Leopard (Fighting Anthonys Book 7)

by Michael Aye

  Gabe merely nodded his acceptance. He’d learned long ago that there was little to be gained by disagreeing or doubting the master.

  Freshly promoted Laqua had the watch. He’d relieved Bufford. While Bufford was senior, Gabe had on occasion found the man lacking in conduct. His wardroom comments about Laqua had been mentioned by the servants. Thus far, Gabe, who had been informed by Hex of the behavior, had said nothing. He still remembered the midshipman’s berth and how with time the bullies tended to get their comeuppance. Vallin had said nothing and after the way he took the purser to task, Gabe felt he would intervene if needed.

  Gabe feeling a bit of devilment inside him, walked over to where Laqua stood talking to a petty officer in his division.

  “Morning, Captain,” Laqua volunteered.

  “Good morning, Mr. Laqua. I see my faith in you has not been a waste. You keep a good watch and I notice your gun deck is spot on.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I will do my best.”

  “No doubts, Mr. Laqua. I think I shall go below, as you seem to have all in order.”

  Dagan had just stepped through the companionway and over the coaming when he heard Gabe’s comments. Knowing why Gabe said it, Dagan was not sure it would serve the intended purpose. It would definitely let everyone know Laqua had the captain’s eye. Possibly he might even be considered a protégé. But should Laqua fail, it would be brought to the forefront. It could even cause jealousy and where an officer might have helped or given a word to the wise, it might now be held back. Gabe had been the brunt of many unkind words growing up. Now, he tended to come to the aid of those he felt were being treated unfairly. It would on this occasion certainly let the wardroom officers know Laqua held his present rank in part due to Captain Sir Gabriel Anthony, brother of Vice Admiral Lord Anthony. Well, it was done now. Only time would tell if the remarks would help or hinder Laqua.

  ***

  LORD ANTHONY’S SQUADRON HAD all cleared port and was standing out to sea. A signal was given for Leopard to take station behind and to larboard of the flagship. Once the maneuvers for taking station on the flag had been completed, First Lieutenant Con Vallin requested to exercise the hands-on gun drill.

  Gabe gave his approval and jokingly added, “No live fire. I don’t want the admiral to think we’ve mutinied.”

  This brought laughter from all around. Heading into harm’s way, it was a good idea to exercise the guns. Keeps the hands occupied mentally and physically. Besides a little extra drill might just mean the difference in surviving.

  Seeing Dagan, Gabe walked over and asked, “What say you, Uncle? Will this be a fruitless chase or will we come to arms?”

  “To arms, I think, but the real battle lies ahead and not from the enemy’s cannons,” Dagan replied. He then turned abruptly and went below.

  “Damnation, why did I have to ask?” Gabe cursed silently, and then went below for something to drink. Maybe, the coffee would still be warm.

  ***

  RETURNING TO THE MAIN deck, Gabe was approached by the first lieutenant, who had his watch in his hand. HMS Leopard rated as a fifty gun, fourth rate ship. On the lower deck, she mounted twenty-two twenty-four pounders; on her upper deck there were twenty-two twelve pounders. She carried two twenty-four pound carronades in the forecastle, and four six pounders on the quarterdeck. Thus, Leopard actually mounted fifty-two guns plus swivels.

  “I think we will only exercise the great guns for the first hour,” Gabe said to Vallin.

  “Aye sir.”

  Gabe then spoke to Bufford, who was in charge of the lower gun deck. “We will start with your division first, Mr. Bufford.”

  “Silence,” Bufford bellowed. No conversation of any kind was allowed. Silence immediately fell over the starboard section of the lower gun deck.

  Midshipman Jarvis Jackson stood by Bufford, he would take command of the gun deck if Bufford were to fall. The gun captains were all experienced seamen and a gunner’s mate was assigned to each battery of four guns on Leopard’s gun deck.

  The crash of waves against the hull could be heard as the gun crews awaited the word. One man was biting his fingernails while another repeatedly licked his lips. One old gunner moved a chew of tobaccy to the other side of his toothless mouth.

  Bufford finally ordered, “Open your gun ports. Cast loose your guns.” With a squeal and grinding sound the guns rolled back on the tackles. “Level your guns.”

