Leopard (Fighting Anthonys Book 7)

by Michael Aye

  Davy smiled good-naturedly and wondered if Bart had told the tale to Vallin. It sounded like something Bart would cook up.

  “Deck thar,” Tomahawk’s lookout called down. “I see a light, almost a blinking light, sir.”

  “Where away?”

  “Amidships larboard side, sir. It comes and goes, it does, sir.”

  A little frustrated, Davy tossed the half-smoked cigar over the side and bounded up the shrouds before his lieutenant could offer. Making the lookout’s platform, he was a touch out of breath. “Damnation, I used to run up the ratlines.”

  “You ’um still pretty quick,” the lookout said.

  “Where is this blinking light?” Davy asked.

  “Look yonder amidships, sir. Just keep yer eyes on it.”

  Before the lookout finished speaking, Davy saw it. It was only for a moment, and then it was gone and returned in a few minutes. Davy watched it again and again. He turned to his lookout, “A double tot for you, Smythe, tell the purser it’s the captain’s orders and I’ll brook no argument.”

  Smiling, the old lookout knuckled his head, “Thank ye, Cap’n.”

  Davy went down a backstay but slowly. “Come about, Mr. Ruby. We’ve spotted the convoy.”

  ***

  IN LORD ANTHONY’S CABIN, Lieutenant Davy explained, “At first, I didn’t know what it was and then I realized it was the stern lamps of a ship rising to appear and then disappearing as it fell in a trough. I looked at it through the night glass and it was not one ship’s stern lamps but many. I think it’s the enemy convoy.”

  “Good work, Lieutenant,” Lord Anthony praised Davy. “It’s almost dawn. Go back to your ship. Captain Earl, get with the master and plot a course to intercept the enemy using Davy’s sightings.”

  “Think we’ll see them with the dawn?” Earl asked.

  “Maybe a straggler, but I’d think it’d be later. We are not far off their course, now,” Anthony said.

  “Aye,” Earl replied as he went to get the master.

  ***

  The dawn was clear to the horizon and the men were released from quarters and went about their daily routine, only today an air of excitement was about the ship. The enemy convoy was in the making and that meant prize money. No one thought they might be killed. It may happen to a mate but not to them.

  On the quarterdeck, Lord Anthony watched as a seaman cleaned a scope of salt stains. The sun’s rays were breaking through the early morning haze. The swells were not as steep as they’d been during the squall last night. The wind had lessened but it still was a fresh breeze.

  SeaHorse seemed to rise and fall as she climbed one wave and then fell into the trough. Would they see the enemy when the early morning mist cleared away? The squadron lay comfortably on the starboard tack, headed north-westerly.

  After Tomahawk’s sighting, Lord Anthony had sent Frostbrier’s Phoenix to the front. Frostbrier was an experienced captain with a level head. Maybe Gabe was right in thinking the captured Comete would be a good step up for Frostbrier.

  Tugging on the chain of his watch, Lord Anthony was thinking a cup of Silas’ special coffee might prove satisfying. He beckoned to Bart and as the two started down to his cabin, the lookout called down, “From Phoenix, sir, enemy in sight.”

  I know the lookout can’t read the signals, Anthony thought, and then realized Earl, who was expecting the enemy to be in the offing, had sent a midshipman aloft with the lookout. The youngest of the mids would recognize the signal for enemy in sight.

  After pausing a second, Anthony replied, “Come on, Bart, let’s get out of Captain Earl’s way so he can prepare his ship.”

  “Aye,” Bart mumbled.

  ***

  CAPTAIN STEPHEN EARL TOOK another step up the ratlines and, bracing himself, tried to focus on the distant ships. Doubts went through his mind. It was a big convoy and therefore had to have sufficient escort ships. Would they be a match? Mentally, he tried to do the arithmetic. Tomahawk and Bulldog could wreak havoc among the merchant ships. Jepson’s Revenant would hold its own against any ship of similar size. That left the Phoenix with thirty-six guns, Leopard with fifty guns and SeaHorse’s seventy-four guns to deal with the rest. It would depend on Lord Anthony’s tactics. Did he want to damage the convoy, which was a certainty, or did he want to destroy the enemy war ships? David and Goliath, he thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  FROM PHOENIX, SIR, FOUR ships of the line and a frigate, estimates thirty merchant ships and transports…transports?

