by David O'Neil
Though he knew his escape was probably an empty gesture, he could not just give-up. The dinghy from Hera brought the survivor to Vixen and the doctor directly.
Martin sent the boat back with instructions to Lieutenant Harris, her Captain, to standby for orders.
Martin listened to the survivor’s story with interest. Carling was an American, mate on the Joshua Harkness out of Boston, trading between Savannah and the French Leeward Islands mainly in sugar.
“Who attacked you?” Martin asked.
“They was flying the American flag, but they could have been anyone. They spoke like Americans and, by god, they shot like them too. My father taught me to shoot a rifle, and those men had rifles, and could shoot. I guess they were Americans.” He lay back with a sigh. The bunk where he was placed would have normally have accommodated the Third Lieutenant. Since the third, Neil Harmon, was in fact acting, and he had remained in the gunroom as senior, it had been placed at the disposal of the Doctor.
Jacob Carling lay in the bunk speaking slowly but clearly. Martin was seated on the chair beside the bunk in the cramped confines of the small cabin. The doctor stood disapprovingly in the doorway.
“She were a square-rigged ship, sixteen guns in her broadside. Sailed up to us without any sign of trouble. When she got into range the guns were run out and they gave us the entire broadside. She was so close the wads from the nearest guns flew out and set fire to the port rigging. There was a lot of crashing and banging as the cargo shifted, and both masts fell. I decided that was not a good place to be and pushed the dinghy overboard. Didn’t do me no good as they sank it as soon as they saw it. I escaped in the shelter of the sinking ship. I guess I just swam and swam until I found that spar and sail in the water. It gave me a chance to rest and sheltered me from the sun.” He lay back head beginning to nod.
“Do you have any idea who it was that attacked you?”
The doctor interrupted at this point. “Captain, I think Mr. Carling has had enough for just now he needs rest.”
Reluctantly Martin rose to his feet to leave the little cabin, before he stepped through the door, Jacob spoke again. Martin turned.
“I knew. I recognised him. He were in uniform like your’n. It were Captain Newton, Roger bloody Newton, formerly of His Majesty’s ship.....” He collapsed back on the berth and was asleep in an instant.
On deck once more Martin spoke to Jared Watson, “Have you heard the name Newton, Roger Newton?”
The Master scratched his chin, “Only one I knew was Captain of the Hasty 32, under Cochrane. In the Mediterranean, when you were there I believe. Do you not recall he was to be charged for attacking an innocent village, C something, I think. Cefalu! Yes, that was it, on the north coast of Sicily. Landed and killed all the men, then held an orgy in the village square. Ravished all the women then slaughtered them and slung the bodies into the mass grave with their men. Only one got away!”
“Ah, I remember. Yes. He made a run for it with his ship and got wrecked on the island, Marettimo, as I recall. Cochrane was furious. Lost with all hands, they just found some wreckage after a stormy night. Never found any survivors, though several bodies were washed ashore, identified as members of Newton’s crew.”
“That’s what I thought,” Jared added. I always wondered why more were not found I am now suspecting why.”
Martin looked at him, eyebrow raised. “Now we know, don’t we?”
“I suppose the men in the water were men who did not want to sail with the pirates, cynically used to cover up their crime.”
“I get the impression that you might be right, which illustrates why they were shooting people in the water. Definitely no witnesses to remain, by why smash an American ship?”
After a moment, Jared said, “Perhaps they did not want any report of their presence in the area at a significant time. They are on a secret mission and wish to remain anonymous.”
Martin nodded slowly in agreement, “Please set course for the Bahamas, Long Key, I think. I seem to recall there is sheltered anchorage where we can base ourselves without creating too much fuss.” He turned to Antonio, Keats and Morton of the HMS Spartan, “Well, gentlemen. It seems that the chase has begun.” He turned to Lieutenant Brooks. “Mr. Brooks, make signal to Hera. ‘Shadow the strangers and rendezvous at Long Key in seven days. Avoid contact at all costs!’”
Chapter Thirteen
Away the boats
Lieutenant John Harris found the detachment from the small squadron exhilarating. The schooner was a true flyer, now released from the need to hold back and to keep station on the other ships.
He set sail after the three suspect ships, depending on the sharp eyes of his lookout to warn him when the tops of his quarry appeared on the horizon.
It was a tribute to the state of the hulls, the set of the sails, and the skill of the crews of the suspect ships that the task of catching them was harder than he anticipated. It was not until mid-afternoon that the chase came in sight.
As soon as the chase was confirmed, he dropped back and took a parallel course to come abreast of the three ships to be in a position to close up to them during the night, on their beam rather than astern where it would be natural to watch for a pursuing ship.
John Harris was excited, though he made sure he did not let his crew know about it. He made great effort to appear calm and unruffled in front of the men. An admirer of the Commodore, and also of his hero, Admiral Nelson—whom he had served under as a midshipman on Victory—he had observed their composure when the bullets were flying, and desperately prayed that he could emulate them when the time came.
Meantime, drills! He called to his first lieutenant to exercise the guns both port and starboard in turn. Actually firing was better, but the sound travels too well over water.
