by Michael Aye
This convoy would be the last of the year before the hurricane season. Therefore, it brought with it the reality that the island would have to be self-sufficient for several months. Other than the small coastal ships, the islands could expect nothing that they were not able to produce themselves. Today’s convoy carried a large quantity of war supplies. Among them were ten cannons that would be unloaded there at Jamaica, and then ferried to Grand Cayman to be used as shore defense.
When Lord Anthony was first made aware of the arrival of the cannons along with sufficient powder and shot and that a ship was requested to ferry the guns to Grand Cayman, his first question was why didn’t the ship that brought them from England take them? It would be a lot simpler and he’d send an escort vessel, two if need be. But the ship’s master was concerned he’d never make it to Grand Cayman, offload his cargo, and be back before the convoy weighed anchor and sailed on to Savannah and then north, ultimately ending up in Nova Scotia.
“More like the bugger’s ’fraid he might miss out on a night of wenching, I’m thinkin,” Bart snorted. “’E ain’t thinkin wid the ’ead on ’is shoulders, I’m bettin’.”
“Bart, don’t be unkind,” Lord Anthony said.
“Nay, jus’ truthful and that’s no error.”
Mahan, Lord Anthony’s flag lieutenant, had learned two things since he’d held his position. Nobody, not even his Lordship, got in the last word with Bart, even if it was just aye or nay. The second thing was Bart had a knack of cutting through the bull and getting to the truth of the matter. Mahan could not remember Bart being wrong. Don’t say it in front of him, Lord Anthony had told him one day when he mentioned Bart’s knack to him.
“Well, don’t let him hear you say it, Patrick, he’s already got a big enough head,” Lord Anthony had said.
While he had taken the admiral’s advice, he thought, on this occasion Bart summed it up perfectly himself. He’d been listening to the purser whine about how bad he had it in a thankless job. Bart had taken the pipe he was smoking from his mouth, sniffed hard, cleared his throat and spit once over the side. Then in a firm, frank, level tone, he said, “Stow it mate, its Bart yer talking to. Ain’t you learned by now ye can’t bullshit a bullshitter? Now, bugger off to some ’ole sumwheres.” Mahan had about laughed out loud in spite of himself. He’d told Lord Anthony, who just shook his head, about the conversation.
“Language he probably picked up one of the times we were in the colonies,” Lord Anthony said.
Lord Anthony was still considering the request from Admiral Peter Parker to allow one of his ships to go to Grand Cayman, as an escort though, not as a ferry service. Bart was right. The sod could haul his own damn cargo, cannons or no.
If he missed the convoy sailing off, he was sure one of the sloops’ captains would not mind a few days up to Savannah and back, out from the admiral’s clutches as it were.
A knock and stamp of the sentry’s musket butt plate on the deck caught Lord Anthony off guard. He was not expecting anybody and the sentry didn’t formally announce the flag captain, flag lieutenant, Bart, or any of his staff.
“Sir, Lord Skalla from the Foreign Service Office.”
Lord Anthony rose and went to greet his visitor. He’d last seen Lord Skalla just before he was recalled to England after Admiral Kirkstatter’s complaint had been received. Now that Skalla was back, it meant he was no longer under a black cloud. Greetings were exchanged and Skalla stated he was enroute to Nova Scotia but didn’t comment further.
After a minute or so of chit-chat, Skalla asked about Gabe. He was surprised when he learned Gabe was in port and expressed a desire to see him and possibly the three get together for a meal. Skalla then went on to say that the first lord stated in the presence of Parliament that he had every confidence in Sir Gabe and all the Anthony’s, in fact. “I think the whole thing would have been forgotten about but for a few. It seems that possibly some of the Anthony’s biggest enemies lay within the boundaries of our own shores. This one fellow made such an arse of himself that your brother-in-law gave him to the count of ten to cease his banter and apologize or be prepared to meet him on the field of honor. Of course, the Gazette sided with Sir Gabe and stated that anyone who found fault in the mission could not in truth consider himself an Englishman. I have several copies that I brought along including the report from Admiral Kirkstatter.”
