Bucaneer

Copyright © 2000 by Luther Butler.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual

persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Although Henry Morgan was a real man who led the sacks of numerous places in the Caribbean, this work is fictional, and events have been distorted and rearranged for the author’s purposes. A note of gratitude is given to Viking Press, Perer Earle, and recording for the blind and visually handicapped, Princeton, New Jersey 08540 for making the recording, Earle, Peter, THE SACK OF PANAMA, SIR HENRY MORGAN’S ADVENTURES ON THE SPANISH MAIN. New York, Viking

Press. 1981

CHAPTER ONE

In the year of our Lord, 1668 AD, the Caribbean was an idyllic place. Grown men played games like little boys while Spaniards fought Englishmen, and French and Dutch sat on the sidelines waiting to come in for their share of spoils.

The Roundheads under Oliver Cromwell had declared war on all things that had a Papist tinge, but in this year, Charles II was on the throne. In spite of his Roman Catholic leanings, he was too afraid of England’s population who had found a new freedom under the new religion founded by King Henry VIII to enforce his religious beliefs.

A brisk ocean breeze blew in on the Island of Jamaica where a band of renegades from Caribbean Islands rested on the island’s sandy shore. Enterprising men, these freemen were escaped indentured servants from white owned plantations throughout the warm tropical islands.

A cosmopolitan group of men, these Dutch, French, and Englishmen were called Buccaneers because they dried beef and pork on bracoons much as had Carib Indians in the region hundreds of years ago.

These men had felt the lash of a whip, for most of them were runaways from huge sugar plantations on inhabited Islands. Most had found the work too toilsome and, along with a bunch of African slaves, had run away.

Maroons, the Blacks were called, dwelt in the highlands where their voodoo drums made bad music day and night. It was enough to get on a man’s nerves with heat, insects and the constant beating drums.

Among this group of cutthroats and renegades was one named

Tim O’Leary from County Cork. An Irish lad of twenty-four, he was a leader because his sinewy body was controlled by a head capable of making decisions and carrying them out by the use of brawny arms supporting fists that could knock a larger man senseless. Not a man in this group had any seagoing vessel larger than a raft they had made from logs washed up into a secluded cove where coconut trees cast their fruit out into salt water and sent them floating to more distant shores. Some of them would grow.

O’Leary was dressed in stinking cowhide breeches not properly cured. Around his head, he wore a knotted rag he’d managed to grab when he jumped ship after a cruel quartermaster ordered a flogging no man could survive.

He had been able to stay alive only because his ship had been close enough to this island so he could swim to it. Sand, endless white sand tempered by a dying sun met his eyes when half drowned, he pulled himself out of the rolling surf and held onto a mangrove root until he could pull himself onto land.

As though the sea wanted him back, it pulled and tugged at him until a black-headed giant came along and offered him a hand.

Mighty long swim, mate. Come on in and make yourself at home on this paradise where any man would like to spend the rest of his life if he didn’t go clear balmy before the year was up. My name’s Long, Wild Bill, they call me.

He had his first evening meal with men gathered around glowing coals hot as the center of Hades. With sharpened green willows, they held chunks of beef intermixed with green vegetables over the searing fire. Some of the rough men had lit a roaring bonfire to break a bright hole in the gathering darkness.

O’Leary had stayed still long enough to catch his breath, and then, he had taken over. Kicked around on board ship, he was determined this time, he was going to be boss, and this bunch of marooned farmers with a few sailors mixed in seemed a good place to start.

Within a month, with bare hands, he had gotten control by brute force. Not that being in control of this bunch of rum drinkers was an accomplishment to brag about. Surrounded by water, these men refused to bathe unless they were caught out in a sudden rainstorm.

They dwelt like savages wearing half cured rawhide clothing, and even as they wore them, maggots ate at pieces of flesh stuck to flapping hides that failed to cover bare shins and elbows. Under a burning tropical sun, these wild men went about their tasks of catching wild Spanish cattle and hogs for the bracoons where long strips of meat simmered and roasted under a hot sun while smoke rose from red hot coals.

These men cooked a tasty dish and many a ship went off course to buy a supply for their long journey across a lonely sea. These Spanish galleons loaded with bullion from the Incas gave O’Leary an idea.

First, he pressed Wild Bill into his services. How often do these blasted Spaniards put in here with their silver and gold? he asked the Buccaneer who slashed at layers of fresh meat until his hands ran red with blood.

Wiping his unruly black beard, he reflected a moment before answering. Ain’t none of your business but sometimes, five or six ships will come, and then one will come by itself, was the insolent answer O’Leary received.

Damn you, think, man, how often do these ships pull in for a supply of meat? O’Leary stuck his broken off sword into the ground.

