On the Account

By J. Allan Dunn

On the Account by J. Allan Dunn is about Captain Bane and his motley crew of renegade pirates. Excerpt: "Captain Bane, gentleman of fortune, commander of the swift return, pushed the black bottle across the table to the little wizened man who faced him. The cabin overflowed with swaggering figures, their tarnished sea togs enlivened with gaudy sashes and head-kerchiefs."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Good Press
• Release date: Dec 8, 2020
• ISBN: 4064066436384

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J. Allan Dunn

On the Account

Published by Good Press, 2022

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EAN 4064066436384

Table of Contents

I. Old Providence Island

II. Through the East Passage

III. From the Seas!

IV. Todd the Turtler

V. The Inn of the Golden Galleons

VI. The Kissing Palms

VII. Knife Play

VIII. The Account is Closed

Epilogue: About Captain Kidd

CHAPTER I

OLD PROVIDENCE ISLAND

Table of Contents

CAPTAIN BANE, gentleman of fortune, commander of the Swift Return , pushed the black bottle across the table to the little wizened man who faced him. The cabin overflowed with swaggering figures, their tarnished sea-togs enlivened with gaudy sashes and head-kerchiefs. Reckless faces peered down through the open skylight, backed by the starred sky of the tropic July night. The swinging lamp shone full on the rapacious, eager face of Bane.

It was weather-tanned to leather, save where the black beard that covered half his chest had protected it. His gaze held the fixed glare of lenses, deep lines showed between his brows, his curving nose twitched at the flanging nostrils, the bone of it pressing gray through the skin, flattened at the bridge; a fitting beak for a preying seabird.

Come, Sawney, come Governor, down with four fingers of the stuff and out with your news! Rogers is off the bar, you say. Drink, man, and talk quickly!

The trembling Sawney, derisively dubbed Governor by the pirates who had assembled upon the Island of Providence to await the king’s proclamation and pardon for all freebooters surrendering their ships and arms by the last day of August, 1718, gulped down the fiery schnapps, choked till the tears ran from his red eyerims and told his news.

Mr. Woods Rogers, Governor and Vice-Admiral of the Bahamas, he began and, warned by the blaze that shone in the captain’s eyes, broke into less ceremonious speech. The fleet came at sunset, he went on. Richard Turnley is pilot and on his advice they lie by till morning.

Ah! Bane’s tense features relaxed. How know you this?

"The Lings put off to the fleet from Harbor Island with vegetables. They came aboard the Rose man-of-war and saw the Governor and one Captain Whitney."

The canting, favor-currying rogues. What said they?

They told the governor that Ben Hornygold, with Davis, Burgess, Carter, yourself and others were on shore upon Providence, in all nigh to a thousand pi— he checked himself with a gulp of fear—a thousand gentlemen of fortune——

Bane smashed his fist upon the table and guffawed.

"Nay, out with it, man. Pirates! ’Tis a brave word for those that fit it. So Dick Ling told that a thousand were waiting to cringe before Rogers and kiss the king’s foot and beg to be his men again. Told also, doubtless, that they were assembled about Nassau where the fort is tumbling for repair with but one nine-pounder. And the fleet lies off until tomorrow.

Thanks, Sawney, I will remember this. Another drink and off you go. Not a word ashore that you have visited me. —— you, drink, when I offer it.

The little man swallowed perforce the tumbler that was poured out for him and stumbled up the companionway where rough hands set him into his dingey and saw him sculling drunkenly shorewards.

A thousand pirates! A thousand lick spittles! A thousand mice-hearted cravens! exclaimed Bane. Blood and bones! What say you, men? Are you for kissing the king’s foot and going softly with sixpence in your pockets and calved in cotton, or are you for silk hose and gold guineas?

I was with Kidd.

The man who spoke had a face the color of a ripe mulberry, seamed like a walnut-shell. One eye was sightless, like a bruised grape, the other gleamed between lids scar let-hawed as those of a dog. On one cheek powder had tattooed the badge of his calling. The end of his bulbous nose had been sliced and indifferently patched.

Hanged he was, he went on. Strung up at Execution Dock seventeen years ago come last month. He swings in chains down the river yet with Churchill, How, Mullins, Parrot and the rest of the brave lads. Yet would I rather hang than go halting all my days at sight of a constable. A murrain on the Governor, say I.

Kidd was a canting coward, said Bane. What said he on the gallows? ‘For my part I am the most innocent of them all, only I have been sworn against by perjured persons.’ We want no Kidds nor his kind of cattle aboard, prating of chains. Silence, you dog!

The old buccaneer was on his feet, his drink-palsied hand fumbling at his belt.

Blood and wounds! he cried. No man calls me coward!

But Bane had caught the uneasy shifting of his followers’ eyes at the talk of gallows and chains. He flung the black bottle and it smashed upon the other’s skull. He collapsed, blood streaming from a strip of scalp, mingling with the reek of the liquor.

Put him in the peak! ordered Bane, and watched while his words were obeyed, his fierce eyes challenging his men. Hurley! Long! Take your watches and guard the boats. No man leaves this ship save on my orders.

If they cannot cross the bar neither can we, muttered a pirate and his opinion found echoing ayes from many of the rest.

Then we go in the sloop, said Bane. "What, my bullies, because Rogers has