Barracuda: The Fighting Anthonys, Book 3

by Michael Aye

  “Well,” Knight answered as the rain pelted away at his thin shirt, “if it cools things down it will be worth a little dampness.”

  As is the usual for his breed the master was right on the mark. “Fifty-five minutes by me watch,” he exclaimed as suddenly the rain ceased.

  “Land ho, off the starboard bow,” the lookout called down.

  There was an island just making itself visible as the clouds cleared from the sky. Sunlight beat across the deck on the damp planking and large drops from the recent squall dripped down from the rigging leaving dark circles on the deck that dried quickly.

  “Deck there,” the lookout called down, “sails just off yonder island.”

  Before Knight could digest this information Lieutenant Brooks was at his side, “Signal from Pigeon, sir, requests permission to investigate.”

  “Permission granted,” Knight replied. Pigeon had been on station to starboard and therefore was between Neptune and the Keys. Meanwhile Markham had Swan on station to larboard of Neptune.

  The sail turned out to be a small lugger and the captain had ignored the signal to heave to, so Pigeon was trying to overhaul the small ship. Watching as the lugger made its way through a channel heading into the Keys, Lieutenant Kerry of Pigeon was daydreaming. He loved his little ketch but he longed for something bigger, something like SeaWolf. Now that was a command to have. Damned if he wouldn’t be able to put away a bit of prize money if he commanded a ship so fine.

  Suddenly, Kerry was awakened from his daydreams. Why hadn’t he been paying attention…now he’d put his ship in danger. Things were happening…something awful. He found himself flying through the air in a torrent of flames and splinter that stung like a thousand needles all at once then as he hit the waters, just before everything went black he heard the explosion that ruined his dream.

  Standing on deck, Neptune’s officers watched unbelieving at the ruthless barrage of cannon fire pouring into the tiny ship. The flashing orange tongues seem to leap out from the seemingly peaceful mangrove trees. The Barracuda had been lying in wait and the lugger had been the bait. Knight could see the waterspouts bursting all around the Pigeon as the cannon’s flames spit forth from the hidden ship.

  “Mr. Brooks?”

  “Aye, aye captain.”

  “Beat to quarters and signal Swan, though damme I hope Markham is faster responding than I’ve been.”

  Markham on board Swan had heard and seen the onslaught of cannon fire that tore into the helpless ketch. Using his glass as Swan closed with the Keys, Markham could see men running frantically about with gesturing arms.

  Some were hacking away at the downed mast and spar, while others were gallantly firing Pigeon’s popguns at the ghost ship that was so entwined with the trees and vegetation she was not even clearly visible. Meanwhile, Neptune was closely approaching the scene. Knight had ordered the bow chasers to open fire as soon as they were in range. The boom of the bow chaser was quickly answered by a cry from the lookout.

  “Last shot was over Pigeon but the enemy ship is showing ’er heels.”

  The forward guns continued to fire and the lookout called down again, “A ’it by gawd. The last ball sent splinters a flying as we pounded one up ’er arse.”

  The master was now in front of Knight, “We’re to close, captain. We need to anchor now and send in boats. I can see weeds off to larboard.”

  “Very well,” Knight replied. “Heave to. There has to be a channel, possibly one that continues to the other side, where the cutthroat is escaping.”

  “However, we’ll heave to and render what help we can,” Knight said with defeat in his voice.

  Before they could get the boats in the water Swan was alongside, Markham joined Knight in his gig as they rowed toward the helpless ship. As they got close the cries of pain and anguish could be heard.

  Mr. Davy who was standing in the bow of a longboat that was alongside Knight’s gig spoke out, “She’s on a sandbar. That’s why she hasn’t sunk.”

  Davy was right. Pigeon had come to rest on a sandbar having been leered into position where the Barracuda had been silently waiting. Markham’s knuckles turned white as he grasped the side of the gig. Knight sat across from Markham trying to shut out the human agony that confronted him. His recent bout with the privateer’s attack at Saint Augustine all too fresh in his memory not to feel the hell the crew on Pigeon must be feeling.

