Captain in Calico

Copyright

HarperCollinsPublishers

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First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2015

Copyright © The Estate of George MacDonald Fraser 2015

Foreword © The Estate of George MacDonald Fraser 2015

Map © Nicolette Caven 2015

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016

Cover illustration © Sam Hadley

George MacDonald Fraser asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books

Ebook Edition © September 2015 ISBN: 9780008105587

Source ISBN: 9780008105570

Version 2016-05-19

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

A Foreword to Captain in Calico

Map

1. The Man From the Sea

2. The Stratagem

3. Sea Trap

4. Major Penner

5. Swords Behind The Tavern

6. Anne Bonney

7. The Amorous Invalid

8. Captain Harkness Converses

9. The Plotters

10. The Snare

11. The Quarry

12. Under the Black

13. The Action

14. Mosquito Bank

15. On the Account

16. The King’s Colours

17. The King’s Justice

18. Kate Sampson

19. The Price of Piracy

20. The Passage

Letters From The Archive

The Flashman Papers (in Chronological Order)

The Flashman Papers (in Order of Publication)

About the Author

Also by George MacDonald Fraser

About the Publisher

A Foreword to Captain in Calico

The stories we loved best as children were the ones our father used to tell us on Saturday nights, when we would snuggle together under the bedcovers and wait for him to pick up from whatever cliffhanger he’d left us on the week before. The room would be lit only by the glow of a small electric fire, and when the story began, it was like falling into another world. Our father had a warm, dark voice, perfect for storytelling, and invariably the story would be about pirates. He had a special fondness for those outlaws of the sea; their flawed, restless characters captured his imagination more than honourable heroes ever could. It was a lifelong love, and so it was hardly surprising that his first attempt at full-length fiction, Captain in Calico, should be a pirate story.

He evidently laboured at it and reworked it over a number of years, presumably in any spare time he had from working long hours as a journalist and bringing up a young family. The book is full of the influences of the writers he had loved as a boy – Sabatini, Wren, Henty, Sir Walter Scott – and the story itself is an old-fashioned yarn of the type he told us as children, but with added sex and violence. The story is based quite closely on real events in the lives of ‘Calico’ Jack Rackham and Anne Bonney, who were both notorious eighteenth-century pirates (and lovers), reflecting our father’s belief that the most compelling stories are those of real events happening to real people. Despite the failure of Captain in Calico to find a publisher, his faith in the method of using fiction to bring history to life was borne out by the later success of the Flashman novels, in which he embroidered real historical events with the exploits of his fictional anti-hero. It is interesting to see him trying his hand at a prototype anti-hero in the character of Jack Rackham, and he evidently worked hard to make him a sympathetic rogue with heroic appeal. But it was only when he came to write Flashman that he hit upon the perfect device, creating an out-and-out cad who triumphs heroically through a mixture of luck and charm, and in spite of his own cowardice and deceit.

Captain in Calico was rejected by publishers, and in time he came to regard these rejections as justifiable – in the margin of an early typed account of its rejection he has written, apparently years later, the word ‘deservedly’ – but we believe he retained affection for the story, and the spark of his early and earnest faith in its merits never quite died. We say this because we believe he would have destroyed it otherwise, not left it in a fireproof safe in his old study for us to find after his death. Of course, eventually he hit upon the inspiration of bringing his beloved pirates to life in a quite different way, when he wrote The Pyrates – a book of comic genius, and one to which the movie Pirates of the Caribbean may owe more than a small debt.

An early reader’s report on the manuscript and letters from The Authors’ Alliance, which are reprinted here, are direct in their criticisms of the work, seeing it as over-long and derivative. But whatever the novel’s flaws, there is no denying that the style is polished, the characters are deftly drawn, and the writing is vivid and powerful.

A book such as Captain in Calico would probably be even less likely to find a publisher today than sixty years ago – not because it isn’t excellently written, but because ripping yarns are hardly fashionable now – and we do not want readers to be deceived into thinking it is vintage George MacDonald Fraser, and of the standard of the Flashman novels or the McAuslan short stories. Indeed, we thought long and hard before allowing it to be published, and are only doing so because we believe that, as an early work, Captain in Calico is a delightful curiosity, one which we hope will provide fans of GMF with a fascinating insight into the inspirations and creative impulses that turned him into such a fine novelist. That he was always a great storyteller was never in doubt. We knew that as children, long ago.

Sie, Caro and Nick Fraser

1. THE MAN FROM THE SEA

Surveying the distant strand of silver beach washed by the blue Caribbean rollers, Master Tobias Dickey made a mental remark that the view was prodigious fine and life was very good to live. His contentment was born out of a good supper eaten after a hard day’s work, and also out of that sense of wellbeing which had possessed him ever since the day on which he had first set foot in this beautiful New Providence of the Bahamas.

