The Wreck of the Ten Sail

by Steven Becker

  I stayed in the rigging, straining to see if we had inflicted any damage on the other ship. If we had, she did not appear worse for it. Below, Rhames had the men organized into two crews, each packing powder, wadding and shot into the cannons, while Lucy and Shayla were busy replenishing the sacks of smaller rocks.

  I dropped to the deck, gave each group encouragement, and went to the wheel, where Mason was fighting to keep the ship on course.

  “That’s a lot of sail in this breeze,” he said as he fought the wheel. “Gaining on the bastards, though.”

  I glanced at the compass and saw our course was north. “He’s heading to America,” I said.

  “Aye. That’s where he can get the most coin for that cargo. Probably ride the stream up the coast of Florida and put into Savannah.”

  We should be able to catch him easily, I thought, but they must have known that, and would surely try to rid themselves of us. I watched their movement, trying to detect any change in course, then I retrieved the spyglass from the cabin and studied their ship. The deck was full of men, at least twice the size of our meager crew, but we were bow to stern and I couldn’t see what they were doing.

  I went into the main rigging and called to Mason, “Bring us off to the side.” I locked my elbows in the rope ladder and tried to brace so my hands would be free to work the glass. The crew of the slaver were working in two teams, hauling cannon to the starboard side. Immediately I knew what they were up to and I dropped to the deck and called Rhames to the wheel.

  “They mean to broadside us from their starboard side. They’re moving the cannon across the deck now.”

  “Aye, they know we’ll catch them. A crafty one that captain is,” Rhames said.

  “Right, then. He’s thinking we’re going to overtake him on the lee.”

  “If it were up to me, that’s how I’d go at him. Better downwind and the ocean to my side instead of a reef,” Mason said and turned the wheel to starboard. “I say let him think he’s right and not give no indication to what we’re up to. At the last minute, I’ll cut behind and we’ll broadside him.”

  Our cannons were on the port side. We would have to move and reset before we could take him. “He’s going to be defenseless if we pull this off. I say we bring all four of our guns to starboard and take the chain to him with two. We won’t get Blue back if we sink him. Be better to de-mast the bastard and then figure it out.”

  It was the “figure it out” part that bothered me as we got to work moving the guns. Shooting a length of chain from two different cannon could devastate a ship, but, even disabled, we would still have to board the slaver to get Blue back, and from what I had seen, they outmanned us two to one.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Panther closed fast, forcing Mason to change his course slightly to ease off the wind. We needed time for our plan to work. Normally, we would have reefed the sails, but that might alert the slaver to our ruse. With the change, the Panther matched the speed of the slaver, now less than a quarter of a mile away. The stench of her carried on the wind.

  Our preparations were well underway; all four cannon were on the starboard side now. Rhames was in the process of securing and sighting them in. We would have to trust his expertise; there would be no chance to fire a test round. Our goal was to fire a broadside from one hundred yards, aimed into the rigging, so the guns were sighted above the waterline so as not to risk sinking the ship.

  The two center carronades were placed ten feet apart, a length of chain draped over the rail between them attached to two projectiles in their barrels. The fore and aft guns might do some good, but it was the chain I was counting on to disable the ship. The charges were set and the flintlocks primed, but not cocked. The mechanisms for the center cannon were attached together with a lanyard, allowing one man to fire the chain. If packed correctly, they would shoot simultaneously.

  The guns were ready, and I paced back and forth by the wheel, where Mason stood firm, steering the ship. There were still several hours of daylight left, but we needed to make our attack now. If it failed, we would need to muster another before night fell and we lost them. Mason slowly turned the wheel to port and waited for the sails to catch before correcting further. We picked up speed, and the gap began to close.

  “Take the wheel,” he said and ran to the hold.

  He tossed the pump and hose onto the deck and barked orders to the men. One line was dropped into the water from the stern and the other lay on deck. Lucy and the girl were listening to his animated description of what they were to do, but I was too far away to hear and too worried about holding our course to care.

