Leopard (Fighting Anthonys Book 7)

by Michael Aye

  ***

  GABE WAS STANDING IN his cabin looking out the stern windows. There was a sliver of a moon hanging over a flat glassy sea. It would be a dark night. So dark it should hide the boats rowing ashore. Thinking of the three boats that would be going along on the raid, Gabe hoped it wouldn’t be too dark.

  From the map, that he, the master, young Mr. Albright, Lieutenant Vallin, Lieutenant Greg Kirk, Captain of Bulldog; and Lieutenant Daniel Bufford, Leopard’s second lieutenant, had gone over, the row into Springfield Bay should be an easy pull. The cave was just a stone’s throw up on the beach. A small settlement, Bain Town, was further up on the rise, but it was nothing more than a fishing village.

  Everyone was gone from the cabin now except Lieutenant Vallin. “Captain, you will forgive me, sir, but you have no business going on the raid.”

  “Con, my conscience would never allow me to rest otherwise. Besides, I need you to carry out the actions against the privateer ships if they are still anchored off Devils Point.

  The anchorage at Devils Point, according to young Albright, was just to the west of Devils Point. The nearby beach was almost white powder and the water a bright blue. The privateers, having been raided at the Bight, had moved their anchorage to the southern tip of Cat Island. French’s Bay was plenty deep for the privateers. Lynx would go in closer and if all was as expected would try to cause as much havoc as possible under the cover of Leopard’s big guns. If possible they’d cut out a ship, if not they’d set fire to a ship and cut its cable in hopes it would drift into the other anchored ships. They’d taken a small fishing boat early that morning and with Montgomery aboard had sailed past Devils Point. The return trip that afternoon found another privateer had sailed in, so four were at anchor. The captain of the fishing boat was given five guineas for the use of his boat. The sum was far more than he’d have made in a month. All he had to do was stay out of sight from now until the raid was over.

  ***

  ABRAHAM, THE GUNNER, WAS checking the swivel guns he’d rigged in the bow of Leopard’s two longboats. Hopefully, Bulldog’s gunner was doing the same. The swivel was charged with canister and powder under a canvas. If it came to a fight it would be close range and the canister would be deadly. The rasp of steel was heard as the seamen each drew a cutlass from the blade barrel.

  “Grab your blade and muster aft,” Midshipman Jackson ordered the men. “Go get yourself a pistol.”

  The accuracy of a pistol was suspect unless in the hands of a qualified person. However, most seamen jammed the barrel in the gut of their foe and pulled the trigger. The pistol was then used as a club or dropped, hopefully to be picked up and collected later, after the fight.

  Marine Lieutenant Hobart was talking to his sergeant, undoubtedly making sure everything was ready and ensuring no muskets were loaded. It was time. The marines were in Bufford’s longboat with Midshipman Jackson. Gabe was boarding his longboat when a swell caused the boat to rise up and then out. He was in danger of falling in the water when a pair of hands grabbed him roughly and pulled him aboard.

  “Gotcha Cap’n,” a seaman said.

  “Shove off, pull handsomely,” Hex ordered as Gabe settled in the stern-sheets. Gabe tried to relax his mind that kept running away…did someone remind the seamen and marines not to load their muskets and pistols. A primed weapon going off at the wrong time by a nervous or itchy trigger finger could cost all their lives. Too late to worry now, Gabe thought. To say anything would be a sign of distrust and point out his nervousness.

  As the men rowed, Gabe realized his eyes were now accustomed to the dark as he could plainly see the men up forward in the bow. Looking aft, he could see the next boat astern. White spray was visible as oars were pulled and lifted. Overhead, a few stars shone down on the black sea. Looking over the backs of the straining oarsmen, Gabe took the small shaded lantern to look at the compass.

  “On course,” Gabe said as Dagan was closing the light.

  “’Eadland, sir,” one of the forward seamen announced, his voice just above a whisper.

  Holding onto Dagan’s shoulder, Gabe rose slightly. He could see surf as it rushed up on the beach and pulled back. Looking astern, he could see both boats were there. Things began to move quickly now. The longboat’s bow ground into the sand.

  Hex hissed, “Boat oars.”