He stood at his window in Governor’s House, a small, portly man well advanced into middle age, pulling at his pipe of Gibraltar tobacco and comparing its fragrance with that of the bougainvillea with which the garden abounded. Life and the evening were quiet, and Master Dickey never dreamed that he was waiting on the threshold of a high adventure in which he was to be called to play a not unimportant part.

‘When I reflect,’ he was to write later in his journal, ‘on the Peaceful Temper with which I compos’d myself to Rest, suspecting nothing of what was to Befall, I never cease to wonder at the manner in which Providence ever reserv’s its most Sudden Strokes for the time when we are least prepar’d, even as the Tempest Breaks when the Tropick Day is most Serene.’

Certainly nothing could have been more placid and contentedly reflective than Master Dickey’s mood as he knocked out his pipe, took a last look at the scene on which the sudden Caribbean night would shortly be descending, half closed the broad screen doors and prepared for bed.

It was a far cry, he thought, from a draughty garret in Edinburgh to a Governor’s residence, from clerking in an advocate’s office to his present post as first secretary, man-of-affairs, and close confidant of the Governor of the Bahamas, Captain Woodes Rogers. Yet it had only been the merest chance that had crossed his path with Woodes Rogers’ two years ago when the captain had been renting the Bahama Islands from the Lords Proprietors and obtaining a commission as Governor. Dickey had been a cog in the legal machine which had been engaged on that complex business, but Rogers, the great discoverer and privateer, had noted his diligence and had offered him his present employment. Dickey had accepted with the eagerness of one escaping from slavery, nor, he reflected as he climbed into his comfortable bed and watched the shadows lengthen across his spacious apartment, had he had cause for one moment to regret his step.

Since their landing in New Providence two years ago and the expulsion of those pirates who had used it as a haven there had been much to occupy the new Governor and his assistant. Woodes Rogers saw the Bahamas as an estate of which he was to be steward for twenty-one years, and he set about to make it a model for the Western seas. To a remarkable extent he had succeeded and Master Dickey, at the Governor’s right hand in all things, had been made to feel that he too was doing his share towards making history in the Caribbean.

Thus Master Dickey had ample grounds for satisfaction as he lay musing, and as the shadows deepened in the garden outside he began to doze gently.

He came out of his half-sleep with a sudden start, his thoughts racing back to identify the noise that had disturbed him. Something had moved on the verandah. There had been a quick scraping, as though a foot had brushed over the boards. He listened, straining to catch the sound again, and gradually, as he lay in the warm silence, he became aware of an almost imperceptible but regular rustling just beyond the screen doors. Someone was standing there, and Tobias could hear him breathing.

It was almost dark outside, and he could see nothing but the dim oblong of light between the doors. Slowly he reached out a hand towards the table at the side of his bed, in the drawer of which he kept a loaded pistol as a precaution against nocturnal marauders. His hand closed on the knob and at the same moment a board creaked on the verandah, and a vague shape loomed in the narrow space between the doors.

Sweat broke out on Master Dickey’s forehead, but the hand which drew open the drawer and descended on the pistol butt was quite steady. Gently he drew the weapon out and rested it across his body, the barrel pointing towards the window.

‘Come in wi’ your hands up’, he ordered, his finger ready on the trigger in case the intruder should make a sudden move.

To his astonishment the screen doors were pushed gently aside and the figure on the verandah stepped into the room. ‘If you have a pistol, take care what you’re about,’ said a deep voice.

‘God save us!’ exclaimed Master Dickey. He sat bolt upright in bed, the pistol extended in the direction of the stranger. ‘Stop you there, my lad. Not a step closer. Guards!’ He raised his voice in summons. ‘Guards!’

‘Why wake the house?’ The stranger’s voice sounded almost amused to Master Dickey’s incredulous ears. ‘You’ve no need for guards. My business is with Governor Rogers.’

‘Governor Rogers?’ Master Dickey pushed back the bed clothes and stepped out on to the floor, keeping the bed be- tween himself and his mysterious visitor. ‘And what the devil d’ye mean by creeping aboot my window, then? Guards!’ he shouted again. It seemed that the intruder must be a lunatic.

The heavy tramp of feet and the sound of voices in the passage outside his door heralded the arrival of sentries. Knuckles rapped on the panels.

‘Private Nicholas, sir. Is aught the matter?’

‘Come in!’ called Dickey sharply, and the door opened. ‘Light the candle on my side table, sharp, now! There’s a mad man in here and I have a pistol pointin’ at him.’