  Mason was back at the wheel and all hands were ready at their stations as we closed to one hundred yards. We could hear the orders across the gap as the other boat likewise prepared for battle. I surveyed our situation and knew that if the cannon shot failed at its purpose, there was little we could do. With our skeleton crew and lack of proper arms, we were outgunned and undermanned. Having two women aboard only added to my concern.

  There wasn’t much for boarding gear on board, but we had found two grappling hooks that sat on the deck with a coil of line next to them, ready to swing when we came alongside. Fearing that boarding would result in disaster, I planned on holding them alongside with the threat of another broadside. We had agreed our goal was to take Blue back and leave the ship; none of us wanted any part of the slaver.

  A single shot sounded and we ducked, expecting the projectile to slam into the deck, but it landed in the water on our port side. Mason held the wheel steady, relying on the headway we were making to quickly close the gap. It was a good tactic, as the next volley landed behind us.

  It was time to make our move. We saw the men on the slaver ready at the guns on their starboard side and their captain with his arm raised, ready to give the command.

  “Now!” I shouted.

  Mason yanked the wheel and all hands focused ahead as we watched our bow swing to port. We were sailing close-hauled to the wind, a fast point of sail, and the two boats were within spitting distance and we came up on her at over eight knots.

  I smiled as I watched the sudden panicked movements of the slaver’s crew. Mason steered a few more degrees to port to give us the hundred-yard gap Rhames needed for accuracy. I drew a last breath, knowing the moment had come.

  “Fire!” I yelled, and watched as Swift pulled the lanyard, releasing the flintlocks on the double gun, and turned away to protect his ears. Seconds later, the ship rocked and the cannon fired. I chanced a look but the smoke obscured my view. Something stung my arm and I ordered everyone down on the deck and to be ready with the grappling hooks.

  When the smoke cleared, I crept to the rail to see if we had accomplished our goal. Shots fired again, but this time we were ready and returned fire. Another ball flew by my head, but I stood fast, chancing a look at our foe.

  The foremast still stood, but the rigging was destroyed. Their mainmast was broken a third of the way up, exactly as Rhames had planned it. The slaver was dead in the water. Unfortunately, we were unable to maneuver without sending men into the rigging to drop some canvas, thereby exposing them to the slaver’s muskets.

  “The pump. Now!” Mason yelled. He handed the wheel over to me and ran to the pump, where he and Red furiously worked the levers.

  As Phillip held the end, a trickle came, which quickly developed into a full stream of water.

  “Hurry,” I yelled now that I knew what the device was for. “Into the rigging and drop the topsails. Everyone else load the guns!”

  I watched the flow of water increase and hit the deck of the other boat. It wasn’t enough to do damage or harm a man, but it confounded their work and soaked their powder, rendering it worthless. I turned my attention to the helm. With the topsails down, we were more maneuverable, and I swung the bow toward the slaver to close the gap. Rhames called that the cannon were ready just as the hulls touched and the men threw the hooks. The water from the pump continued to spra
y, leaving them unable to fire.

  “Ahoy,” I yelled across the gap once we were secure. “Let’s have the captain.”

  A smallish man appeared from behind the helm and called back to me.

  “Our cannon are reloaded and ready to fire. Release our man and you are free to go.”

  While he talked to two of his men, Shayla came to my side. “You need to free them all.”

  I’d seen that look on a woman before and knew there was no negotiating. I called Rhames and Mason over.

  Shayla needed no prompting. “The whole lot is dead meat if you don’t save them,” she said.

  After Mason’s past, I assumed he agreed with her. I looked at Rhames, waiting for an objection.

  “We could use the crew,” he said.

  I was surprised, but he was right. I called again to the captain. “How many have you aboard?”

  He looked up at me, “You could as well shoot me out of the water as take my cargo.”

