colliding with one of Coxon’s men. He was certain that the lookout was from the buccaneer’s crew, most likely the man with the broken nose.
Hector shivered slightly as he tried to anticipate how the buccaneers would hunt him. Port Royal was such a small place that, without shelter, he would soon be found. He wondered just how many of the citizens, besides Snead, were friends with Captain Coxon and would be pleased to join the pursuit. If Snead were to mention that his assistant had been speaking with Captain Gutteridge earlier, the buccaneer would quickly guess where his quarry was heading. The young man was uncomfortably aware that, if he was to escape Coxon, he would have to move very quickly but also in an unexpected direction.
Making up his mind, Hector walked rapidly in the direction of Thames Street and turned up a narrow alleyway, Sea Lane, which brought him out on the waterfront. Away to his right stretched the line of ships tied to the wharves, their masts and spars and rigging making a black tracery against the night sky. His difficulty was that he did not know which of the vessels was the Jamaica Merchant . The most likely candidate was a small sloop almost at the farthest end of the wharf. But there was no one he could ask for information, and he did not want to draw attention to himself by rousing a night watchman and asking for directions.
For several moments he stood motionless, wondering what he should do. He had paused in the shelter of a warehouse doorway, and as he looked along the quay, two men appeared not fifty yards from him. They ran out from a laneway and turned to look in his direction. Hector shrank back farther into the shadow and when he peered out again, he saw that the men had decided to go in the opposite direction. They were proceeding briskly along the waterfront, looking into every side road, clearly searching for someone. At the farthest end of the quay, they halted. They appeared to confer together, and then one of them walked away and out of sight. His companion stayed where he was. There was enough moonlight to show that the figure had seated himself on a pile of lumber at a position where he could scan the waterfront.
Hector tried to think of a way of getting past the lookout. He toyed with the idea of mingling with a gang of sailors returning to their ship, but then rejected the scheme. There was no guarantee that such a group would show up or welcome him in their company. Nor that they would be returning to the Jamaica Merchant . Or he could wait until Coxon’s watchman – there was little doubt that the lookout was one of Coxon’s crew – grew inattentive or was withdrawn from his post. But that might not happen and Hector was still faced with the problem of identifying the Jamaica Merchant.
Then he remembered the turtle crawl.
He slipped quietly out of the warehouse doorway and darted back into Sea Lane. Keeping to the shadows he retraced his steps until he reached the high street. There he turned to his right until he came to the empty stalls and tables of the meat market. It would be another two or three hours before the butchers and meat sellers arrived to prepare their booths. Finding his way to the ramp, Hector climbed over the low palisaded fence which surrounded the turtle pen. Removing his shoes and stockings, he walked barefoot down the slope until he felt the sea water on his feet. Treading carefully, he continued forward down the slope. He was in the shallows now, the water up to his knees. He put each foot down gently and slowly, anxious not to make any splashes. Suddenly his foot touched a hard round surface, which moved sluggishly to one side. He had trodden on a resting turtle. Cautiously he pushed forward with his leg until he found a gap between the animal and its neighbour. There must have been at least a dozen large turtles lying in the shallows, close-packed like flat boulders. Most of the creatures ignored him, but one of them rose up with a
Hector shivered slightly as he tried to anticipate how the buccaneers would hunt him. Port Royal was such a small place that, without shelter, he would soon be found. He wondered just how many of the citizens, besides Snead, were friends with Captain Coxon and would be pleased to join the pursuit. If Snead were to mention that his assistant had been speaking with Captain Gutteridge earlier, the buccaneer would quickly guess where his quarry was heading. The young man was uncomfortably aware that, if he was to escape Coxon, he would have to move very quickly but also in an unexpected direction.
Making up his mind, Hector walked rapidly in the direction of Thames Street and turned up a narrow alleyway, Sea Lane, which brought him out on the waterfront. Away to his right stretched the line of ships tied to the wharves, their masts and spars and rigging making a black tracery against the night sky. His difficulty was that he did not know which of the vessels was the Jamaica Merchant . The most likely candidate was a small sloop almost at the farthest end of the wharf. But there was no one he could ask for information, and he did not want to draw attention to himself by rousing a night watchman and asking for directions.
For several moments he stood motionless, wondering what he should do. He had paused in the shelter of a warehouse doorway, and as he looked along the quay, two men appeared not fifty yards from him. They ran out from a laneway and turned to look in his direction. Hector shrank back farther into the shadow and when he peered out again, he saw that the men had decided to go in the opposite direction. They were proceeding briskly along the waterfront, looking into every side road, clearly searching for someone. At the farthest end of the quay, they halted. They appeared to confer together, and then one of them walked away and out of sight. His companion stayed where he was. There was enough moonlight to show that the figure had seated himself on a pile of lumber at a position where he could scan the waterfront.
Hector tried to think of a way of getting past the lookout. He toyed with the idea of mingling with a gang of sailors returning to their ship, but then rejected the scheme. There was no guarantee that such a group would show up or welcome him in their company. Nor that they would be returning to the Jamaica Merchant . Or he could wait until Coxon’s watchman – there was little doubt that the lookout was one of Coxon’s crew – grew inattentive or was withdrawn from his post. But that might not happen and Hector was still faced with the problem of identifying the Jamaica Merchant.
Then he remembered the turtle crawl.
He slipped quietly out of the warehouse doorway and darted back into Sea Lane. Keeping to the shadows he retraced his steps until he reached the high street. There he turned to his right until he came to the empty stalls and tables of the meat market. It would be another two or three hours before the butchers and meat sellers arrived to prepare their booths. Finding his way to the ramp, Hector climbed over the low palisaded fence which surrounded the turtle pen. Removing his shoes and stockings, he walked barefoot down the slope until he felt the sea water on his feet. Treading carefully, he continued forward down the slope. He was in the shallows now, the water up to his knees. He put each foot down gently and slowly, anxious not to make any splashes. Suddenly his foot touched a hard round surface, which moved sluggishly to one side. He had trodden on a resting turtle. Cautiously he pushed forward with his leg until he found a gap between the animal and its neighbour. There must have been at least a dozen large turtles lying in the shallows, close-packed like flat boulders. Most of the creatures ignored him, but one of them rose up with a
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