  The sponger heaved his handspike under the gun breach. As it rose the gun captain placed a wedge under the breach to hold it level.

  ‘Out Tompion’ was ordered by the gun captain. The first sponger took out the tompion and passed it to the second sponger, who hung it amidships.

  “Sponge your guns.” The sponger had to lean out of the gun port to insert the sponge and work the handle. The first sponger rammed a wet sponge down the barrel. The gun captain made a show of placing his thumb over the touch-hole while the sponge was being removed, creating a vacuum in the gun to extinguish any sparks had the gun just been fired.

  “Load cartridge.” The powder boy passed the powder charge to the first loader.

  “Ram cartridge.” The rammer rammed the charge home.

  “Load ball.” The shot and wad man passed a selected round and wad to the loader. The wad was placed between the cartridge and round.

  “Ram round.” Round and wad were rammed against the charge. The gun captain inserted the priming wire into the touch-hole, making a hole in the cartridge bag. He then primed the gun.

  “Run out.” The side tackle men strained as they run the gun up to the side of the ship. The gun captain then sighted the gun using an elevating screw or quoin.

  The gun captain then stepped back and yelled, “Fire as you bear.” This ended the gun drill.

  “Time?” Gabe barked.

  “Three minutes and a half,” Vallin proclaimed. Gabe eyed him suspiciously. Smiling, Vallin said, “By this watch, sir.”

  “I’d take it to a clock maker when we return to Barbados,” Gabe replied. “Continue the drill, Mr. Vallin, until it’s less than three minutes by your chronometer.”

  “But, sir,” Vallin feigned insult. “This watch was made by Harrison, one of England’s finest.”

  “Humph,” Gabe snorted. “You had better learn to tell time then. Under three minutes by your watch, Lieutenant, under three minutes.”

  The drill was in Gabe’s own opinion a full minute longer than the three thirty proclaimed. If the morrow’s horizon provided a convoy, they would need the speed…the speed, practice, and above all accuracy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  A RELENTLESS, SLEETY RAIN MADE standing watch a misery. The rain was bad enough, but the unusual cold that came with it was unmerciful. Pittman ducked into the wardroom for something to warm his bones and then he’d go back on deck and face the elements.

  “Unusual weather is it not, Mr. Pittman?”

  “Hurricane season,” the master responded. “All types of oddities come with it, but this shat makes me nervous about what comes next.”

  “Hopefully we’ll be back in Antigua,” Lieutenant Tolbert said, picking up on the conversation as he walked into the area. Lieutenant Laqua had just relieved him so he could get a little something to ease the effects of the elements.

  “I thought you had the watch,” Vallin said, almost as an accusation.

  “Lieutenant Laqua gave me a minute to freshen a bit…warm up as it were,” Tolbert replied.

  “Be thankful that Bufford is not relieving you. He’d be late,” Pittman said, looking at Vallin.

  “Did I hear my name?” Bufford asked. He’d been in his cabin.

  “Just saying what a fine sort Laqua was to relieve me for a spot,” Tolbert said.

  “Humph! He’s just seeking to make a place for himself among his betters,” Bufford replied.

  “I think not,” Vallin responded. “I think he’s made a place for himself. He’s a lieutenant just like you, the last time I looked.”<
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  “Captain’s arse licker, that’s what he is,” Bufford said.

  “Enough,” Vallin snapped. “Not another word. I’ve tolerated your ways too long, thinking that you’d come around. Lieutenant Laqua is a fine officer and a welcome member of this mess. I shall not tolerate another insult toward him. Do I make myself clear…do I, Lieutenant Bufford?”

  “Aye.”

  “Very well, that ends it,” Vallin said.

  Finishing his drink, Pittman smiled to himself. He had started to wonder when or if Vallin would come around. Bufford had made a great arse of himself. Hopefully the day would never come when he would have to serve on a ship Bufford commanded.

  On deck, the wind whipped the waves so they’d lost their blue tint and were almost as gray as the clouds. Laqua held on to the binnacle, his knuckles white from gripping so hard. Rain stung as it hit his face and made seeing almost impossible. The tarpaulin helped with the stinging rain but did little to keep one dry. Two men were on the wheel and they were having a time of it. Seeing the master, Laqua smiled.

  “On course?” Pittman asked.

