Everything was in their favor on Saturday night: the moon was full, allowing them to see just enough without the need for artificial light; and because it was a Saturday night, very few of the Tower guards were about.
Howell and Tom slipped past the gatekeeper’s lodge like a pair of ghosts. The gatekeeper himself was slumbering heavily in front of a roaring fire, with a steaming tankard of mulled wine at his elbow. Howell had tipped the man well on his last visit— and his investment had evidently paid off.
While Howell himself waited in the shadows, Tom engaged the two guards at the entrance to the treasury in conversation. Deftly he brought the talk around to the injustice of all, that they had to stand guard on a Saturday night while all of their colleagues were out celebrating with their girls. He then offered them a drink from a flask which he had brought with him.
Both sentries had a couple of long swallows of the fiery spirit, draining the flask. The senior soldier, a corporal, merely belched his gratitude; his younger colleague handed the flask back to Tom with a few words of thanks. But the words tangled in his throat as he tried to speak. A few seconds later, both sentries slumped to the ground, heavily drugged.
Howell, who had secretly observed all this, now joined his associate in the corridor. With the key he had made they were able to unlock the heavy gate. Moments later they stood in the damp cellar that housed the treasury. Enough moonlight filtered in through the high windows close to the ceiling to allow them to find the position of the opal. Without so much as a moment’s hesitation, Howell broke the glass and took the opal into his hands. For a moment he stood there transfixed, gazing at his prize.
But Tom was getting nervous. He insisted they leave at once before they were caught. The guards were still unconscious; they met no one on their way out; and the gatekeeper slept on in front of his fire. Out in the street, they mounted their horses and rode off as quickly as possible.
When the loss of the precious opal was discovered, the corporal of the guard was accused of having stolen it. Even though subjected to torture, the man would not and could not confess to anything more serious than having had a drink with a stranger and remembering nothing more afterwards. Soon the matter of the opal moved to the background of public interest, there being far more important and more controversial issues of the day in politics. As the prosecuting magistrate could not find another suspect to pin the theft on, the matter was put ad acta.
Now that he had acquired the opal he had determined to add to his possessions, Lord Howell tried very hard to pay attention to a matter of another kind: his courtship of Merryn London, which by now had taken on serious overtones. Before long he was proposing marriage to the lady and, to his utter surprise and joy, she accepted him at once. The wedding which followed was a quiet one at his country house near Chester; it was almost as if he wanted to hurry it, and get on with their lives.
Lord Howell’s marriage to Merryn London fared well, as marriages go. The gentle lady gave him a daughter a year after they were married, whom they baptized Mary. Life for Lord and Lady Howell was no different than life for many country gentry of means, but eventually Howell’s restless nature came to the surface again. Still unable to play any major part in the affairs of state, he began to write, a book of poetry at first; but that soon bored him. Eventually he wrote a book dealing with the adventures of a famous seventeenth century pirate, partially fantasy and partially based on public knowledge. This pleased him and took his mind off the essential placidity of his day-to-day life. But not for long.
England was now being ruled with a firm hand by the very Protestant King George I, who had lately come over from the continent. So German was George I that he hardly spoke English, and surrounded himself mainly with those whom he knew well back home in Brunswick. Nevertheless, because he was a Protestant and the nearest Protestant heir of the old royal family, most of the British accepted him as their rightful king.
But not all. Many Scots, particularly in the Highlands, vehemently refused to acknowledge the foreigner, and continued to consider the Stuart heir, James III, their rightful king. But even in England itself, there were many who opposed the Hanoverian rule, some openly, some secretly. The Jacobites who opposed it openly did not dare say much about it, for that would have jeopardized their positions, if not their lives. Those who opposed George I secretly, however, were bound to take action sooner or later, waiting only for the right moment to unseat the “German king.”
