The Black Buccaneer - Chapter - 22

Henry Creed stood on the balcony of Governor Weatherby Swann’s residence, gazing out at the Port Royal harbor. The warm Caribbean breeze carried the scent of salt and rum, but his mind was elsewhere. Across the sea, Willemstad beckoned—another errand, another opportunity to test his skills as both Henry Creed, the respectable merchant, and the man he truly was.

Duke Modyford Albemarle sat behind a heavy oak desk, shuffling papers with an impatient air. "Henry," the Duke said, motioning him inside. "You’re just the man I need."

Henry smirked, stepping into the room. "It’s always a pleasure, Your Grace. What suicidal task do you have for me this time?"

The Duke laughed, though his eyes were sharp. "Nothing too dangerous—at least, not at first glance. Willemstad’s governor has been raising troops and arming ships. Something is brewing, and I need to know what."

Henry crossed his arms. "Spying on the Dutch? That’s a hanging offense if I get caught."

"That’s why I’m giving you a cover," the Duke replied, sliding a document across the desk. "A two-month trading license. Official. No one will question you entering the port."

Henry picked it up, examining the seal. "And if they do?"

"You’re a merchant, after all," the Duke said with a grin. "Convince them. Or bribe them."

Henry pocketed the license and straightened. "Fine. I’ll find out what’s happening in Willemstad. What’s my reward?"

"You’ll get your investment back—and a bonus for the risk. One hundred thousand gold pieces."

Henry whistled low. "Now you’re speaking my language."

The journey to Willemstad was uneventful, but the port city itself was bustling with activity. Ships lined the docks, some bearing cannons that seemed too large for mere trading vessels. Henry disembarked, waving his trading license at the port authorities and receiving only a passing glance.

"This’ll be easy," he muttered under his breath.

Dressed in fine clothes that fit his merchant persona, Henry strolled into the tavern. The dimly lit room reeked of sweat and spilled rum, but it was the kind of place where secrets changed hands for a price.

Henry leaned against the bar, sliding a coin across the counter. "Rum," he said casually. "And information."

The bartender, a grizzled man with a scar down his cheek, eyed him warily. "Information costs more than rum."

Henry smirked, flipping another gold coin onto the counter. "Then let’s start with the cheap stuff."

The bartender poured him a drink, then leaned in. "Depends on what you’re looking for."

"I hear Willemstad’s getting ready for something big," Henry said, sipping his drink. "Troops. Ships. What’s going on?"

The bartender shook his head. "Not here. But there’s a man—moneylender down the street. He knows things. For the right price."

Henry found the moneylender’s shop tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. The door creaked as he stepped inside, and a short, wiry man looked up from counting coins.

"You’re not here for a loan," the moneylender said immediately.

Henry tossed a pouch of gold onto the counter. "No. I’m here for answers."

The moneylender’s eyes gleamed as he weighed the pouch. "What do you want to know?"

"Ships. Troops. What’s Willemstad planning?"

The man hesitated, then loosened the strings of the pouch to count the coins. "The information you need isn’t here. It’s on a brig set to leave the harbor tonight."

Henry leaned closer. "What’s on that brig?"

"Dispatches. Orders for their fleet, sealed and ready for delivery."

"And how do I get them?"

The moneylender shrugged. "You’re the merchant—or whatever you are. Figure it out."

As night fell, Henry returned to his ship, The Sea Whisper. He gathered his crew and laid out the plan.

"That brig has something we need," Henry said. "We’re boarding it and taking the dispatch from the captain’s cabin. Quick and clean—no noise, no sinking the ship."

His first mate, Morgan, frowned. "And if the crew fights back?"

"Then we fight harder," Henry replied, strapping a sword to his belt. "But the fewer bodies we leave, the better. Let’s move."

The Sea Whisper slipped silently through the harbor, its sails barely stirring in the night breeze. The brig was already preparing to leave, but Henry’s ship closed the distance quickly.

"Grappling hooks!" Henry ordered, and the crew tossed ropes onto the brig, pulling the two ships together.

Henry led the charge, cutting down the first guards on deck before they could sound the alarm. His men swarmed the ship, overpowering the crew with practiced efficiency.

Inside the captain’s cabin, Henry found the chest. Locked, of course.

"No time for finesse," he muttered, drawing his pistol and firing into the lock. The wood splintered, and he threw the lid open.

Inside, sealed documents lay in neat stacks. Henry grabbed the one marked with the governor’s seal and tucked it into his coat.

