Peregrine

by Aye, Michael

  Now this is intriguing, Gabe thought. General Manning had served this during the prisoner exchange at Norfolk and had, in fact, given Gil several bottles.

  “Bourbon over gin?” Gabe asked.

  “Aye sir, unless you just want to get drunk, then I guess gin would be the cheapest way to go. I’ve even tried the stuff the Rooskies drink…vodka I think it is. It was about the same as gin but made out of potatoes.”

  “I see you’re a man who knows his spirits,” Gabe said. “How’d you come by all this knowledge?”

  “The bourbon is what we got while we were in prison. That is, if you had any money. I had a bit tucked away and won a bit here and there so I bought the bourbon.”

  “I see,” Gabe said. “Do you play cards?”

  “I have, sir.”

  “Well, let me tell you now, don’t get into a game with Bart. Do you know who I am talking about?”

  “Yes sir, Bart is well known to those forward.”

  This time it was Gabe who smiled. “And to most of those aft as well. Tell me about yourself, Hex. What’s your given name?”

  “Jacob, sir, took it from the bible. My father said with a last name like Hex the front one had better come from the scriptures. While my name is Jacob, my mates call me Jake.”

  “What did you do before the Navy?”

  Hex looked sheepish, his eyes barely slits. “I was a smuggler, sir, or rather my father was and I often helped.”

  “Did he have many boats?” Gabe asked, thinking back to his days as a young midshipman when he’d been assigned to a cutter trying to run down a smuggling ring.

  “Boats sir, no, not nary a one. My father sold the goods to different shops. He was the go-between man so to speak. He wanted me to know the business from top to bottom as it were, so I spent plenty of time between the coasts.”

  By that Gabe knew he’d made trips back and forth to France. “Were you from Deal?” Gabe asked.

  “Aye, grew up in the shadows of Walmer Castle.”

  The smugglers of Deal were the stuff legends were made of. If Hex’s father was in the trade, he’d probably been very wealthy and his son given a good education. Therefore, it puzzled Gabe why the man was serving before the mast.

  “Hex, do you mind my asking why you’re a tar?”

  “We were set up, sir. An old employee of my father was a spy for the revenue service. A trap was set up and my father was killed. I was given a choice. Jail or sign up for the king’s shilling. I took the shilling. But not before the spy had been given a grin from ear to ear.”

  Hex said this while making a motion like he’d sliced his throat. He just as much as mentioned he’d committed murder, Gabe thought. Well, he’d be a good man to have on your side.

  Seeing the lime juice was finished Gabe asked, “Another glass?”

  “If it’s all the same with you, sir, I’ll pass.”

  “Very well,” Gabe replied with a smile. “Go find Dagan and tell him you’re my new cox’n.”

  Now it was Hex who smiled. “Aye aye, Cap’n. You’ll not be disappointed, sir. I promise you.”

  Gabe nodded. “I’ve no worry there…Jake.”

  * * *

  A knock was heard, and then the sentry announced, “First Lieutenant, zur.”

  “A glass of lime juice?” Gabe asked as he drained the last from his glass.

  “Er…no sir, I’ll pass.”

  Thinking of Hex’s reply, Gabe smiled. Seeing the look on Lavery’s face Gabe quickly explained, “A thought just came to mind, Nathan. I was not being rude.”

  “Aye sir.”

  “What brings the first lieutenant down at this time of day?” Gabe asked, trying to lighten Lavery’s apparent unease.

  “It’s about Mr. Hawks, sir.”

  “Mr. Hawks,” Gabe replied.

  “Aye sir. We didn’t get a replacement for Lieutenant Wiley, sir, and I thought we could promote Mr. Hawks to acting third lieutenant. He’s ready sir.”

  Damme, Gabe thought, I’d meant to do that already, but so much had happened.

  “I’m remiss, Nathan. Young Hawks should have already been promoted as you say. Would you like to inform him?”

  “Aye sir. It would be a pleasure.”

  “Then I’ll expect to see him in the wardroom when I next receive an invitation.”

  “Aye sir…on Saturday.”

