Chapter 17: The Galleon

Loud voices above and the gentle forward heave of the ship stirred Charlisse from her thoughts. She rushed to the window, anxious to resume the journey to Port Royal, but distressed for the galleon's fate. Not that she harbored any fondness for the Spanish, but she certainly wished them no harmespecially not at the hands of this merciless band of scoundrels.

It occurred to her that she had an unwarranted confidence in Merrick's abilities to capture the galleon. With his taste still on her lips, she lay back on the bed, feeling helpless in many wayshelpless to stop the carnage, helpless to make her way to Port Royal and find her father, and helpless under the spell Merrick had cast upon her. Helplessness had been an all-too-familiar guest in her heart for too many yearsthe kind of guest who always dropped in, made himself right at home, and stayed long past his welcome. It was time to throw him out, if only she had the strength to do so.

On deck, with assurances from Jackson that the Santa Domingofor that was the name engraved on the galleon's hullwas sufficiently disabled, Captain Merrick navigated the Redemption back through the outlying reefs.

The men responded to his commands as if there had been no attempted mutiny the night before, and Jackson took over his new post as first mate with enthusiasm. He and a small group of men had snuck over in one of the cockboatsunder cover of nightand had entwined twenty feet of cable chain about the galleon's rudder, disabling the Spanish warship's ability to steer.

Or so he hoped.

Even amidst the excitement, Merrick could not shake thoughts of the lady below. Why had she kissed him? Not that he was complaining, but her sudden affection baffled him in light of her rude and often impertinent behavior. Her lips had been soft and warm. He'd felt them quiver at first, but when she finally succumbed to him, he could feel the passion within her climbing to join his own. The kiss became the sweetest of his life, and that was no small thing, considering the numerous kisses he had enjoyed.

"Cap'n, the galleon unfurls her sails," Jackson yelled from the shrouds, bringing Merrick's attention back to the task at hand.

The Spanish warship, alerted to their presence, was attempting to catch enough wind to turn and bear her guns on the gaining pirates.

Merrick held the glass to his eye and could hardly contain a chuckle as he beheld first the confusion, then the fear on the sailors' faces when they realized their rudder was disabled, leaving them adrift at the mercy of the morning breeze. They rapidly approached the shoals surrounding the islands and quickly furled their sails again and dropped anchor.

Exactly what Merrick had expected. He stood by the rail of the quarterdeck, at the head of the companionway and shouted for the master gunner to ready the gun crew and load and run out the guns.

With careful maneuvering, Merrick positioned the Redemption thirty yards aft of the Spaniards stern, offering the galleon a view of the pirate ship's six gaping mouths itching to spit their fiery missiles. He leveled his scope, hoping to see the banner of Castile descend and a flag of truce take its place.

Instead, demi-chasers from the galleon's stern pelted the deck of the Redemption, sending his crew ducking and cursing under a hard rain of deadly shot.

"Fire!" Merrick bellowed, and the Redemption's broadside boomed, shaking the ship to its keel. Thick gray smoke swept over the deck. When it dissipated, blackened holes rent the hull of the galleonone below the waterline and the others smashing her bulwarks and mizzen.

Merrick held the glass to his eye, trying to assess his enemy's mood. Were they going to surrender, or was the commander too proud to relinquish so soon?

Sloane came and stood beside him, while another pirate yelled from the railing, "Blast 'em Cap'n, blast 'em. What are ye waitin' fer?"

Merrick lowered his glass. A Spanish galleon was no small prize, but to take her he must avoid boarding her in hand-to-hand combat, for his fifty men would be no match for the two hundred aboard the galleon. He must cripple her first to the point where the Spaniards believed they would sink, but not enough to plunge her into the Caribbean's depths before his crew could get on board and relieve them of their treasure.

Although the ship was bilging fast and listing heavily to larboard, there were still no signs of surrender.

Merrick slapped the glass shut and ordered the ship to come about. "Helm, hard aport!"

With straining cordage and creaking blocks, the Redemption swung slowly around, close-hauled, bearing its larboard gun ports ominously at the galleon. She emptied them in a thunderous volley that hammered its larboard side. The ship listed under the impact, putting it out of position for any return fire.