One of those who wanted to depose the king was a young lawyer by the name of Frederick Sykes. Sykes came from an impeccable family, had had all advantages at Oxford, and was now in the forefront of those who wanted to organize a plot against King George. During a country weekend, Sykes managed to meet John Howell. One word led to another, and by the time the visit was over, Lord Howell himself had added his name to those who would unseat the King. He knew of course that discovery was tantamount to imprisonment and, should the venture go further than merely plotting, would bring his certain death at the gallows. However, his loyalties had always been strongly pro-Stuart, and he felt that joining the potential rebels was a just and fair use of his energies and abilities; and he was willing to risk it. Sykes merely provided an opportunity for which Howell had long been waiting.
During the succeeding weeks he and Frederick Sykes met several times at the latter’s London apartment near Whitehall, and also at Lord Howell’s own house. Merryn knew nothing of the purpose of Sykes’ visits, and she did not think it was her business to question her husband concerning his doings. Then, too, she was preoccupied with their daughter, Mary, and seldom interferred with her husband’s daily activities. That there was great love between them, she knew, and that was enough for her. Little did she know that her husband had misused her trust before their marriage and stolen the opal she had innocently shown him. There was a side to Lord Howell she was yet to discover.
One month after Howell’s initial meeting with Frederick Sykes, the young lawyer brought two other men to Lord Howell’s house. They had developed a scheme to murder the King while he was on holiday at Bath. It seemed plausible enough, and likely to succeed, because most of those who would be involved in the plot were known to the King and would have ready access to the royal presence. Much as he disliked bloodshed, Lord Howell agreed to take part in it, in fact to be the one who would draw the attention of the King away from those who would carry out the murder. There were now enough men involved in the plot for them to be able to secure the King’s lodgings and disarm his guards, so that the conspirators could make good their escape if necessary. By then they hoped the country would rise against what they called the foreign usurper, and be with them in their just cause. Calmly, the plotters went their separate ways that night and Lord Howell went to bed secure in the knowledge that he was about to contribute to history and the greater glory of Britain.
He was rudely awakened in the small hours of the night by knockings at his door. He hurried down the stairs to find out who wanted to break into his sleep. On his way down, he glanced out a small window which overlooked the street. To his shock he saw six fully armed soldiers of the royal guard clustered around his door; their officer was hammering on it with the hilt of his sword.
Fortunately, the door was not the kind that could easily be broken down. Howell at once realized that something had gone amiss. Quickly dressing, he managed to say a few words of farewell to his wife, and then ran out of the back door.
By the time the soldiers outside had managed to break down the front door and question a terrified Lady Howell, her husband was well on his way out of London.
The following day the official gazette carried news of the discovery of the plot, prominently mentioning Lord Howell’s name among those who stood accused of trying to overthrow the monarchy. Most of the culprits had been caught except for Frederick Sykes and Lord Howell. Knowing that the authorities would expect him to make for France, Lord Howell rode hell-for-leather to Scotland, where he thought himself safe from what he called the Hanoverian minions. Rightly so, for the lairds of the Highlands were in no mood to turn over a man who stood loyal to the Stuarts against the Hanoverians. It was clear to him, however, that he would have to hide, perhaps for a very long time, if he were to survive, and the Highland lairds promised him all the help he would need.
The following week he managed to write a few lines to Lady Howell, explaining as much as he could and assuring her of his undying love and ultimate return. But the messenger was caught and destroyed the note before it could be delivered to Lady Howell. Not that she needed any note from her husband, for he had told her of his intended destination before he left; as the gazette had not mentioned his capture, it was safe to assume he had arrived.
Later that year, Howell managed to send off another letter to her, and this time she received it. In it he assured her that he would one day return and perhaps seek a royal pardon. In the meantime, he explained, he had to stay hidden, until the hue and cry died down.
But it soon became apparent that such a time would not arrive in the present King’s lifetime. George I was not a forgiving man, and he did everything in his powers to apprehend those still at large among the plotters. Frederick Sykes was caught in an unguarded moment while visiting his fiancée, and promptly hanged. Only John Howell remained at large.
As time went by, Lord Howell became restless. The Highlands were dull, remote and impoverished, he missed his wife and daughter, and he felt he was becoming a burden to his hosts.