  The tide then surged in and swung the stern around almost turning the boat over. Several seamen jumped over, and were able to pull the bow around. A couple of them were running up on the beach with the bow rope. The rest of the men jumped overboard in knee deep surf. They’d made it, excited, some fearful, but all silent. As the second boat ground up on the sand, seamen from the first boat took hold and pulled it forward so the seamen and marines could unload and gather.

  The marine sergeant was setting up a perimeter while the third boat was beached. The boats were pulled far enough up on the beach that they’d not be subject to the tide. Leaving two seamen per boat to man the swivels and keep the escape route open, Gabe moved the men forward to where sea grass and mounds of sand offered cover. Captain Kirk, Lieutenant Bufford, and marine Lieutenant Hobart all gathered around Gabe.

  “I sent my corporal, an old poacher, forward,” Hobart volunteered.

  The corporal returned in a few minutes, his boots crunching in the sand as he neared. “There are a couple of tents further up and a fire that’s burned down to embers. What I take is the cave is a bit further back. They’ve got canvas rigged up like it is covering the entrance. There are women with the men.” Not waiting for them to ask how he knew, he said, “Wash be hanging.” This brought a smile from the men.

  Nodding Gabe said, “We’ll wait until Leopard’s guns wake ’em up and then we’ll attack.” This drew smiles. What Gabe meant was when the big twenty-four pound carronade and cannons blasted off; it’d wake up everyone for miles around. Until then they’d sit and wait.

  Several of the men had found a comfortable place in the sand and lay back. All was quiet and everything was going to plan.

  “This might be even easier than we hoped for,” Hex whispered.

  When a dog started barking, Gabe swore, “Damn you, Jake, you had to say something, didn’t you?” Now several dogs had taken up the howl. “Oh hell,” Gabe said. “Lieutenant Hobart, send your men to the left flank. Lieutenant Bufford, your men to the right. Now let’s be at them before all surprise is gone.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  WHAT’S GOT THAT DAMN dog so stirred up,” snarled a man, naked from the waist up and with no shoes on, as he pushed the tent flap aside and stepped out. A black woman, completely naked, walked out behind him and called to the dog. Another tent flap opened and a man walked out. He was wearing pants and a long nightshirt.

  “Can’t you keep that dog quiet?” Inside the tent a woman’s voice called for him to come back in.

  At the edge of the dune, the dog stood growling and barking at the men hovering just below it. Taking a lantern from a post, the half-naked man yelped as he burnt his hand. The handle had gotten hot from the heat rising from the flames. The man cursed his stupidity and misfortune. He walked back and got a shirt from inside the tent. The lantern’s glow still gave enough light for the men to appreciate their fortune as the woman seemed comfortable standing there nude.

  “Plunder?” one British seaman whispered to his mate. A nod and a smile was his answer.

  The man returned to the lantern and, using his shirt as protection, he picked up the lantern by the handle and turned up the wick. Hobart got Gabe’s attention and using his finger to indicate dispatching the man with a blade. Gabe shook his head giving an affirmative. Two men slithered further up on the dune, daggers in hand. As the man came forward, he held the lantern up high with one hand and his pistol in the other.

  Just as he reached the crest of the dune a marine rose up and threw his blade, knowing his aim was true. The second man threw his knife, the blade sinking deep into the growling dog. With the knife stuck in his throat,
the privateer dropped the lantern and tried to pull the blade from his neck. He took a stumbling step forward, his mouth open like he was trying to speak. Sinking to his knees, the man then fell over the dune. As he died, his finger pulled the trigger on his pistol.

  Gabe was not sure which came first, the bang of the pistol or the woman’s scream. Whichever it was, was enough. The surprise was shot. No more waiting for the sound of Leopard’s guns.

  As the privateers rushed from their tents, Gabe stood and ordered, “At them lads, at them.” Doing so, he aimed at a man with his pistol and shot him in the chest.

  Shots fired in a volley by Hobart’s marines cut down men emerging from their tents. Interestingly, Gabe was surprised to see the naked woman still standing. So far, with musket balls flying all about, she’d not been hit. Further up, more men emerged. Awakened from their sleep, they’d armed themselves very quickly and rushed to join the fight. Hobart’s marines had reloaded and sent another volley of swarming death into the pack of privateers. Privateers were picking out targets and firing. Their accuracy not near as telling as the marines, but some shots found a target. Gabe heard a man go “ummph”as he was struck by an enemy ball. The silence that followed meant the privateers’ guns were empty.