  Peregrine’s wardroom had made a tradition of inviting the captain to dine on Saturday evenings when at sea.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The seas were choppy at first light with a variable breeze. The mainmast lookout reported the convoy to larboard with Pegasus to starboard and slightly astern. Clouds were building to the northeast.

  “Squalls by the first dogwatch I’d say,” Gunnells volunteered.

  Gabe nodded his acknowledgement.

  “The type of weather Witzenfeld favours for his sudden attacks and sweeping up stragglers, I’d say.” This was from Dagan, who had been silent until now, his gaze on the distant horizon.

  “Aye,” Gabe answered. “You feel we’ll meet today?”

  “Today or at dusk depending on the weather. Not later I’d say.”

  Those standing within hearing took this prediction as gospel; most looked at Dagan’s predictions about events as they did the master’s weather predictions. His name had risen in the crew’s mess more than once, with some of the older seaman swearing his uncanny predictions came from another world. While some felt this was a heavenly gift others swore it was a curse from the bowels of Hades. He was a gypsy they’d whisper, a fortune teller. At least one swore, “He’s a soothsayer.” The one fact on which all the crew agreed was that Dagan was a mystery.

  “Sent to keep ’is eye on the cap’n,” Tate, a former captain of the foretops would say. “I been with the cap’n off and on as man and boy. That was afore the rheumatism set in. The one thing I can tell you is we’re safe while Dagan is around…most of us uns anyway. A few might get kilt but not as many as would be otherwise.”

  Taking a last gaze at the horizon, Gabe turned to his first lieutenant. “You may secure from quarters, Mr. Lavery.”

  To the northwest, clouds continued to build and the sky turned gray. The waves rolled, with some overlapping the previous one, causing a foam like appearance. More than one of the crew was doused by the salty spray. By noon the barometer had dropped but the wind was still moderate. It was the sea that seemed confused. The ship would roll from larboard to starboard one minute then pitch as the bow crashed through a rogue wave.

  Gunnells made his way over to his captain as Gabe returned on deck after his dinner. Shouting to be heard over the groaning rigging, Gunnells stated, “I feel we are meeting with a blow of consequence.”

  “I don’t understand,” Gabe admitted.

  “I believe we’re dealing with two converging storms, one out of the north and another from the east. I think we are to the south of the convergence but it could still be bad enough.”

  “What do you recommend?” Gabe asked.

  Gunnells appeared to think on his reply. Finally he answered, “Sir, I recommend we reduce sail to storm jibs and trysails.”

  “Very well, Mr. Gunnells, make it happen. Mr. Lavery.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Have all loose gear secured. Double the ropes on the guns and have blocks placed under the trucks. Have the cooper check the water casks and make them fast. Also have the carpenter and his mates do a thorough check of the hull and the well.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Mr. Graf.”

  “Sir.”

  “Rouse out the sea anchor and bend the anchor cable to it. Be sure it’s sheltered from the wind. Mr. Lavery.”

  The first lieutenant quickly returned to hearing distance. “Yes, Captain.”

  “I know you heard Dagan’s concern that we’ll meet up with the privateer before the day is out.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Well, we need to be ready for storms on both
fronts. I want chain slings rigged. We may not have time later. We’ll feed the men after the ship has been made as ready as possible then douse the galley fires.”

  “Aye sir.” Lavery continued to stand. He could see his captain doing a mental check list.

  Finally, Gabe looked at Lavery, almost not believing he was still standing there. However, a smile crossed his face as he realized his first lieutenant knew him too well. He’d given his captain time to think of anything else before rushing off to do as ordered. “Ahem! I think it would be best to keep our lookouts fresh. Have them changed every two hours. Sooner if the weather worsens.”

  There were six posted lookouts. This would take some doing, Lavery thought.

  “Lieutenant Davy.”

  “Aye,” Davy answered the first lieutenant, knowing some task was about to be passed down. Would he act or reassign it? Seeing the stern look on Lavery’s face as he approached he thought, I’d better handle this myself.

