‘Are you familiar with the Old Channel of Bahama, Scrivener?’
The man nodded. ‘I have traversed it on two occasions, sir. It is fraught with cays and shoals not on any charts, Captain, and a good lookout is worth more than the best pilot.’
Hayden invited Wickham and Scrivener below and spread a chart upon the small table in his cabin. The route Hayden had drawn took them east of both the Windward and Leeward Islands over open ocean.
Scrivener contemplated this a moment, a freckled hand to his mouth. He was a tawny-haired man, and freckled all over his face, hands and arms. He was half a hand shorter than Wickham and appeared thin and a little stooped. ‘If I may, sir?’ he said after a moment.
‘Yes, by all means. Your knowledge in these waters is far greater than mine.’
‘It would be shorter by a hundred miles to pass south of St Lucia, then to shape your course to take you through the Mona Passage, which is both wide and deep, sir. Open water the whole way. Then down the New Channel of Bahama, where we should have fair wind, even if it does turn a little north, as I have often seen it do, sir.’
Hayden could see the sense in it immediately. ‘Would you be my acting-sailing master, Scrivener?’
‘It would be my honour, sir.’
‘Then lay out your courses, and we will inform Mr Ransome.’
‘I shall do so this moment, sir.’
Hayden returned to the deck, feeling a little lightness in his step. It was a stroke of the greatest luck to find a master’s mate who knew the waters! It buoyed his spirits somewhat. To reduce their route by a hundred miles would get them to the New Bahama Channel in nine days rather than ten, and every day counted.
The little schooner made good speed all that night, passing south of St Lucia in the forenoon. Hayden had slept poorly and been on deck before sunrise, spotting St Lucia to the north-west and St Vincent to the south as the sky turned to light.
The exact date that the Spanish frigates would set out from Vera Cruz was not known to him, but he reasoned that, if de Latendresse decamped from Barbados the day after Miguel had revealed his intelligence regarding the silver, then he must have believed he could reach some point where he might intercept this ship – and the only place narrow enough to make finding the frigate a reasonable possibility was the New Bahama Channel.
The crossing to Mona Passage was about one hundred and fifty leagues. He hoped to be through the passage in four or five days … if the trade would hold. If he had followed his original route, passing to the east of the long chain of French and British islands, he might have found Sir William, or Archer, or the other British frigates cruising there, which was part of the reason he had chosen it. This route made finding aid all but impossible. They would be on their own.
Hayden knew, from conversations with the other frigate commanders, that there were several privateers cruising these waters which had been merchant vessels and were well armed – twenty 12-pounders and various small deck guns, Sir William thought. He, Oxford and Crawley had been attempting to find and take them for some months, but they had eluded them on two occasions, flying from them and then slipping away by darkness. The masters of these privateers knew their business and were more familiar with these waters than were the British. It would be one or more of these ships that he believed de Latendresse would need to take the Spanish frigates. How long it would take him to find these ships, come to an arrangement with the masters or owners, outfit them for a month’s service and get underway, Hayden did not know. If de Latendresse knew from where they operated presently it might make this task easier and swifter. Whenever the privateers suspected that the British knew what port they used, they would change to another harbour on another island altogether.
How Hayden was going to fight off or take even one of these powerful privateers, he did not know, and it did make his enterprise seem more than a little Quixotic. This brought a sudden memory – had not Henrietta once, in jest, named him ‘Don Quixote del Mar’? It was likely his penchant for rushing headlong into danger that had inspired her to break off with him and take up with a landsman who would never risk life and limb in some doubtful venture. This thought of Henrietta, for some reason he could not explain, only increased his pain at the loss of his bride and added to his feelings of confusion.
St Lucia dropped astern, dwindling all through the long afternoon, and then they were out of sight of all land and would be until they raised Hispaniola in a few days’ time. The trade blew constantly, day and night, driving the long ridges of translucent blue across the empty expanse of the Caribbean Sea.
It was the fourth day before land appeared – just the top of a green mountain under a little wreath of white cloud. And then this mountain appeared to grow out of the sea, rising up until a great island was revealed beneath.
The afternoon saw them draw near the Mona Passage. Winds, interrupted by the land, grew fickle in both strength and direction so that it took them several hours to work up to the entrance of the passage. The passage itself was wide – over fifty miles – with a good-sized island in the middle and a few smaller islands as well. The wind blew directly through the pass out of the north, so Hayden brought the schooner into the gap from the south-east, as near the shoals that extended out from Punta Aguila as he dared. This would give them the best slant to pass through, and Scrivener assured him that the winds would back to the east as they pressed deep into the passage. The sun dropped behind the hills of Hispaniola as the little ship shouldered aside wave after wave, spray slatting down hard on the deck.
It was morning before they were well and truly through the passage and the wind did back to the east, though not so much as Hayden had been promised. Even so, it was a fair wind, and they shaped their course to carry them along the northern shore of the mountainous island of Hispaniola, which would lie off their larboard beam for two and a half days … if the wind held.