  “At them lads, quick, before they reload,” Gabe yelled.

  Shouting and screaming the British seamen and marines charged, with a few hanging lanterns giving off just enough light to silhouette their foe. Something hit Gabe in the shoulder with a thud, spinning him around. A spent pistol had been thrown at him, jarring his shoulder and causing great pain. Had it been his right arm, he’d have dropped his sword. Using the sword to keep him from falling he was unprepared to defend himself from his assailant. However, Lieutenant Kirk was close by. Seeing the man attack the captain, he fired his remaining pistol. The man fell, shrieking as he hit the sand, his blood turning the white sand dark.

  Hacking their way toward the cave, seamen, marines, and privateers fought. Face to face and blade to blade, amid shouts, cries of pain and curses. A few more shots sounded when someone had reloaded a musket or pistol. Hex was tangled up with not only a large man but a bare chested woman who was trying to stab him while his focus was on his other attacker. Dagan smashed the woman in the back of the head with the pommel of his sword, felling her with a single blow. She’ll have a headache when she wakes, Dagan thought. Now, Hex only had to worry about his single attacker.

  Dagan, a man of medium height, suddenly found a very tall man facing him. A shadowy form, the man was with clenched teeth and a sword in each hand. The tall man swung down hard, and the steel blades clanged as Dagan blocked with his own. As the blades grated, the giant of a man gave an evil smile and swung his other blade. Dagan was barely able to parry when he had to duck as his enemy gave a vicious swing with his second sword. Knees down on the ground, Dagan looked up. His foe had reared back to finish the battle using both blades. Seeing his opening, Dagan, one hand on the ground to balance himself, lunged with his blade. Up under the ribs and into the man’s chest, blowing out his lungs and skewering his heart. Dagan’s blade would have been wrenched from his hand as the giant fell backwards, had his strap not been around his wrist. As the man fell backwards, the blade made a sucking sound as it pulled loose, followed by a gush of foul air from the spurts of blood.

  All around the British seamen and marines fought, the British pushing their enemy back, back toward and then beyond the cave’s opening in the ground. Men fought, reeled and staggered as the battle lust turned them into a craze banned of demons. Finally, the few surviving privateers turned and ran from the melee.

  Given out and trying to catch his breath, Gabe ordered the marine lieutenant to set up a picket line. Seeing Hex, hands on his knees, blood all over his clothes, Gabe asked, “Are you hurt?”

  Gasping, Hex nodded no, and then looking at the blood, he said, “Not mine.”

  Jarvis Jackson, the midshipman, appeared unharmed but his face was blackened and smudged from firing his weapons.

  “Mr. Jackson, if you will have a detail of men find and light as many lanterns as they can, so we can see what, if anything, is in those tents.”

  Two seamen were looking down at the body of the nude woman. Her luck had run out, she had been shot from behind, probably a wild shot, but regardless she now lay face down in the gritty sand.

  Shaking his head, the seaman Brown shook his head, “What a waste. That’s one wench that was denied the pleasure of me company.” Seeing the glint of metal as a lantern was hung up on a pole, Brown bent down and removed the gold bracelet from the dead woman’s wrist. A small remembrance, he thought as he slid the plunder into his pocket. Gabe pretended not to see the dead privateers being removed of any valuable trinkets, chains, gold crosses, and knives.

  Dagan called to Jackson as he emerged from a tent, “Guard this tent until the captain can inspect it. Hex, you may need to stand guard inside the tent until the captain can come.”

  Not comprehending Dagan’s words at first, it dawned on Hex, when he noticed a bulge in Dagan’s pockets. Ah…he thought, what did Dagan call it…retirement. As he entered the tent, Dagan walked over to the cave entrance where Gabe was. It was more a cavern than a cave…an underground cavern, the perfect place to store bounty.

  Gabe looked at Dagan and said, “Not much here other than military supplies, powder, shot, uniforms and the lot.”

  “What are you going to do with it?” Dagan asked.

  “Set it afire, I’m thinking,” Gabe replied.