“Kirkstatter,” Anthony repeated. “He wrote the Gazette?”
“Aye, Lord Anthony, that he did. He told how his ship had been captured, unaware the Dons had joined in with the colonies. He gave a detailed account of how Gabe defeated a seventy-four with a fifty-gun.”
Anthony interrupted his guest, “Sir Gabe will tell you it was lady luck more than skill.”
“No matter, Kirkstatter retracted his negative comments about Sir Gabe and went on to say England was lucky to have not one Anthony but three who have served so well.”
“That is something I’ll admit. I must write him and thank him on behalf of the family,” Anthony said.
“You don’t know?” Skalla interrupted.
“Know what?”
“The same vessel that brought Admiral Kirkstatter’s reports and letters also brought news of his death. I’m sorry, Admiral, I thought you knew. Admiral Kirkstatter committed suicide,” Skalla replied.
“Damnation, we hadn’t heard. Gabe will be sorry to hear this. The admiral and Gabe made peace with each other.”
“I would guess, my Lord, that death looked like a better option than to be humiliated constantly by his run of bad luck.”
“It could have happened to any of us,” Anthony half-muttered. “Silas,” he shouted.
“Aye, my Lord.”
“Pour Lord Skalla and I a glass. I think a bit of Manning’s bourbon might be in order. Then find Lieutenant Mahan, and tell him his company is requested in my cabin. Now, when you’ve done that, Silas, roust out Bart from wherever he’s fleecing honest seamen and tell him I require my barge.”
“Aye, sir. Bourbon, find lieutenant and Bart in that order.”
Anthony nodded, then leaning over he whispered, “He’ll smell of bourbon himself by the time we get our drinks, if you happen to catch a whiff of his breath.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
THE WIND WAS FROM the southwest. Leopard was racing along under full sail. All around, men were following routine. Petty officers were supervising working parties along the main deck while others worked above. Forward, the bosun had one of his mates splicing lines and greasing spare tackles, and still another group seemed to be inspecting the guns for rust.
Gabe leaned against the fife rail and puffed on his pipe. He had been given some new tobacco by Lord Skalla. It was a very mellow tobacco and smoked cooler and without the bite some of the island brands tended to have. He was not sure he favored it above a good cigar, but Lord Skalla was right in his assertion of the quality. It was a mixture of Virginia burly that was soaked in Jamaican rum and then cured. A pleasant smoke when one had the time to relax and enjoy the smoke. But with the need to pack, light, use a tamping tool and relight the tobacco, a cigar was much more convenient. Plus, the Cuban cigars were a fine smoke if you didn’t get one of the darker leaf cigars. Gabe had found he could hardly stand after smoking one of those. As he puffed on his pipe, he thought of Lord Skalla’s arrival in Jamaica. He was certainly glad to see his friend and was doubly glad neither he nor Lord Skalla had been called to task over their activities in the Indian Ocean. Admiral Kirkstatter’s final letter had calmed the fires he had stirred.
Gabe had felt a sense of pride upon hearing that his brother-in-law, Hugh, had stood up for him as he had, although he didn’t want Hugh fighting any duels for him. He had a family to think of. Gabe had also been very sad to hear about Admiral Kirkstatter’s suicide. Would he have done the same thing? I might have retired or resigned my commission and moved away from England, but to kill one’s own self? “Honor and dignity,” Dagan had said. “Sometimes death may seem desi
rable when a man loses his honor and dignity.” The thought had crossed Gabe’s mind to write his widow and express his sorrow. Would she accept it in the light in which it was written or resent him for it? I’ll write it, Gabe decided.
Finishing the bowl of tobacco, Gabe decided to go below. He noticed Tolbert kept looking his way. Was he making the lieutenant nervous being on deck? Did Tolbert think the captain was evaluating how he stood his watch? He shouldn’t, he had proven to be a good officer. A cry from above caused everyone to look up. Once the lookout identified his sighting as a coastal trader, the men went back to their tasks. No prize money this time.