  “Deck thar,” the forward lookout called. “The convoy is reducing sail, sir.”

  Markham must have decided to continue any further under full sail was pointless. Did he also consider this the prime opportunity for the convoy to be attacked? Gabe wondered. Doubtless he did. Problem was he was helpless to prevent it. The goal was to prevent as few losses as possible. It was over a mile from Markham’s lead ship to the rear of the convoy. Any enterprising rogue could cut out a ship and be over the horizon before an escort ship could come about and respond. That’s where we come in, Gabe thought.

  Rain began to spatter on deck. Suddenly Hex was there with Gabe’s tarpaulin and a cup of coffee. “To keep you dry and warm your innards,” he volunteered.

  “Thank you, Hex,” Gabe replied, glad he’d decided on the man to be his cox’n.

  The foul weather persisted into the afternoon…the sound of thunder, one clap after another, followed by jagged streaks of lightning and sudden squalls with howling bursts of wind. Water sluiced down waterways and out scuppers as the bow continued to rise and fall plunging through one wave after another. The barometer fell to twenty-nine before it leveled off and a slight rise was noted.

  The rain had slowed to a drizzle when the mainmast lookout called down from his wooden platform. “Deck thar, strange sails to starboard.”

  A chill went through Gabe at the sighting. Turning to Dagan he said, “It appears you were right, Uncle.”

  “Aye,” Dagan responded. He’d felt it would be this day since sunrise. This would put an end to Witzenfeld…hopefully.

  “Signal Dasher the sighting,” Gabe ordered.

  “Aye,” Davy replied. He had been hoping for an uneventful watch.

  Gabe looked at Hex. “A wet with Dagan and I before it gets too hot.”

  “Aye sir. I’ll drink to your success and when this is over maybe we’ll confiscate a proper drink off yonder rogues.”

  “A proper drink,” Gabe quizzed.

  “Aye, Captain, one of the buggers is bound to have a proper store of bourbon.”

  Shaking his head at the man’s answer, Gabe turned to Dagan. “Did you check and see if Hex was related to Bart?”

  “Only in spirit…only in spirit,” Dagan replied.

  “Well damme, I guess that’s close enough.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  After a quick wet, and buckling on his sword, Gabe took the two pistols offered to him by Dagan. Hex had stood silently but observed Dagan, paying attention to every detail as Dagan made the captain ready for battle. Next time it would be his job…if there was a next time. Returning on deck Hex heard a whisper come from Dagan. He didn’t make out the exact words but it sounded like Dagan was telling the captain…his nephew, to have a care. The captain’s reply was only a smile and a pat on the shoulder. Hex felt he’d just seen the love of one man being passed to another much like a father to a son. A pang of jealousy came over Hex as he thought of his father. They would have had much the same relationship had his father lived.

  Once on deck, Gabe was greeted by Lavery. “Three, no four ships, sir, on a course to intercept the convoy.”

  “Has Pegasus sighted the ships?”

  “Aye sir.”

  Nodding, Gabe ordered, “Have Pegasus close with convoy.”

  “I…ah think he’s already doing so, sir.”

  “Very well.” Gabe knew Jepson would not wait to be ordered to take the obvious steps. “You’ve signalled Dasher?”

  “Aye and repeated it as well to the convoy.”

  “That ought to tighten them up a bit then, Nathan.”

  Lavery knew when the captain used his given name, something was in the air. Be it festive or battle. It was his way of setting people at ease.

  “The men have been fed?” Gabe asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Aye sir. The old naval axiom…men fight better with a full stomach.”

  “Then we’d best be at our business. You may beat to quarters, Mr. Lavery.”

  “Aye sir.”

  It was almost magical how the ship came to life. Calloused feet rushed across the deck as the shouts of petty officers encouraged the men to their battle stations amid the sounds of a bosun’s pipe and marine drummer. Powder monkeys hurriedly brought cartridges of gunpowder up for the guns. Pumps were rigged and the decks were sluiced with water then sand was liberally spread to give better grip. Gun captains were lighting lengths of slow match to smoulder in a tub until ready for use. Forward, the gunner with his mates was removing the tampion from the smashers.

