by Perry Comer
What troubled Donland was that the shipment of nine-pound guns would not have been sent without an escort. He considered the possibilities; either the escort was sunk or merely ran away from a fight. There was little doubt that the guns were intended for a privateer being built in Bermuda for that was where the majority of privateer vessels were constructed. The Bermudans had sided with the colonists long before the Americans claimed independence. There was little the Crown could do to stop the building of vessels. The Admiralty had tasked the navy with stopping the flow of arms and powder. Unfortunately, there were as always, too few ships.
As Donland considered the battery, he set aside his thoughts about the escort. It was the American sloop that concerned him. She may well fly the flag of the new nation but his suspicion was that she was not a ship of their navy.
“Mister Ashcroft have you inspected the battery?” Donland asked as the rain began to fall in earnest.
“Aye Captain, it is serviceable and being covered with sailcloth as we speak. I was about to inspect the power but I shall wait until after this storm passes if that is agreeable?”
“Prudent, Mister Ashcroft. No need to allow it to become wet. Judging from those gun platforms I should hazard to believe that the captain ordered layers of logs placed in that pit to keep the powder dry.”
Ashcroft responded with a hint of laughter in his voice, “Aye, sir, you'd have my hide if I was tasked with storing the powder and not made that provision.”
“As soon as this storm passes I want you to sort out our men into two gun crews. Drill them until you are confident that they are proficient. I believe each gun should then fire three rounds each. Time them, for when the American is sighted we shall have precious little time to do her damage.”
“Aye, Captain, I'll have them sweating blood until I'm satisfied.”
“And Mister Ashcroft, remember they are to aim from her hull. Hornet and Stinger will see to her sail and rigging.”
“Aye Captain, I shall pound it into their skulls.”
Richards approached Donland soon after the storm and crossed over. “Captain Donland we've found several casks of rum in the hold of the ship,” he said.
“You've placed a trustworthy guard?” Donland asked.
“Aye, sir, Mister Welles, and Mister Allen. There are also food stores in a locker, enough to feed our men several meals if need be.”
“A meal and a tot of rum would not come amiss, would you say so?”
“Aye Sir, the men have done well this day.”
“See to it Mister Richards and also task some of your men with preparing a meal two hours before dawn. They will have to take it to the gun crews as they will not be leaving the guns.”
“Aye Sir, I will make it so,” Ashcroft answered.
As an afterthought Donland added, “Once the men have their ration of rum, move it into the jungle and set at least two guards.”
During the night, Donland ordered no fires were to be built. He reasoned that any fire might serve as a warning should the privateer force Stinger to sail through the night and arrive sooner than expected. His plans would have been completely foiled if a fire were observed.
The boom of the big guns as the men drilled had sounded like thunder in the night air. Donland had reservations about firing the guns but the men needed familiarity so that when the time came, their tasks would be rote. Ashcroft reported them ready just after midnight.
Donland smiled as he considered the shock those guns would give to the privateer captain. If he sailed in close enough, it would be a slaughter; the decks would run red before she went under. Of course, the plan hinged on one detail he had not shared with Ashcroft or Richards. The captain of the sloop had to know of the guns on the island. He may have been the one who ordered construction of the battery. There little doubt in Donland’s mind that the privateer captain and the captain of the ketch were aligned. The fact that the American had not molested the pirates on the island told Donland that the American was more than just aware of their presence. He would have nothing to fear by coming close inshore. That is unless he suspected a trap. It was important for everything to appear as the American expected, men on the wreck, others in the camp and no blue coats visible.
High above Donland's head, Abuko clung to the truck of the tall palm. He was a small wiry former slave with sharp eyes. Donland was certain that in the dim light Abuko would not be observed by an approaching ship. The only problem was that Abuko spoke little English. Donland drilled the young man in saying, “sail” and “two sail”.
Donland waiting, watching the sky and slapping mosquitoes. He was tempted to go onto the beach and escape the pests but would not chance it. No, there was nothing for it but to wait and endure.
“Captain?” A voice called from the darkness.
“Aye,” Donland answered.
“Lieutenant Richards compliments sir, he asks that you come?” the voice asked.
Unsure of the voice, he asked, “Mister Allen?”
“No sir, I’m Buschard,” the young man said.
“Aye, and what is the difficulty Mister Buschard?”
“Some of the men have gotten into the rum, Lieutenant Richards asks that you come.”
Donland turned back to the sea, it was still too dark to see the horizon. “Aye, I'll come. Lead the way Mister Buschard.”
There were four of them; each pickled to the gills. “Captain Donland all four are from Hornet,” Richards said.
“Mister Buschard can you find your way to the guns?” Donland asked.
“Aye Captain, there a trail just there,” Buschard answered.
“Very good, fetch Dawkins, the Bos'um.”
“Aye, Captain,” Buschard answered.
Donland addressed the men before him; “Drunk on watch carries a stiff penalty, drunk while engaged with an enemy even more so. I could hang the lot of you and be within my rights as captain to do so.”
They began pleading.