  “Let’s see my man now, and then I want an answer to my question,” I replied. No one dared move or even breathe; the ships and their crews stood frozen. A man went below and came back a few minutes later with Blue. He released his shackles and pushed him towards the rail. I felt the girl move closer to me. “And the rest? How many?” I called louder.

  “Two score below,” he finally answered. “Me and another dozen make the crew.”

  Adding forty bodies to the ship would be close quarters, but we would be well manned. But what to do with them? I looked at Mason and Rhames, who nodded. Shayla merely stared at me in silence. “Send them up and you’ll be on your way,” I said. I worried that the tremor in my voice would betray me.

  “But you’ll ruin me,” he cried back.

  “At least you won’t be on the bottom of the sea,” Rhames shot back.

  “You still have your ship,” I added. “Fix your rigging and limp into port. I’m sure the likes of you will be back stealing men in no time.” By now I had realized Shayla was right. Whatever the outcome, we had done the right thing.

  He talked amongst his men for a few minutes, and I could tell by their hung heads that he would relinquish his cargo. An hour later, our deck crowded, we loosed the grapnels and drifted away from the slaver. The wind had just caught our sails when we heard the explosion.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I could tell we were hit before the smoke cleared. The ship was listing badly to starboard, the same side the four tons of cannon were on. They had to be moved to port and fast. I ordered Rhames to organize the work, while I inspected the damage. I leaned over the side, oblivious to the small-arms fire now coming from the slaver. The splintered gash in the hull was clearly visible, wide as my wingspan, and reaching into the water.

  “Swift and Red,” I yelled, “take half the men below and start pumping for all you’re worth.”

  Two dozen men, several barely able to walk, scurried across the deck and went into the hold. A few minutes later, a steady stream of water came from the scuppers, and a bucket gang formed to bail over the side. Our speed picked up slightly and the boat seemed to level. Rhames had two of the cannon over to the port side now. I evaluated the risk of leaving two guns on the starboard side and decided it was worth the weight. We could not leave the boat unprotected.

  “Sight them in for fifty yards,” I called to Rhames, who with Blue’s help had the slaves on deck organized into an efficient labor force. It was hard to believe from their emaciated appearance that they were capable of such work, but newfound freedom does something for a man, and they had the scent of it.

  I had to devise a patch for the hull, but first we had to deal with the threat from the slaver. Our ships were equals now, the additional speed we had gained from damaging their rigging now lost with the damage to the Panther’s hull. I looked over and saw men working on the slaver, running lines and repairing the spars. The mainmast was ruined, but with just the foresails, our ships kept pace with each other. I thought back to Gasparilla’s lectures on naval warfare and racked my brain to remember a similar circumstance.

  Night fell and still we beat into the wind toward the eastern end of Cuba, unable to escape the slaver. Lanterns lit their rigging and we could see the men still working at their repairs.

  Under normal circumstances, we would have escaped into darkness, but, with the amount of water we were taking on, stealth was not an option. There was no way to quiet the pumps and the banging of buckets as the men fought the water. The men worked in shifts, about half at a time, Lucy and Shayla brought food and water to those who rested.

  “We can’t keep this up forever,” I whispered to Rhames and Mason. “The men won’t last the night.”

  “Aye, our situation gets worse by the hour, and theirs improves,” Rhames said.

  It was true. They were gaining on us now. Their three foresails were out, the main and topsail flew from the foremast, and they had just rigged the mainsail to the broken mast. We had few options and I grasped for the surest. The lanterns in the rigging gave me the idea. “We could set fire to them.”

  “And how are we going to do that? We’d have to be in sure cannon range to land a heated ball on her decks.”

  “Exactly,” I said as the plan began to dawn on me. “Steer to port. We need to get upwind of her.”

  “That’s going to put more water in her,” Mason objected.

  I knew it was the weather side, but we had the manpower and we would need the wind and seas for my plan to work. Both men nodded and followed my orders.

