Hawk's Feather (Perry County Frontier Series)

by Roy F. Chandler

  It was deadly dangerous and the two hands worked in silent desperation. With their poles loosely in place they began wrapping line around mast and poles as tightly as their awkward positions would allow. Inch by inch the wrappings crept upward and steadily the uncontrolled flopping of the masthead dwindled.

  Once covered, the mast was secured. Men eased muscles and heaved relieved sighs. The danger was past. Now the splints would be bound tightly, layer after layer, until the mast could support jib and foresail. Then the Ruth Covert would limp her way off the lee shore and on to New Orleans.

  Another pair went up the mast to assist and Jonas wished he had been chosen. It would be teamwork, essential to their survival. He liked that kind of task best.

  As sweat soaked as his men, Mathew Covert stood by the binnacle, his long telescope on the seemingly endless run of tree lined beach that made the Floridas' west coast. Jonas guessed the land to be five miles distant and the captain confirmed it as he snapped shut his instrument.

  "Bosun! Work a lead line off the stern."

  He turned to Hawk. "Generally this coast shoals gradually, Jonas. We are five miles off and should still have six or eight fathoms under us at two miles." His smile was grim. "But we do not need any further surprises today."

  The captain looked thoughtfully at a seeming break in the wall of trees a little to the north of them. "That might be an inlet or some sort of river mouth. Either one could build shoals well out."

  Sweat stung Jonas' eyes, as he looked astern where their pennant hung limp. ''Not enough wind to move a feather, Captain."

  Covert nodded, "But, it'll come, Jonas. It always does." He cleared his throat and added, "Main thing is to be ready to sail when we get the first whisper.

  "Mate! Put over the jolly boat and salvage the blocks and lines off that mast. Leave the sail and the booms. If we anchor we may be able to get them in but they're useful now, right where they are.

  "Bosun! Cat an anchor. We may need it before dark."

  The low tree line blurred as sweat again stung Jonas' eyes, and the mysterious Florida seemed more menacing as they drifted so helplessly toward it.

  +++

  Chapter 5

  Well before dusk the Ruth C. drifted into shallow banks far offshore. The anchor was let go and the schooner rode at her tether, bow rising and falling as she rolled with metronomic regularity.

  Jonas silently watched the released wreckage wash away, en route to stranding on the shore. The jolly boat was back aboard and the crew waited expectantly. If the sea calmed, their longboat might tow the ship farther to sea. There winds might wait. Towing in the humid heat would be harsh. If the tide helped they might gain a mile in an hour. Without the tide, or against a seaway, progress would be minuscule.

  The talk had been about the strain of the ship's knockdown fracturing the mainmast. Mate and bosun had examined both masts and their rigging and all had appeared normal. The tack change had opened the wound and destroyed the mast. Now they would limp along like a cripple-winged bird.

  They spoke of other dismastings and the conversation veered until the captain's curse brought them up short.

  "Damnation!" It was Covert's only expletive so it was important. They followed his pointing finger to a line of small boats edging from the break in the beach to the north. Jonas' heart leaped. He followed Mathew Covert to his telescope and waited, half breathless, for facts.

  The captain handed the instrument to his mate and gave time for looking before he spoke.

  "I make out three longboats and three canoes."

  "I see the same, Captain." The mate added, "They're making slow work of it, but they're coming."

  Covert grunted, "And they'll arrive." He looked seaward. "Wind comes, it won't matter, but we haven't had a ripple."

  Jonas waited, heart thudding. Not for an instant did any of them consider that honest men were putting to sea. Already tired from saving the ship, it appeared they would have to rally again to hold off some sort of brigands.

  Mathew Covert gathered all hands at the stub of the mainmast. He pointed out what was probably coming their way.

  "We'll load the carronades in case any are fools enough to line up with the guns, but that's not likely.

  "Hanging off the hook, like we are, we can't maneuver. They'll look us over and attempt whatever they've got in mind from bow or stern, where we don't have cannon.

  "If they're wreckers, they will try to cut our cable so that we will drift aground. We'll have our second anchor ready and we'll get our spare from the hold in case we need it.