They were seven, long, frustrating days away from their hunting grounds, and Hayden well knew that the strait the Spanish frigates would pass through was wide enough that they could slip by unseen. It was not, however, the treasure frigate that was on his mind. It was the privateer he hoped was carrying his bride that he was looking for – and if this vessel had aboard neither his bride nor her brother, he did not know what he would then do. It was a thought he tried to press down whenever it arose, which it did often, especially by night.
Hispaniola passed in due course, the Windward Channel opening to the south and offering a glimpse back into the Caribbean Sea, for they were, strictly speaking, now in the Atlantic. The passage itself was fifteen leagues wide and, beyond it, the long, narrow island of Cuba lay in a shimmering sea. Cuba, however, appeared to have broken free of her moorings and was drifting west at the same pace the schooner sailed. Hayden began to think they would never leave it behind.
By midday, however, four days out from the Windward Channel, they reached the area Scrivener thought their best chance to intercept the Spanish frigates, and the area where they were most likely to find the French privateers Hayden prayed would be lying in wait with de Latendresse, Miguel and his bride aboard.
Hayden climbed to the crosstrees of the mainmast and surveyed the straits at every point of the compass. Not a single sail in the great expanse of blue. Dolphins passed in numbers, whales blew and pilot fish swam lazily in the ship’s shadow, but men did not appear to venture into that small portion of the watery globe.
Two sail did appear on the second day and proved to be a pair of Spanish transports. Hayden spoke to both ships but neither master had seen signs of either Spanish Navy vessels or French privateers, for which they were thankful. Taking Hayden’s warning seriously, they pressed on, doubly vigilant.
It was the third day, at dawn, that Hayden woke to distant thunder. Bare feet came pounding down the ladder and the marine guard knocked immediately on the captain’s door, though Hayden had already rolled out of his cot and was pulling on clothes in the dark.
More report
s reached them before he mounted the deck, where he found Wickham climbing to the maintop with a glass slung over his back. Hardy was on watch and pointed immediately to the east as Hayden appeared.
‘There away, sir.’
There were flashes on the horizon just then, and Hayden counted the seconds evenly.
‘Ten or twelve miles,’ he pronounced. ‘Let us shape our course to the east.’
Ransome appeared at that moment, still straightening his uniform.
‘Gunfire, due east, Mr Ransome,’ Hayden informed him. ‘Call all hands. We will have breakfast and then beat to quarters. We shall be two hours or a little more coming up to them.’
‘Aye, sir.’ Ransome went off, calling orders, as the schooner was brought on to a new course, yards shifted and sails trimmed to get the greatest possible speed out of their little ship.
The wind shifted from north-east-by-north to east-north-east and every point between, keeping the sail handlers on the hop and the helmsmen ever ready to work the ship a little to windward when the wind allowed, and tight on the wind when it did not.
Hayden forced himself to eat a little breakfast, though afterward he would not have been able to tell anyone what he had eaten. Coffee was welcomed like a dear friend and, though it gave an increased edge to his nerves, it sharpened the mind, which Hayden knew would be utterly necessary – for how he was going to take a more powerful ship with such a small crew was still a question he could not answer.
Flashes and reports continued as the sky brightened and the sunrise spread over the sea. The flashes were then largely obscured by the growing light, but the reports continued for three quarters of the hour and then abruptly and ominously ceased. The quiet was more disturbing than the sounds of battle. Smoke, however, stained the horizon, rising up and spreading, before being swept down the wind. The smell of it reached them just as Wickham, astride the topsail yard, called out that he could see the tops of masts.
Hayden took his glass and climbed the foremast shrouds to perch with Wickham on the yard. The impossible blue of the tropical sea spread out around them, and there, to the east, the masts could be seen in a mass so that the number of ships could not be counted.
Hulls began to float up, backlit by the morning sun.
‘I make it six, Captain,’ Wickham pronounced with some certainty.
‘Six?’ Hayden was more than a little surprised. ‘Are there frigates?’
Wickham did not answer immediately, but gazed a moment. ‘I cannot say, sir. It would appear some ships are alongside others, but some are behind and I cannot make them out clearly. I do see Spanish colours, though … of that I am certain.’
The little schooner bore on toward the gathering of more powerful ships, and Hayden could almost feel the trepidation of his crew emanating up from the deck below and growing by the moment. The schooner was, undoubtedly, swifter than any of the vessels lying before them, but winds were never even across the face of the sea and many a slower vessel had been carried up to one more swift by favour of the winds.
As they sailed on, the scene before them began to take on substance and clarity.
‘Two frigates, sir,’ Wickham announced after a time. ‘Four other ships – converted transports, perhaps.’
‘Our privateers,’ Hayden said.
‘Yes, and they are the ships flying Spanish colours, sir.’
‘Which I should have guessed. No doubt they were masquerading as a small Spanish convoy. I wonder if they had a private signal to put the frigate captains off their guard and draw their vessels near?’ Hayden leaned over so that he might see the deck below.
‘Mr Ransome! It would appear we have found our frigates and our privateers. Let us lay-to on the starboard tack and see what they will do next.’
Ransome acknowledged this and began calling out orders to the sail handlers and helmsman. In a moment the ship lay-to under reduced canvas, less than a league distant from the gathering of ships.