By the time he returned to the deck, his crew had subdued the brig.

"Let’s go!" Henry shouted. "Cut the ropes and get us out of here!"

Back in Port Royal, Henry handed the dispatch to Duke Modyford Albemarle. The Duke’s eyes lit up as he broke the seal and scanned the contents.

"Exactly what we needed," Modyford said, looking up at Henry. "You’ve done well. The Crown will be pleased."

"And my payment?"

Modyford smiled, handing Henry a heavy pouch of gold. "As promised—your investment, plus a bonus. A hundred thousand gold pieces."

Henry weighed the pouch, nodding in satisfaction. "Pleasure doing business, Your Grace."

Henry Creed stood in Duke Modyford Albemarle’s office once again, the morning sunlight spilling through the tall windows. The Duke’s expression was grim as he poured two glasses of rum and slid one toward Henry.

"This is no small task, Henry," Modyford began, swirling his drink. "Fort Orange in Jamaica has become a thorn in our side. The Dutch are reinforcing it and using it to stage raids on our shipping routes. We need it neutralized—and you’re the man to do it."

Henry leaned back, taking a sip of the rum. "You want me to storm a fort full of Dutch soldiers? Sounds more like suicide than strategy."

Modyford grinned. "That’s why I’m giving you full command of the operation. Take as many ships as you need. Hire mercenaries if necessary. I don’t care how you do it—just make sure that fort flies the British flag by the end of it."

"And my reward?" Henry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Modyford tossed a heavy trunk of coins onto the desk. "Half up front. The rest when the job’s done."

Henry weighed the trunk in his hand, then smiled. "You have yourself a deal, Your Grace."

Back at the docks, Henry stood aboard The Sea Whisper, surveying the fleet assembled in the harbor. Five ships—all heavily armed and manned by seasoned sailors—waited for his command.

His first mate, Morgan, approached. "The men are ready, Captain. We’ve got enough powder and shot to level that fort ten times over."

"Good," Henry replied. "But we’re not just bombarding it. We’re taking it. Up close and personal."

Morgan grinned. "A proper fight, then. The men will like that."

Henry glanced at the horizon. "Set sail for Cape Negril. We’ll land the troops there and march through the jungle. The Dutch won’t know what hit them."

The march through the dense Jamaican jungle was slow and grueling. The heat was oppressive, and the sound of insects filled the air. Henry led from the front, hacking through vines with a machete while the men trudged behind him.

"I hope this is worth it," one of the soldiers muttered.

"It will be," Henry said without turning. "Stick close and stay quiet. We don’t want to lose the element of surprise."

By nightfall, they reached the outskirts of Fort Orange. The flicker of torches along the walls revealed guards patrolling the perimeter.

Henry crouched behind a tree, signaling for the men to halt. "We wait until dawn. Rest while you can—tomorrow, we take that fort."

At first light, Henry gave the signal. Cannons from the ships offshore thundered, shattering the fort’s outer walls and throwing the Dutch into chaos.

"Move!" Henry shouted, leading his men through the broken gates.

Gunfire erupted as Dutch soldiers scrambled to defend the fort. Henry ducked behind a barrel, firing his pistol and dropping a soldier before drawing his sword and charging forward.

The battle spilled into the streets of the settlement, where the fighting turned brutal and chaotic. Henry’s men fought with desperation, pushing the Dutch back step by step.

At the steps of the commandant’s office, Henry faced the last line of defenders. The commandant himself emerged, sword in hand.

"You’re making a mistake, Englishman," the commandant growled.

"The only mistake," Henry replied, leveling his blade, "was thinking this fort could stand against me."

Their swords clashed, ringing out above the sounds of battle. The commandant was skilled, but Henry’s years of dueling and his time at sea had honed him into a lethal fighter. With a final strike, he disarmed the Dutch officer and drove his sword into the man’s chest.

The fort was theirs.

Henry stood on the walls of Fort Orange, watching as the British flag replaced the Dutch one. His men cheered, and the captured Dutch soldiers were marched out under guard.

Morgan approached, wiping sweat from his brow. "We did it, Captain. The fort’s ours."

Henry nodded, though his mind was already racing. Taking the fort was one thing—holding it was another. But that wasn’t his problem. He’d done what Modyford asked.

"Prepare the ships," Henry said. "We’re heading back to Port Royal."

Back in Port Royal, Henry received a hero’s welcome. The streets were lined with cheering townsfolk, and Governor Swann himself greeted him at the docks.