Eventually he reached the point where he felt that nothing could stop him from seeing Merryn. A considerable length of time had now gone by since the plot was discovered, and he thought he might risk going to London secretly, so long as he was careful. His Scottish friends urged him to reconsider his decision, but Howell was adamant. Fate intervened in his favor at that point: King George I died.
His greatest enemy was out of the way, and the authorities would be more concerned with the uncertainties of the succession than with a fugitive Jacobite. Lord Howell disguised his appearance and set off on the long road south. It was 1717—almost exactly two years since he had left London.
Some days later he reached the capital. Though travel-stained and weary, he went directly to his town-house. He was shocked to find that Lady Howell and his daughter Mary were gone, and the house itself was in a state of disarray, as if it had not been kept well for a long time. Only one person was still living in the house—the former butler, who was now acting as a caretaker. His name was Philip Babb, and Howell had known him all his life.
From this loyal servant Lord Howell discovered the bitter truth: Lady Howell had gone off about a year before to Ireland, in the company of an Irish chieftain by the name of O’Halloran; their daughter, Mary, was being cared for by an elderly relative, an aunt of Lady Howell’s who lived not far from the Tower of London.
Lord Howell immediately left his former home to seek out the house of the relative. When he arrived at her modest quarters, a tearful woman shook her head. The little girl, never very strong, had passed away the month before. Stunned by this news, Howell retraced his steps to his house.
He spent only an hour there, still reeling under the double shock he had received. He brushed aside his old servant’s anxious questions and locked himself in the room which had been his study. There was only one consolation: no one had discovered the wall-safe concealed behind the oak paneling.
Working swiftly, Howell transferred the gold and letters of credit it contained into a small bag. Lastly he tossed in the small box which held the blue opal. He now realized that Maureen, the seeress of London, had indeed foretold truthfully what was to become of him!
But was it his fate to be so cruelly treated, or was it the accursed opal that had robbed him of his honor, most of his wealth, his wife and his child?
Lord Howell stayed in London. He found a room in a seedy lodging house south of the Thames. There was little chance that he would be noticed. Sufficient time had elapsed now, he reasoned, and perhaps no one was really looking for him. He couldn’t be sure, of course, because in those perilous times political sentiments ran high and lasted lor many years. He had taken certain precautions; for one thing he had allowed his hair to lengthen and had grown a fierce moustache; even those who knew him well might not have recognized him now. He changed his clothing from the impeccably elegant attire of a well-to-do aristocrat to that of a somewhat flashy adventurer; he looked more like a returning sea captain than a distinguished member of one of England’s oldest families.
Despair haunted him, but he kept it at bay by making plans for the future. One person would be vital to their success—Tom Masterson. Howell hired his landlord to scour London for the sailor.
The landlord ran Tom to earth in the port area, and arranged for him to meet Howell at six o’clock one evening at their old rendezvous, the Pig and Whistle. The inn was noisy and filled with people having a drink at this time, and Lord Howell was scarcely noticed as he made his way toward one of the rear tables. There, already waiting him, sat Tom Masterson, with a mug of beer in front of him.
“Welcome, sir,” Tom said, rising to his feet. The two men shook hands. As soon as Lord Howell had seated himself opposite the sailor, he began to explain the reason for this encounter.
Tom was visibly shaken by the bad news of his friend’s misfortune, and he wondered what Lord Howell was going to do next with his life.
“That’s just it,” Howell replied. “I have decided to go to sea.”
Masterson choked on his beer. “You, sir, go to sea?” he said, unable to disguise his surprise.
“Don’t be too surprised, my lad.” Howell smiled. “I’ve been on many a ship, and I know what makes them sail. I love the sea, and I want to try my luck on it. England now makes me feel—well—it makes me feel unwanted and unhappy.”
“I can well understand that, sir,” Tom Masterson said, “but how exactly do you plan to accomplish this? And how can I be of help to you?”
“I have the means to purchase a medium-sized ship,” Lord Howell said, “and I need your counsel both in purchasing her and in getting her ready to go to sea.”
Tom Masterson blinked. Somehow he could not quite imagine the aristocrat going out to sea as a sailor, and he said so.
“Well, not exactly as an ordinary sailor, my lad,” Howell commented drily. “I shall be the captain.”