  “French troops to help the Americans?” Flag Lieutenant Mahan questioned.

  “Aye!” Captain Earl and Lord Anthony both said it in unison.

  “From Phoenix, sir.” There was a pause as the signal’s midshipman seemed to be checking his book. When he felt assured, he repeated, “From Phoenix, sir, Comte dé Gichen.”

  “How the devil does he know that?” Mahan asked.

  “His first lieutenant is part French,” Earl replied. “He probably studies the flags.”

  “Captain!” Lord Anthony spoke with authority. “General signal, please ‘Prepare for battle.’ When you’ve made the signal, make another to Revenant, Bulldog, and Tomahawk, ‘Attack convoy.’ And then to Phoenix and Leopard’s numbers, ‘Form on flag.’”

  “Aye, aye my Lord,” Stephen replied.

  ***

  LORD ANTHONY HELD OUT his arms as Bart helped him in his waistcoat. “Nice target,” Bart muttered as he took down Lord Anthony’s sword and clipped it on. He went to the cabinet, took out a brace of pistols, powder, and shot. They were a matched pair, a gift from Lady Deborah.

  Silas stood to the side, “Anything else, my Lord?” He had held up the bosun’s party, who were waiting to carry the admiral’s furniture to the hold.

  The partitions would then be struck down. Silas would go down and assist the surgeon and his mates. Bart winked at Silas, who smiled. They had been through it before. Each knowing this might be the last battle. The odds were bad, everyone but a fool knew it.

  On deck, the wind was steady. Seeing the admiral, Captain Earl gave him his telescope. Anthony could now make out the French warships. “Sixty-fours, I believe, Stephen.”

  “Aye, at least two of them,” Earl replied. “One is carrying dé Gichen’s flag.”

  Anthony glanced at their flag. “Our country’s flag, Stephen, is it not a majestic sight?”

  “Aye, my Lord,” Earl answered with a lump in his throat. He was looking at Lord Anthony’s flag on the foremast.

  “Alter course three points to larboard, steer north-by-west please, Captain,” Anthony said.

  “Aye sir,” Earl responded.

  SeaHorse’s seamen hauled on the braces, while others freed the main course as bosun mates scrambled about, shouting at first one man and then another. As the wind filled the sails the deck canted and men had to hold on. Lord Anthony grabbed a rail.

  Earl, seemingly unaffected by the leaning deck, watched the compass. “Steady, steady as you go,” he ordered the helmsmen. Bart looked aft and watched as Gabe had Leopard following in the flagship’s wake.

  “Load and run out,” Lord Anthony ordered Earl.

  From somewhere forward, a seaman shouted “Us’ll show ’em, three cheers for the admiral.”

  Lord Anthony felt a chill run through him as the cheers went up. Our men will take this day, he thought…they have to.

  The gun ports squeaked in protest as they were hauled open, and the black snouts were hauled in place.

  “Brail up the courses?” Captain Earl asked.

  “Aye, Stephen, she’s your ship.”

  Tomahawk, Bulldog, and Revenant were now among the convoy. Cannons fired and water spouts appeared.

  “Damme, but that Frog will hit his own ships,” Mahan swore. To prove his words, one of the French merchantmen veered to starboard, trying to get out of the line of fire. Doing so, he ran directly into another ship amidships.

  “The Frogs be doing our work for us,” B
art snorted.

  “Bulldog has blasted a transport rudder,” exclaimed David Neal, the first lieutenant.

  “Possible head money,” the master ventured.

  One of the sixty-fours, the one with dé Gichen’s flag, had come about. A French frigate had already come about and appeared to be headed toward the ships attacking the convoy. Earl was about to ask if Lord Anthony wanted Phoenix to intercept the French frigate.

  Lord Anthony almost as if reading Earl’s unasked question said, “George will have to handle that one.” The French sixty-four was now bearing down on SeaHorse.

  “Stand by to larboard.” Johns, the second lieutenant, was pacing up and down the gun deck, making sure for the tenth time that each gun was ready. “As you bear,” he shouted. “Watch the admiral.”

  Earl raised his sword. When Anthony nodded, he roared, “Fire,” as he sliced down with his sword.

