeing Vane's misery, the least she can do is share it.
"She was allowed to visit him, and so she went and told him that she was sorry to see him there, but if he had fought like a man in their last engagement he need not have been hanged like a dog", he spits out.
Eleanor herself is a thousand times guiltier as far as pre-execution prison visits go; but at least she did not claim to be Vane's loving partner at that time, even if, for all intents and purposes, she has become one now.
"Well, that settles the question of which of us is the stupid cunt," she says wryly, and even though Vane's mood is still unrelentingly black, she sees him smirk for an instant.
They stay there in silence, leaning side-by-side against the hull railing in the dusk; she tries to think of something to say that could make him less wretched. Well, if there is one thing she has seen instantly transforming his mood, no matter how downbeat he may be, it is anger… though in that case, the transformation is not always for the better. But then, she would only be reminding him of what really happened; and Jack is past caring as to what Vane may think of him.
"He took your ship, Charles. He took your crew. They called you a coward for making a sensible decision. I am not sure if Jack deserves such grief from you. Aren't you angry with him at all?"
"For what?" he argues in a dull voice, without turning to her. "For wanting to please his woman? I wanted to keep you safe and he wanted to keep Anne happy; it wasn't really that different, it's just that the crew happened to support his choice more than mine." She remembers his tactical decision remark from back then; she always knew Charles Vane was no good as a liar.
"He was family," Vane continues. "I loved him as a brother through thick and thin, and you know how it is with family and loved ones, no matter how they may wrong you and how you may hate them at times, it breaks your heart when they're gone… "
Well, her family may not be a good example in this case; but yes, she gets the idea.
"I always thought I'd be the first to go. And now first Teach, then him..." He trails off, and all she can do is take his free hand in both of hers and squeeze it. She cannot even find the voice to tell him how much she disapproves of his the first to go idea, as he goes on. "At this rate, in a couple of years there will be no one left. Flint will probably survive, the sneaky bastard, but I don't know how much I want to team up with him; I have a sense that if I do that, he'll fuck me over sooner rather than later. There's Bartholomew Roberts, of course, but he is an arrogant prick… I guess I'll just have to stick it out on my own."
"Charles, why do you have to keep doing this?" she asks him; even though she knows it to be a near-hopeless argument, she cannot help trying so long as there is the faintest glimmer of a chance. "You've just said it yourself, they're bribing off the leaders and killing whoever refuses to be bribed. And those who don't feel like getting killed are getting out of here, like Ned England. Why are you so keen on fighting a losing battle?"
"Looking at the battles I gave at sea, I haven't lost many."
"I know. But this is different. It's much bigger than that, it's not a battle, really. I called it wrong; it's a fucking war. And it looks like it will be over soon." Her voice picks up involuntarily, and she strains to keep it down to avoid arousing suspicion. "What does it matter if it's over in a year, or in two, or in three? It's as good as finished, Charles, you can hate me for saying this but this is much bigger than the two of us; than all of us. England has declared war against piracy for real this time, its allies never tolerated it to start with, and Spain has just used it as a pretext to resume hostilities," she presses on; the new war against Spain is among the news they heard since they came aboard. "You are right, Charles; you've always been a winner. You've had one hell of a successful year, even if I can't say I'm altogether happy with it." She sees him roll his eyes, but he lets her continue. "You've spent the past few years doing whatever you wanted to do on these seas. What point is there in just doing more of the same for another year or two if it gets you killed, as opposed to walking away undefeated?"
"The point is," he answers, and she cannot tell if he is serious or being ironic, "that hopefully I can die a good death like Blackbeard did, and be remembered for it."
She squeezes his hand between her palms so tightly that he winces. "Why the fuck are you so eager to get killed? Three weeks ago when we nearly drowned, you said you weren't in a hurry to die anymore; what's changed since then?" She is suddenly terrified that he will present her with a reason.
"Nothing," he says, and that, at least, is a relief. "I'm not saying that I'll go looking for ways to die, but if it happens, I'd rather die fighting."
"Well, you aren't very likely to get that chance, you know," she says pointedly. "Blackbeard was lucky, yes, but look at Jack, look at Stede Bonnet; look at the ones they hanged in Nassau back in December." News travels slowly in the Caribbean, but it did trickle down eventually. "You're more likely to be facing a wretched execution like you did in Nassau than a heroic death in a blaze of glory."
He appears to consider it; so far, so good; but then he shakes his head in resignation.
"I'm too well known, you know;" he scowls as he says it. "Even if I walk away, so long as I'm alive I'll never have a day's peace, I'll just be waiting for someone to recognise me and turn me in."
"…or known to be alive…" she corrects him.
He turns to her then and holds her gaze, his eyes bright in the dim light, a wicked smile spreading on his thin lips.
"So all we need to do is find a way for you to die, you know, without dying."
He nods and chuckles, but says nothing. "You know, Eleanor," he starts eventually, as if thinking out loud, "I never had another life since I've been free. And I never planned to live long. What could I possibly do?"