  Men’s bodies were so badly mutilated it was hard to realize they had once been human. A sailor grabbed a rope that was heaved by the bowman. As he stood the sight of his breeches spattered with blood and gore made the bowman retch.

  “Don’t worry,” cried the sailor. “I t ain’t mine!”

  The chorus of cries and groans on board as men stumbled about was heart wrenching. Men were lying with open mouths and open dead eyes. A man seemed to shudder then slumped forward. Mr. Davy pulled at the man who fell back half his face gone, the other half covered in dark congealed blood.

  The Pigeon was listing badly. Great sections of the once beautiful ketch floated on the tide. Men were working to cut the mainmast adrift as it thumped against the battered hull. Of the fifty-five men who crewed Pigeon only a handful were not wounded and able to perform their full duties while another half dozen were walking wounded. When Neptune’s surgeon had made his way on Pigeon’s deck he had declared, “Not much work for me, a chaplain maybe but not me.”

  Once the survivors were removed Knight had charges laid about. “I’ll not see her scavenged,” he said to Markham. There was precious little to scavenge thought Markham but he agreed. The explosion that sent swells under the boats being rowed back to their ships was ignored by the men. Not one turned to see the little ship slip away below the surface as she and her dead came to their final resting place.

  Admiral Anthony and Flag Captain Buck sat quietly at the admiral’s table. Bart and Silas were silent in the pantry and Flag Lieutenant Hazard stood to the back of Admiral Anthony, moisture filling his eyes as Knight made his solemn report. Markham stood by quietly reliving the moment as Knight explained in detail the loss of Lieutenant Kerry and HMS Pigeon. As usual the word had spread throughout the squadron and created a somber mood. Everyone had known and liked the captain of the lost ship and its crew.

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” Knight said as he finished his report. “I shouldn’t have allowed Kerry to venture in as he did.”

  “Sorry…why damme sir it’s I who should be sorry. I should have brought this rogue to play before now. Captain Buck.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “General signal to the squadron, prepare for sea.”

  “The entire squadron, my lord?” Buck asked.

  “Yes, put every ship a sail. We’re going fishing…for Barracuda.”

  Anthony reported to Tonyn and made him aware of his plan.

  “But what of Saint Augustine, what are we to do?”

  “You have both the Rose and the captured xebec,” Anthony answered diplomatically. “But in truth, sir, I believe the knowledge of us being here has been spread so that no attempt on the city is likely. We will probably be back before the word can be spread that we’re gone. I also believe once we deal with the Barracuda the menace will be so reduced there’ll be no need for an entire squadron.”

  “We’ll see,” Tonyn answered skeptically, but he did agree the Barracuda had to be dealt with and soon.

  For six long days Anthony’s squadron sailed down the coast of Florida and into the Keys. The cutter, Audacity, was used to take soundings and mark channels in and around the Keys where a ship could hide. Lieutenant Hazard was on board acting as a pilot to help mark the channels on the admiralty chart. It felt good being back at sea doing something useful…something he’d spent his life before the Navy doing.

  At the larger Keys men went ashore in boats. At Key Largo a large fishing village was found where the fisherman admitted seeing the large ship captained by a Spaniard. He was last seen at Long Key the man had said, but
he was also seen at Sugarloaf Key and Cayo Hueso. Cayo Hueso is much in use.

  “Lots of pirates hide in that area,” the man had said. “They call it Pirates Cove. It has a deep water anchorage and therefore many ships stop there. This makes for big profit for the pirates.”

  After hearing this Anthony set down with Buck and Oxford, Warrior’s old master. “Looking at these charts,” Anthony said, “it looks like it’s only a small distance from Cayo Hueso to Havana.”

  “Aye, my lord, about ninety to one hundred odd miles I’d say.”

  “And to Isla de Tesoros?” Anthony queried.

  “I’d double that and more,” the master said. “You have to sail around the western tip of Cuba from our current position.”

  “Yes, I remember,” Anthony said. Then turning to Buck, he said, “I think we’ll poke our nose into Havana Harbour. Just enough for them to know that we’re about.”

  “Might flush out a rat,” Oxford said.

  “Or a Barracuda,” Buck chimed in.