  I laid out my plan, and a few minutes later a party of resting men brought the canoe on deck. I hated to sacrifice it, but there was no choice.

  “Pack her with cotton and anything else that will burn,” I explained. The old slaver was dark with tar and I expected she would easily catch fire. The trick was to reach her without notice.

  The canoe was lowered over the port side as was the skiff, both out of sight of the slaver. Blue and I climbed down the ladder to the craft. We tied the canoe to the skiff with a small section of pitch-covered rope that went deep inside the cotton cargo. Rhames dropped a lit length of slow match down from the ship, and Blue covered it with a tarp to protect it from the water. Using the hull of the Panther to screen us from the slaver, I cast off the line and we started to row. It was hard work at first, working into the wind, but Mason veered off slightly and the ship lost momentum.

  Slowly we drifted back. Mason was a master with a ship, and I trusted the change in course and speed had been subtle enough that the crew of the slaver hadn’t seen us. Besides, distances were harder to judge in the dark. We soon heard the voices aboard the slaver. They hadn’t noticed the course change and were clearly setting up for a broadside. Their captain thought his ship was fast enough to attack, but we had planned for that, and a few hundred yards before he could make his move, a shot fired from the Panther.

  The carronade, fired from the stern, was purposefully aimed to port in an attempt to divert the slaver’s attention while Blue and I slid into the gap between the ships. The crew moved to port as we’d planned, and we hooked onto the starboard side of their hull. An order was given and we heard the call of ‘ready’ from the crew. They intended to make their move.

  Blue and I were now hidden under the bow of the slaver. I gave my oar to him and picked up the grappling hook. My first shot missed and the hook hit the anchor chain. At the sound of metal against metal, I held my breath and waited a long moment to see if anyone had heard. It had gone unnoticed and I moved to try again. This time the grapnel floated through the gap between the hull and the chain, the hook hit the water, and I pulled back hard to create enough momentum for one of the points to snare a link. I leaned back, using the line to haul the canoe even with us, and tied it from the grapnel to a hole we had bored near its midpoint.

  The ships were close now. We could hear the commands to ready the guns as the slaver prepared to broadside the Panther.

  I tugged the pitch-laden painter towards me. Th
e fuse started to burn as soon as I touched the slow match to it, and I waited until it reached the cotton. We had coated the cotton with pitch and oil, and it caught in a whoosh that ensconced Blue and me in flames. I felt intense heat on my face and smelled singed hair, but ignored it as I worked to wedge the canoe under the bow. It stuck, and fire licked at the wood and spread up the hull of the slaver. A smile on his face, Blue released the grapnel and we drifted away from the burning ship.

  We waited, treading water with the oars, hoping the flames would be seen and preempt the order to fire. Then we saw it. The fire spread to the foresail and a crewman called the alarm. The mood on board changed after that and the attack was forgotten. The crew of the slaver was frantic, the men screaming at each other to save the ship. But it was too late. The first sail caught and the flames quickly jumped to the others. In seconds, the entire ship was ablaze.

  Mason had dropped behind the slaver now and called out to us. I yelled back and soon we were aboard. Standing with the crew at the rail, we watched as the ship burned to the waterline and disappeared.

  We were safe from the slaver, but not yet out of trouble. The maneuver had caused the hole in our side to widen, and the men fought hard to purge the incoming water. We needed a patch, but we were out of cotton and had no spare sails.

  I ordered the crew to pry the deck boards from around the hold and asked Mason about the best way to make the repair. Without giving the order to adjust sail, he turned the wheel to port, and the bow moved through the center of the wind until the ship caught on the starboard tack. With the sheets still to port, she was hove to, barely making headway.

  I took the wheel and watched Mason go over the side with Red and Swift in tow. A rope ladder led down to the skiff and was tied off at the bow and stern against the damaged section of the hull. There was nothing to be done except hold course while I listened to the hammering.