Voyage of Malice by Paul C R Monk

Author:Paul C R Monk [Monk, Paul C R]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomtree Press
Published: 2017-06-19T22:00:00+00:00

SEVENTEEN

It was an hour past noon when the Sally-Ann put into the natural harbour to refill with water, venison, and a barrel of fruit.

The two-masted sloop, armed with six guns, was on her way to Jamaica. She displaced 120 tons, was manned by fourteen crew members—composed of a mixed bag of nationalities, led by a French captain—and was carrying a delivery of French wine and fineries procured from merchants in Martinique. Jacob could do worse than to pay for his passage aboard.

Darlington’s ship would be flopped on its side for weeks to come, and Girard’s body, beached on the south shore, could be discovered at any moment. Once the soldier was reported missing, the garrison commander would put together a search party. So, Jacob concluded, it would be foolish not to take the providential ride to freedom.

He would not be entirely alone. Jacques Rouchon, who knew his way around a ship and could tie knots, had paid his passage by joining the crew. Delpech had told him he lacked the patience to wait another few weeks for Mr Darlington’s ship, laid up as it was, and that he must find a passage to Europe to reunite with his family.

Rouchon had put Jacob’s edginess down to the imminent departure when he said: ‘Aye, Monsieur Delpech, sure as day follows night, yer bound to find a passage across the Atlantic from Port Royal.’

By early evening, the sloop was ready to slip out with the land wind. Thankfully, Girard’s absence had still gone unnoticed. Jacob reckoned his mates were covering for him, thinking he must be sleeping off a drunken stupor somewhere under a tree.

It was a good easterly that blew, and the fat, gleaming sun still had an hour to go before it turned orange and sank into the horizon. Moreover, there was naught on Cow Island that could tempt the crew to pass the night there. Truth was, nothing could compare with Port Royal, and they were all eager as hell to get there.

Jacob, aided by Darlington, placed his effects with his medical chest into the longboat. Jacques Rouchon was there with another sailor, loading the last runlets of rum. Marianne, Madame de Fontenay, and Madame Odet were standing thirty yards up from the foreshore to see Jacob off.

A few hours earlier, Madame de Fontenay, informed of the accident, had said to Jacob, ‘I encourage you to run with the wind and never stop till you reach your goal, Mr Delpech. We do not want to see you fall short now!’ But the thought now entered his mind that it might be premature to abandon them all to the care of Mr Darlington, whom, after all, he hardly knew.

However, the young Englishman must have read his thoughts. Striding back with him towards the waiting women, in a confidential tone of voice, he said, ‘Fear not for the ladies, Monsieur Delpech, nor for Mademoiselle Duvivier. I shall take good care of them. You have my word, Sir.’

‘It heartens me to hear you say so.

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