  Dagan nodded, “There’s a chest in the tent that has specie in it.”

  Looking at Dagan’s pockets, Gabe asked, “Who else has seen it?”

  “Hex is guarding it.”

  Gabe grunted, “I hope you don’t fall overboard on the way back to the ship, you larcenous scoundrel.” Calling Lieutenant Kirk over, Gabe instructed him to set fire to the cavern’s contents. “I can’t see ruining the cavern by blasting it so spread everything out, put holes in those barrels of coal oil, and when everything is soaked good, throw a torch down the hole and let it burn.”

  “Aye,” Kirk replied. Like the captain, he didn’t want to see one of nature’s miracles destroyed.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  LIEUTENANT LEONARD MONTGOMERY, CAPTAIN of HMS Lynx, had just had a very similar argument with his first lieutenant that Captain Anthony had had that same evening.

  “This is something I must do,” Montgomery said. “I need you to be ready to pick us up once the raid is finished.” What he didn’t tell his young, white first lieutenant was that if he were to ever rise beyond his present rank, it would have to be by doing something daring so that his name would stand out in the admiral’s report. Otherwise, he was at his terminal rank. He only knew of one other black naval officer, who had made quite a name for himself and he was still a lieutenant. The move upwards for a black man was unheard of, so far.

  John Perkins, once a ship’s pilot aboard HMS Antelope, was now the captain of the Punch schooner. It was said that he’d already captured over three hundred enemy vessels. His crew and fellow officers had nicknamed him ‘Jack Punch’. He was a favorite of Admiral Sir George Rodney. The admiral had promoted him to commander but it was disallowed by the board.

  Knowing this, Lieutenant Montgomery felt privileged just to have a ship. Yet to get to the next rank would take an act so dangerous that the board would have to take note. Finding himself an officer under Lord Anthony was definitely a bit of good fortune. Lord Anthony was a fair man, who would give a man credit for his accomplishments, regardless of his color.

  ***

  THE OARS ROSE AND fell as the oarsmen put their backs into it. A tiny dot in the distance was probably a lantern hanging beside the mainmast or possibly by an open hatch leading down to the seamen’s messes.

  Speaking to the cox’n, Montgomery whispered, “That light is your point.” As they came closer, Montgomery warned his men, “Don’t stare at the lanterns. You will lose your night vis
ion.”

  Up front in the bow of the boat, a man rose with a grapnel. As the sleeping ship loomed before them, the cox’n ordered, “Boat your oars.”

  The tide was running in their favor. As the cox’n put the tiller over, the longboat swung around. The bow man let go with the grapnel, pulling the rope tight, the grapnel lit into the rail and held fast. The longboat slewed as the slack was taken up on the rope. Men jumped for the small ship’s rail, and then up and over. So far, there hadn’t been any alarms sounded.

  As more and more climbed aboard, Montgomery sent them to find and silence any crew members aboard. He and his cox’n entered the captain’s cabin to find it empty. In the gun room, a man was sitting down, with his head back, mouth open, and passed out from drink. In his lap, a woman sat with her head against the man’s chest. She, too, was passed out. He shook the man, but neither he nor the wench stirred.

  Speaking to his cox’n, Montgomery said, “Better throw her over the side. Hopefully, the water will rouse her. She will surely die if left aboard this ship.” He then ordered his men, “Gather everything that will burn and spread it about the decks. Pour on oil or, if you have to, sprinkle gunpowder in the mix, that will catch it on fire.”

  The men moved swiftly but silently. Soon piles of hammocks, canvas, rope, and tar were put in piles on the main deck and the berth deck.

  “Cut the cables,” Montgomery ordered. Immediately, the ship began to move with the current. “Fire the ship,” Montgomery hissed.

  Seamen nodded and rushed to do their task. On the main deck, a seaman took a hanging lantern and smashed it on the deck into a trail of gunpowder which led to piles gathered around both the mainmast and the foremast. With a whoosh the gunpowder caught hold and ran the deck to the first pile and on to the next. The piles blazed up and more tarred rope was thrown on the pile for good measure. Quickly, the flames grew until they raced up the tarred ropes and into the riggings, furled sails and soon the shrouds were ablaze.