“Silence or I'll have you shot!” Donland shouted. “Six lashes each! Touch another drop and it'll be a dozen!”
“Sir!” one of the four said.
“Porter do you want the rope instead, if you do, just say another word! You were to watch over the spirit's not divvy it up among the men!” Donland's temper was short.
“Captain?” Dawkins asked.
“These men are drunk on watch and in the face of the enemy, I'll have them hanged, by God if they touch another drop, do you understand Dawkins?”
“Aye, Captain, hang em'!” Dawkins said.
“Mark it down Dawkins, mark it down! I'll not tolerate drunkenness. Tomorrow at noon, six lashes each or hanging. It will be their choice and it is in your hands.”
“Aye Captain, six lashes or hanging!” Dawkins repeated. “They'll not trouble you again this night, they'll be little lambs.”
Donland turned and walked away. He heard the men begin to protest to Dawkins, then the sound of something heavy hit the ground. He stood still; there were no more protests.
Two steps further on he heard another, “Whump!”
Donland smiled, Dawkins carried a sap of sand and he was making use of it. He knew the sound was that of another man hitting the ground. The men would be like little lambs, sleeping lambs. The four men would be no trouble for hours and would accept their punishment when the time came without protests. Each would know they were receiving less than what was due. Truth was, they knew just as he knew, it was the minimum punishment allowed. It was, however, necessary and the ship's company would expect no less.
Chapter Five
First light was growing close at hand. Donland returned to stand underneath the palm. Ashcroft had charge of one gun crew and Richards controlled the second. Both knew what was expected. Welles and Buschard were to assist. Aboard the Dutch hulk, he had placed Allen with ten men to man swivels and the small cannons should the American launch boats. All was in order; Hornet was on station and waiting. He had no doubt that Jackson would be the sto
pper in the bottle when the time came if it came. Would Powell be able to goad the American to come inshore close enough for the two long-nines to do his ship serious harm? First light would tell the tale.
He slapped a mosquito on the back of his hand, then another on the back of his neck. He considered moving closer to the water and into the faint breeze. No, if his men had to endure the pests then he should as well. He would at least pace and perhaps keep the bloodsuckers at bay.
At each turn of his pacing, he glanced skyward and seaward towards the horizon. With each turn, the sky seemed brighter and the horizon began taking shape. “Not much longer,” he said to himself. The question that burdened him as he paced was did Stinger escape the American? Everything depended on Powell managing to goad the American captain into a long chase and then back to the island. If Stinger had been taken then the American would know of the trap that was laid for him. If Stinger were lost then the waiting would be in vain. Only first light would answer the questions. He paced.
“Ship!” Abuko called down to Donland.
Donland turned toward the horizon. He could see the faint line separating sea from sky. It was still too dark from his vantagepoint. A few minutes more would tell the tale. He lifted the glass and put it to his eye, nothing.
He paced the ten steps again, turned and paced back to his point under the tree. He studied the horizon, still nothing. “Once more,” he said and began to pace.
“Ship! Ship!” Abuko called then called, “Two ship! Two ship!”
Donland lifted the glass to his eye. The sky had brightened considerably. There, just below the horizon, a ship. Straining, he thought he saw the second but couldn't be sure. He lowered the glass and rubbed his eye.
He saw her, the second ship. Both were still too far distance to determine if one was Stinger and the other were the American but odds were that the plan had worked. Powell had kept ahead of his pursuer but could he manage to do so as dawn broke the sky?
“Come down!” Donland ordered Aboku and motioned with his hand because he knew the man would not understand words.
The wiry little man understood the gesture and came down the tree much as he went up, sliding his hands down the trunk and walking down the tree.
Donland lifted the glass to his eye and focused on the nearest ship. Every scrap of sail seemed to be set, She was heeled sharply indicated her sails held all the wind possible and her captain was running before the wind.
Turning slightly, he found the second sail, she appeared much as the first. Both were engaged in a race for life. One to take life and the other to preserve it. One was destined to lose and the other win.
Aboku stood beside Donland. “We shall know very soon,” Donland said to the young man. “Let us go to the battery.”
Ashcroft and Richards were preparing the guns. “Both loaded and ready Captain,” Ashcroft announced as Donland approached.
“You've seen them?” Donland asked.
“Aye, we heard Abuko's first call and began preparations,” Ashcroft said with satisfaction.
Donland turned to face the sea and lifted the glass. Both ships remained on course. He studied them for a moment and saw the first ship seem to grow larger. “Captain Powell has tacked, either as a faint or to avoid fire. I've no doubt that the distance between them is allowing the American to fire his bow-chaser. I pray to God that Powell can hold a little longer.” He dared not speak that it would take only one shot to bring his plan to disaster.
“Aye Captain, I saw the spurt of flame,” Richards said.
“How far is the American?” Donland asked.
“Less than three miles, I make it,” Ashcroft ventured.
“We'll need better light Captain if we are to have a chance to hit her,” Richards added.
“You'll have plenty Mister Richards, Captain Powell will see to it. Look there, you see he is tacking to come closer inshore,” Donland said and pointed. “I'm certain he intends to lure the American under our guns by pretending to be wounded and like Jacket, seeks to beach his ship.”