When the smoke cleared, Merrick followed up with bar shot that slashed through the galleon's rigging and tore into the mainmast. Upon his order, his crew swept the weather deck with swivel guns and musket fire from the top, sending the Spaniards scurrying. If only this final onslaught would dissuade the Spanish captain of any further attempts at resistance, and thus any additional loss of life.

With each thunderous blast of the cannons, Charlisse felt as though her slender body would explode. She barely had time to recover from the last one when the Redemption made a swift turn, tossing her across the small cabin.

The pirates bellowed. Musket and pistol shots cracked the air. In the distance, she heard an agonized scream.

Creeping up the companionway, she slunk up on deck and crouched behind the mainmast, scanning the scene before her.

The galleon was ten yards off their starboard side. Several charred and smoking holes lined her hull. The mainmast had cracked like a tree split with an ax, and had toppled seaward, taking its sails with it and dropping its ratlines and cords in a tangled web. Black smoke poured from a hatch on the waist. The once-mighty galleon leaned heavily and was bilging fast.

The distraught Spanish soldiers in their black corselets and high-crested helmets scrambled across the deck on the orders of their commander, whom Charlisse could see standing on the poop deck, his black periwig blowing in the wind, as he gazed at the oncoming enemy.

The pirates chanted, "Death, death, death, death …" as they waved their fists and weapons in the air. An ominous chill overtook Charlisse.

Merrick stood on the foredeck, looking like the pirate captain he wasone hand on the hilt of his cutlass, the other on his hip, calmly awaiting the outcome of their assault. A slow grin appeared on his lips when he saw the red-and-gold banner of Castile lowered, then quickly replaced by a white flag of truce.

The pirates shouted in victory. Merrick ordered the Redemption positioned alongside the galleon to grapple her in a wood-crunching thud.

The faces of the Spanish soldiers paled as they backed away from the mass of pirates who now spilled over the bulwarks. Like a horde of ravenous wolves, they collected the muskets, pistols, knifes, and scabbards the Spaniards had tossed to the deck in surrender.

Charlisse stood frozen in her spot behind the mainmast. If the pirates were going to torture and brutalize their prisonerslike so many stories she had heardshe would witness it for herself and learn just what type of men they really were, along with the captain who led them.

Those piercing black eyes met hers as he strutted down the forecastle ladder. His brow lifted momentarily. With a quick nod to Sloane, he gestured in her direction.

Donning his captain's hat and his waistcoat of black taffeta with silver lace, Merrick stood steadfastly awaiting the arrival of the captain of the Santa Domingo, who was being escorted aboard the Redemption.

The commander of the galleon halted before Merrick, his face flushed and swollenfrom anger or embarrassment, it was hard to tell. He stared into the captain's eyes with an impudence that seemed to exude from his pores. He bowed and announced his name: Admiral Don Francisco de Espinosa.

With a sweep of his plumed hat, Captain Merrick bowed and spoke in fluent Castilian. An astonished look crossed the admiral's face.

Sloane joined Charlisse. She asked him if he understood what they were saying.

"Bits an' pieces, miss. Me Spanish's worse than me English." He chuckled and listened. "I think he's sayin' somethin' like, we won't be hurtin' them none."

The wave of relief alighting first on the admiral's face, then passing over his crew, was evidence that Sloane had understood correctly.

Merrick ordered the galleon's longboats lowered and filled with disarmed Spaniards, who sped for the nearby islands before the pirates had a change of heart.

The admiral, however, remained aboard the Redemption, standing next to Merrick as he watched every article of value being expertly ravaged from his ship, the hull of which sank lower with each passing minute. Despite his defeat, the admiral wore a look of insolence. He turned to Captain Merrick and spoke in English. "Fine seamanship, Captain. Quite unexpected from …" He hesitated, his voice tinged with fury.

"From a pirate?" Merrick said with a grin. "I assure you we are not all unlettered brutes."

The admiral grunted.

"Your trap was well executed, Admiral." Merrick repaid the compliment. "But next time, a bit of advice, if I may? Make sure the animal you lure is less cunning than you, especially when you carry such treasure." He nodded toward a broken chest of jewels being hefted over the bulwarks by six of his men. Several small holes allowed precious stones to spill from its sides onto the deck. Two pirates scampered after it, greedily snatching up the fallen gems, laughing as they went.

The admiral's face flushed. Veins pulsed on his sweaty brow.

