Buccaneer Read Free Page B

captain’s voice snapped.
    ‘Enough of that! You’re speaking to Governor Lynch’s nephew. He’ll not wish to hear your opinions!’
    The sailor glared at Hector. ‘Nephew to Lynch, are you! If I’d known, I’d have pissed in the dipper before you drank from it,’ and with that he turned and stalked away.

    H ECTOR BROODED on the sailor’s information throughout the two days and nights it took to reach Jamaica. The pursuit of the distant sail had been abandoned when it became clear that there was no hope of catching the prey. Each night the young man bedded down on a coil of rope near the sloop’s bows, and by day he was left alone. Any buccaneer who came his way either ignored him or gave him a black look so he presumed that his alleged relationship to Lynch had become common knowledge. Coxon paid him no attention. When dawn broke on the third morning he was feeling stiff and tired and concerned for his own fate as he got to his feet and looked out over the bowsprit towards their landfall.
    Straight ahead, Jamaica rose from the sea, high and rugged, the first rays of the sun striking patterns of vivid green and dark shadow across the folds and spurs of a mountain range which reared up a few miles inland. The ketch was heading into a sheltered bay where the land sloped down more gently to a beach of grey sand. There was no sign of a harbour though beyond the strand was a cluster of pale dots which Hector presumed were the roofs of huts or small houses. Otherwise the place was deserted. There was not even a fishing boat to be seen. Captain Coxon had made a discreet arrival.
    Within moments of her anchor splashing into water so clear that the rippled sand of the sea floor could be seen four fathoms down, Coxon and Hector were being rowed ashore in the ship’s cockboat. ‘I’ll be back in less than two days,’ the buccaneer captain told the boat crew as they hauled up on the beach. ‘No one to stray out of sight of the ship. Stay close at hand and be ready to set sail as soon as I return.’ He turned to Hector. ‘You come with me. It’s a four-hour walk. And you can make yourself useful.’ He removed the heavy coat he was wearing, and handed it to the younger man to carry. Hector was surprised to see the curls of a wig sticking out of one of its pockets. Underneath his coat Coxon was wearing an embroidered linen shirt with a ruffled front and lace at the cuffs. His stockings and breeches were clean and brushed and of fine quality, and he had changed into a new pair of shoes with silver buckles. Hector wondered at the reason for such elegant clothes.
    ‘Where are we going?’ he asked.
    ‘To Llanrumney,’ was the brusque reply.
    Not daring to ask an explanation, Hector followed the buccaneer captain as he set off. After so many days at sea since leaving Africa, the ground tilted and swayed beneath the young man’s feet, and until he found his land legs it was difficult to keep up with Coxon’s brisk pace. At the back of the beach they skirted around a small hamlet of five or six wooden huts thatched with plantain leaves and occupied by families of blacks, usually a woman with several children. There were no menfolk to be seen and no one paid them a second glance. They came upon the start of a footpath which led inland, and very soon the hollow, open sounds of the sea had been replaced by the buzzing and chirping of the insects and birds in the dense vegetation on either side of the trail. The air was hot and humid, and in less than a mile Coxon’s fine shirt was sticking to his back with sweat. At first the track kept to the bank of a small river but then it branched off to the left where the river was joined by a tributary stream, and here Hector saw his first native birds, a small flock of bright green parrots with yellow beaks which flew away with quick wing beats, chattering and scolding the intruders.
    Coxon stopped to take a rest. ‘When was the last time you saw your uncle?’ he asked.
    Hector