  They don't outnumber us by much and, if they come close we will fire down into them." He paused to hock and clear tension from his throat. "Now men, I can't make light of our situation. Desperate people lurk along this coast and it looks as though we've come onto a nest of them. If we parley it will be just to gain time, hoping for a wind. Otherwise, offer your best prayers and mean business when you shoot.

  "The mate will take some of you to guard the stern. The bosun will keep three men in reserve, to go where needed most. I'll take the rest forward.

  "Break out the arms. Every man take a musket and a cutlass. Lay a few pikes along the gunnel as well and divide up what pistols we have. Sharpen your knives and prepare your hearts for what has to be done."

  Covert finished and they went to it, one eye on their preparations, the other on the half dozen boats fighting their way against the sea and already close enough to make out shapes.

  Jonas unslung his rifle and hung his pouch across a hip. It felt natural and his confidence soared. He ran a rod through the bore to remove the storage grease and loaded carefully. He seated the .32 caliber ball, wishing he had his father's old black rifle. Deathgiver, as the John Shell rifle was called, threw a ball as big as your thumb. It had been made for killing men and had done its work well. Still, the light squirrel rifle was a hundred times better than the clumsy muskets, at least until the range was short. Then, he too planned turning to a musket and buckshot. All things considered, Jonas wouldn't care to be bobbing around in a small boat trying to board the Ruth Covert.

  As expected, the small boats circled the schooner carefully. They avoided aligning themselves with the cannon and, his match held ready, the bosun cursed in frustration.

  Jonas wished Finday was aboard. Finday had been a real gunner and in practice Jonas had seen him hoist a gun carriage to a different position and make shots others thought impossible. But, Finday was safe in his English pub and, for the moment, Jonas Hawk wished he was there with him.

  The pirates were a scruffy lot. Dress ran from flamboyant to mere rags. Some were bearded, others wore hats with vast brims that hid their features. Their weapons were an assortment of muskets and Jonas saw an ancient wheel lock flourished in the ship's direction. Swords of many shapes were waved in fine defiance and the pirate craft crept closer.

  Aboard a small boat someone fired a musket but the ball failed to reach the ship. The single shot seemed to encourage the brigands and, amid much shouting in a half dozen languages, their boats mustered off the schooner's bow. Jonas counted only twenty men. If the pirates rushed, none should survive to reach the ship.

  Jonas sidled closer to the captain who examined their enemy through his telescope. As though anticipating, Mathew Covert lowered his glass and asked, "Are they too far for your rifle, Jonas?"

  His limbs suddenly trembly, Jonas answered, "No, Captain. They are three hundred yards, I'd say, just about this gun's limit."

  Covert nodded acceptance. "All right then, their captain seems to be the one in a red military coat with the sleeves cut away. Do you see him?"

  "Yes, Captain."

  "Then kill him if you can."

  Jonas fought down his heart pound and shallowed his breathing. Three hundred yards with a man sized target would be easy—except for the ship's continual movement and the fact that his target was bouncing like a cork. Best to aim and touch off quickly, he thought. Catching the top of a pitch would be bes
t and aim for the man's chest, which would move little.

  He brought his rifle to full cock and quickly to his shoulder, his left hand well out along the stock so that his control was good. Put aside were thoughts of shooting a human or what it might or might not mean. His front sight blade centered in the rear notch and settled on Red Jacket's breastbone. He squeezed quickly, concentrating on holding his target until recoil jolted his aim. The shot felt good but, with no wind, the powder smoke hung before him forever.

  "Hit!" The seaman's shout was jubilant and an instant roar of satisfaction burst from the armed men in the schooner's bow.

  Then Jonas could see. Red Jacket was hanging limply in the arms of a companion, his head lolling and a hand pawing weakly at his chest.

  Jonas felt his nerve ends tingle, just as they had when taking a deer or turkey. He quit staring and got to reloading.

  Mathew Covert's praise warmed him. "Fine shot, Jonas.

