“While sailing for Matanceros, we came upon the Spanish warship. Seeing that we were outnumbered, we were captured by the Spanish, as pirates.”
“And what did you do?”
“I had no wish to die in Havana as a pirate,” Sanson said, “especially as I had been forced to do Mr. Hunter’s bidding thus far. So I hid, and subsequently enabled my companions to escape, trusting that they would then decide to return to Port Royal.”
“And they did not?”
“Indeed they did not. Mr. Hunter, once returned to command of his ship, forced us to set sail for Matanceros to carry out his original intent.”
Hunter could stand no more. “I forced you? How could I force sixty men?”
“Silence!” bellowed Hacklett. “The prisoner will remain silent, or he shall be removed from court.” Hacklett turned back to Sanson. “How did you fare with the prisoner at this time?”
“Badly,” Sanson said. “He clapped me in irons for the duration of the voyage.”
“Matanceros and the galleon were subsequently captured?”
“Aye, gentlemen,” Sanson said. “And I was placed in the Cassandra thusly: Mr. Hunter went aboard the ship and determined that she was unseaworthy, after the attack on Matanceros. He then gave me command of this poor ship, in the manner of marooning, for he did not expect her to survive the open sea. He gave me a small crew of men who felt as I did. We made for Port Royal when a hurricane overtook us, and our ship was shattered with the loss of all hands. I, myself, in the longboat, managed to come to Tortuga and thence here.”
“What know you of Lady Sarah Almont?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Not until this moment,” Sanson said. “Is there such a person?”
“Indeed,” Hacklett said, with a quick glance at Hunter. “Mr. Hunter claims to have rescued her from Matanceros and brought her safely thus.”
“She was not with him when he left Matanceros,” Sanson said. “If I were to conjecture, I should say Mr. Hunter attacked an English merchantman and took her passenger as prize, to justify his wrongdoings.”
“A most convenient event,” Hacklett said. “But why have we not heard of this same merchantman?”
“Probably he killed all hands aboard and sunk her,” Sanson said. “On his homeward voyage from Matanceros.”
“One final inquiry,” Hacklett said. “Do you recall a storm at sea on the twelfth and thirteenth of September?”
“A storm? No, gentlemen. There was no storm.”
Hacklett nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Sanson. You may step down.”
“If it please the court,” Sanson said, and left the room.
There was a long pause after the door slammed with a hollow, echoing sound. The court turned to face Hunter, who was trembling and white with anger, and yet he fought for composure.
“Mr. Hunter,” Hacklett said, “can you charge your memory with any particulars to account for the discrepancy between the stories you have related and those of Mr. Sanson whom you have said you respect so highly?”
“He is a liar, sir. A foul and black liar.”
“The court is prepared to consider such an accusation if you can acquaint the court with particulars which will serve in evidence, Mr. Hunter.”
“I have only my word,” Hunter said, “but you may have ample evidence from Lady Sarah Almont herself, who will contradict the French tale in all respects.”
“We shall certainly have her witness,” Hacklett said. “But before calling her, a perplexing question remains. The attack on Matanceros — justified or no — occurred on September twenty-first. You returned to Port Royal on October twentieth. Among pirates, one expects that such a delay represents a sailing to an obscure island, for the purpose of concealing treasure taken, and thus cheating the king. What is your explanation?”
“We were engaged in a sea battle,” Hunter said. “Then we fought a hurricane for three days. We careened in an island outside the Boca del Dragon for four days. Subsequently, we set sail but were besieged by a kraken—”
“I beg your pardon. Do you mean a monster of the depths?”
“I do.”
“How amusing.” Hacklett laughed, and the others on the tribunal laughed with him. “Your imagination to explain this monthlong delay gains our admiration, if not our credence.” Hacklett turned in his chair. “Call the Lady Sarah Almont to give evidence.”
“Lady Sarah Almont!”
A moment later, looking pale and drawn, Lady Sarah entered the room, took the oath, and awaited her questions. Hacklett, with a most solicitous manner, peered down at her.
“Lady Sarah, I wish first to welcome you to the Jamaica Colony, and to apologize for the dastardly business which must be your first encounter with society in these regions.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hacklett,” she said, with a slight bow. She did not look at Hunter, not once. That worried him.
“Lady Sarah,” Hacklett said, “it has become a question of importance to this tribunal whether you were captured by Spaniards and then released by Captain Hunter, or whether you were captured by Captain Hunter in the first instance. Can you enlighten us?”
“I can.”
“Please do so freely.”
“I was aboard the merchantman Entrepid,” she said, “bound from Bristol for Port Royal when . . .”
Her voice trailed off. There was a long silence. She looked at Hunter. He stared into her eyes, which were frightened in a way he had never seen.
“Go on, if you please.”
“. . . When we spotted a Spanish vessel on the horizon. It opened fire upon us, and we were captured. I was surprised to discover that the captain of this Spanish ship was an Englishman.”
“Do you mean Charles Hunter, the prisoner who stands before us now?”
“I do.”
“Please continue.”
Hunter hardly heard the rest of her words: how he had taken her onto the galleon, then killed the English crew and set the ship afire. How he had told Lady Sarah that he would pretend he had saved her from the Spaniards, in order to justify his raid on Matanceros. She delivered her story in a high-pitched, taut voice, speaking rapidly, as if to finish the matter as quickly as possible.
“Thank you, Lady Sarah. You may step down.”
She left the room.
The tribunal faced Hunter, seven men with blank, expressionless faces, examining Hunter like a creature already dead. A long moment passed.
“We have heard nothing from the witness of your colorful adventures with the Boca del Dragon, or the sea monster. Have you any proofs?” Hacklett asked mildly.
“Only this,” Hunter said, and, swiftly, he stripped to the waist. Across his chest were the tears and scars of giant, saucerlike suckers, an unearthly sight. The members of the tribunal gasped. They murmured among themselves.
Hacklett banged his gavel for order.
“An interesting amusement, Mr. Hunter, but not persuasive to the educated gentlemen present. We can all surely imagine the devices you employed, in your desperate predicament, to re-create the effects of such a monster. The court is not persuaded.”
Hunter looked at the faces of the seven men, and saw that they were persuaded. But Hacklett’s gavel banged again.
“Charles Hunter,” Hacklett said, “this court finds you justly convicted of the crime of piracy and robbery upon the high seas, as charged. Do you wish to say any reason why sentence shall not be carried out?”
Hunter paused. He thought of a thousand oaths and expletives, but none would serve any purpose. “No,” he said softly.
“I did not hear you, Mr. Hunter.”
“I said no.”
“Then you, Charles Hunter, and all your crew, are adjudged and sentenced to be carried back to the place from whence you came, and thence on Monday next to the place of execution, the High Street Square in the town of Port Royal, and there to be hanged by the neck till dead, dead, dead. And after this, you and each of you shall be taken down and your bodies hanged from the yardarms of your vessel. May God have mercy upon your souls. Take him away, jailer.”