  The forecastle carronades and SeaHorse’s cannons spoke with authority as orange flames leaped out of the gun’s muzzles. Anthony cringed at the deafening roar. The tearing of wood and shouts of men could be heard as ball after ball slammed into the French sixty-four. However, the Frenchie got in her licks and SeaHorse shuddered as enemy balls slammed into her.

  SeaHorse’s first broadside had been grape on top of ball. Mahan saw with horror the number of French sailors lying about on the sixty-four’s deck, as the ships passed through the battle smoke. Another ship was now almost on SeaHorse, her forward guns firing, causing SeaHorse’s deck to jar, throwing Mr. Neal down. As he tried to stand he fell again; his arm was broken. Bart rushed over to help the lieutenant and through the smoke he saw the enemy ship was alongside.

  “Fire,” Earl shouted as the starboard guns now spit forth their death and destruction. On the gun deck, Lieutenant Johns and a midshipman yelled encouragement to the gunners who went about their work in a rapid but methodical manner. Sounding like thunder, the foremast on the enemy ship was hit. The mast leaned and then toppled over, bringing with it riggings and stays. As the mast toppled over the larboard side the ship veered. As it did so, Gabe on Leopard crossed her stern and poured a full broadside, one gun after another up the arse end. The ship seemed to rumble and leap out of the water, breaking in half and sinking. A loud cheer went up from the British seamen.

  “Silence,” Earl shouted. He was glad to put an end to one ship but hated to see lives lost in such a fashion.

  Coughing from all the smoke, Mr. Waters, the master, shouted, “The breeze has died.”

  Phoenix was now alongside the first French sixty-four. Neither ship was firing and they seemed to be drifting apart.

  “The Frogs must think that Phoenix is too small,” Mahan volunteered.

  “More afraid that we’ll bring the ship around and blast her, I’m thinkin’,” Bart replied.

  “Captain Earl, let’s take advantage of the lull and put our ship back to rights,” Anthony ordered.

  “Aye, sir. I’ve already sent for the carpenter and gunner. We have two guns out of action that I know of.”

  Leopard was within hailing distance. Taking up a speaking trumpet, Lord Anthony called, “Captain Anthony, are you able to continue battle?”

  “Aye,” Gabe answered.

  What a dumb question, Lord Anthony thought, what else would he say. Reforming his question, Lord Anthony hailed again, “Do you need assistance of any kind?”

  “Only from the Almighty, should he choose to favor us with a wind,” Gabe replied.

  “Rascal,” Bart snorted.

  The wind did not return. All through the night, watches were set up to guard against boat attacks. Repairs were continued and by dawn tired men were fed, one watch at a time. There was still no wind…

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  THE WIND RETURNED WITH the dawn, light and perverse at first, but gave way to a steady, gentle breeze.

  “Damme, but the Frogs are catching the wind first,” Captain Earl snarled.

  The French ships’ sails were filling sufficiently to work the ships. Do we put boats in the water, Earl wondered to himself, but dismissed the idea immediately. In a few minutes, he was glad of his decision as the sails began flapping as they filled with the wind. A cheer went up among the hands. Taking his glass, Captain Earl made a quick survey of the squadron and noticed all the ships were catching the wind.

  “The wind has returned, I see,” Lord Anthony said to Captain Earl. The captain was so intent on checking the squadron he’d not heard the admiral walk up.

  “Morning, my Lord,” Earl responded.

  Nodding his reply, Lord Anthony’s attention was now on the French sixty-four. She and Phoenix had been engaged when the wind had died. “Make signal to Leopard, ‘Assist Phoenix, engage enemy,’” Lord Anthony ordered.

  “Aye,” Earl replied. He turned to relay the message to the signals midshipmen. The mid had been standing close by and had heard the order and was busy putting the signal together to be hoisted.

  ***

  DAGAN SAW THE SIGNAL from the flagship. He, like Gabe, had been expecting the order and had said as much. Gabe had already made the necessary orders to his first lieutenant. Vallin was now busy getting all ready to carry out the signal when it arrived. Therefore, Leopard was ready to come about and bear down on the enemy.

  On board the flagship, Mahan volunteered, “Damn quick, I’d say.”

  Bart smiled, “’spected it, ’e did. Taught ’im well, I did.”

  Lord Anthony standing behind Bart swore, “Do you take credit for everything, you scoundrel?”

  “Only when it’s due,” Bart answered with no hint of apology.

