Peregrine
Page 18
Witzenfeld took a deep breath then sighed. “The reason I requested you tonight, Captain, is to say I’m sorry for the trouble my family has caused you. That and to find out exactly how my brother died. They say he jumped over the side, that he committed suicide. I never believed that. He was too much of a coward. I also hear Dagan put a hex on him.”
The use of “hex” made the cox’n take note. He’d made use of the guard chair while Gabe stood at the cell.
“Does Dagan really have the power to put a hex on someone?” Witzenfeld asked. “They say he’s got special powers. I never believed in such but a man who was there swore Dagan whispered a hex on the boy and he jumped over the side.”
The sound of the door opening made Witzenfeld look toward it. “Speaking of the devil,” he said, “there’s Dagan now.”
Too late Gabe realized his mistake. Turning to see if it was Dagan who entered, Witzenfeld’s hand shot out. He had a torn length of sash in his hand and he quickly looped it over Gabe’s head and pulled back as hard as he could. With his feet on the bars for leverage, he pulled on the cloth with all his might, choking the air of life from Gabe.
Hearing Gabe gasping, Hex was at the bars in a flash. He pulled the pistol with one hand and using the heel of the other cocked the gun in one motion. Gabe’s face was already turning blue as Hex thrust the pistol barrel between the bars pointing it at Witzenfeld’s chest and squeezing the trigger. The explosion was deafening in the confined space. The impact of the ball knocked Witzenfeld back onto the cell floor, crimson flooding over his shirt. Gabe fell forward into the guard, who dropped the bottle to catch the captain. Taking in gulps of air, the color had just returned to Gabe’s face when Dagan rushed through the door with his sword drawn. He had just entered the building and was being led to the cell when the pistol shot rang out. Seeing the still smoking pistol in Hex’s hand, Dagan laid his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I thank you for doing my job. But for you, Gabe …” Dagan sighed but didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to; his expression said it all. Leaning forward, his hand still on Hex’s shoulder, Dagan found his words and whispered, “I’ll not forget this.”
Neither will I, Hex thought, his palms sweaty and hands shaking. Neither will I.
The next morning Gabe was summoned to the governor’s office. Lord Skalla and Buck sat in cushioned chairs while Lord Anthony stood next to the fireplace, his hand resting on the mantle.
After hearing Gabe’s report of the previous evening’s events, the men were silent, each deep in thought.
Finally, it was Lord Skalla who broke the silence. “It’s a good thing your man had sense enough to go armed. Otherwise we’d had to try the bugger again. Damnable waste of time that would have been.”
Gabe’s head had been drooped, shamed at letting himself be duped so. Hearing Skalla’s words, he looked up seeing a smile on the man’s face. They were all smiling.
Chapter Thirty-one
On Saturday before the scheduled Monday sailing, one of the last convoys before hurricane season sailed into Barbados…what was left of the convoy, that is. The Romney, an old fifty gun ship, was towed into port. Water gushed over the side as pumps struggled to keep her afloat. A sail had been jury-rigged to what was left of the mainmast. The largest of the merchantmen was giving the tow. A small frigate and a brig were the only other Royal Navy ships. Out of a convoy of thirty vessels, six merchantmen and three naval vessels completed the voyage. The probability the Romney would make it to the dockyard was anyone’s guess.
Aubrey Byrd had been the Romney’s first lieutenant. Only he and one other officer survived. “It was the French!” Byrd exclaimed when he reported aboard the flagship.
“How many and what size ships were they?” Anthony demanded.
“I’m…I’m not sure, sir, six or eight warships, maybe a handful of privateers.”
“What size, man…how many guns?”
“The largest a sixty four, a couple of heavy frigates…had to be forty-fours and the rest smaller frigates or corvettes.” The man was drained. To get more may have overtaxed him and he’d been through enough.
“Bart.”
“Aye.”
“Call away my barge.”
“Aye.
“Lieutenant Byrd, my servant will fix you a hot meal then you lie down and rest. We’ll talk more later.”
