"Good enough," said Captain Pound. "Now let me give ye your share from the last trip."
"Did ye do well by't, Tom?"
"Not bad," Pound allowed, and added that since the terms of their agreement gave all the cash to the pirates and all the jewels to Meech, who could easily sell them in London, it was to be expected that on westbound trips the pirates would fare as well or better, but on eastbound trips, when many of the passengers would have nothing left but the family jewels, Meech would get the lion's share. The transaction was completed; Meech made ready to depart in the longboat, and Ebenezer, who had heard the entire colloquy in horror and astonishment, prepared to evacuate his hiding-place, the pirates having long since finished loading the hold.
"One more thing," Meech said, and the poet scrambled back to hear. "If Coode hath not found the rest of his Journal by the time he fetches this part, tell him I've a notion where to look for't, but 'twill cost him twenty pounds if he finds it there. Did ye see what's writ on the back of all those pages?"
"You mean this Voiage Up the Bay of Chesapeake? What is it?"
Meech explained that Kenelm Cheseldyne had recorded the Journal of the 1691 Assembly on the reverse pages of a bound quarto manuscript provided him by Coode, which happened to be an old diary the rebel had acquired while hiding out in Jamestown. " 'Twas a wight named Smith wrote the diary — damnedest thing ye ever read! — and they all call it 'Smith's book' for safety's sake, the Papists as well as the rebels, though few of 'em e'er laid eyes on't." What would be more natural, then, he asked of Pound, than for Baltimore to distribute the portions for safekeeping to various confederates of the same surname?
Ebenezer began to sweat. Pound, to his great relief, laughed at the conjecture as preposterous, but promised to relay it to Coode's agents for what it was worth.
"Which is twenty pounds," Meech declared merrily. "Come, threaten me to my boat, now, or they'll see our game. I'll be back with the Smoker's Fleet next spring or before."
Ebenezer scrambled out of his cranny, over boxes and barrels, and up the ladder to the hatch, nearly sick with indignation and excitement. He was bursting to tell Bertrand all he'd heard; in the considerable uproar that greeted the appearance of the two captains he was able to climb to the deck and move forward to the fo'c'sle companionway (which led also to his berth in the rope-locker) without attracting undue notice.
The men were indeed in mutinous spirits, ready to make trouble at the slightest excuse. Grudgingly they released the two terrified sailors from the Poseidon, whom they had tormented throughout the captains' private conversation; their faces darkened as Meech's longboat, under the barrels of their pistols, struck out for its mother ship on the north horizon.
Ebenezer slipped through the fo'c'sle to his cell — which customarily remained unlocked — and told Bertrand the story of Meech's treachery, Coode's latest intrigues, and the valuable document in the Captain's quarters.
"I must lay hands on those papers!" he exclaimed. "How Coode came by them I can't imagine, but Baltimore shall have them!"
Bertrand shook his head. "Marry, sir, 'tis not thy fight. A poet hath no part in these things."
"Not so," Ebenezer replied. "I vowed to fling myself into the arms of Life, and what is life but the taking of sides? Besides, I've private reasons for wanting that Journal." How pleased would Burlingame be, he reflected happily, to learn that Captain John Smith had a secret diary! Who knew but what these very papers were the key poor Henry so long had sought to unlock the mystery of his parentage?
"I see those reasons plain enough," the valet declared. "The book would fetch a pretty price if ye put it up for bids. But 'twill do ye small good to steal it when we've no more than a fortnight left on earth. Marry, did ye see what spirits the Moor is in? If this Coode doth not kill us, the pirates will."
But the Laureate did not agree. "This faction may be our salvation, not our doom." He described the delicate atmosphere on deck. " 'Tis Pound that holds us prisoner, not the crew," he said. "They've naught to gain by killing us if they mutiny, but they may well kill him. What's more, they know naught of the Journal. Belike they'll make us members of the crew, and once the turmoil hath subsided I'll find a way to steal the book. Then we can watch our chance to slip ashore. Or better, once we're pirates like the rest we can hide aboard some ship we're sent to plunder; they'd never miss us. Let 'em mutiny, I say; we'll join them!"
As if the last were a command, an instant later a shout went up on deck, followed at once by a brace of pistol-shots. Ebenezer and Bertrand hurried up to declare their allegiance to the mutineers, who they readily assumed had taken charge of the shallop, and indeed they found Boabdil at the helm, grinning at the men assembled in the waist. But instead of lying dead on the deck, Captain Pound stood beside him, arms crossed, a smoking pistol in each hand and a grim smile upon his face, and it was one of the crew, a one-eyed Carolina boy named Patch, who sprawled, face-down and bleeding on the poop companionway.
"We'll put into port when I say so," Pound declared, and returned the pistols to his sash. Two men stepped forward to retrieve their wounded shipmate.
"Over the side with him," the Captain ordered, and despite the fact that he was not yet dead, the Carolinian was tumbled into the ocean.
"The next man I shan't waste a ball on," Pound threatened, and did not even look back to see his victim flounder in the wake.
"Why is the Moor so happy?" Bertrand whispered to Ebenezer. "Ye said he was the wrathfulest of all."
The poet, stunned by his first sight of death, shook his head and swallowed furiously to keep from being ill.
Just then the lookout cried "Sail, ho! Sail to eastward!" The pirates looked to see a three-master heading in their direction, but were too chastened to display any great interest.
"There, now!" laughed Captain Pound, after examining the stranger through his glass. "If Patch had held his peace ten minutes more, he'd not be feeding sea-crabs! D'ye know what ship stands yonder, men?"
They did not, nor did the prospect of robbing it fill them with enthusiasm.
" 'Tis the London ship I've laid for these two weeks," Pound declared, "whilst you wretches were conspiring in the fo'c'sle! Did ye ne'er hear tell of a brigantine called the Cyprian?"
On hearing this name the crew cheered lustily, again and again. They slapped one another's backs, leaped and danced about the deck, and at the Captain's orders sprang as if possessed to ratlines, sheets, halyards, and brace. Topsails and forestaysail were broken out, the helm was put hard over, and the shallop raced to meet her newest prey head-on.
"What is this Cyprian, that changed their minds so lightly?" Bertrand whispered.
"I do not know," his master answered, sorry to see the mutiny come to nothing. "But she hath sprung from the sea like her namesake, and haply we'll have cause to love her. Look sharp for your chance to slip aboard; I hope to steal the Journal if I can."
15: The Rape of the Cyprian; Also, the Tale of Hicktopeake, King of Accomack, and the Greatest Peril the Laureate Has Fallen Into Thus Far