Walking into his cabin the same pile of papers that needed signing yesterday hadn’t vanished and indeed seemed to have grown. Nesbit, without asking, brought Gabe a glass of lime juice. Gabe sat down at the desk but did not pick up his quill. Instead, he wondered why he had volunteered Leopard to escort the merchantman to Grand Cayman. He didn’t have to. In fact, Gil had mentioned in passing he was going to have Captain Roger Frostbrier’s thirty-six gun frigate, Phoenix, escort the ship. However, recalling the look on Con Vallin’s face when discussing the letter he’d got from the Bodden girl, Hannah, and how he would have liked to spend more time with her, made Gabe volunteer to escort the ship. Having a brother that was a vice admiral ought to provide such a fine captain, such as Sir Gabe Anthony, a few perks anyway.
Since Frostbrier had not been given orders yet, Gabe got the assignment. Besides, it would be nice to see Leonard Montgomery again. Lord Anthony, in deference to Admiral Parker’s request that they stay in Jamaica a bit longer, had set their sailing date a week from Saturday…eight more days. Reports had come in from coastal traders and the frigate that had been on patrol, that both French and Spanish vessels were being sighted in increasing numbers. Lieutenant Mahan had talked to the captain of the merchant ship that was carrying the cannons and explained that he would find less competition and lower prices on Grand Cayman, for both his carnal and culinary desires.
Reporting back to Lord Anthony, Lieutenant Mahan said, “I knew if I appealed to his belly, we’d make strides.”
“Humph,” had been Bart’s reply. “Iffen yer ’pealing to ’is belly, yer aiming too high, I’m thinkin´.”
Mahan was sure the cox’n was right but didn’t feel it polite to admit it.
***
THE CRUISE TO GRAND Cayman was a short one. Immediately upon arriving, Gabe had himself taken ashore. Seeing a local merchant on the walk in front of his ship, Gabe inquired about transportation to the Chief Resident’s home.
“I will send a rider on horseback,” the man said, explaining Mr. Eden had just left. Knowing island time as he did, Gabe knew ‘just left’ could mean anything from five minutes to an hour.
Standing under the stoop of the shop, Gabe looked down at the beach. Jarvis Jackson was standing in as cox’n. The midshipman had had the gig pulled up on the beach, and had the crew standing under the shade of a tree, such as there was. Fishing a guinea from his pocket, he walked down to where Jackson and the crew stood.
Giving the coin to Jackson, Gabe said, “Take the men to the tavern. You can see the sign just down the street. Buy the men a wet, not more than two each, mind you. I don’t want them arse over kettle and dumping us over going back to the ship.”
“Aye, Captain. Watch them I will,” Jackson replied.
Each of the crew was smiling at their good luck as they passed by. Finding a crate, Gabe stood it on end under the tree and prepared to wait on the Chief Resident. As he waited, he watched the merchant ship come as close to shore as she could. Her draught was too deep to come alongside of the pier. The unloading and hauling would have to wait until the Chief Resident arrived and set up the ferrying process.
Once on land a major of artillery and his company of men would see to the emplacements. The major and his men had been given passage on Leopard so as not to cause the grocery captain more expense. Another boat had shoved off from Leopard. Smiling to himself, Gabe thought, I know who that is.
As Leopard’s lookout had sighted Grand Cayman, he had stated that he didn’t see any other ships at anchor.
“Must be out on patrol,” Gabe had said.
“Aye Captain, but patrolling for what is my only question,” Vallin replied. This caused the master, Mr. Pittman, Lieutenant Laqua, Dagan, and even Hex to laugh.
“Mr. Vallin,” Gabe called, speaking in his ‘captain’s voice’.
“Aye, sir.”
“I am certain we will be at anchor for three days minimum. Therefore, I see no reason we can’t allow the men ashore as you see fit.”
“Thank you, Captain, and as to the watch?”
“As per my in port policy,” Gabe replied.
“Aye Captain.”
“Ah…Mr. Vallin.”
“Yes sir.”
“Being the first lieutenant, once the ship is secured to your satisfaction, I’m sure you can find something to occupy you for the next three days. I also see no reason during that time that would require you to sleep aboard.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Gabe had just given his first lieutenant the ultimate gift.
