The Saintly Buccaneer

by Gilbert, Morris

  He drew back and smiled at her. “Your father said once, ‘Blanche likes to make things—dolls when she was young, and people now. Don’t let her make you into something you don’t want to be, Hawke!’ I think he was right.”

  “I love you and you love me! That’s all that counts!” she argued adamantly, and pulled his head down once more.

  Well, it won’t be a boring marriage—not with this one! he thought as they kissed again.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CAPTURED!

  “Deck! Deck! Sail—three points off the stern!”

  Captain Rommey had been shaving, but the urgency of the lookout’s call caused him to drop his razor; he charged out of his cabin, raced up the ladder, and emerged on deck heedless of the flecks of lather clinging to his face. The bright morning sun blinded him, and he moved close to Langley, who was staring over the stern toward the north. “What is it, Langley?”

  “Can’t say, sir—the convoy has drifted so far. But I thought I heard something just before the lookout sighted sail.”

  “Heard what?”

  “Well, it was faint—but it could have been gunfire.”

  “Gunfire! And you didn’t call me?” Rommey’s face was red with anger and his blue eyes flashed. “You should have known better!”

  “W-well, sir, it could have been thunder...”

  A distant sound suddenly came to their ears. Rommey lifted his head and a blistering curse fell from his lips. “Well, that’s not thunder! That’s ship’s cannon! Put the ship about at once!”

  “Yes, sir—but there’s so little wind we’ll have to tack—”

  “I don’t give a farthing how you do it, Lieutenant—just do it!”

  The deck was soon swarming with seamen, but the vessel itself could not be hurried. Slowly as the faint breeze caught the sail, she began to swing about, and Angus said to Hawke as the two of them stood in the bow, “Makes a man want to get out and push, don’t it now?”

  Hawke was staring intently across the sea, narrowing his eyes against the brilliant rays of the sun. “The convoy must be spread out over twenty miles! I’ll bet my life there’s a Yankee privateer nibbling away at the stragglers!”

  “Probably that’s it,” Angus agreed. “Captain warned ’em to stay close, but they’re a heedless lot. Looks like some of ’em will pay for it.”

  “Well, that fellow can’t do much without a wind.”

  “More than we can. These privateers are the fastest things in the water. And with enough sail for a ship of the line! We’re weighted doon with a crew of five hundred men, cannon, shot, supplies. She’ll make twice our speed.”

  “Yes—but if we could get in range, we could blow her out of the water.”

  “Not much chance o’ that unless the captain’s a fool—and most of them aren’t. They’re a crafty lot. As soon as they spot us, they’ll turn tail and run for cover.”

  ****

  The captain of the privateer was getting that exact advice. The Gallant Lady had encountered the convoy at dawn, and Daniel had shouted immediately, “Man the guns! They’re out there like sitting ducks!”

  At once the ship became a beehive of activity, but as the guns were run out and the ship was manned for action, Laurence Conrad hurried to where Dan stood beside Captain Alden to protest. “This is foolishness! We’ll risk this ship for nothing!”

  “There’s no danger, Laurence,” Dan replied easily. “Look—those merchant ships are loaded, and they’re not armed. We can make a run right through the middle of them and punch the bottoms out of a lot of them with the long guns.”

  “And what about that frigate?” Conrad demanded.

  “Why, in this calm she can’t even move much faster than those fat merchant ships! We can walk away from her!”

  “I don’t like it,” Conrad muttered gloomily. Then he shrugged his thin shoulders. “Well, there’s one good thing, if you get us all killed in this crazy mess, we won’t have to worry about getting caught by the British and sent to Dartmoor!”

  “That’s the cheerful way to look at it, Laurence,” Dan laughed. “But there’s no risk.”

  And for the rest of the morning his words were so accurate that the crew was convinced, and even Conrad, though he continued to prophesy awful messages of doom, seemed assured. The Lady moved steadily under the slight breeze, and by ten o’clock they were within range of a three-masted brig. “Look at them scurry around!” Rufus Middles cried gleefully. “They know what’s coming!”