Why does it matter?, Wild Bill asked. You wouldn’t want to sail with them, anyway.

Who said anything about sailing with them blasted foreigners? What we should do is take over a ship and sail it ourselves. O’Leary shouted loud enough to make other men in the vicinity look up from their gruesome tasks.

Don’t know about that. These Spanish tubs are pretty heavily armed, O’Leary. It would take some mighty well-trained men to capture one. He squinted his eyes against the western sun. There was a look of futility servitude and hard times had put on his wrinkled face.

O’Leary chased buzzing flies off his back and took a small swig of Jamaican rum before he continued. That’s what I plan on having right here real soon, a bunch of well-trained men. You watch me, in sixty days this will be a military camp.

Don’t know about that, O’Leary. Pretty hard bunch of men here. Lot of us out of English prisons. Say, you better get you a shirt on, or that skin of yours will be cooked like these things we have on these fires. Again Wild Bill scratched his back as if he didn’t care a great deal about anything but a hut to sleep in, and one of the Maroon women to share his grass bed every other night. Besides, who wants to work when everything’s free?

O’Leary grabbing him with a bear like grip brought his bloody hands around the older man’s throat and drew his shortened sword across the frightened man’s throat. Listen, you flea-bitten dog bait, get it through your head, we are going to capture Spanish ships here, and we’ll do it my way.

Wild Bill lay panting on the wet sand regaining his strength that had been choked out of him. Needn’t choke a man to death proving your point. Besides, ain’t me you have to convince, it’s those buggers who’d rather slice your throat than look at you.

O’Leary looked around and then shouted, Any of you swine want to get off this island with enough treasures to make you rich as the Barbados planters?

A look of interest came onto men’s faces who had forgotten how to think of ways to get ahead. All they could think about was wild cattle, pigs, and plenty of rum with a black woman thrown in once in awhile.

You come with me, you’ll sweat your blame balls off before you are through, but when you are through, you’ll be something more than bone pickers running after a bunch of cattle on this forsaken island. O’Leary threw his boning knife at a palm tree and watched it shiver when it drove into wood up to the hilt. Picking up a heavy, copper-plated pistol, he’d traded a Spanish sailor out of, he blasted a hummingbird that had its beak stuck into an amber colored flower.

Many a rough man looked up in awe at this show of marksmanship. Another thing, you’ll be pulling those stinking cowhides off and bathing if you want to come with me, O’Leary said.

And, who’s going to make us? Mad Dog, a brutal black bearded man with a leery eye asked. O’Leary, you remember well, I was servin’ life on Barbados when I killed two guards to escape.

Before anyone knew what was happening, the hairy giant was pinned on the sand with O’Leary’s cowhide boot stuck in his bare back. Damn you won’t be sassing me again, ‘cause Tim O’Leary from Cork County is bossing this bunch of cutthroats from now on, lads. Any one of you wants to argue about it, you’ll answer to me before you have your piece of meat to eat.

Slowly, a bunch of men who had done nothing but eat, drink, and sleep, came awake to be made into a fighting unit. None of them could have told why they let this upstart bully them around, but before a month was over, they were as clean as any of Good Queen Mary’s guards.

O’Leary looked for promising young men to make officers when and if his plans to take over Spanish ships came. Jim Bellows, an English lad of almost his own age, was under his constant watch. Where O’Leary was powerfully built, the one under consideration was slender, and he was the intellectual type. The leader wondered if Bellows could handle himself well enough to keep unruly men under control.

Darkness so close to the equator came so suddenly the men had barely lit fires. Tired and bloody from their gruesome tasks, they hurried to cook their evening meal. Bellows had saved a choice steak to cook instead of sharing a common meal with the others.

Mad Dog was drunk on rum he had kept from trading with a Spanish ship a month ago. Pulling his long knife, he brought its sharp point against the base of Bellow’s spine. Damn you keepin’ the best for yourself. Noticed you think you’re better than the rest. Give me your meal before I make shark meat out of ye.

O’Leary cursed and came to help. Bellows didn’t wait. Springing from a crouch, he whirled and brought the edge of his work-toughed hand across his attacker’s prominent Adam’s apple. With his other hand, he grabbed Mad Dog’s knife hand. Jerking violently, he caused the drunk man to let his knife drop on the sand. He kicked the hurting man in the privates before O’Leary said curtly, He’s licked, let him be.

Thanks for attempting to come to my rescue, Bellows gasped out.

Sorry I couldn’t been of more help. You want to be an officer when we capture a ship?

Be an honor to serve under a captain whose concerned with his men’s safety. O’Leary reached down and jerked Mad Dog to his feet.