  Laqua answered by pointing to the compass. With the ship rolling like a pregnant whale, the helmsmen were doing a good job Pittman nodded again and stiffly made his way to the chart room. As he pulled the door shut, he noticed Tolbert was back on deck, ready to assume his watch. Laqua was a good sort, he thought. Being a master’s mate, he’d had a lot of training by men who knew the sea. As long as he didn’t forget it, he’d make a good officer. It’d been better had he become a ship’s master like me, Pittman thought, but then he was biased.

  ***

  ON THE LOWER DECK, a seaman was telling his mates how the first lieutenant had told that pig, Bufford, off. “I was trading with Smilley.” He was one of the officer’s servants. “Lieutenant Tolbert was relieved by Laqua so’s he could get a wet and everyone was making what a nice chap ’e were, when ole pig face, Bufford, told as ’ow they was all bloody daft. He said Lieutenant Laqua didn’t belong in the officer’s mess wid ’is betters, all lofty like.”

  “’ou do ’e think ’e is?” a seaman named James broke in. “Laqua is not a bad bloke, not even for an officer.”

  “Well Vallin, ’e up and told ’is bleeding lordship, pig face Bufford off,” the seaman continued.

  “Better watch out,” James interrupted again. “’e’ll ’ave you in blocks afore long.”

  “Aye,” another said. “’owever this cap’n don’t ’old wid the cat-o-nine tails as ’sums does.”

  “Well, old Vallin, ’e made no bone about voicing ’is ’pinion about Laqua.”

  “You ’eard all this?” one of the older mates asked.

  “Aye, every word. Me and Smilley was tucked down in the pantry but it was plain as day. Couldn’t see pig face, but ’e was fair fuming ’e was. He waited for Vallin to leave before ’e said anything. He was an unhappy lookin’ man when ’e passed us by,” the seaman said.

  “’e didn’t see ya?”

  “Not so I could tell. Probably thought I was just a servant like Smilley.”

  “Reckon ’e’d take a poke at Vallin?” James asked.

  “Not unless ’e wanted ’is arse kicked, to my way o’ thinking. Lieutenant Vallin doesn’t ’pear to me like a bloke you’d mess wid.”

  “Aye, and there’s sum I’m thinkin’ who’d ’elp ’im over the side, I reckon.”

  “Say ’e’d done it on purpose like, if we says anything. We could be so bleedin’ lucky. More than one ’as fell over on a night like this un.”

  “Some un is coming,” a voice hissed.

  It was Midshipman Jackson making his way to the midshipmen’s berth. He smiled and greeted the men as he passed. They were all in his division and he was well liked.

  “Thar be another one pig-face Bufford ’arps on. Maybe ’e’ll get ’is soon.”

  “We can only ’ope so,” someone said. “Jackson be one o’ the better snotties.”

  “Aye, ’e takes to you learning ’im, ’e does.”

  ***

  ONE OF THE ADVANTAGES of being an admiral is that you don’t have to go on deck in all the elements thrown at you. The admiral’s staff also was able to appreciate the same advantage. Captain Earl stopped at the entrance of the admiral’s cabin and hung his tarpaulin and drenched hat on a peg before he entered. The marine sentry frowned and took a side step as water dripped from the hat and tarpaulin, making pools of water on the deck that ran back and forth with the roll of the ship.

  “A bad night.” This was the third time the captain had come down to report to his lordship.

  I’m tired of standing, the marine thought. It could be worse though, he could be on deck and drenched like the seaman. He heard Silas ask if the cap’n wanted a cup of coffee. I’d like some myself, the marine sentry thought, knowing it’d be laced with brandy. If you took a deep breath, you could catch a hint of the brandy’s odor…Lucky sods. We get grog and they drink the good stuff. He knew because Silas had slipped him some, time and again. But not tonight, too much coming and going to chance it.

  “Nothing yet, Stephen?” Lord Anthony asked.

  “No sir,” Stephen replied.