They kept in touch with the strangers with short excursions into visual range, before dropping back out of sight.
The cat and mouse game carried on for three days with the weather worsening gradually. On the fourth day the schooner was battling a full gale and, from their observation of the other ships, they were suffering rather more. The biggest ship, now recognised as a frigate, had lost her topmast slowing the trio of ships to the extent that the Hera was ahead of the ships she was pursuing. Harris decided that this was the opportunity he needed to get to the north of the strangers, and gave orders to let the ship run free north-west across the course of the battered trio. When the Hera hove-to she was positioned on the other beam ahead of her quarry.
The stratagem worked, and by the time the three ships passed her, the storm was reducing, though the waves were still high. The lookout on Hera reported a glimpse of the ships as the schooner topped one of the bigger waves.
Harris ordered the helm up five degrees north, to clear the horizon properly, then resumed the mean course, guessing that the other ships would maintain their mean course.
In his cabin he once again extended the course on the chart and decided that the destination would be, possibly Governor’s Island.
***
At the Long Key anchorage Martin was beginning to worry about the situation he was encountering. They had spoken to fishermen and there had been rumours of landings at night by small boats with boxes and bags of what was believed to be weapons. The sightings had been on New Providence, the location of the city of Nassau, both West bay and East bay were mentioned when Martin tried to narrow them down. He could do no better. Though he spoke French, the patios of the local men was almost incomprehensible. Marlow was off New Providence with Spartan at present with men laying in ambush for any smugglers coming ashore, at West beach.
As he strode the deck he watched the men on the HMS Lively replacing worn rigging after the ravages of the recent storm. On the Sao Paulo the men were occupied with similar work, though since her refit had been recent there was less need for replacements.
Antonio crossed the deck of the Vixen joining Martin at the fife rail. There were few obvious signs of the recent stor
m. The calm blue/green waters of the anchorage, the white beach and the fringe of palm trees nodding in the light breeze, made a picture of tropical paradise.
Turning to his companion, Martin remarked, “This is how we recall these places. In England they have a different picture. They see the lists of dead from disease, the sick men and women returning after staying in the area for a year or so.”
“Don’t forget the pirates, treasure and the slaves working on the sugar cane and coffee.” Antonio suggested.
Changing the subject Martin said, “How are the repairs going?”
“There was little seriously to be done. Most of what is now being completed is minor and could have been completed in passage.” Antonio looked at Martin, curious. “You are concerned about something, my friend?”
“I’m uneasy. I am still wondering about the origin of this so-called American invasion. As far as I can see the country is still absorbing and settling the affairs of the people of the Louisiana area. I cannot reconcile this suggestion that the American Government are actually considering a takeover of these islands when they have already got problems with Mexico in the south and the west. Their army is committed to try and resolve these situations, and are not—as far as I’m aware—in a situation to undertake an invasion here. There are, however, signs that someone is preparing to do just that, but who?”
Antonio shrugged, “My father used to say, ‘In this sort of situation follow the money!’, and he always swore by that. If it is not the government, look for the money-trail that will take you to the source, and probably the answer to your question. My guess would be business, the source of money in the islands themselves. How about current trade with Britain? Could it be more lucrative with other countries? It’s the sort of thing that can generate unrest and rebellion. After all, consider the independence of America itself. The disturbance in Boston where the tea was flung into the harbour, that incident was the spark that set the country afire.
“Taxes! Finance! Insurgence!” He smiled. “The stuff of revolution, I fear. Here it would not be supported by nationalism as such. This would be painted as politics, but actually be power and wealth. And so, my friend, with your permission I will go and write my thoughts to my beautiful Alouette.”
“Of course, Antonio. I should be writing to Jennifer. Thank you for your company and advice.”
As Antonio returned to his ship Martin went below to write his letters, still a little troubled, though not quite as deeply as before.
***
It was a long night for Lieutenant Harris. As darkness was falling he decided that he would take a chance and run hard for Governor’s Island and be there when the other ships arrived. They had been delayed by the repairs they had to make and he thought he would have time to conceal the schooner in the small islands to the north or perhaps behind the island itself.
***
In Nassau the Governor, Sir Anthony Warren, said goodnight to his daughter, Catherine and watched the blond-haired young lady climb the stairway to her room. The swish, as the skirts of her dress brushed the marble stairs in time with the pace of her graceful walk, accompanied her. The lingering scent of her perfume remained, seeming to accentuate the loneliness he felt since the loss of his beloved Elizabeth a year earlier. Losing his wife had been unexpected and devastating. His daughter, Catherine, had done all she could to share his loss, but it was still his loss!
He sighed and turned back into the room he had now adopted as his official office. He was at his desk when the visitor arrived.
Sir Adrian Maxwell had requested the meeting at this hour to prevent speculation and gossip. As possibly the richest man in the islands, he was tall and aggressively handsome with dark hair and flashing brown eyes. His continued avoidance of the traps laid by the mothers of the island had been a matter of extensive speculation among the upper classes. His attraction and adventures among both married and unmarried women was quietly known about, and publicly ignored. He was still the catch of the season, nay the decade, if he would allow himself to be trapped.
