“Pitts!”
“—and Morely only yesterday. And there is a standing warrant for your arrest.”
A thousand arguments sprang to Hunter’s mind, and a thousand questions. But he said nothing. Emerson was a functionary, a man charged with carrying out the orders of his commander, the foppish dandy Scott. Emerson would do his duty as he was ordered.
“Which jail shall I be sent to?”
“The Marshallsea.”
Hunter laughed at the ludicrousness of it. “I know the jailer of the Marshallsea.”
“Not anymore, you don’t. There is a new man. Hacklett’s man.”
“I see. “
Hunter said nothing further. He listened to the stroke of the oars in the water, and he watched Fort Charles loom closer.
Once inside the fort, he was impressed by the readiness and alertness of the troops. In the past, one could find a dozen drunken lookouts on the battlements of Fort Charles, singing dirty songs. This evening there were none, and the men were neatly dressed in full uniform.
Hunter was marched by a company of armed and alert soldiers into the town, through Lime Street, now unusually quiet, and then north along York Street, past darkened taverns, which normally glowed warmly at this hour. The silence in the town, the desertion of the muddy streets, was striking.
Marshallsea, the men’s prison, was located at the end of York Street. It was a large stone building with fifty cells on two floors. The interior stank of urine and feces; rats scuttled through the rushes on the floor; the men in the cells stared at Hunter with hollow eyes as he was marched, by torchlight, to a cell and locked inside.
He looked around his cell. There was nothing inside; no bed, no cot, just straw on the floor, and a high window with bars. Through the window he could see a cloud drifting across the face of a waning moon.
As the door clanged closed behind him, he turned to look at Emerson. “When shall I be tried for piracy?”
“Tomorrow,” Emerson said, and then turned away.
. . .
THE TRIAL OF Charles Hunter took place on October 21, 1665, a Saturday. Ordinarily, the Justice House did not meet on a Saturday, but nevertheless Hunter was tried on that day. The earthquake-damaged structure was largely empty as Hunter was ushered in, alone, without the rest of his crew, to face a high tribunal of seven men sitting at a wooden table. The tribunal was presided over by Robert Hacklett himself, as Acting Governor of the Jamaica Colony.
He was made to stand before the tribunal while the charge was read to him.
“Raise your right hand.”
He did.
“You, Charles Hunter, you and every one of your company, by the authority of our Sovereign Lord, Charles, King of Great Britain, are indicted as follows.”
There was a pause. Hunter scanned the faces: Hacklett, glowering down at him, with the faintest trace of a smug smile; Lewisham, Judge of the Admiralty, evidently ill at ease; Commander Scott, picking his teeth with a gold toothpick; the merchants Foster and Poorman, averting their eyes from Hunter’s glance; Lieutenant Dodson, a rich officer in the militia, tugging at his uniform; James Phips, a merchant captain. Hunter knew them all, and he recognized how uneasy they were.
“Forasmuch as in open contempt of the laws of your country and the sovereign alliances of your king, you have wickedly united and articled together for the annoyance and disturbance of the subjects and properties of His Most Christian Majesty Philip of Spain upon the land and seas. And have, in conformity to the most evil and mischievous intentions, been to the Spanish settlement upon the island of Matanceros for the purpose of plundering and burning and robbing such ships and vessels as then happened in your way.
“And further ye stand charged with the unlawful opposition upon a Spanish vessel in the straits south of Matanceros, and the sinking of same, with the loss of all lives and properties aboard the ship.
“And lastly, that in the acting and compassing of all this, you were all and every one of you in wicked combination to exert, and actually did, in your several stations, use your utmost endeavors to distress and assault the said Spanish ships and dominions and murder the subjects of Spain. How plead you, Charles Hunter?”
There was a brief pause. “Not guilty,” Hunter said.
For Hunter, the trial was already a travesty. The Act of Parliament 1612 specified that the court must be composed of men who had no interest, directly or indirectly, in the particulars of the case being tried. And yet every man on the tribunal stood to gain from Hunter’s conviction and the subsequent confiscation of his ship and her treasure.
What confused him was the detailed nature of the indictment. No one could know what had occurred during the Matanceros raid except himself and his men. And yet the indictment had included his successful defense against the Spanish warship. Where had the court gotten its information? He could only assume that one of the crew had talked, probably under torture, the night before.
The court accepted his plea without the slightest reaction. Hacklett leaned forward. “Mr. Hunter,” he said, in a calm voice, “this tribunal recognizes the high standing you hold within the Jamaica Colony. We do not wish in this proceeding to stand upon hollow ceremony, which may not see justice served. Will you speak now in defense of your indictment?”
This was a surprise. Hunter paused a moment before answering. Hacklett was breaking the rules of judicial procedure. It must be to his advantage to do so. Nevertheless, the opportunity seemed too good to ignore.
“If it may please the distinguished members of this fair court,” Hunter said, with no trace of irony, “I shall endeavor to do so.”
The heads of the men on the tribunal nodded thoughtfully, carefully, reasonably.
Hunter looked from one to the next, before he began to speak.
“Gentlemen, no one among you is more thoroughly informed than I, of the sacred treaty lately signed between His Majesty King Charles and the Spanish Court. Never should I break the newly forged ties between our nations without provocation. Yet such provocation occurred, and in abundance. My vessel, the Cassandra, was set upon by a Spanish ship of the line, and all my men captured without warrant. Further, two were murdered by the captain of that vessel, one Cazalla. Finally, the same Cazalla intercepted an English merchantman bearing, among other cargoes unknown to me, the Lady Sarah Almont, niece of the Governor of this Colony.
“This Spaniard, Cazalla, an officer of King Philip, destroyed the English merchantman Entrepid, killing all those aboard in a bloodthirsty violent act. Among those dispatched was a favorite of His Majesty Charles, one Captain Warner. I am certain His Majesty mourns the loss of this gentleman very much.”
Hunter paused. The tribunal did not know this information and it was plain they were not pleased to hear of it.
King Charles took a very personal view of life; his normal good temper might be destroyed if one of his friends was injured or even insulted — let alone killed.
“For these several provocations,” Hunter said, “we attacked in reprisal the Spanish fortress at Matanceros, restoring Her Ladyship to safety, and taking as plunder what trifling reparations we deemed reasonable and proper. This is not piracy in the first instance, gentlemen. This is honorable revenge for heinous misdeeds upon the high seas, and such is the substance and nature of my conduct.”
He paused and looked at the faces of the tribunal. They stared back at him impassively; they all knew the truth, he realized.
“Lady Sarah Almont can bear witness to this testimony, as can every man aboard my ship, if such be called. There is no truth in the indictment as charged, for there can be no piracy except in the absence of due provocation, and there was indeed most strenuous provocation.”