Hayden gazed through his glass until his arms grew tired.
‘Will they move bullion from one ship to another?’ Wickham wondered.
‘I cannot imagine they would,’ Hayden replied. ‘It would be a difficult thing to manage at sea, and would you not rather have your treasure aboard the most powerful ship?’ He gazed through his glass a moment more. ‘Tell me, Wickham, if you believe they transfer more prisoners off one frigate than they do from the other.’
‘Aye, sir.’ A brief pause. ‘You believe they will not risk Spanish prisoners retaking the frigate carrying the bullion, sir, and will take the crew off?’
‘Assuming only one frigate carries silver … It might be both.’
An hour the two sat upon the yard, observing the distant ships and the boats passing between them constantly, like bees among flowers.
‘Do you see the most southerly frigate, Captain?’
‘With her stern to us?’
‘Yes, sir, and no mizzen topmast. I believe they remove the most men from her, sir, and carry them to the other frigate and one of the privateer ships.’
Hayden stared into the little lens of his glass a moment more, watching the boats, unable to be certain Wickham was right – but then the midshipman’s eyes often proved better than his.
‘Sir, at the stern rail of the ship without the topmast … do you see, sir? All in white? Is that not a woman, sir, in a dress?’
Hayden brought his glass to the ship Wickham named, and there he could make out several figures, some moving and others stationary. Among them, still as morning air, Hayden imagined he could make out the form of a woman dressed all in white, and he felt, as absurd as it might seem, that she gazed back toward the little schooner that bore her husband – for what other woman might this be? De Latendresse had left his own ‘countess’ and family on Barbados – abandoned them, Hayden guessed. Could this be anyone but Angelita?
Hayden lowered his glass reluctantly. ‘At least she is dressed as a woman this time,’ he said.
Wickham lowered his own glass. ‘Well, we have found them, sir,’ he addressed his captain quietly. ‘What now shall we do?’
Hayden glanced down at the deck below and aft. The cutter and barge, employed so recently on the isle of Guadeloupe and in Wickham’s escape from that island, sat upon the deck, the cutter resting inside its larger sister.
‘Do you remember, Wickham, whose idea it was to paint our boats black?’
‘I confess, sir, I do not.’
‘I cannot remember, myself, but whoever it was has my eternal admiration.’
The privateers were several hours in transferring prisoners and repairing damage to the ships and their rigs. Hayden expected to see them sway up a mizzen topmast to replace the spar the frigate had lost, but this did not occur; the frigate would almost certainly be faster than the converted transports even without the topmast and the sails that could be set upon it.
About the time the sun reached its zenith, the little convoy got underway and shaped its course toward the Santaren Channel. Hayden kept his schooner some distance in the wake of the privateers and their prizes so that the ships were clearly visible from the masthead. He wondered if de Latendresse and Miguel guessed who followed in their wake. The loss of the schooner would have been news on Guadeloupe – everyone would have known the British had taken her – but exactly which British officer might not have been generally known.
‘So, where do you believe they are headed now, Captain?’ Hawthorne asked.
The two men stood upon the forecastle, gazing after the ships they followed.
‘I thought they might sail directly to an American port, but it would appear I was wrong on that count. A French port, therefore, must be the answer. The privateers must have investors who do not want to see the treasure they have captured divided up out of their sight. Guadeloupe is as good a guess as any.’
‘Guadeloupe is some distance off …’
‘Yes, and once we reach an island populated by Frenchmen, the odds swing drastically i
n their favour.’
‘So they would rise from “merely impossible” to “utterly impossible”?’
‘Why, Mr Hawthorne, I have never known you to be such a pessimist. I should think they would not alter any more than from “merely impossible” to only “somewhat more impossible”.’
‘If I may say so, Captain, I believe you are being overly optimistic.’
‘Perhaps so, but my heart is more involved in this matter than your own.’
Neither man spoke a moment and then Hayden broke the silence. ‘May I ask you a favour, Mr Hawthorne?’
‘Of course, sir. What might I do for you?’
‘If you believe I am making a particularly foolish decision, clouded by my feelings in this matter, would you be so kind as to bring this to my attention?’
Hawthorne did not immediately answer, and then he replied, ‘I must tell you, Captain, I am more of a landsman than many comprehend. I might not possess the knowledge to judge your decisions. I should confess that on more than one occasion I have wondered at the … prudence of some of the enterprises you have undertaken, and in almost every case I was proven to be wrong and you in the right.’
‘But, Mr Hawthorne, you are sensible of the mood of my officers and can judge for yourself when they are wary of some enterprise I am proposing.’
‘Perhaps, sir, but your officers have come to trust in your judgement and abilities to a degree that, for reasons of modesty, you might not believe. Many’s the time you have weighed the odds to a nicety and succeeded in some enterprise that none of them would ever have dared.’
‘You would think that losing my ship to the French, not so long ago, would have shaken their confidence more than a little.’
‘Everyone agreed that, if not for fog and a bit of bad luck, we would have slipped away, sir.’
Hayden let this pass without comment; in truth, he wondered if he had not made several errors in judgement which had led to that particular calamity.
Until the Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead Page 33