No sooner had I released the poppet from her bonds then it became needful to refasten her. Alarms called from above warned of sail hailing into view on the horizon: perhaps a simple rumrunner, perhaps a ship of the line.
"Fair Bitch, I must interrupt our pleasures. My duties call. I leave you here, safe in my cabin, bound for your own protection. Be assured that you enjoy the protection of my officers and crew, no matter the outcome, while still they breathe.
"I am relaxing the arm bindings so you might rest in my bed until I return. And I shall." Showing her the location of hardtack and water and bringing out a covered thundermug, I left her intoxicating presence.
On the foredeck, I joined Jorge and chased Edwards below to rouse the crew and prepare for battle. Jorge handed me the glass, and I noted he'd had the ship swung to put our approaching foe in the moon's radiance. Eyeing the craft, I noted her neither to be a Pirate Hunter nor a battle frigate but a Dutch merchantman carrying only two masts and riding low in the water. Shining lights belowdecks proved her to be carrying passengers as well as cargo: such a ship would be armed, but lightly, and unwilling to do heavy battle. The fat Dutch master of the craft would sooner lose his cargo than his life, ship, or crew. Our empty hold would carry much booty.... and perhaps a few "passengers" as well.
Aboard the Dutch trader, the skipper was indeed sailing without great care. Unwilling to pay the costs of an armed companion ship, he believed cover of darkness would protect him as he dashed with full sail between ports. His lookout in the crow's nest had warned of sail upwind, but the incoming darkness of a cloudbank sheathed the St. Veronica in darkness. Returning to the company of his passengers, he stopped for some ale before reassuring them of a false alarm.
"Feel no fear, good people! We shall arrive safely to our destination. Fiddler! A merry tune for our guests!" And so he proceeded the intervening hours of St. Veronica's approach. By the time the tendrils of dawn light brightened the sky, the merchantman had almost been overtaken by the swift pirate craft.
Edwards and the gunners had been adjusting the angles of the gun mountings, meanwhile, to elevate them. Knowing we were after cargo and slaves, the cannons were loaded with chain-shot; this designed to rip sail and rend rope rather than seriously damage or sink the target. The crew, too, had been prepared. Armed with grapples and boathooks, they readied themselves to board once the trader had stopped running.
At that moment, Jorge fired the signal gun, sending a warning shot across the bow of their prey. Sudden panic was seen aboard the Dutch ship, the poor excuse for a Captain attempting to flee at last. Our superior speed, however allowed us abeam his craft quickly, and the chains tore his sheets and rigging. Coming about, I ordered three more broadsides. These fairly stopped her, having broken one mast and decapitated the other. Her Master had crewmen waving white, and lowering her colors. The "Holland Miss" was ours.
In moments we had grappled her alongside and boarded. The passengers poured out on deck at the encouragement of my crewmen, and were gathered together.
First I checked the crewmen, and found the typical for such a craft. Mostly too old or too young for battle, they sailed the "Holland Miss" for wages only. Climbing on the hold-cover, I addressed them.
"Men of the 'Holland Miss', I commend you on your wise choice to surrender. Although you will need to patch sails and fix your rigging, you and your ship will arrive safely at your destination. Some of your passengers will not be so lucky, nor will all your cargo arrive intact. Follow the direction of my officers and crew to help offload to my ship, and you'll have a fine tale to share on stormy nights." Edwards and my Third, verHalen, had been below and informed me of a cargo of fine spice, sugar, and brasswork. They'd grabbed the ship's chest as well; nearly 400 pieces of gold would accompany our booty. I set them about their work, and proceeded to look over the passengers.
Jorge smiled as I approached him, a fine sign. "Eleven women of age, and nine of salable age, Captain. Another three serving girls. The rest we leave here: no reason to waste food." Always the practical one. Looking closely, I noted another girl in boy's clothing, and had him add her to our prizes.