“But sir, I must get back to the ship. They need me.”
“I believe I’m capable of seeing what’s best for the ship and that the crew is taken care of,” Anthony replied tersely. Then seeing the man’s hurt, he relented and said, “You’ve done enough, sir. Let someone else share the burden.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Lieutenant Mahan.”
“Aye, my Lord.”
“Send over one of the surgeons, the bosun, and carpenter. Let’s see if the ship is salvageable.”
The stench of burned ropes, wood, and wounded men filled Anthony’s nostrils as he boarded the Romney. Guns lay on their sides. The regular clank of pumps that defied the sea filled the air. Inspecting the captain’s quarters, the companion ladder was cocked and loose. The captain’s quarters were a charred mess. The two stern guns lay at the end of their tackles, one of the gun’s barrel split open where it must have taken a direct hit. The unmistakable stain of blood was spread over the deck. The men on the main deck were removing broken timbers, cordage, and tattered sail. The wheel was broken and the mast merely stumps.
An old sailor approached Anthony’s group. As he neared, Anthony realized he was the master. “This old lady will live to swim and fight another day, sir.” The pride in the old salt was touching. The men from SeaHorse were arriving now. If, like the old master said, she’ll live to swim and fight another day then they’d better hurry.
Getting back into his barge, a carpenter’s mate knuckled his forehead as Anthony was being rowed around the ship. “Checking for damage twixt wind-’n-water, sir,” he said by way of explanation.
Once back aboard SeaHorse, Anthony took the leather courier’s bag Byrd had brought over and took out the dispatches. Doing a quick overview, one letter caught his attention. French fleet sighted off the Azores. Possible destinations were felt to be Nova Scotia, America, or even the West Indies. I wonder if Romney’s captain had been aware of this, Anthony thought.
“Bart.”
“Here sir.”
“Send for the flag lieutenant.”
“Aye.”
The two men must have collided in the passageway as the two were back in seconds, Mahan rubbing a red spot on his forehead.
“Are you injured, sir?” Anthony asked.
“No, my Lord.”
Looking at Bart he saw no signs of injury, but rather than give the man something to fuss about later Anthony inquired, “And you, Bart, are you injured?”
“Not so’s yew’d notice.”
“Very well. Lieutenant, have a signal bent on for all captains to repair on board after the noon hour.”
“Aye, my Lord. Is that all?”
“Yes…no,” Anthony changed his mind. “Have Romney’s lieutenant …”
“Byrd, sir, Aubrey Byrd.”
“Yes, well have him attend the meeting as well.” Anthony had been contemplating an idea for an hour and finally decided.
* * *
As the first of the captains were piped aboard, Anthony walked to the windows and out on to the gallery. There was heaviness within him. Was it due to sending any of his captains out knowing they may have to do battle with a superior French fleet? Must they always have to face a superior force? Outgunned and outmanned at every turn. Damn the politician that put Englishmen in harm’s way without supplying their needs. Damn them all.
Since that morning, the wind had risen slightly. Clouds had gathered and drops of rain began to patter on the gallery rail and deck. Stepping back inside Anthony waited until the last captain had been seated and a glass had been served. It was interesting to see the solemn expression on his
men’s faces. They had all seen the convoy limp into Carlisle Bay. He was sure more than one had boarded the once proud ship and those that hadn’t boarded the ship had heard of the utter destruction from those who had. Not the boisterous, bantering group that usually filled the great cabin. All were aware it could have been them…that they may be next.