"I've not had the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir?" he said in an insidious tone.

"Captain Edmund Merrick, of the pirate ship Redemption." Merrick offered a mocking bow. "A ship you would do well to avoid in the future, Admiral," he added with a malicious gleam in his eye.

The admiral's mouth compressed into a thin, angry line as he watched the last vestiges of wealth being stripped from his ship.

Charlisse beheld the proceedings with great interest. None of the Spanish soldiers had been tortured, maimed, or killed, and the treasuremore than she had ever laid eyes onhad been relieved from the galleon in a most orderly fashion. Merrick oversaw it all with authority while he conversed politely with the admiral.

When the pillaging was complete and the ship nearly sunk, the admiral, much to his obvious chagrin, was sent ashore to join his crew, with the assurances of Captain Merrick that word would be sent to Hispaniola of their whereabouts.

Two pirates, who had been found locked in the hold of the galleon, stood before their new captain, giddy at their sudden turn of fortune and readily accepting the duties Merrick assigned to them.

Soon the captain gave the command to weigh anchor and unfurl sails. With canvas spread to the favoring breeze, the Redemption set out to sea again, riding lower in the water, her hold bulging with treasure.

Charlisse, escorted by Sloane, made her way to the side railing to watch the remains of the galleon sink into the sea. A possessive hand rested on her lower back as Merrick slipped beside her. She jumped at his touch and an unavoidable warmth rose to her face.

"Watch." He pointed toward the Spanish ship.

The poor abandoned warship, its drooping sails still flapping in the wind, and nearly half its hull underwater sat motionless as if contemplating its fate. Then a deafening roar pounded the air and the galleon ignited in a colossal burst of orange and yellow that sent pieces of wood and canvas flying high into the cloudless sky. The ship split in two. Within minutes, it disappeared in the jade-green waters of the Caribbean.

"What happened?" Charlisse asked. "I heard no cannon blast."

"Naw, miss." Sloane eyed her with glee. "We set her powder kegs to go off afore we left."

"Now, milady, if you don't mind going below?" Merrick asked with more politeness than usual. "The men are well into their drink and a bit more rambunctious than would allow for your safe presence."

Charlisse had already noticed the glances filtering her way, but she made no attempt to leave. Instead, she lifted her eyes to meet the captain's in a valiant stare. "Are we back on course for Port Royal?"

"Aye. Nigh a day's journey from here." His voice was stiff and formal, but his eyes held a mischievous glint.

She glanced at his lips, remembering their kiss, and a shimmer passed through her. Embarrassed, she averted her gaze, hoping he hadn't noticed, but when their eyes met again, his playful grin revealed that he had. He knows the effect he has on me.

Fighting to regain control, she met his gaze, determined that he would not cause her to falter in her purpose, either by his steamy regard or the flutters his presence sent through her.

"Milady?" He gave her a questioning nod toward the companionway stairs.

Sloane turned toward Charlisse. "I'll escort ye below, miss."

"No, thank you, Mr. Sloane," she said, without releasing her lock on Merrick's eyes. "I can take care of myself."

A chuckle escaped the captain's lips. "Very well." He bowed. "Milady." Then turning, he tugged Sloane beside him. "Come along, Sloane."

"But, Cap'n." Sloane cast an uneasy glance at Charlisse.

But at Merrick's pull, the old pirate turned and followed his captain below.

Clusters of pirates huddled across the deck, passing bottles of rum and snickering among themselves, offering Charlisse occasional glances. Ignoring them, she turned, clutched the railing, and looked out over the sea. She dared not believe Merrick had left her at the mercy of these salacious brutes. But wasn't that what she had asked for?

"Hey, sweetheart, are ye all alone?" A gruff voice jeered behind her.

"Where's yer lover boy?" another man said.

Alarm pricked at every nerve. She squeezed the railing until her fingers ached. If she went below, she would be admitting her weaknessadmitting she needed the captain. Oh, why was she always so stubborn? The turquoise sea spread before her, calm and inviting. She thought of jumping in, of escaping both the pirates and her helplessness. But she had been in that ocean before, and it was no more merciful than the God Merrick worshipped.

"How's about a littl' rum, darlin'?" The gruff voice was louder now, closer, as the ominous thump of bare feet struck the wooden deck.