Sir Anthony neither liked nor trusted him, without publicising the fact he was aware that Maxwell was attempting to persuade Catherine to marry him, with complete lack of success.
He suspected that this was the reason for the present meeting and prepared to rebuff any such suggestion, since Catherine had made it quite clear that she had no interest in marrying him. She despised him and rejected him on every occasion that they met.
The man entered by the open French window, having come through the garden. Without a coat and no stock, the dark hair was visible through the opened front of his white shirt. There was a sword at his side and a pistol in his hand.
Sir Anthony looked at his guest calmly. “I presume there is a reason for you arrival armed to the teeth?”
“Indeed there is, the moment has arrived. I am taking over the rule of the Bahamas in the name of the States of America.”
Still irritatingly calm, Sir Anthony enquired, “Am I to presume there is a horde of rebels outside poised to sack Nassau?”
Maxwell grinned. “Not entirely. I have my followers in place, re-assuring the army and the business community that your illness has caused you to step down and appoint me as temporary Governor until you recover.”
“Is there some date you have in mind for my ‘recovery’.”
“Ah. That will be in the gift of your daughter, when our wedding has been arranged. It would be I think appropriate for you to give the bride away, do you not think?”
“That long? I do suggest you shoot me now. It would be far too wearying for me to wait until hell freezes over.” These last words were said with a ferocity that shocked Maxwell.
“We must work on that. Perhaps your screams of pain will alter her mind. I’ll see what we can arrange, because arrange I will. You may depend on it. I will have her, whatever you and she may say.”
He gestured with the pistol. “Up and out into the garden, your escort awaits.”
Sit Anthony rose to his feet and stepped through the open door to the garden beyond.
Maxwell called out, “Rowland, take our guest to the summer house. Make sure he is comfortable.”
A voice answered, “What about the girl?”
“I told you, Barrat. The girl will be my responsibility. Go with Rowlands and go quietly.”
The entire conversation was heard by Catherine from her room above. The open window had allowed her to hear the arrival of Maxwell and his men. Realising that she could do nothing for her father at the moment, she slipped into the breeches of a midshipman, part of fancy dress worn when she was a little younger. It was more of a struggle than she remembered from that time but, having managed, she pulled on a blouse and a short blue jacket, and crammed her hair under the midshipman’s hat. She took her jewellery box and another bag with a simple dress and small clothes. The dirk was real, as was the pistol thrust into her belt. The conversation below was still going on when she descended the stairs and left the house through the front door. There was no sign of movement as she made her way on foot out of the gates and turned down the road to the town of Nassau. A movement beside the road caught her attention. Reaching for the pistol she said quietly, “Come out. I know you are there.”
The coloured boy came into view. Catherine sighed with relief. She had known him since they were both children. They had grown up together. She would trust him with her life. “Oh, Mathew, it’s you. Thank goodness.”
“I was worried, Miss Catherine. Those men with your father are bad men.” He saw her attire in the reflected light from one of the houses. “Why are you here dressed like that?”
“The bad men are trying to catch me for Maxwell!” She was still speaking quietly.
The man considered for a few moments then, “Come, miss. I think it’s time we go fishing. No one will search for you at Hog Island.”
The pair made their way down to the harbour where they climbed into the fishing boat used by Mathew. It was owned by
friends of the Warren family who were currently in England. The 30-foot yawl had a cabin and an open cockpit for half its length. It had been used for line fishing by the family. Mathew, now fifteen years old, had been allowed to use the boat to supply both families with fish, and, therefore, also to look after it. It was, as always, immaculate. The paint and varnish work was maintained, clean and in good condition. The fishing lines that Catherine had often cast from the boat ran over protective canvas that preserved the wood from abrasion. Mathew bought food from the open harbour stalls and carried two small kegs of water into the boat before leaving the quay. Catherine stayed out of sight until they were out of the harbour and in the open sea.
Between them they sailed the boat to the seaward side of Hog Island, fishing on the way.
Having landed on the beach, they made a fire where others had before and cooked fish, and ate some of the fruit Mathew had brought.
It was then Catherine told Mathew everything she had heard between Maxwell and her father.
***
Mathew had been with the Warren family since he was born. Catherine had played with him and shared her sweets with him, and insisted that he shared her lessons with her private teacher.
More like her younger brother than servant, the bond of trust between them was enhanced when the slave trade was officially abolished and Sir Anthony gave Mathew his freedom, employing him on a regular wage thereafter.
Mathew heard what she said and then made his comment. “The problem is that Maxwell has a case. All the business men complain about the tax they pay on all trade with England. Their profits from selling to America are much higher and the shipping is cheaper. He would get support from many of the other traders and plantation owners. The slave trade has been abolished by Britain, but not by America.” He shrugged.
“How about you, Mathew? What do you think?”
Mathew smiled. “You have always been direct. Catherine, I do not trust Maxwell. Nor do I trust those Americans I have met here. I will stay as I am, Bahamian British.”