  Charity had come to stand beside Dan, and she asked worriedly as he ordered the guns loaded, “Are we going to give them a chance to surrender?”

  “What would we do with them?” Dan shrugged. “We don’t have room for any prisoners, much less cargo.”

  “But won’t they drown?”

  “No, they’ll have plenty of time to get their boats off, and the other ships will pick them up.” Then he gave the order, “Fire as you bear, Smith!”

  Lige Smith grinned toothlessly and stated, “Like shootin’ fish in a barrel, it is!”

  It seemed like a merciless thing, and Charity couldn’t bear watching the onslaught. Smith could not miss, and he put six shots just below the waterline of the ship that bore the name of Portsmouth Belle on her bow. She was already beginning to settle low in the water as Dan ordered, “That’ll do her, Lige. Let me take that schooner.”

  Dan moved to his favorite long eighteen, and as they skimmed slowly and relentlessly across the smooth water, he hulled a schooner that was so loaded she could only waddle along in the light breeze. One of the shots went high and blasted the gun crew to bits. Charity could see the broken parts of flesh flying through the air, and the sight of a man’s leg striking the mast made her turn away sick.

  They had sunk four ships and were moving on when the lookout hailed, “Deck, there’s a frigate bearing down, two points off starboard bow!”

  “Time to get away,” Captain Alden advised, and began to consider the direction.

  “Wait a minute, Captain,” Dan urged. He had seen an opening in the convoy and pointed to it. “If we go through that gap, we can get a couple more ships on our way.”

  “But that course will bring us almost within range of the frigate!” Charity protested. “Let’s just put about and get out of here!”

  “Wind’s in the south, Charity,” he reminded her. “We’ll have to tack anyway. If we cut through like I say, we’ll come a mite close, but she can’t catch us. We’ll get a couple more ships, and then we’ll show them our stern.”

  Captain Alden opened his mouth to object, but Dan added, “It’ll be striking a blow for Curtis.” He saw that the words had power with Alden, so he exhorted, “Your boy died for this cause, Captain. Let’s do it for him.”

  “That’s not fair, Dan!” Charity cried, but her father’s eyes had grown stern, and he nodded.

  “We’ll do it for Curtis,” he agreed, and gave the order to turn.

  As the Lady heeled and headed into the gap, every eye was fixed on the frigate—still far off in the distance but headed straight for them. A silence fell over the deck as the crew realized that they would pass close to the guns of the warship, and Laurence gave a melancholy sigh. “Well, I’ve often wondered what it would be like to look down the cannon of one of the King’s ships—now God has blessed me with the opportunity. Let us be duly grateful for the bounties of the Almighty!”

  ****

  Rommey had watched helplessly as the privateer had destroyed the merchant ships, and his failure to drive his ship to the rescue enraged him. He had gone to stand beside the three lieutenants who were staring with loathing at the scene.

  “Shall I have the guns run out, sir?” Langley asked.

  “What for? We’ll never get close enough to get a shot. They wouldn’t be such fools.”

  At that instant, Hawke saw a movement that the others missed, and he yelled, “Look, she’s putting about, sir!”

  “What?”

  Hawke’s sharp eyes had
taken in the maneuver of the privateer, and he reported hurriedly, “Sir, she’s not going to run south—there’s no breeze at all that way. She’s going to cut through the convoy—see there? She’s heeling around.” Then his eyes blazed, and he cried out in excitement, “Sir, we’ll have one chance—she’ll have to pass fairly close to us on that course. Let me make a try for her with the bow chaser.”

  “That would be too long a shot,” Langley argued. He had seen that the third lieutenant had done what he should have done, and it enraged him. “It would take a miracle!”

  Captain Rommey snorted, “Well, we’ll have a miracle then!” A glitter of excitement rose in his eyes, and he smiled. “You man the bow chaser, Mr. Hawke—and take Mr. Burns along to pray. That ought to cover God and man!”

  The remark was taken seriously only by Burns, who said, “It’ll do nae harm to invoke the favor of Jehovah. David prayed that God would help him destroy his enemies.”