Next, the Maroons came under O’Leary’s control. It could not have been done except black women wanting Spanish coins came with bared breast trading themselves for gold and silver. Many a freed slave woman carried a half white bastard child because of these night meetings.

Next time they come, O’Leary said, we’ll keep them locked up for a while.

It’ll be a fight you’ll have on your hands, Wild Bill snarled.

Give them time and they will come around and be glad they can help us once we get hold of some of that bullion, O’Leary said. Blasted bunch of heathens don’t know what to do with gold but to wear it in their nose and ears, but they’re as greedy as we are for a little bit of it.

Within a month O’Leary had over three hundred strong men in his army. Daily, they climbed trees and vines they had fashioned into crude ladders they ran up and down with confidence. Far above the jungle floor, they swung from one tree to another.

The men soon excelled at swimming. Carrying knives and pistols, they practiced against the tide for only when the tide was in did Spanish ships come into port.

While they trained, they continued to pile up stacks of smoked meat. Developing into a trained team, they could accomplish much more than they did as individuals.

Occasionally more fights broke out among the men. After they slashed and brutally beat each other, Tim O’Leary always came out on top.

Back in a lonely cove, the men found a cave suiting their needs for a place to store what few possessions they had along with their precious pile of dried meat. During the hurricane season no ship dared come out of port.

Giant waves swelling and receding, brought in debris from other islands. The sea became a melee of purple Portuguese-men-of-war and white jelly fish some of which were found washed up on the white sand each morning.

The balloons of purple with long threads the men watched out for. These dying men-of-war were able to inject a fluid into bare flesh causing a searing flame to run through a man’s nervous system like a hot iron.

All boarding practice had to be postponed when men’s ears ached as pressure fell far below normal. Time for us to find shelter in the cave, O’Leary told his reluctant crew who found the cattle were easier to catch when they bunched up for protection from the fierce wind.

Bringing their last kill into the cave mouth, the men continued to hack and tear at the animal flesh while others built racks over hot coals for drying.

When the storm hit, there was little warning. Out of the southeast, giant, black clouds moved into land. The sky turned a sick yellow, and searing streaks of lightning lit up the dark clouds.

Trees touching the ground with their fronds, salt water covered the men’s beach. Then, sheets of water came pounding in from the roaring sky, and those not in the cave’s shelter, fell to the ground and crawled to safety.

Jamaica was in for a siege of battering winds and tormenting rains while Buccaneers watched the last man try to make it to shelter.

He was a slight lad unable to raise a beard. Somehow, he had failed to heed the warnings, and had continued to gather up coconuts along the raging ocean. O’Leary went after him, but it was too late. When the Buccaneer leader reached the struggling youth, a sharp piece of board sailed through the air and decapitated the young man even when his rescuer held out his arm to bring him to safety.

Startled, O’Leary turned and made his way back to the cave by holding onto roots and clumps of grass. The day of devastation was followed by another and another. The men cowered together in their smoky grotto praying for the storm to stop.

CHAPTER TWO

Yoruba, face painted with white stripes, watched with sinister eyes while O’Leary lured Maroons into his rule. There will be a time of reckoning with that one, he thought in an African dialogue few of the Jamaicans could speak.

Crouched behind low growing palm trees, his body blended in well with sunlight and darkness of the jungle. All the time he watched Tim O’Leary lure his people’s women into the white men’s camp, Yoruba stood perfectly still except one black foot kept beat with the slight tapping of his savage spear.

More at home in an African rain forest, this New World jungle was easy to figure out. Had the Buccaneers known he lurked nearby, they would have been concerned at the hatred emitting from Yoruba’s savage pupils so much like a jungle animal instead of a man’s.

He had killed an overseer before escaping to the hills. Not merely killed, but savagely mutilated the hated man with the whip until the body looked like something tore apart by the wild pigs running lose and causing destruction among the sugar cane.

It was not to the witch doctor’s liking at all to lose even one of his sinewy bucks much less those few women who had come with his Maroons. There were two reasons why he held his position, chief was he had carried the sacred stones in his gut from his native land in Africa.

He had taken a special potion he alone knew of to dislodge the two stones that were bigger than a man’s fist. For a while, he thought he would die while working in cane fields under a hot sun while carrying that part of the altar he needed to start the cult worship in this New World.

When he thought he would die, he finally dislodged the stones one night after a fit of colic that had brought great beads of perspiration on his forehead. His thoughts had been on the chief of the Obeah gods or he would never have made it. Also one of his attributes that gave him dominion over his people was he knew the names of all the lesser gods and their Christian counterparts, and he could invoke their powers whenever necessary.

Had not he, Yoruba, brought down the fires from heaven that had made it possible for him and his people to escape the night when the earth opened