  “Might not either.” This interruption made the three men look up from the chart. Anthony knew something was amiss the way Bart had spoken. Once he had their attention, Bart continued, “We just got a signal from Gabe, water spout on the horizon and the sky is turning dark.”

  “Gawd!” Buck exclaimed.

  The group then made their way on deck.

  “Aye, we’re in for a blow,” Oxford said in a nervous voice as he went to check the barometer. “Pressure is falling,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  Buck then turned to Anthony and could see the conflict going on in his mind. Command…so much responsibility; not just one ship but the entire squadron. Without thinking Buck touched Anthony’s arm.

  Glaring at the darkening sky Anthony said, “I know Rupert. We can’t be caught here in a blow. Make general signal, take position on flag, and then set a course for Saint Augustine. The Barracuda will live to swim another day, but not for long.”

  As Anthony walked dejectedly back to his cabin Buck thought, Damn the Dago bastard anyway!

  PART III

  Return to Port

  Rain falls when it wants to,

  Like the wind that fills our sail.

  I recall the tears on her face,

  When we said our farewells.

  Her memory’s like a dagger,

  The blade, cold and sharp.

  All the nights I walked these decks,

  With a lonely aching heart.

  Tomorrow we’ll return to port;

  This cruise is finally over.

  She’ll be standing on the pier,

  Waiting for me to hold her.

  -Michael Aye

  Chapter Nineteen

  The storm lashed out violently as the waves crashed and beat upon the wooden hull of the ships in Lord Anthony’s squadron. The pennant snapped and sounded like a gunshot as the mast and spars groaned. The winds created a whistling sound in the shrouds as the storm blasted down on the ships.

  The helmsman steered a course almost due north as the squadron tried to outrun the tempest. It was on the eve of the third day the sun peeked through the clouds and the wind that drove the ships so furiously quieted down to a gentle breeze. Anthony came on deck and greeted his flag captain.

  “She’s a gallant ship, captain.”

  “Aye, my lord, with a gallant crew. It is my intent to splice the main brace before we come about and make our way to Saint Augustine.”

  “Good idea,” Anthony replied. “How’s the rest of the squadron?”

  “All present and on station,” Buck replied. “Audacity looks a little worse for wear but she’s under full sail.” Then Buck looking past his admiral could see the master approaching. “Well, Mr. Oxford, have you a good guess for our position?”

  Anthony smiled appreciatively. Oxford would be as close as anybody could be but Buck was right. The exact position would be little more than a good guess until the noon sights could be done on the morrow.

  Oxford ignored Buck’s remarks and said, “There’s a group of islands to larboard that I think is the Outer Banks of North Carolina so I judge we’re in fact just off Cape Hatteras.”

  The master’s positioning was very accurate as was usual for his breed of old salts. After the noon sighting the following day the squadron came about and made a leisurely cruise south to Saint Augustine. Audacity and SeaWolf chased a small schooner up the Cape Fear River inlet before being recalled by the flagship. Lord Anthony also allowed Swan and SeaWolf to take a peek into the harbour at Charlestown and Savannah but found nothing in either place.

  The sight of British men-o’-war did cause alarm to the citizens of both places whose life had been very peaceful up to that point. It was at sundown on the fourth day after coming about the squadron dropped anchor at Saint Augustine.

  Lord Anthony was disgusted as he seemed to face nothing but one frustration after another in his attempt to come to grips with the privateer Barracuda.

  “We have been very successful overall,” Buck pointed out. “Our convoys are making it through so there’s no doubt as to our impact.”

  “Aye,” Lord Anthony agreed, “but I’ll not rest until Pigeon is avenged. We cannot, I will not allow a ship under my command to be destroyed without bringing the offender to justice.”

  Buck could tell by Anthony’s voice his ire was up.

  “They have to know,” Anthony said his arm making a sweeping motion, “that to destroy a King’s ship is to doom their fate. I will not rest until the rogue is brought to bear.”

  Bart was standing inside the pantry with Silas. Anthony’s words were easily overheard. “I’s ’spect that cap’n of the Barracuda is in a fix.”

  “Aye,” Silas answered, “His days be numbered alright. When his lordship gets ’is temper up somebody generally pays.”