  Would they be close enough to use the big brutes? Did Witzenfeld have carronades? Gabe doubted it.

  “Jake,” Gabe called to his new cox’n.

  “Yes Cap’n.”

  “My regards to the gunner and have him load grape on top of round shot.”

  “Aye aye.”

  Gabe could have shouted or ordered one of the midshipmen to carry the message but Hex needed to become known. “Mr. Lavery.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “I want a man with good peepers in the cross tree.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Having spread on more canvas Peregrine was trying to close with the convoy so as to intercept the privateers. If that was who they were. If not, they’d fooled the devil out of Gabe and may get a ball up the arse for their foolishness. The light was falling fast and so was the wind. Taking up his glass Gabe could see Markham had moved Dasher to windward. The situation was almost ideal for Witzenfeld. Unless a miracle happened the convoy escorts would be unable to prevent the dancing privateers from snapping up several prizes.

  “Should we fire up a flare?” Lavery asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

  “No, Captain Markham knows his business.”

  “Deck thar, two o’ the buggers are making it for the convoy.”

  “What about the third ship?” Gabe shouted.

  “’E jus seems to be picking ’is time, sir.”

  “Waiting to see what we do,” Dagan volunteered.

  “My thoughts too,” Gabe replied.

  “Deck thar, Dasher ’as come about on a new tack.”

  “He’s going to challenge the privateer,” Lavery said, his statement almost a question.

  “What else can he do?” Gabe retorted, slapping his hand down on the fife rail. He thought to himself, Hold on Markham, I’m coming.

  Flashes were seen in the distance and the lookout called down. “It’s ’arder to see, sir, but I believes the pirates ’as fired on some convoy ships. They’s taken a prize, sir. Two now.”

  Gabe climbed a few feet up into the shrouds. In the fading light he could see Dasher with flags a flying, bearing down on the enemy.

  “They’ve taken another one, sir,” the lookout called down.

  “Like a shark.”

  Gabe turned to see who had spoken. It was Hex.

  Seeing his captain’s look Hex said, “Sorry sir, I didn’t mean to think aloud.”

  “No apology necessary, Jake. I was thinking the same thought. A
shark on a shoal.”

  The roar of a distant cannon was heard.

  “Dasher ’as fired, sir.”

  Frustration or challenge? Gabe wondered. Dasher’s guns certainly could not be brought to bear at this point. It seemed like forever but in reality it could not have been more than ten minutes since the lookout had reported the first prize taken. At the rate they were going the privateers would soon be out of prize crews.

  The distant sun seemed to linger on the horizon making visible the convoy. Then suddenly it was gone, taking with it the sight of action ahead.

  “Take the glass,” Gabe ordered a petty officer, then jumped the few feet to the deck.

  The distinct sound of cannons not a mile away could be heard as muzzle flashes broke through the darkness.

  “We should have been closer,” Gabe said feeling defeated. “We were nothing more than spectators.”

  “He’s like Colonel Meacham’s man,” Dagan said. “He’s won a round but not the match. This time he’s won a second round.”

  “Aye but the third one is ours. You can bet on it.”

  No one spoke during the interchange between the captain and Dagan. Cooper White, the new midshipman, took in every word. We have to win the next round, he thought. He’d seen too many die at Witzenfeld’s cruel hand.

  “Mr. Lavery.” Gabe’s voice broke the silence.

  “Aye sir.”

  “Send up a flare. Keep the sky lit. I don’t want some grocery captain to get a touch of nerves and fire a ball at us.”

  “Aye sir.”

  From the dark an unknown seaman spoke, “Don’t worry Cap’n, ’e couldn’t ’it the ocean wid a mouth full of baccy if ’e had to spit.”

  This was followed by chuckles. Then petty officers ordered the men to silence. The flares lit up the sky and Peregrine’s company gazed at the merchant ships as they glided by.

  “Scared bunch they are,” Gunnells commented. “Otherwise you couldn’t beat them into such a tight formation.”