  Truly a fine shot." The captain watched the milling boats until he saw that Jonas was again ready.

  "Can you try another, Jonas? That big man would be a good target."

  The big man was a huge figure. Balanced in the middle of a boat he seemed ready to charge the ship alone as he waved a cutlass made small in a giant hand.

  Jonas steadied his sight and touched trigger. Again men shouted but Jonas was not certain. When the smoke drifted he saw the giant holding his stomach and glaring as though in disbelief at a hand probably blood smeared from his wound. The cutlass was gone and just as suddenly the pirate sat down, doubling forward against shock and pain. Amidst wild shouting, oars and paddles flailed as the small boats fled to safer distance.

  Men pounded Jonas' shoulders delaying his reloading, and derisive hoots flew at the raiders. By the time Jonas was again ready, their enemy was far out and beyond any range likely to be successful.

  The mate had come forward to watch the action and Captain Covert took Jonas' arm and the three of them stepped aside to talk.

  "All well and good, so far, but after dark it will not be as easy." Covert added, "We are lucky they do not have a small cannon for one of those boats. I saw one in use off Tripoli. Very maneuverable and dangerous."

  The mate nodded agreement. "Fired it over the bow. Tore up things pretty well."

  "So we'll assume no wind will come." The captain sighed, "It will be a very long night, I am afraid."

  +++

  Hands were fed and anchors made ready. The pirates clustered a Quarter mile distant, their boats bobbing madly in the rough seas. But even the water was calming as night grew closer and at first Jonas assumed smooth seas desirable. Mathew Covert called all hands.

  "Seas calming and the tide will turn." He raised a shoulder toward the huddled pirate boats. "They will have to come soon or we can use the ebb to float further from land. They want us aground; with the seas falling I doubt they dare wait until dark. Look to your muskets and be ready."

  More men came forward and the bow bristled with muskets. Meanwhile, the mate prepared their secret weapon. The spare anchor was lowered from the stern and its rope left loose. If the forward anchor was lost, the ship would move only a little way before swinging stern to the seas and riding on the new anchor.

  The pirates came using their own cleverness. The canoes were overturned and their occupants swam under and beside them. The canoes were hollowed logs and offered some protection. As they edged closer, the swimmers stayed beneath the water, surfacing only for air.

  In the shallow water the anchor did not lay far out and the ship's muskets plowed their heavy balls into and through the canoes in a rolling fusillade. Jonas held his fire for his light rifle could add little.

  A body rolled clear and a crippled swimmer tried to return to the waiting boats. A canoe drifted aside and another seemed unmanned, but the third approached the anchor. A head surfaced and Jonas fired instantly. The head disappeared but he could not be sure of a hit.

  A pair of swimmers broke for air and flailed untouched as every musket was empty. They made for their boats and captain and crew of the Ruth C. knew their line had been cut. They watched grim jawed as the bow fell slowly away and the ship slid sideward toward the land.

  Shouting and waving weapons, the three pirate boats waited their prey's grounding. Slowly the ship turned and, almost fearing to breathe, the men of the Ruth Covert waited. The bosun stood at his carronades, match in hand, watching the twin barrels come into line.

  The bosun crouched intently, elevation screws already adjusted. Captain Covert stood well behind his gunner judging his timing, his body taut with tension. Jonas saw his hand clench at the very instant the bosun ignited his priming. The first carronade fired and the bosun leaped for the second. Its booming thunder echoed the first.

  A carronade ball could be seen in flight but Jonas lost them both until one touched the water short of their enemy. Although short, the ball skipped twice before smashing into the planks of a boat. Wood spintered, sending men scrambling. The other ball vanished, a complete miss, but the range was long for a carronade and any hit was fortunate. Pirates milled about and soon crowded into two boats with the broken one in tow.

  As their ship came up on its stern anchor, it was the Ruth Covert's crew who shouted and flourished weapons.

  Dusk settled and men relaxed watching the pirates who seemed waiting for darkness. Jonas cleaned his rifle, sitting alone and letting his thoughts run. When he reviewed his shooting no weight lay on his mind. If he had killed three men he was undisturbed by it. If the pirates again came close he would try for more.

