Paul wondered why the Jolly Roger had such an effect on seamen, for as enraged as the Dutch master and officers were, their men were disconcerted. They were quick to point out that the pirate-captured pinnace had actually swept at one point right under the guns of the Stuyvesant. The Americans had taken it by having a trio of Belauran canoes paddle out from hiding to greet the pinnace before the Papaloans. Three Americans were lying prone in the canoes with weapons. The one called Dyak simply told the shocked coxswain of the Dutch boat to “Swim or die.” He swam.
The shooting they had heard was from a Dutchman in one of the pursuing Papaloan canoes. A return shot by the Americans from the deck of the pinnace had struck the lead paddler in the Papaloan craft and it had capsized.
The captured Papaloans had muttered something about “Dyak” and had warned the Dutch that some sort of fearless young warrior led the Americans. It was this Dyak whom they attributed with the shot that had relieved De Vries of his ear. Paul looked at the Dutchman as if to say: “What did I tell you?” then whispered, “Dyak indeed!”
“What did you say?”
“He’s Jack—Black Jack O’Reilly. I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“He’s as wily and foul a pirate as ever prowled the Caribbean and he’s come here now. Christ, the man is evil incarnate. He’s here with his band, living like a whoremaster king.” Paul knew the Dutch were skeptical of what he said but his currency was increasing with many of them. They would also expect him to be truthful if he was anxious to save his neck.
“Tell us more about this Black Jack,” barked one of the dragoons.
“What is there to tell? He kills all he can’t subjugate and eats his victims’ heads just to make a point.”
“Do you think we’re children needing a bedtime story?” Arloon sounded disgusted.
“Eats them, I tell you,” Paul continued. “You know of those men killed weeks past?”
“What of’em?” from a voice in the crowd.
“Was O’Reilly did them in. I saw him coming back into camp laughing and swinging the head of one of the poor devils. Black Jack threw it to one of his bitches and told her to cook it rare and spare none of the juices.” The Dutch sailors were now looking at each other warily; maybe this captive was willing to tell all he knew.
“What of the other man killed? His head wasn’t taken.”
“I couldn’t guess, he always takes… unless it had been somehow spoiled or ruined,” suggested Paul.
“Aye it’s true,” one of the Englishmen mumbled to De Vries. “Faroon was found with his jaw and skull smashed to jelly.”
“See, I knew it,” interjected Paul. “The head was spoiled.”
“Dyak, Americans, and all the God-damned Indians be damned to hell,” screamed De Vries. “Set sail for that cove.”
“Silence!” Arloon shouted. “Gather all the officers, mates, and dragoons.”
Paul stepped to the side as Arloon prepared for a meeting of all his principals. None seemed to pay the young captive any heed.
“The men are jittery, and with good cause. The Jolly Roger is their way of saying that they don’t give a rat’s red ass about us, our dragoons, and our ship with its twelve-gun broadside. It’s their way of saying these are their islands, and they consider us the prey and not the hunters,” the first officer of the Stuyvesant said.
“Are they insane besides being criminals? Do they wish to die?”
“I might point out, Mr. De Vries, sir, that in our dealings with them thus far we have lost five white men and two of our Asian crewmen—to say nothing of what they did to you. We have only this one captive—deserter, whatever he is—to show for our troubles.”
“That’s because they don’t stand and fight. We’ll simply corner them where they will have to fight like men. They have no stomach for a face-off.”
“Sir, permission to speak.” The sergeant of dragoons addressed himself to the captain. He was a grisly man, no ambitions past what he already was, Paul guessed, a man who had the experience of many bloody encounters carved deeply into his face and cared nothing for rich-boy ship managers who prattled when they should be listening.
“Your opinion is always valued, Sergeant,” Arloon remarked warmly.
“I have no doubt we can take these men in a disciplined confrontation, soldier to soldier. But it is my duty to apprise you of the situation as I see it.”
Arloon nodded for him to continue; Paul had the feeling this man knew his business.
“We have knowledge that they possess at least five shoulder arms and a pistol.”
“Aye.”
“To our knowledge—and we have discussed this at length among ourselves—they have fired these weapons a total of nine times.” He looked at the officers, as if waiting for the thought to sink in. “With those nine shots, they have inflicted nine casualties. These men may be no soldiers but they follow orders—maybe they were part of a ship’s crew, and they are well led—and the bastards can shoot.”
“Yes, but—” De Vries attempted to interrupt, but the sergeant, who recognized only the captain as his superior, continued speaking.
“They have some sort of strong bond with the savages, particularly those of Belaur. We’re positive that at least one of the men, possibly more, who handled a rifle during the armed attack on the prisoner pens was a native.”
“What!” De Vries exclaimed in surprise.
“Gentlemen, that savage shot one of my men in the heart from over a hundred yards away.”
Paul couldn’t make himself any smaller where he had stowed himself next to a deck gun. The information about the Indians being trained to shoot was something he obviously should have shared with them if he was being as forthcoming as he tried to make them think.
Murmurs broke out all around the table until Arloon raised his hand for the man to continue.
“Also, it wasn’t any musket; that kaffir bastard was shooting a long rifle. Fine weapon—the Americans use them on their Kentucky frontier, can’t imagine why they’d have one here. I don’t know what to make of all this, sir, but I didn’t get these white whiskers and scars on this ugly mug from underestimating my enemy. Please don’t put us in a position where we must depend on trusting the natives, and don’t figure these Americans for a few drunken renegades with guns. They seem to think we’re fighting on their soil and we’re the only foreigners here. And that one,” he pointed to Paul, “I trust him not at all. He’s one of them or only recently converted to save his skin. There, I’ve said my piece and respectfully await your orders, Captain.”
De Vries stood straight and looked the captain in the eye. “I’ve heard enough,” he said. “Of course we’re dealing with desperate men and possibly pirates, but I didn’t think I’d ever see Dutch soldiers flinch in the face of duty.” Most were embarrassed at the unfair assessment of the dragoons’ courage, but said nothing. “Damn it, we head to Belaur on the morning’s tide or there will be hell to pay in Holland.”
“They won’t meet us at the village now,” the sergeant said.
“What!”
“They insist on the spit south of the village. It too has a deep cove we can maneuver into. They say that is where they will discuss terms of surrender.”
“Then get us there.”
Arloon looked at De Vries and said very quietly, “I will do that, sir, but mark you, man, do not—I say, do not—say one word to my men as an order during the maneuver in that cove.” Arloon was as red as the setting sun. “Your council of merchants and royal decree be damned. If you interfere in that action, I’ll shoot you myself.”
He turned to Paul. “I don’t trust you either, but it makes no difference. Listen to me well.” Paul stood frozen. “You’re no fool. Whatever your allegiances are or were, you know by now that by two days hence we shall own these islands and there will be no place to run. If we release you and find that this chief… Yatoo, what’s his name?”