  The others stared at him, Hawke in particular, fascinated by the religion of the dour Scotsman, but he grinned and agreed. “You pray and I’ll shoot, then, Angus!”

  It was a full two hours before Angus called excitedly, “There! I can read her name—The Gallant Lady.” He was watching the trim privateer as she glided between the merchant ships, and he added thoughtfully, “Beautiful craft. Be a shame to sink her.”

  “I don’t have your mercy, I’m afraid,” Hawke remarked. He was bending over his bow chaser, lining the gun up with the enemy ship. “I’ll sink her with every man if I can.”

  “Weel, now, that’s a man o’ war speakin’—but I doot ye’ll get the chance. Look, she’s tackin’ now. Ye’ll not get more than five or six shots at her, I’m thinkin’.”

  “One is all it takes. I’ve put a double charge in the gun, and a single shot. Ought to be in range in a few minutes.”

  “One hole in her wouldn’t do it, though,” Angus surmised, shaking his head. “Even if ye hit her with two or three o’ them six-pound shot, they could plug the holes and pump the hull dry before we could catch up with ’em.”

  “That’s right enough,” Hawke agreed. “But you just ask that God of yours to let me place one shot where I want it—and then we’ll see.”

  Every member of the Neptune’s crew was on deck, the gun crews gathered about their weapons, all watching the progress of the enemy ship.

  “Do ye think the wind’s going to hold?” asked Angus. “Looks like the sun’s swallowing it.”

  “Can’t say, but if we can get in a good shot, we’ll have a chance of coming up to her. Ready to fire,” he ordered, and there was a long moment as he waited for the slow roll of the ship. At the extreme point when the bow was lifted free from the white foam, he yelled, “Fire!”

  The gun exploded almost before his words died, and the gun was driven backward, coming to an abrupt halt as she hit the end of her harness. All eyes tried to trace the flight of the ball, but under the force of the double charge, no one could spot it.

  “Didn’t see the ball hit,” Angus said, but Hawke was yelling at the crew, who were toiling like demons.

  “Load your powder!”

  The cartridge slid down the barrel.

  “Rammers—first wads!”

  The wad was rammed down on top of the cartridge.

  “Load roundshot!”

  The ball rang and rumbled its way down the barrel.

  “Second wads!”

  The rammer damped the wad hard onto the ball.

  “Run out the gun!”

  The men clapped on to the side tackles and ran the gun down the slight slope of the deck, hauling it hard up against the ship’s side, the black-painted muzzle jutting out over the green water.

  “Handspikemen—train hard forward!”

  The crowbar dug in and levered, inching the gun rapidly around until the muzzle was pointing as far forward as possible.

  “Adjust your quoins—minimum depression!”

  The gun muzzle rose as the wedge slipped into place. The gun captain, in this case the burly Dion Sullivan, crouched over his flintlock, waiting for the final order.

  “Fire!”

  The lanyard jerked, the spark flew, the muzzle belched flame and smoke and thunder, and the gun hurled backward, brought up sharply by the breechings.

  This time Angus thought he caught a glimpse of a thin black line against the sky, and then he shouted, “Close miss! Too long by half a cable.”

  Hawke cried out the commands and the next shot was seen by all, falling too far by a cable.

  “Ye’re overshooting!” Angus yelled. “Lower the gun.”

  “Mind your praying! I’ll take care of this gun!” There was a flaming light of battle in Hawke’s eyes, and he once again cried out “Fire!” The thunder of the gun had not died away before a cry went up from the crew.

  “You got her main mast!” Angus screamed and did a war dance on the deck. “Hit her again!”

  Sure enough, the mainsail of The Gallant Lady was snapped off as if sheared by an invisible axe halfway up. The mainsail and the royals fell directly against the foremast, tearing down the top gallants and bringing a mass of wreckage down onto the deck.

  “We’ve got a chance now!” Captain Rommey had come to stand close to the stern gun, and his eyes were alight with pleasure. “Good work, Mr. Hawke. I’ll mention this in my dispatches.”