“Buying a ship costs a great deal of money, sir,” Tom Masterson said thoughtfully. “Have you sold the opal?”
Immediately Lord Howell put his hand on Tom’s arm, indicating to him to be quiet. “Please,” he said, “do be careful. No, the opal rests safely with me in a place no one can find except myself.”
“Then how, sir?” Tom’s question remained unfinished. He himself had had a generous payment, based on a percentage of the opal’s worth, paid out to him previously by Lord Howell: and he felt that Howell must have spent most of his own fortune just for that. But perhaps he was wrong. Somehow Lord Howell seemed to read his thoughts.
“Yes,” he said with a smile, “I still have some money left. Not to worry.”
Now the conversation turned to more practical matters: what sort of ship they would be looking for, where to find her and how to equip her. Lord Howell wanted her to be solidly built and fast; he wasn’t looking so much for a merchantman as a ship that somehow represented “his castle”—he shared the age-old dream of all Englishmen to be the lords of their own castles. Tom understood perfectly well; he promised Lord Howell that he would start making enquiries immediately and report back in three days’ time.
When they met again at the Pig and Whistle, Tom’s face glowed with excitement. He had managed to locate a well-built ship, not too large, not too small, but capable of sailing even the roughest seas, whose captain had just recently retired. While the owner was looking for a new captain he had entertained bids to sell her and it was precisely at that moment that Tom Masterson had appeared on the scene. He had informed the owner that a friend of his was anxious to purchase a ship and that he might want to buy the one now lying in harbor waiting for a new captain. The ship was named the Aurora, and Tom thought she offered all the features Lord Howell was looking for.
“Splendid, splendid, my lad,” Howell replied, and jumped up. “Where is she? Where is she?”
“At Margate sir,” Tom said. “We can go down there tomorrow if you wish.”
By the time they arrived at Margate it was afternoon. When Lord Howell saw the proud ship Aurora he was immediately taken by her. “Splendid, splendid,” he kept exclaiming. “This is exactly what I had in mind.” Within the same evening, a deal was struck for the ship and Lord Howell arranged to have funds transferred to the owner.
“How long do you think it would take to have her ready to sail?” he asked Tom, appointing him his First Mate.
“Perhaps a week, perhaps two, I don’t know, sir,” Tom replied. “It depends on the quality of men you want to take aboard. What sort of men are you looking for?”
“Good sailors and, above all, men who are not afraid of anything, men without prejudices or fears.”
“That shouldn’t be difficult, sir,” Tom replied cheerfully and shook hands with Lord Howell. They were to meet again a week hence at the Pig and Whistle. As if by an afterthought, Lord Howell stopped Tom from running off.
“Wait,” he said, thoughtfully, and looked around to make sure no one was listening. “There’s just one more thing. I want you to purchase some guns—I mean ships’ guns.”
“Guns? You mean cannon?” Tom replied, his eyes widening.
Howell nodded. “Precisely. I want her to be as strong and able to defend herself as if she were in His Majesty’s navy.”
He pointed at the portholes. There was ample room to mount half a dozen cannon on each side of the ship.
A week later the two men met again in London at the Pig and Whistle. Very business-like, Tom had brought with him all the necessary documents, including the official authorization which gave the Aurora the right to sail from Margate, and the ship’s papers, which Lord Howell was to sign both as owner and captain. There had been some problem with the Admiralty concerning Lord Howell’s ability to serve as captain. But somehow Howell had managed to persuade the official in charge that the sea patent he offered in evidence of his professional ability was to be accepted. Naturally, he paid for whatever extra expenses might have been involved and, true to the times, the official could not have very well refused. The little Admiralty Clerk found that a couple of golden guineas were a very persuasive argument. It didn’t really matter very much that the patent was issued in the name of Lord Howell’s father, rather than in his own.
Finally, the great day arrived. It was April 30th and the Aurora was about to sail for a destination which was unknown even to her crew. There were rumors, of course: many of the sailors thought that the first voyage would be overseas towards the West Indies, and that they would return with a valuable cargo of West Indian goods.