  “Ignore him, Patrick,” Lord Anthony hissed. “Next thing, you know, he’ll take credit for the wind.”

  Bart thrust out his chin and said, “I’s did talk to the Almighty bout it, that’s a fact.”

  Anthony shook his head but didn’t reply. In his own way, Bart probably did send up a prayer.

  ***

  ON BOARD PHOENIX, FROSTBRIER had gotten his ship underway. It was unusual for a frigate to engage a sixty-four. The weight of the sixty-four’s smallest gun was larger than Phoenix’s largest gun. Twelve good hands had been sent to the deep when the wind had died last night, to prove it.

  Now, the signal to engage the enemy flew aloft. Leopard was charging down to do just that. While Frostbrier was senior to Gabe on the captain’s list, Leopard took command, being the larger ship. The two ships were now in hailing distance as they converged on the Frenchie.

  “Attack the stern, the stern,” Gabe shouted through the speaking trumpet.

  Frostbrier waved signifying he understood. Leopard would attack broadside to broadside, hopefully keeping the French occupied while he inflicted what damage he could on the minimally protected stern. Good strategy if it worked, but just as the sixty-four’s cannons outweighed Phoenix, so did they outweigh Leopard.

  The sixty-four was late in taking advantage of the wind, but even so Leopard and Phoenix were making only four to five knots.

  “She’s either a lubberly ran ship or she’s been in port so long, she’s got weeds as a sea anchor,” Pittman, the master, said.

  “That or she wants us to catch her,” Vallin answered.

  It appeared the sixty-four was making little more than steerage way. Gabe had heard the interchange but didn’t join in. He wondered, like Vallin, why the ship was not making more sail. “Mr. Pittman, I don’t like it. I think Vallin is right. Yonder ship is too slovenly for my liking.” Gabe continued to watch and there was little activity on the Frenchie.

  “Mr. Pittman, I think yonder ship has every gun double-shotted and is just waiting for us to come alongside.” Vallin didn’t speak but felt Gabe was right. “Get the hands ready, Mr. Vallin. Mr. Pittman, I want to put Leopard hard over on my command.”

  “You will be exposing the stern, sir.” Pittman knew his captain knew that but as master, he felt it was his place to warn him.

  “Aye,” Gabe replied, “but it’s a mu
ch smaller target.”

  “Damn this wind,” Vallin swore. A rare exhibit of nerves by the first lieutenant.

  Dagan stood by Gabe as he had done so, so many times. “Ready, Uncle?” Gabe asked with a smile.

  Dagan’s only reply was, “Watch her gun ports.”

  Jacob Hex, Gabe’s cox’n, stood a step behind his captain; his finger beating against the hilt of his cutlass. Like Vallin, he was nervous. He trusted his captain but a sixty-four in the making meant the odds were against them…with or without Phoenix’s help.

  Slowly Leopard gained until they were almost alongside. It was not the stern most gun port that swung open, but one forward. Gabe had expected the stern most port to open first, but it probably had an officer standing with the guns where the forward division of guns didn’t.

  “Now! Hard over, Mr. Pittman.”

  The helmsmen spun the wheel with all their might. The rudder bit and Leopard swung to starboard as the French ship’s gun ports opened. Large black snouts were run out, spitting orange flames as they did so. Gabe felt the ship shudder as first one and then a second French ball hit Leopard, but surprisingly no others hit. The deafening roar caused the sea to churn as French balls plunged into the water.

  “Hold her,” Gabe ordered.

  As Leopard slowly came around, Phoenix was firing into the enemy stern, one cannon at a time. Leopard came about in a relative short time but it seemed like forever.

  “Get the forward guns working, Mr. Abraham,” Gabe ordered the gunner. Shouting down to the gun deck, Gabe shouted to Lieutenant Bufford to be ready. An unnecessary order as Lieutenant Bufford was ready.

  Every gun was double-shotted with a measure of grape. As Leopard pulled alongside, he shouted, “Fire, fire as you bear.” One by one Leopard’s guns roared and leapt back, straining the eye bolts as the double-shotted balls hurled forth against the enemy.

  “Captain, Captain,” Hex was shouting. “They’ve surrendered.”

  The white flag was indeed flying over the Frenchman. In fact, Hex had seen her go up just as Leopard’s guns spoke.