“Gentlemen, it’s a sad day for us as we mourn for those who have given their all. It appears the French are out again. I have read dispatches that allude to this and, in fact, yonder ship lays the proof. Starting tomorrow all ships that depart on patrols will do so in groups of two or three. A superior force is not…I repeat, not to be engaged if at all possible. I know, being the firebrands that you are, that’s hard to swallow. However, you must know communication with the flag is most important. The protection of this station is our mission. Monday I had planned to send Peregrine and Fearless to England as escorts for the brigs and…recovered frigate. Those plans have changed somewhat. Captain Anthony and Captain Hazard will go as planned but I’m also sending Captain Jepson. George, your job is not to get caught up in battle but to carry the word should an engagement take place. I pray not. The other change I’ve…” Looking at Buck, Anthony paused and retracted his word. “We’ve decided to put Lieutenant Byrd in command of the Drake along with Romney’s surviving crew. We will, of course, add as many men as we can to help man the ship. You understand, Lieutenant Byrd, command of the frigate is temporary. However, being in command will surely get the admiralty’s attention and put you in position for another command even if it’s not the Drake.”
Lieutenant Byrd didn’t get the usual hoopla and ribbing but a toast was drunk in his honour and a few gave a slap on the shoulder as they departed. He was not one of them.
Speaking to Bart later, Anthony said, “I’d have thought they would have been more congratulatory.”
“Nay,” Bart replied flatly. “He’s got the stench o’ death on ’im, that one does. They’re afraid.”
“Of what?” Anthony asked, disbelief in his voice.
“Of it rubbing off,” Bart replied matter-of-factly. “Jack tar or officer, they’s all alike when it comes down to it. They can smell the death, see it. He could bathe everyday for a week and it would be the same.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Gabe felt a raindrop run down the nape of his neck. It had started the previous evening and rained until the early dawn hours. The riggings, sails, and deck were still damp. There was just enough wind to provide a chill from the wetness. However, the effect was just enough to wipe away the cobwebs in his head. He’d never been a good riser, probably never would be. Now 9 a.m. was his idea of a good time to rise.
Gabe walked up the sloping deck and spoke to the quartermaster at the wheel. They had secured from quarters an quarter hour ago. He watched as the ship’s company prepared for another day. The lookouts had reported the convoy of ships to be on station but otherwise the sky was free of sails. The brigs were each manned by a skeleton crew; just enough to work the ship. Just like a merchant would do, Gabe thought, seeing it in a humorous light.
A master’s mate had been put in charge of each of the brigs. Their instructions had been simple: keep station on Peregrine and if the group was attacked run for England. Let the warships deal with the enemy.
Hearing Hex call his name, Gabe knew Nesbitt was finished with breakfast: strong hot coffee, fresh pastries and cheese. A light but satisfying breakfast, much different from his last one ashore. Nanny had fried up some salty tasting ham and served fried eggs, grits, and biscuits. They had fig preserves to go on the hot buttered biscuits. A feast fit for a king. The typical southern breakfast. No wonder Lum had developed a belly. It was not unusual when friends stopped by that they politely asked if any of Nanny’s biscuits were leftover. There had been no friends over that morning; however Gil and Deborah had come over for a short visit the night before their sailing. Hex and Lum had packed a few last minute supplies in a chest and headed to the ship.
Gabe was dressed and at the door when Faith came to him again. Her kiss had been long and passionate. Her breasts were crushed against his chest. He could feel her heartbeat and feel the hotness of her breath as she kissed his neck. The next thing he knew they were making love. Spent from their passion Gabe laid flat, Faith in his arms. Rising on an elbow Faith kissed him again. The sight and the touch of her breasts excited him all over again but he had no more time. He returned the kiss and hurriedly got dressed. The shift Faith put on did little to hide her beautiful body. Her stomach had just the slightest pooch…a sign that their baby was growing.
Reaching for his hat, Faith smiled. “I wondered if I had the same pull as the sea.”
“Aye,” Gabe responded taking his hat. “That and more.”
“Take care,” she whispered. “Your child will need his father’s hand.”
“His?” Gabe asked.
“Aye Captain,” Faith replied in a mocking way.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Nanny says it’s a boy. She says she can tell by the way I’m carrying it.”
“Humph! I never heard of such a thing.”
“Well, there are things about your old boat we don’t know about but you do. So you see you don’t know things Nanny does.”