But none of them was worried about where they were going. True to Lord Howell’s command, Tom had selected as crew members men who qualified on two grounds: they had to be experienced seamen, but also men who had for one reason or other expressed a desire to leave England. Among the crew were several men who had served time in prison for minor offenses, though no murderers to be sure; there were others who were unable to secure adequate employment and wanted to emigrate to the New World but would settle for a two-year journey aboard the Aurora first. Thus it was not the usual British crew that sailed the Aurora out of Margate harbor that sunny morning of April 30th, but rather a motly cross-section of men bent on high adventure.
Much as he wanted to look for Merryn, Lord Howell knew only too well that he would be stretching his luck too far if he ventured to stay within the British Isles at this point. Going to Ireland would subject him to double danger: firstly, as a wanted rebel, and secondly as a suspicious English man, whose business in western Ireland would surely come under the close scrutiny of some of the soldiers swarming all over that part of the emerald isle in this time of unrest. Then, too, he felt deeply guilty about having deserted Merryn and he did not really blame her for going off with another man, under the circumstances. How was he to face her now? He needed more time to sort things out for himself.
The winds were favorable and eventually the men found themselves in the middle of the Atlantic ocean, bound for the West Indies. They were now at a place where turning back was as difficult as going forward, should there be no wind. In fact, just then the winds abated and for two days the Aurora did not move at all. It was in this intervening period that Lord Howell chose to assemble the crew of the upper deck to tell them more about his plans, and this voyage in particular. When he appeared before them, standing above them slightly to the left on the quarter-deck, he made a splendid impression in his uniform. His clothes reminded Tom of the uniforms worn a hundred years before this time, uniforms worn by buccaneers and pirates.
“I have brought you together for this journey, men,” Howell began, “because I wanted to have a crew of men whose purpose was similar to mine. So I ask you, do you want to make your fortune?” He looked expectantly from one face, to the other. There was a moment of hesitation, then smiles broke out on the faces of the men below him and an eager chorus of “Yes, yes!” rang out.
“Very well then,” Howell said, “let me tell you what my plans are. The Aurora is not an ordinary merchantman.”
Ah, Tom Masterson thought, here it comes. I always knew there was something he hasn’t told me.
“No, the Aurora is a very special ship,” Howell continued. “And I’m a very special captain. We are buccaneers.”
A hush fell over the crew when the meaning of those words sank in. “Buccaneers?” Tom asked and looked straight at Lord Howell. “You mean pirates?”
“Precisely.” Lord Howell sounded so unemotional that he might have been discussing the weather. “I have decided to become a free man of the sea, taking legitimately, of course, what my patent allows me to.” With that he pulled a document from his breast pocket. “This is a patent for freebootery, issued to me by the Spanish Ambassador. It allows me to capture certain ships, except Spanish ships, and to remove all valuables.”
Tom Masterson could not believe his ears. Lord Howell turned pirate? As inconceivable as the thought seemed to him at first, after a while he was not so sure that the impossible could not happen. Why not? he finally said to himself. Anything is possible in this uncertain century, at a time when men fight for their very existence, not knowing what lies ahead—a time when the old values are no more and nothing has come upon the scene to replace them. Yes, Tom Masterson assured himself silently, a time when a German prince can ascend the throne of Britain, such a time can also give birth to a pirate named Lord Howell.
As if he read his thoughts, Howell beckoned Tom forward. “Only you know who I really am,” he said in a voice so low that none of the other sailors could hear. “But now you must forget that you ever heard the name of Lord Howell.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Tom’s face was puzzled. “But—”
Howell waved him to silence. He raised his voice again.
“From this day onward, men, you will know me as Don Pedro.”
He then discussed what he had in mind: whatever prizes the Aurora was able to take would be fairly divided among the crew, with a larger share going to the captain and first mate. The men liked the idea; two or three of them were hesitant at first about turning pirate, but they all finally agreed that it was worth a try.
And so the Aurora sailed on, as the wind rose again, into an uncertain future, full of the spirit of high adventure, with a captain who had decided to turn his back on the native land that had done him so much wrong.