  It had been a guess, a wild guess as to what course the enemy had taken. Porcupine’s captain had said they were headed nor-nor-west off Dominica when he was spotted and chased. They were headed for the colonies, Anthony was sure. His only question was whether they would sail on, or stop at Guadeloupe. ‘I don’t think so,’ Porcupine’s captain had said when the question was asked. Neither did Captain Earl, Admiral Parker, or himself. Which route? That was the big question. Did they pass between the Virgin Islands and Saint Kitts, taking the Sombrero Passage? Did they pass between Puerto Rico and Hispaniola? Anthony was sure they didn’t sail close enough to Jamaica to take the Windward Passage between Cuba and Hispaniola. He did not rule out the possibility that either San Juan or Havana might be possible ports.

  He’d sent Frostbrier’s Phoenix to look in at Havana and meet up with the squadron north of Puerto Rico, sailing on a northerly course toward the colonies. If he found the enemy at San Juan, he’d send either Bulldog or Tomahawk for Frostbrier.

  Sinking in one of the admiral’s leather chairs, Captain Earl thanked Silas for his coffee. “Do we shorten sail as we pass through the passage and have a look-see into San Juan with the dawn?”

  “As you think best,” Anthony said, showing he trusted his captain’s judgment.

  Porcupine’s captain had recommended the Mona Passage be avoided. “It’s a treacherous business during the day, and I’d never try it at night.”

  Separating the islands of Hispaniola and Puerto Rico, the Mona Passage connects the Caribbean Sea to the Atlantic. It was the shortest route but had a dark reputation. The eighty mile stretch was prone to unusual currents created by sandbanks stretching out from the islands on either side. To make matters worse, three islands, in the passage itself, caused shoals and a variation of the wind, which always seemed to be coming off the bow regardless of the direction you sailed. In addition to the tricky currents caused by the islands of Mona, Monito, and Desecheo, tall, rocky cliffs towering two hundred feet above the sea made a wind tunnel of sorts, where even on a calm day they swirled at fifteen knots and more, with the sea five feet or higher on a beautiful day. Bart recounted how some of the older Jamaicans had told of pirates throwing women they’d raped or who were menstruating into the sea, to watch and see how long they survived before circling sharks took them.

  “A bad business, if it’s true,” Earl remarked.

  “Aye,” Bart answered. “I believe it, ’aving met some of the bloody buggers.”

  Earl finished his coffee and then got ready to go back on deck. The wind, which had been shrieking through the riggings, had lost some of its intensity. “The master promises clearing on the morrow,” Earl announced on the way out.

  “Hopefully, the enemy has faced the same elements we have,” Lord Anthony replied.

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sp; “Aye,” Earl responded. “At least, we don’t have a lot of grocery captains slowing us down.”

  Bart smiled; it was the same regardless of navies. Convoy duty was hated by one and all. “I think I’ll finish me pipe and this wet and then call it a night. No need for ole Bart’s help. Cap’n Earl has it under control, ’e does. Course ’e ought too, as much time as I spent teaching ’im when ’e was a youngster.” Learned mostly, Bart thought, as he turned up his cup.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  LIEUTENANT DAVID DAVY, CAPTAIN HMS Tomahawk, stood at the taffrail puffing on a Cuban cigar that had been given to him by Con Vallin, Gabe’s first lieutenant.

  “Light it when you have time to enjoy it,” Vallin had said. “You’ll never smoke a finer stick of tobacco.” He went into the specifics of how it should be lit. “You don’t thump the cigar’s ash, you let it fall off on its own accord.” And then with a straight face, Vallin had asked, “Do you know the secret of why a Cuban cigar is so much better than any other in the world?” Davy replied it had to do with the soil, the growing conditions and the rain. “No, no,” Vallin cut Lieutenant Davy off quickly. “Tobacco leaf is tobacco leaf. Some are definitely better than others but the Cuban cigar is special because of the way it’s rolled.”

  Davy had seen many a cigar rolled but couldn’t tell much difference between the individual rollers. Vallin smiled, shaking his head. “I thought you a worldly man, David. The cigar, that fine cigar, the upmost in taste and pleasure comes only in this specific brand. Now the truth. Do you know why they are so much better?” Without waiting for Davy to answer or reply, Vallin charged on, “It’s because, my friend, these cigars are rolled between the thighs of fourteen year old virgins.”

  Davy could not believe what he was hearing and looked thunderstruck. Vallin clapped him a good one across the shoulder as he burst out laughing. “You’ll never smoke another virgin Havana without remembering that,” Vallin said, getting his laughter under control.