"I don't know," she answers truthfully, "I mean there are lots of things you could do in principle, the question is, which ones you would be interested in doing. Why don't we try and find out? I mean there are lots of people out there who've never been pirates in their life, and somehow they've managed not to die of boredom."
He casts a quick sideways glance at her.
"What?" she prompts when no other reaction follows.
"The question, Eleanor," he says, still pensive, "is whether you would die of boredom after few months if we try to live like that."
She ignores his scepticism in the thrill of the realisation that he is implicitly including her in this version of a future. "I can answer that. In the past year I've been in prison, in at least a dozen naval battles, in a fucking hurricane, marooned, nearly raped by a rabid gang, and have nearly committed the worst mistake of my life." She can see how his face softens at that last mention. "I think I've had enough excitement to last me till old age, thank you very much. Besides," she continues, nestling closer to him in an attempt to get him to look away from the darkening sea and face her, "I somehow doubt you and I could get too bored in each other's company wherever we may end up."
She is rewarded with a grin; but she is still worried that she will never be able to steer this discussion away from general statements of intent and into a more practical vein. Oh well, if the greatest obstacle is a perceived lack of commitment on her part, she may be able to do something about that. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.
"I've got money stashed away, you know," she goes on conspiratorially. "About thirty or forty thousand pounds' worth saved in French bills of exchange, kept in a bank in Louisiana. We could use it to get ourselves settled somewhere."
"About thirty or forty?" He does not so much sound surprised at the amount, even though it is considerable, as at her apparent carelessness in remembering it so imprecisely.
"It's been a while since I last checked," she admits. "And it's been gathering interest in the meantime."
He raises his eyebrows at her, and she could bet that the familiar smug expression is back, although she could not possibly imagine why the hell he should be sporting it.
"Well, what I've got isn't accruing any interest seeing how it's about four feet underground on a little-known island," he says in a tone so nonchalant as to be deliberate, "but I'd say I've got about fifty or sixty thousand pounds' worth of pearls and emeralds put away in a sweet little chest, should I ever need them."
She can see the reason for his smugness all right. "And you just left it buried there?"
He shrugs. "Haven't had any reason to want it so long as I meant to spend my life fighting at sea… except once when I offered you to get away from it all and it seemed as if you might go for it."
She is suddenly aware that her throat is burning. The worst thing is, she cannot even remember the exact occasion he must be referring to.
"Well, I want it now," she manages at last. "Not the treasure," she adds quickly, "but the getaway part."
He slips his hand from between hers, takes hold of her fingers and brings them to his lips.
"In that case," he mutters against her fingertips, "you have it."
xxx
It is strange how life catches up with you, she thinks distantly as she stands on the stern gallery of the Princess, looking out at sea with unseeing eyes as she listens to conversation inside the roundhouse cabin, concealed, as she once was on board Vane's brigantine, by the cabin door. Dinner is supposed to start in a matter of minutes; she and Vane have a curious status on board, and while he pays for their passage by helping rearrange stowage below deck after much of the cargo was displaced, some of it damaged, by the same storm that wrecked their sloop, they have nonetheless been afforded a separate cabin in recognition of their claimed status as a married couple, and are invited to dine with the captain and officers, in recognition, she suspects, of her good looks.
Soon they will all be assembled in the roundhouse, and her life as she has known it in the past four months will come to an end. But for now, there are just two men talking inside.
"Do you know whom you have got aboard there, working in the hold?" the voice asks.
"Why," their captain answers, "I've picked up a man at Swan island, who was cast away in a trading sloop, and he seems to be a brisk hand."
"I am telling you," the first voice sounds impatient in its insistence, "it is Vane the notorious pirate."
There is a silence.
"If it be him," the captain replies finally, "I won't keep him."
The interlocutor pipes up at once, eager to the point of excitement. "Why then, I'll take him aboard, and surrender him at Jamaica."
She knows perfectly, even without seeing, that the voice belongs to Captain Holford.
Another minute goes by.
"Gentlemen.-" she hears Vane's greeting as he comes in freeze on his lips as he, presumably, sees who he is saluting.
It is now or never.
She forces herself to turn around, open the door, and take a step in, then another, then another.
"Captain Holford!" she exclaims cheerily; if the other man is surprised at the address, he seems reluctant to disclaim acquaintance seeing how he is being addressed by a pretty young lady. "You may not remember me, but I am so, so very happy to see you; you cannot imagine my relief at seeing a hope of deliverance."
She feels as if she is watching herself from a distance, floating in mid-air; but she does her best to speak steadily. "I am Eleanor Guthrie, lately of the governing council on New Providence, appointed by Governor Rogers, and I apologise to Captain Markham," she adds with a nod at the other man, "for the unwilling deception, seeing how I was compelled into it under duress. This man," she continues, pointing at Vane, "has carried me off Nassau by force, and I have been his hostage and prisoner ever since, and when we came on board the Princess he told me under penalty of death to keep my and his identity secret. I saw you dock at Swan island but I could not even signal to you, seeing how I was bound and gagged," she continues with an involuntary grimace, "and you can imagine my relief now at hearing how you have recognised this, this… animal, and intend to bring him to justice. I have a profound personal motive to want it, Captain Holford. Two years ago he brutally murdered my father in Nassau; and I would beg you, seeing how you are taking this monster to face justice in Jamaica, to let me come along so I could testify at the trial."