  “Me thoughts as well,” Bart answered. “Don Louis is a dead man and ’e jus’ don’t know it yet.”

  “Aye,” Silas agreed, “not yet ’e don’t, but soon.”

  No sooner had the ships dropped anchor than Governor Tonyn’s secretary came aboard with new orders for Lord Anthony. After reading his orders Anthony had Sir Raymond and Gabe repair on board. When all had settled on board and Silas had served a glass of refreshment for the group Anthony got down to business.

  “The rebels are sending another invasion force into Florida. We have this on good word. The force is said to contain more than one thousand troops. Governor Tonyn is taking this as a very serious threat. He has already sent a force under Colonel Provost to repel the attack. However, we are to land a group of scouts under Colonel Browne at Cowford just north of here. Gabe, as SeaWolf has the shallowest draught you will put into the mouth of the Saint Johns River here,” Anthony said pointing at a place on the chart which was spread across the dining table. “Once at this place you will disembark Colonel Browne and his scouts and return here and maintain patrol along with Neptune.”

  “May I ask a question my lord?” Sir Raymond asked.

  Glancing up Lord Anthony nodded his consent.

  “If it’s only a handful of scouts we’re landing why are you sending both SeaWolf and Neptune?”

  “Good question. There’s a possibility some of the invasion force may come by sea…a two-pronged attack if you will. Therefore you will act as defender should difficulties arise.”

  “Aye my lord, we will be ready.”

  Gabe had barely made it back to SeaWolf and informed his first lieutenant and master of their orders when the boat carrying the scouts was sighted.

  “Tis but a wee outing,” Gunnells said as he quickly reviewed the charts prior to setting sail. The scouts were as motley a mixture as Gabe had ever seen. The group was made up of four blacks, seventeen whites, and the rest were Indians. They were dressed in a mixture of buckskin, homespun Lindsey Woolsey and breechcloths. Their outward appearance gave little hint to the effectiveness of the group.

  Colonel Browne gave an air of competence and energy. In his
late thirties or early forties he had made a reputation of being very skilled in the art of guerrilla warfare. This skill had not gone unnoticed by Governor Tonyn who had placed Browne in command of the East Florida Rangers. Browne was a man that was easy to like. He grew his hair long to cover the baldness where the Colonials had scalped him. Not only was he a soldier of merit Gabe decided but he was also a man set on retribution towards those who were responsible for his disfigurement.

  Gabe glanced at the darkening sky as the anchorage became overcast. A zephyr carried the fresh smell of rain.

  “Time for our afternoon shower,” Dagan volunteered. “It’ll not last.”

  “So you’ve become accustomed to the afternoon showers,” Colonel Browne said, more a statement than a question.

  “Do you wish for your men to go below,” Gabe asked.

  “No, captain, they’re used to the elements. I’ll not spoil them.”

  “As you wish,” Gabe replied. He then called, “Mr. Jackson.”

  “Aye, captain.”

  “Prepare to get underway.”

  “Aye, sir.” Jackson then ordered. “Man the capstan.”

  The sound of a fiddle on the fo’c’sle rang out. Lum had proved very talented musically as well as in other ways. Since arriving in Saint Augustine he had traded a handmade flute for a fiddle. He quickly learned to play it and now sawed a sassy tune.

  “Jump to it you idle bugger,” Graf shouted at the men. “Stir your stumps you whoresons. Neptune’s anchor already has hove short. Damme but a sloven crew ye be.”

  “Anchors hove short,” Lavery called from forward, his voice loud on a blustery wind as raindrops spattered on the decking stinging ones face as it pelted down.

  “Get the ship underway, Jem,” Gabe said using Jackson’s first name. Pleased, Jackson turned to do as he was bid.

  “Anchor’s aweigh,” Lavery shouted.

  “Make sail,” Jackson ordered. “Aloft sail loosners.”

  “Look lively now,” Graf roared. Snap, the sound of Graf’s starter against the main mast. “Foley the next un will be across your arse you laggard. Lay out and loosen, that’s it me lads, stand by. Let fall, let fall, I say. Man the topsail sheets and halyard. Tend the braces.”