  Captain and mate paced nervously, waiting for the ship to swing as an outgoing tide began. All watched their enemy. If they came in with the dusk, Jonas might get another shot.

  Suddenly there was alarmed shouting and along with others Jonas lunged for the rail. For moments he detected nothing, then realized that the ship's motion had changed. The ship floated free; again their anchor was lost.

  Men leaped to the bow to drop their last hook and Jonas heard the cable run and the anchor's splash even as he wondered how the cable had been cut. He could see nothing, yet after a moment a musket boomed near the bow.

  The ship caught on her new anchor and began again to swing bow to the wind but crew clambered like monkeys running onto the bowsprit, trying to fire downward.

  Jonas kept his mind on the pirate boats, suspecting they might try to close during the confusion. More guns fired downward and there followed a silence while all in the bow seemed poised and waiting.

  A sudden shout and an arm pointed. Three muskets boomed together, followed by bellows of jubilation. Then an audible groan, and Jonas too felt the bow fall away as they lost their final anchor.

  "Longboat over the side!" The captain's command had men moving and again Jonas wished he had a part. Standing like a statue, just waiting, was awful.

  A crewman came to stand by Jonas and told what had happened. "One of them swimmers wasn't gone. Hung onto the ship all this time. Probably had a grip on the rudder. Swam out underwater, cut the stern anchor cable and got back without us seeing him.

  "Soon as we got the fore anchor down he tried for it. We saw him and he hid back under the tumblehome. When he could, he swam deep and cut the line. Had to come up this time and we got him.

  "No anchors left though. We'll man the longboat and try to hold her off till the tide changes."

  To pull the high sided ship, the longboat needed a lengthy towing line and Jonas was placed in the smaller jolly boat to defend the oarsmen with his rifle.

  Once a pirate boat ventured closer but Jonas' bullet struck a gunnel and it drew away to judge the towing effort and to let the dusk deepen into night.

  The sun was already gone and the shoreline disappeared in the dark. Jonas judged their best rowing was not quite holding even. He began to worry about a sudden sally by the pirates who could creep closer in the dark and overwhelm the Ruth Covert's longboat. His own pair of oarsmen pulled alongside the sweating longboat r
owers in hope they could help one another. Someone gasped, "Where is the ebb?" One of Jonas' men reminded, "Long overdue. Sometimes there just ain't any."

  They heard the pirate boats coming before they saw them and took their only course. Far outnumbered, the longboat crew abandoned towing and pulled for the ship.

  Jonas' small craft moved after them, their marker the ship's mast that rose above the darker ocean. A flash of oar caught Jonas' eye and he braced to see more. A boat's bow appeared and Jonas let fly just above it. They heard a stumbling sort of fall and great cursing before muskets thumped and at least one ball whipped past Jonas' ear.

  The jolly boat leaped as his rowers made for the ship. Ranges would be short from now on and Jonas' rifle held no advantage.

  Aboard the Ruth Covert faces were grim. Once the mate spoke. "No wind and no tide. This must be hell." But no one answered.

  Within the hour the ship slid aground. Motion ceased and, except for slight grinding as the keel settled into the sand bottom, the night stayed quiet.

  Mathew Covert set guards against surprise boarders and ordered his small crew to rest on their arms. He took his usual place beside the binnacle and spoke softly with Jonas about their predicament.

  "At dawn an offshore wind could move us, if the tide isn't too low when it comes. We can rig an anchor from iron and planks to help us kedge out and we'll pull with the longboat."

  It sounded encouraging until he went to the side to listen. Jonas too heard the gurgle of water past the hull.

  Finally the tide had turned. Too late, they lay hard aground with deadly enemies waiting a first light.

  +++

  Chapter 6

  Shouting and jeering, the pirates unexpectedly withdrew. Later their fires burned near the inlet. The night was not to be wasted. The jolly boat was sent out with a grapnel to locate the cut off anchor lines. They found two and knotted new lines, one to the forward capstan, the other to be used as needed.