‘Christ!’ exclaimed the startled soldier. Dickey, his eyes still straining against the dark at the dim figure beyond the bed, heard the sentry stumble against the table as he fumbled for the candle.

There was a rasp of flint, and then a yellow spear of flame as the sentry lit the candle. By the candle’s faint light the dark shape on which Dickey’s pistol was trained came to life as a big man in white shirt and breeches, with a kerchief bound sailor-fashion round his head, who stood calmly surveying the little lawyer and the gaping sentry. In the doorway the light twinkled on the brass buttons of a guard sergeant, and behind him Dickey saw the startled faces of two other soldiers.

The intruder’s face, aquiline and brown as a gypsy’s, wore an expression of mild amusement. ‘You’re a game little bantam,’ he remarked to Dickey. ‘Governor Rogers should sleep easy of nights.’

‘Haud your tongue!’ snapped Tobias. ‘Sergeant, when ye’ve done gawping d’ye think ye might tak’ this thief o’ the night under arrest? Bestir yourself, man!’

Hastily the sergeant strode forward and grasped the intruder by the arm. The guards stationed themselves one at each side of the prisoner. With a sigh of relief Master Dickey laid aside his pistol.

‘A fine watch ye keep, sergeant,’ he observed acidly. ‘Hauf the hoose might have been murdered in their beds, and where were you wi’ your sentries?’

The sergeant glowered at the prisoner. ‘Come on, you,’ he began, but Master Dickey cut him short.

‘Wait, wait, wait. Sentry, get another light till we see what manner of bird we’ve caught.’ He came round the end of the bed and confronted the prisoner. ‘You, now. Who are ye and what are ye after?’

The big man smiled down at him. He was a fine-looking fellow, Dickey admitted, a grand body of a man with those mighty shoulders and that narrow waist. ‘You’ll grin on the other side of your face, my buckie,’ the lawyer added sharply. ‘What d’ye mean, keekin’ in my door at this hour o’ the nicht?’

‘I told you,’ replied the prisoner mildly. ‘I want to see Governor Rogers. Why else would I be here?’

‘Tae rob and murder, like enough,’ snapped Master Dickey. ‘For why did ye no’ come in the light o’ day like an honest man?’

‘I’ll talk to Governor Rogers,’ said the other.

Master Dickey stared and shook his head. ‘The man’s plainly demented,’ he observed. ‘Here, you, sergeant, tak’ him tae the guard-house. Ye’ll see the Governor, my lad, have nae fear o’ that. And ye’ll no’ be so glib then, I’m thinking.’

The sergeant tightened his grip on the prisoner’s arm, but without apparent effort the big man brushed it away.

‘I’ll see the Governor,’ he said quietly. ‘What I have to say won’t wait. I’ve no wish to spend the night in some stinking prison, either. Now, sir,’ he addressed Dickey, ‘you seem to be a man of some sense; you may be sure Governor Rogers will want to see me, even if he has to leave his bed for it. Will you summon him, or shall I shout for him?’

In spite of the man’s cool insolence, Dickey found himself impressed. There might be something in what he said. In these troubled times the Governor had dealings with some queer cattle, and the lawyer had been in New Providence long enough to learn not to judge folk by their appearance. Then too, the fellow had given no trouble; he had not the look of a petty thief, nor was he armed. Master Dickey frowned and pondered and made his decision.

‘Call the Governor, sergeant, if ye please.’

The prisoner inclined his head. ‘I’m obliged to you, sir.’

Master Dickey’s judgement in summoning the Governor proved to be sound. A less active official than Woodes Rogers might have consigned the mysterious visitor to the lock-up for the night and Master Dickey to perdition for ever, but the Governor of the Bahamas was a man who had learned in a hard school the value of prompt investigation. When roused from sleep and informed that a sea-faring man wished to see him on a matter of importance, Rogers said nothing beyond a command that the anonymous intruder should be conducted to the study.

Presently he descended to the hall, wearing a light silk robe over his sleeping clothes, and heard the full tale of Master Dickey’s adventure from the lawyer himself. The little Scot was not at his best; he had discovered in returning his pistol to its drawer that it had not been loaded and, in consequence, his report was less calm and ordered than it should have been. Rogers received it without comment and passed on into the long panelled study where the prisoner awaited him.

2. THE STRATAGEM

Dismissing the guard with instructions that sentries be posted in the passage and outside the window, Rogers seated himself behind the long polished table which served him for a desk. Master Dickey took his place unobtrusively at his own smaller table by the window while the Governor considered the tall seaman who stood before him.