“If he can’t charm that young lady in three days, he’s not the sailor I think he is,” Dagan joked.
“Aye,” Gabe answered his uncle. Leaning forward so that only Dagan could hear, Gabe whispered, “I have a request to make of you.”
“You don’t have to ask,” Dagan replied, knowing what the request would be. “I’ll go over with Jake. We’ll see if this Galante woman is at her tavern, or even if she’s still in town. Once we know something, I’ll get word back to you.” Dagan then told Gabe that he’d taken the liberty of having young Jackson assigned as the temporary cox’n. Jackson was not the oldest, but did appear to be the brighter of the mids.
I wouldn’t mind having him on my ship, Gabe thought. “Thank you again, Uncle.”
Dagan looked at Gabe for a moment, “Jacob Hex means a lot to both of us, Gabe. If the woman is on the island I’ll find her. After that, it’s between Jake and her.” Gabe shook his head in understanding.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
THREE DAYS AFTER ENTERING port, the merchant ship sailed back to Jamaica, being escorted by Lynx. Spoilage from several barrels of pork had been found and now the beef was nearly gone. Lynx’s crew had supplemented their rations with turtle meat, but that grew old quickly. Lynx needed her stores replenished and that could only be done in Jamaica. So Gabe sent the ship back, killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.
The artillery major had done a good job. A powder magazine had been built using palmetto logs and covering it with a plaster made from seashells. Palmetto logs had also been used to form a barricade of sort to give the people firing the cannons a means of cover.
“The palmetto log is made of a soft fibrous wood,” the major explained. “Instead of bursting when hit, the soft wood tends to absorb the impact.” Gabe and William Eden had been most impressed.
Try as they may, Marie Galante was not to be found. One man stated he saw her walk out into the ocean but never saw her come back again. No one else could remember when they’d last seen her. Captain Montgomery had said he’d gotten much the same information and wondered if she, like Admiral Kirkstatter, had committed suicide.
Dagan didn’t think so. “She might have walked out or swam out never to be seen again but that doesn’t mean she’s dead. I think she realized she’d never do well on the island again and left. Sometimes it’s better to vanish without a trace,” he said.
Gabe agreed with Dagan. He hoped Hex would be inclined to agree with Dagan’s theory also, rather than she’d taken her own life.
“Who knows, she may surface again when the war is over,” Dagan stated.
***
A KNOCK AT GABE’S door was followed by “Mr. Hunter, sir, midshipman of the watch.” The sentry made the announcement without the stamp of his musket butt on the deck. He’d learned that the captain cared little for exc
essive noise. “Mr. Laqua’s compliments, sir, you have a note…an invitation. The messenger is waiting for a reply if you’re not too busy, sir.”
After a moment of waiting, Gabe asked, “Am I to have the note, Mr. Hunter?”
The youth got big-eyed and then stammered as he passed the note, “Sorry, sir, my apologies.”
“Nesbit,” Gabe called.
“Yes, Sir Gabe.”
“Do we have any refreshments available? It seems the sun has gotten to Mr. Hunter. His cheeks are flushed most severely.”
“Aye, shall I serve him in the pantry, Sir Gabe, while you read your correspondence?” Nesbit asked.
“Yes, that will be fine,” Gabe replied.
“Come along, young sir. My, you do look flushed.” As Nesbit walked away he looked at Gabe and smiled a knowing smile.
***
WILLIAM EDEN SAT UNDER a thatch roof porch at the Turtle’s Nest Tavern having a drink with Gabe. “It’s not something you’ll find at home in England or even in the colonies. I’ve tasted similar concoctions on Jamaica and Nassau. It’s made using the sweetened juice of a coconut, mixed with rum. I’ve also had variations using pineapples and bananas. The pineapple is not bad, but I’m not fond of the ones with bananas. The times, rare times I might add, that we’ve added ice or poured the contents in a pitcher of ice, the taste is even better. I’m convinced if ice were constantly available, my wife would become addicted to the drink. I must warn you though, Sir Gabe, this drink has a way of catching up with you before you know it.”