He finished, and looked at the faces. They were bland now, blank and unreadable. He felt chilled.
Hacklett leaned over the table toward him. “Have you any further to speak in your reply to the indictment, Mr. Charles Hunter?”
“Nothing further,” Hunter said. “I have spoken all I have to say.”
“And most creditably, too, if I may take the liberty to say,” Hacklett commented. There were nods and murmurs of assent from the other six men. “But the truth of your speech is another question, which we must all now consider. Be so good as to inform this court under what business your vessel sailed in the first instance.”
“The cutting of logwood,” Hunter said.
“You had letters of marque?”
“I did, from Sir James Almont himself.”
“And where are these documents?”
“They were lost with the Cassandra,” Hunter said, “but I have no doubt Sir James will confirm that he drew them up.”
“Sir James,” Hacklett said, “is in great distress of illness, and cannot confirm nor deny any matter at hand before this court. Nonetheless, I feel we can take you at your word that these papers were issued.”
Hunter bowed slightly.
“Now then,” Hacklett said. “Where were you captured by the Spanish warship? In what waters?”
Hunter instantly sensed the dilemma he faced and hesitated before answering, knowing that the hesitation would damage his credibility. He decided to tell the truth — almost.
“In the Windward Passage north of Puerto Rico.”
“North of Puerto Rico?” Hacklett said with an air of elaborate surprise. “Is there logwood in those parts?”
“No,” Hunter said, “but we were buffeted by a mighty storm for two days, and sent far off our intended course.”
“Indeed, it must have been, for Puerto Rico is to the north and east, while all the logwood is to the south and west of Jamaica.”
Hunter said, “I cannot be held accountable for storms.”
“What was the date of this storm?”
“The twelfth and thirteenth of September.”
“Odd,” Hacklett said. “The weather was fair in Jamaica on those days.”
“The weather at sea is not always similar to that of the land,” Hunter said, “as is well known.”
“The court thanks you, Mr. Hunter, for your lesson in seamanship,” Hacklett said. “Although I think you have little to teach the gentlemen here assembled, eh?” He chuckled briefly. “Now then, Mr. Hunter — forgive me if I do not address you as Captain Hunter — do you aver that there never was, at any time, an intent of your vessel and its crew to attack any Spanish settlement or dominion?”
“I do so aver.”
“You never held counsel to plan such an unlawful attack?”
“I did not.” Hunter spoke with as much certainty as he could muster, knowing that his crew dared not contradict him on this point. To admit to the vote that was held in Bull Bay was tantamount to a conviction of piracy.
“On pain of your mortal soul, do you swear that no such intent was ever discussed with any member of your company?”
“I do.”
Hacklett paused. “Let me be certain to understand your import. You sailed upon a simple logwood expedition, and by ill fortune were cast far north by a storm which did not touch these shores. Subsequently, you were captured without provocation of any sort by a Spanish warship. Is this correct?”
“It is.”
“And further, you learned that this same warship attacked an English merchantman and took as hostage the Lady Sarah Almont, giving you cause for reprisal. Is that so?”
“It is.”
Hacklett paused again. “How came you to know the warship captured the Lady Sarah Almont?”
“She was on board the warship at the time of our capture,” Hunter said. “This I learned — from a Donnish soldier, who made a slip of the tongue.”
“Most convenient.”
“Yet that was the truth of the matter. After we made our escape — which is, I hope, no crime before this tribunal — we pursued the warship to Matanceros, and thence saw the Lady Sarah debarked to the fortress.”
“So you attacked, for the sole purpose of preserving this Englishwoman’s virtue?” Hacklett’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.
Hunter glanced from one face to the next on the tribunal. “Gentlemen,” he said, “it is my understanding that the function of this tribunal is not to determine whether I am a saint” — there was amused laughter — “but only whether I am a pirate. I knew, of course, of the galleon within the Matanceros harbor. That was a most estimable prize. And yet I pray the court will perceive that there was provocation for a score of such attacks — and provocation broadly speaking, admitting no legalistic quibbling nor technical point of turning.”
He looked toward the court reporter, whose duty it was to make a note of the proceedings. Hunter was astounded to notice that the man was sitting placidly and taking no notes.
“Tell us,” Hacklett said, “how you came to escape from the Spanish warship, once captured?”
“It was through the efforts of the Frenchman, Sanson, who performed with most estimable bravery.”
“You regard this Sanson highly?”
“Indeed I do, for I owe him my very life.”
“So be it,” Hacklett said. He turned in his chair. “Call the first witness in evidence, Mr. Andre Sanson!”
“Andre Sanson!”
Hunter turned to the door, astounded again, as Sanson walked into the courtroom. The Frenchman moved quickly, with smooth, liquid strides, and took his place in the witness box. He raised his right hand.
“Do you, Andre Sanson, solemnly promise and swear on the Holy Evangelists to bear true and faithful witness between the king and the prisoner in relation to the fact or facts of piracy and robbery he does now stand accused of, so help you God?”
“I do.”
Sanson lowered his right hand, and looked directly at Hunter. The gaze was flat and pitying. He held the glance for several seconds, until Hacklett spoke.
“Mr. Sanson.”
“Sir.”
“Mr. Sanson, Mr. Hunter has given his own account of the proceedings of this voyage. We wish to hear the story in your own words, as a witness whose valor has already been remarked by the accused. Will you tell us, please, what was the purpose of the voyage of Cassandra — as you understood it in the first instance?”
“The cutting of logwood.”
“And did you discover differently at any time?”
“I did.”
“Please explain to the court.”
“After we sailed on September ninth,” Sanson said, “Mr. Hunter made for Monkey Bay. There he announced to the several crew that his destination was Matanceros, to capture the Spanish treasures there.”
“And what was your reaction?”
“I was shocked,” Sanson said. “I reminded Mr. Hunter that such an attack was piracy and punishable by death.”
“And his response?”
“Oaths and foul curses,” Sanson said, “and the warning that if I did not participate wholeheartedly he would kill me as a dog, and feed me in pieces to the sharks.”
“So you participated in all that followed under duress, and not as a volunteer?”
“That is so.”
Hunter stared at Sanson. The Frenchman was calm and unruffled as he spoke. There was not the slightest trace of a lie. He looked at Hunter repeatedly, a defiant look, daring him to repudiate the story he so confidently told.
“What then transpired?”
“We set sail for Matanceros, where we hoped to make a surprise attack.”
“Excuse me, do you mean an attack without provocation?”
“I do.”
“Pray continue.”