"Port Royal owes you a great debt, Henry," the governor said, shaking his hand. "You’ve proven yourself once again."

Modyford met him in the governor’s hall later that evening, handing over the second pouch of gold. "The Crown will hear of this victory," the Duke said. "And your name will be remembered."

Henry smirked. "Just as long as they spell it right."

Later that night, Henry returned to his estate and poured himself a drink. The thrill of battle still lingered, but as he gazed out at the harbor, he felt the familiar pull of the sea.

The life of Henry Creed was comfortable, but the legend of Captain Black wasn’t finished—not yet.

For now, though, he’d let the world believe he was just a merchant, just a man who loved the sea and gold.

The sun was setting over Port Royal as Henry Creed stepped out of Duke Modyford Albemarle’s residence, clutching a sealed letter granting Morris Williams permission to sell his spoils in the harbor. The task seemed simple enough, and Henry wasn’t about to turn down an easy 5000 gold coins.

But as he descended the steps, a sailor dressed in a salt-stained coat hurried toward him.

"Captain Creed!" the man called. "You need to come quickly. Captain Williams is at the tavern, and he’s not happy."

Henry arched an eyebrow. "Not happy? What’s wrong?"

"The governor confiscated his cargo, sir. Sent it back to the Spanish!"

Henry cursed under his breath. "Perfect. Just perfect."

The tavern was loud and rowdy, but Morris Williams was easy to spot. He sat in the corner, nursing a bottle of rum and glaring at anyone who dared come close. When he saw Henry approach, he slammed the bottle down.

"Creed! What the hell is going on?" Williams demanded, his voice slurred but sharp.

Henry took the seat across from him. "Calm down, Morris. Tell me everything."

Williams leaned in. "I was promised I could sell my goods here in Port Royal, but your precious governor decided to send it all back to the Spanish. How am I supposed to pay my debts now? They’ll hang me!"

Henry sighed, leaning back. "Modyford thinks returning the cargo will smooth things over with the Spanish. He’s playing politics."

"Politics!" Williams spat. "What about me and my men? What am I supposed to do?"

"I’ll get your cargo back," Henry said.

Williams looked skeptical. "You’d do that?"

"Consider it a favor," Henry replied, standing up. "But I’ll expect you to repay it someday."

The port controller was less than helpful, requiring a hefty bribe before revealing that the ship carrying Williams’s cargo had set sail for San Juan.

Henry wasted no time. He gathered his crew, set sail on The Sea Whisper, and prepared for another confrontation.

San Juan’s fort loomed in the distance as Henry’s ship approached under the cover of night. He kept his distance from the fort’s cannons, focusing instead on intercepting the cargo ship before it could dock.

"Prepare to board!" Henry shouted as the enemy ship came into view.

The battle was swift. Henry’s men overwhelmed the Spanish crew, and Henry himself fought his way into the captain’s cabin.

But when he opened the chest, he found only 140,000 gold coins—no cargo.

"Damn it," Henry muttered. "Williams isn’t going to like this."

Just as Henry stepped out of the port, another sailor from the Favorite stopped him.

"Captain Creed! Williams has been arrested!"

"What?" Henry growled.

"Thrown in the fort. The governor’s orders."

Henry wasted no time and went straight to Modyford’s office.

"What is this about Williams being arrested?" Henry demanded.

Modyford didn’t even look up from his papers. "The Spanish demanded a show of good faith. We needed to make an example."

"That’s a load of rubbish, and you know it."

The Duke finally looked up. "You can’t help him, Henry. Let it go."

But Henry wasn’t the type to let things go.

After visiting the fort and speaking to the warden—who confirmed that Williams was to be hanged—Henry sought out the moneylender who held Williams’s debts.

The man was uncooperative, demanding an outrageous sum to even consider freeing Williams.

Frustrated, Henry visited the local priest, who suggested speaking to Gillian Atterbury, the wife of a missing merchant.

Gillian agreed to help Henry if he found her husband. The trail led to a hidden grotto, where Henry faced three smugglers holding the merchant hostage.

The fight was bloody but quick. Henry cut down the smugglers and freed the man, earning Gillian’s gratitude.

With her influence, the moneylender finally released his claim, clearing Williams’s debts and allowing his freedom.

Williams was released and returned to his ship, grateful but shaken.

"I owe you my life, Creed," he said as they stood on the docks.

"Remember that," Henry replied. "Because I’ll collect on that debt one day."