Ship, Gabe thought. Ship, not boat, but he didn’t correct her. If Nanny said so then so be it. She had a fifty-fifty chance of being right. And if she was wrong, Gabe was certain some excuse would come up.
Seeing his second lieutenant, Gabe called to him, “Good morning Mr. Davy.”
“Morning Captain.
“I hope you enjoyed your time ashore.”
“Aye Captain, that I did. I wanted to tell you, Captain, when we get back Ariel and I plan to get married. She was reluctant at first.” Davy then leaned forward and whispered, “Cause of her past you know. Said she was a soiled woman. But I told her I loved her and that’s all that mattered.”
“Well, congratulations David,” Gabe said, using the lieutenant’s first name. Then as an afterthought spoke again, “Have you spoken with Dagan?”
“Aye Captain, we’ve had several long talks.”
“Well, again, I congratulate you, sir. She’s a beautiful woman.”
“Thank you Captain, but there’s one other thing. Well sir, we’ll be married when we get back and I’d like to ask you to be my best man. I hope I’m not out of order, sir.” Davy must have seen the stunned look on Gabe’s face.
Placing his hand on Davy’s shoulder, he said, “No, you’re not out of line. You honour me and I’m humbled by it.”
Later, finishing his second cup of coffee, Gabe’s mind still was going over his times with the midshipman from his fiery stance against Witzenfeld to their last battle.
“Deep in thought, Captain?”
Gabe looked up to see Buck. Not just Buck anymore, now it was Admiral Buck. He told Buck about Davy and how he’d matured in such a short time. Speaking of a short time, Gabe quipped, “It didn’t take long for you to get your flag.”
“It’s the war,” Buck replied. “I’ll bet half the active captains retired rather than fight this cause.”
Gabe was quick to note the use of cause, not war. “Aye,” he replied. “I was told by Sir Victor we had a lot of yellow admirals,” speaking of the captains promoted then taken off the active list the next day.
“There has to be, else I’d not been promoted.”
“There’s likely to be more promotions with the French in the war and Spain likely to join.”
Hearing Buck’s words, Gabe thought for a minute then said, “The Honest Johns say the sun never sets on the British Empire but I tell you truly sir, I feel we are an island unto ourselves.”
“Aye,” Buck agreed, and the two sat in silence, each deep in his own thoughts.
* * *
“Sail ho!” The lookout called down. “Sail off the weather bow.”
Hearing the lookouts cry, Gabe, Buck, and Dagan raced up the companionway.
Gabe called to the signals midshipman. “Make to the squadron ‘enemy in sight’. Mr. Wesley, beat to quarters if you please and clear for action.”
“Aye Captain.”
Thinking of his last action Gabe thought, Hopefully the outcome will be different today. Turning to Buck, he forced a smile. “We fight under your flag today, sir.”
Buck looked up at his blue rear admiral’s flag flying at the mizzen. Would this be his first and only occasion to fly it into battle?
Seeing Buck’s expression, Gabe held out his hand. “We’ll not let you down, sir.”
“You never have, old friend,” Buck replied, taking the hand.
“Deck thar, I make it a sixty-four, two forty-fours, two corvettes and a brig.”
“The brig will go after the prizes,” Dagan volunteered.
“Mr. Gunnells, bring her closer to the wind. Alter two points to larboard if you will.”
“Aye Captain.”
“It will be a while yet, Gabe. I’ll go change,” Buck said, then headed below.
All about Gabe, men made ready for battle. Nets were being strung up; gun captains were harassing their crews. Powder monkeys ran with charges in their hands, tubs with slow match were situated. The deck was strewn with sand. Wesley was telling him the ship was cleared for action. It all seemed to be happening at once.
Though he couldn’t see it, Gabe knew that down below the surgeon loaned to Peregrine by the flagship was setting up his line of instruments. Tubs would be set up for wings and limbs as amputations were carried out. Pray God he didn’t suffer such an injury.
Before Gabe knew it, Buck was back on deck in his gleaming new uniform, the sun reflecting off the rear admiral’s star.