  “Thank you, Captain. Keep up firing, of course?”

  “Of course. If you can keep up the pressure, we’ll be close enough to swing about and give her a broadside—that’ll take care of her!”

  But that was not accomplished so easily. The crew of the privateer cleared the deck quickly; and even stripped of part of her sails, she was able to keep her distance from the Neptune.

  Slowly the two ships moved through the water, and the first success of the warship was not repeated. The Lady presented a small target, and even though the six-pound shot came close, no more hits were repeated.

  Angus was watching the fleeing ship through the brass telescope, and he cried out, “She’s got stern chasers—look like eighteen-pounders to me! I think we’re in for it!”

  He had no sooner spoken than clouds of smoke rose from the stern of the Lady, and then they heard the roar of the stern chasers. Instantly there was a terrific crash midship, and Hawke looked around to see a section of the ship disappear. Bodies and parts of them splintered through the air. Lattimore received the full impact and lay still on the deck.

  Confusion reigned, but Langley ran to the scene, and soon had the wounded carried below. Almost at once, another large shell struck the superstructure of the small cabin containing storage just below the poop deck. No one was hurt, but Angus yelled, “We can’t stand up to that kind of pounding! She’s got good gunners, sir! She can pound us to pieces with those long eighteens!”

  “I thought we had her—but you may be right, Burns.”

  “We’ll take that ship! As long as we can fire this gun, I won’t quit!” Captain Rommey was startled, for Hawke’s face was blazing with anger.

  “We can’t risk our ship, Hawke!”

  “Hell loves a quitter, sir!” Hawke shot back, a fierce light in his eyes. “We came to destroy this ship, sir! Isn’t that what the admiral said? I say we do it! Let’s show those Yankees what Englishmen can stand!”

  Rommey stared at him, then smiled and nodded, “I stand rebuked. Continue firing, Mr. Hawke.”

  For two hours the duel continued, the breeze tantalizing the British. It rose and fell, and the shots from the Lady fell, too, sending shrapnel whirring through the air. Bresington, a huge Swede, was crossing the deck of the Neptune when one of the shots exploded on the side of the ship, driving a splinter the size of his arm through his back, knocking him forward and killing him instantly.

  There were other casualties, and the crew stayed away from the deck unless compelled by orders. By some miracle, none of the shots hit the bow chaser, and all the crew were awed by the way Hawke stood there giving commands as
calmly as if he were in a living room at home. More than once he heard the whizz of a shot close to his ear, and he was amazed to see the crew fall flat. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “Get back to your guns. I’m ashamed of you!”

  “The man has no more nerves than a brass statue,” Rommey muttered to Burns. “I think he lost his fear the same way he lost his memory.”

  Ten minutes later a shell did strike one of the crew, a tall Cornishman named Wells. He was bringing up a round shot when a missile from the Lady hit him with such force that he fell to his death without a sound.

  The crew flinched, and Hawke saw them ready to bolt. He knew at once that if they left, he’d never get a crew to stand exposed to the stern chaser. He spotted Captain Baxter immaculately dressed in his red uniform, and cried out, “Captain Baxter! Take the name of the next man who dies without permission!”

  The crew stared at him unbelievingly, and then Sullivan laughed wryly. “Sink me! That’s a good one!” Then the rest of the crew joined him, and they got off another shot as the body of Wells was carried away and the deck was covered with sand to soak up the blood.

  “That’s the way the good ones are,” Rommey commented as he watched. “They can rise to any crisis and the men know they’re not afraid. All the great fighters have been like that. I think you’ve seen the birth of a legend, Mr. Burns—Look! Got his rudder!”

  Burns looked and saw the rudder of the Lady dangling by a cable, and the ship veered helplessly to one side. “We’ve got her, sir! She can’t get away now.”

  Hawke came charging down the deck, pulled up before the captain and demanded, “Permission to fire broadside, sir!”

  “Permission granted,” Rommey answered. “I’ll have the ship put about, and if she doesn’t lower her colors, sweep her decks with the carronades. We can take her as a prize, I think. Have the guns loaded with chain.”