Donland raised the glass to his eye and focused on Stinger. The minutes seemed to dray by. As Stinger neared, Powell began doing exactly what he would do, throwing stores overboard to make the American captain think he was hulled and sinking. It is what any captain giving chase would think when stores were thrown over the side.
“Captain Powell is throwing stores over the side,” Donland said to the two lieutenants. “I'd not be surprised if he sails right up to the beach just to draw the American to our guns.”
“Sir, that's a terrible risk, he'd lose his ship,” Richards said expressing his horror.
“Aye, but understand Mister Richards, a risk is one thing and failure another. Our success depends on Captain Powell and he knows quite well that if he does not lure the American under these guns we shall all be in peril,” Donland said wanting them to understand just how much was at stake.
“Mile an a quarter!” Ashcroft stated.
Stinger still held all the wind she could hold in her sails. Donland could see her bow crest bursting as high as the deck as she dashed through the swells.
Donland watched as Stinger came on, he could contain himself no longer, “Now Powell now!” Donland shouted. Stinger was rapidly running inshore, nearing the point where the slightest shoal or coral reef would rip her hull open.
Powell's timing was impeccable, Stinger turned like a racehorse, the rudder when hard over, the tacks and sheets were hauled in an instant. Every available hand aboard Stinger must have been hands-on and waiting the order.
“She'll be in irons!” Richards gasped.
“Not so, Mister Richards, watch!” Donland said with admiration. “See! Her way was such that she bit into the shallows, drove through the swells and rose up. The rudder was put back over to steady her now watch!”
They all watched as if by magic Stinger's sails were aligned to her new heading.
“Less than a mile!” Donland shouted. “Prepare to fire number one! Number two standby!”
“Bonner! Half down!” Ashcroft said to the man holding the spike. Ashcroft sighted the gun.
“American is tacking!” Richards shouted.
“Steady there Mister Richards,” Donland said evenly.
“Half again Bonner!” Ashcroft ordered.
Donland saw Richards gun was also making the adjustments.
“Fire as you bear Mister Ashcroft!” Donland shouted.
“Fire!” Ashcroft shouted and the big gun boomed and rocked back to its stops.
Donland watched the arc of the ball and saw it throw up spray no more than a yard from the American's bow.
“Fire!” Richards shouted without waiting for Donland's order.
Donland again watched the flight of the shot. It crashed high into the bow blasting away the railing and planking.
A huge crash of guns rocked the American sloop.
“She fired a full broadside at Stinger!” Ashcroft exclaimed.
“Aye,” Donland said with the glass to his eye. Stinger's rigging was shredded by chain shot.
“Fire!” Ashcroft shouted and his gun boomed.
The shot seemed to skip on the water just before crashing into the privateer’s hull.
By the time Donland had registered the damage, Richards gun boomed. The shot landed near if not directly where Ashcroft's shot had struck.
“Hornet's closing Captain,” Honest shouted to Donland.
She was indeed closing and as Donland watched she luffed and fired her starboard battery. The chain-shot crashed through the American sloop's rigging taking down blocks and ripping through sails. Ashcroft's gun fired again and the gun crew cheered as they saw the ball smash into the aft quarter.
Richard's gun was still being loaded when the American loosed a three-gun broadside. The first ball smashed through the tops of trees and plunged into the sand. The second tore through the trunk of a tree sending splinters of wood into Ashcroft's gun crew. The third crashed down onto the wheel
of Richard's gun carriage killing two men.
Mister Allen see to the wounded!” Donland ordered.
He ignored the carnage as he concentrated on the events playing out less than a half-mile from the shore. Stinger's larboard guns fired just as Hornet luffed and turned her larboard guns toward the American. She fired another broadside of chain and bar shot. What sails remained aloft were shredded and became useless.
“Get that gun into action!” Donland shouted. “Forget the other one! Hit her, hit her now!”
Men scrambled to take positions around the gun. Ashcroft quickly sighted, “quarter round!” he shouted. Satisfied as the gun was spiked round, he shouted “Fire” Donland again tracked the shot and saw the ball plow through the sloop's transom.
He studied the sail-less sloop; she was beginning to list on the starboard side. Hornet was reducing sail and turning to fire her starboard battery. He knew Jackson would see how the American was beginning to list and fire the next broadside into her damaged hull. Six-pounders they may be but at that range and with such damage already, the balls would tear through the weakened hull. She'd not stay afloat long.
Hornet fired a slow roll of her guns. Each shot striking the hull enlarging the holes the nines had made.
Men began jumping from the deck of the stricken ship. Those with good sense leaped to escape the carnage aboard. In their minds, it was better the risk of drowning than to be trapped and drug down to the depths. Donland was certain many would die that way this day.
“Stinger is going alongside, she's going to board!” Richards shouted.
Donland concluded that Powell was taking a risk. A risk he need not take for with one gun in the battery still firing and Hornet's guns, the American would soon sink. No need to lose more good men by boarding.