Woodes Rogers at this time was slightly past his prime, although still young to have reached the eminence to which his talents had raised him. Discoverer, circumnavigator, sea-fighter and administrator, to his fellow-countrymen in that second decade of the eighteenth century he was comparable with Drake and Raleigh, and not least because of his privateering exploits in the South Sea against the old enemy, Spain. These, incidentally, had made him immensely rich.

Tall, spare and active in spite of the greying hair at his temples, he had the air of one completely masterful and self-possessed. The light from the slender candles threw into relief his prominent nose and high cheek-bones; in spite of an expression which was naturally severe and the puckered scars where a Spanish musket-ball had shattered his jaw he was not unhandsome. His mouth was large and generous and his grey eyes startlingly bright against his weather-beaten skin. They ranged briefly now over the tall figure before him.

‘Your name?’

The big man shifted his weight on to his other foot and said easily: ‘John Rackham.’

Woodes Rogers’ eyes opened a little wider and then he pushed the candlebranch away very deliberately and repeated the name.

‘John Rackham. Also known as Calico Jack.’

The big man smiled faintly and nodded. ‘So they call me,’ he said, with a touch of pride in his voice.

Master Dickey was conscious of a certain coolness on his spine which was not caused by the night air. Of course he knew the name, as he knew the names of ‘Blackbeard’ Ned Teach and Stede Bonnet and every other freebooter of note in the Caribbean waters. But it was one thing to know the name and quite another to be sitting within a few paces of the man himself and to recall that only a few moments earlier he had been trying conclusions with him in a darkened room with an unloaded pistol.

This Rackham, he recalled, had been one of the pirate brotherhood at New Providence in those fateful days when Woodes Rogers had brought his ships to the island and sent in his proclamation demanding their surrender with the promise of Royal pardon for all who complied. And Rackham had been quartermaster to the pirate Charles Vane who fired on Rogers’ ships and fought his way out of the harbour, since when there had been a price on the heads of Vane, Rackham, and the rest of their ship’s company. That was two years ago, and in that time Vane’s notoriety had spread from end to end of the western seas. There had been his exploit against the Spanish silver fleet in the Florida Gulf and talk of a great treasure taken – the heat with which the Spaniards’ protests had been urged at St James’ was proof to a knowledgeable world of the blow their pockets must have suffered, and Vane’s stock had mounted accordingly.

Of Rackham himself little was known by comparison, and Master Dickey cast back mentally in search of anything he had heard. He thought he recalled the fellow’s seamanship being highly spoken of, and he had something of a reputation as a gallant, too. There had been some mention of a woman whom he was to have married in New Providence before he and Vane had fled … Master Dickey could not be sure. But for the moment his very presence was sensation enough and Master Dickey felt a not unpleasant excitement once his first surprise had settled.

Woodes Rogers, his voice as level as ever, said:

‘I must suppose there is some reason why you should thrust your head into a noose by coming here. For that is what you have done, you realise?’

Rackham’s smile faded, but he gave no other sign of apprehension.

‘If I’d thought that, I’d not be here. I’ve no wish to decorate a gibbet yet awhile, though I can understand your Excellency’s haste to find one for me. You see me on an errand of mercy, or rather an errand of pardon, which in this case you may think the same thing.’

Woodes Rogers sat back in his chair, staring, and then his brows contracted in an angry frown. ‘Pardon? Do I understand that you come here seeking that? You, that for two years have been at large as a pirate, with a price on your head? By God, ye deserve to hang for insolence, if nothing else.’ He made a gesture of impatience. ‘I must suppose that you are as great a fool as you are a knave if you imagine I’ll talk to you of pardons. I have a sharp medicine for pirates, Master Rackham, as you’ll find, and it is not compounded of pardons but of hemp. Dickey, call me the guard.’

Rackham stared at him for a second, then shrugged and smiled crookedly. ‘As ye please,’ he said. ‘If ye’re bent on losing a fine ship and a hundred prime seamen for the King’s service it’s your own affair. Call them in and have done.’

‘What’s this?’ Rogers came round the table to confront the pirate. ‘What ship’s this?’ He waved Master Dickey back to his chair.

Rackham answered confidently: ‘My brig, the Kingston, with my lads aboard. Did ye suppose I swam to Providence?’

There was a moment of dead silence, and Master Dickey watched fascinated the two men facing each other by the table. Somewhere out in the darkness of the sea beyond the rollers washing against Hog Island was a ship manned by desperate men, and Tobias realised that Rogers was faced with a remarkable and difficult situation. Rogers was realising it too.

He put his hands behind him on the edge of the table and leaned against it.

‘Where is she?’ he asked.

‘Offshore.’