If anything could have increased Holford's already considerable pleasure at his visit to aboard the Princess, which started inauspiciously as a mere courtesy call upon his acquaintance Markham as both ships sailed into the harbour at Grand Cayman shortly after sunset, her interjection has undoubtedly provided it. Hurriedly and awkwardly, he makes his excuses to Captain Markham for not staying for dinner as intended, urged by the need to secure Vane in the hold of the Royal Mary; and soon he leads their small party, accompanied by two of his crewmen carrying arms, into the rowboat that is to take them to his ship.
And all the while Eleanor does all she can not to look at Vane who is staring at her in stunned realisation.
.
xxx
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NOTES
The show would have us believe, in a touching portrayal, that Blackbeard was a father figure to Vane; touching but, unfortunately, implausible, as Blackbeard and Vane were the same age – surrogate brother, perhaps, but not father.
Anne's parting line to Jack and the circumstances it was delivered in is lifted near-verbatim from Johnson; hence my belief of the real Anne Bonny's bitchiness. Also true: her influential lawyer father, who probably intervened, and her disappearance from prison.
The pound values I quote are in line with the scale of magnitude implied on the show, but in truth they are too high. I understand the writers' dilemma in reconciling inflation over time with modern reality, i.e. in dealing with the fact that small nominal amounts back then would be worth a lot today, and talking about £100 as if it were a big fortune would sound vaguely ridiculous; so I see why they chose a middle ground between real historical amounts and modern inflated ones, and try to follow in their footsteps. I will comment on a practical aspect of this after the next chapter.
I am not sure if the real Captain Holford was quite the bastard I make him out to be; even though I quote him almost verbatim from Johnson's book, his words to Vane could be seen as fair warning rather than mockery. I'll let you judge for yourselves – here is Johnson's description of Vane's capture, again continuing directly from the bit I quoted at the end of ch 9:
"While Vane was thus upon this island, a ship put in there from Jamaica for water, the captain of which, one Holford, an old buccaneer, happened to be Vane's acquaintance. He thought this a good opportunity to get off, and accordingly applied to his old friend: but Holford absolutely refused him, saying to him, "Charles, I shan't trust you aboard my ship, unless I carry you as a prisoner, for I shall have you caballing with my men, knock me on the head, and run away with my ship pirating." Vane made all the protestations of honour in the world to him; but, it seems, Captain Holford was too intimately acquainted with him, to repose any confidence at all in his words or oaths. He told him, "He might easily find a way to get off, if he had a mind to it: - I am going down the bay," said he, "and shall return hither in about a month, and if I find you upon the island when I come back, I'll carry you to Jamaica, and there hang you." "Which way can I get away?" answered Vane. "Are there not fishermen's dories upon the beach?" Can't you take one of them?" replied Holford. "What!" said Vane, "would you have me steal a dory then?" "Do you make it a matter of conscience," replied Holford, "to steal a dory, when you have been a common robber and pirate, stealing ships and cargoes, and plundering all mankind that fell in your way! Stay here and be damned if you are so squeamish!" and so left him.
After Captain Holford's departure, another ship put into the same island, in her way home, for water; none of the company knowing Vane, he easily passed for another man, and so was shipped for the voyage. One would be apt to think that Vane was now pretty safe, and likely to escape the fate which his crimes had merited; but here a cross accident happened that ruined all. Holford returning from the bay, was met by this ship, and the captains being very well acquainted with each other, Holford was invited to dine aboard, which he did. As he passed along to the cabin, he chanced to cast his eye down into the hold, and there saw Charles Vane at work: he immediately spoke to the captain, saying, "Do you know whom you have got aboard there?" "Why, said he, "I have shipped a man at such an island, who was cast away in a trading sloop, and he seems to be a brisk hand." "I tell you," replied Captain Holford, "it is Vane the notorious pirate." "If it be him," replied the other, "I won't keep him." "Why then," said Holford, "I'll send and take him aboard, and surrender him at Jamaica. " This being agreed upon, Captain Holford, as soon as he returned to his ship. Sent his boat with his mate, armed, who coming to Vane, showed him a pistol, and told him he was his prisoner. No man daring to make opposition, he was brought aboard and put into irons; and when Captain Holford arrived at Jamaica, he delivered up his old acquaintance into the hands of justice."
If you compare my version of Vane's capture with Captain Johnson's, you may guess that I was, at one point in my life, a big Star Wars fan; more specifically, an Empire Strikes Back fan, as I practically lifted the dinner scene from there, although I have Eleanor play Lando rather than Leia to Vane's Han. Had Vane been on his own, I might have stuck with Johnson's account; but seeing how Eleanor is tagging along in our version, I thought it could be made more entertaining.
…and now that I finally have a satisfyingly nasty cliffhanger to leave things at, I sneak away for a couple of days to type up the remaining couple of chapters :P