by Michael Aye
“Man the braces,” Campbell yelled. “Lively now, look alive. Don’t you know the governor is watching?”
Gabe couldn’t help but smile. “Not likely,” Dagan whispered. When had he come on deck? Gabe wondered.
As the men pulled, the yards creaked and groaned as they were pulled round. The sails flapped back and forth, and then snapped out hard and full.
As the ship made headway, one of the helmsmen advised the master, “Answers her helm, Mr. Hayes.”
Forward, Adams had his party scrambling as ordered, “Hook the cat. That’s it, you’re learning, mates. Hook the fish, haul taut. Walk away…away blast you, walk away. Belay, that’s it, my lovelies. Now unrig the fish. You’re finally earning your keep Martin, you laggard. Ring up the anchor.” Satisfied with the men’s work, Adams watched as the topmen who had completed their task slid down the stays and helped the men with pulling on the braces.
Walking toward the taffrail, Dagan pulled his pipe from his pocket. The small island of Tobago with its one fort was getting smaller and smaller on the horizon. Would the French come as Lord Skalla predicted? Would the Campbells be safe if they did? Everything has a season, Dagan thought. Hopefully, this one wouldn’t be too harsh. He’d seen Gabe give a letter to Jepson to carry to Faith. Would seeing Buck wounded and on the verge of death make her see how fragile life was? It could have been Gabe lying there. A shiver shook Dagan to the depths of his soul. It still might be, but it’ll have to come through me, Dagan thought as he squatted to light his pipe.
PART III
The Battle Won
The men listened quietly
To their captain speak
It had been a hard voyage
The mission now complete
Gone were some mates
Cut down by the guns
A savage battle fought
Outnumbered still they won
We’re headed for home lads
The butcher’s bill I fear
A double tot for every man
The crew gave a cheer
Michael Aye
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Caribbean’s warm waters were left on the horizon like the small island of Tobago, replaced by the dark heavy seas of the Atlantic Ocean. Once at sea, Lord Skalla came down to Gabe’s cabin and informed him he needed to call on a man in Cape Town, South Africa. This had been the second part of his journey with Jepson, prior to learning about Admiral Buck’s accident.
“This is one of our agents?” Gabe asked.
Smiling, Lord Skalla replied, “He works in the office of the Dutch East India Company.”
That was a yes, or as close as Skalla would come to a yes, Gabe decided. Sending for the master and first lieutenant, Gabe informed them of their change of course.
Sail drill was alternated with gun drill and at any given hour the hands were rousted out for fire drill. This was done with the captain declaring one or more of the officers, warrant officers, or key petty officers dead. By doing this a man had to know not only his job, but also those above and below him in rank.
When a senior bosun’s mate said he didn’t know what orders needed to be given when his team leader was declared dead, Gabe responded, “As far as I know, a fire has no respect for rank or position. Therefore, you better know what actions to take in case of a fire. Otherwise, you may only have two choices: burn or drown.”
This brought a lot of chuckles and ribbing from the man’s mates. Two days later, Gabe played the same scenario and the bosun’s mate sailed through the drill.
“Put it to them where they can understand it and more often than not they’ll get it right,” Gabe explained to the surgeon as they observed the drill. “If they don’t, you change the man’s station. You never know when one man’s actions may be the difference in saving or losing a ship.”
Cornish stated he’d never seen Captain Brian become involved in any of the ship’s drills. “He actually only took part in punishment, as I recall,” Cornish admitted.
“See where it got him?” Dagan volunteered, hearing the surgeon’s comments.
***
Gabe stood at the quarterdeck rail and watched as the sun started to descend. Lieutenant Taylor and Thorn were closing with Trident. While no longer officially considered the flagship, the rest of the squadron continued as if nothing had changed. Part of this was due to Lord Skalla’s presence. Gabe was, however, still the senior captain.
The squadron was just to the west of Cape Verde. Taylor, in Thorn, had stopped an island coaster. He had no intention of trusting his news to signals. He closed with Trident and then had himself pulled across to the two decker. Thorn lay hove-to and rolled in the heavy waves of the Atlantic, waiting on her captain. Hooking on to the main chains, Taylor nimbly scaled the slippery battens and pulled himself through the entry port. Once in the captain’s cabin, Nesbit poured a glass for Gabe, Taylor, Lord Skalla, and Dagan.
“Taking a page out of Jenkins’ book,” Taylor said, pausing momentarily after taking a sip of wine and then eyeing the dark red liquid appreciatively. Obviously, his own stock didn’t measure up to that left by Admiral Buck. “I stopped a coaster and asked if they had any fresh vegetables or fruit.” Taylor continued. “No vegetables the master said, but they had plenty of bananas. In talking over a fair price the fellow said, ‘A large number of American ships had went past just a few days ago’. He remembered one particularly, as it had a fox with a torch in its mouth painted across the stern.”
“The Foxfire,” Lord Skalla threw out.
“Aye, my Lord, that was my thinking.”
“They were headed south,” Gabe said, as much a question as a statement.
“They were when the trader saw them. The trader said there were four ships, all about the same size except for the ship with the fox, which is probably a small frigate.”
“Or even a captured corvette,” Gabe thought aloud.
“Are they headed in the direction of St. Mary’s?” Lord Skalla asked.
“Aye, at least in that direction,” Gabe replied. “Does that change our orders in regards to Cape Town?”
Lord Skalla seemed to ponder the question a minute while he took another sip of his wine. “I think not, Captain. The short time we are in Cape Town will not make any difference, I’m thinking. The potential information received about the American privateers and the French could be well worth the short delay.”
Like I was thinking, Dagan thought to himself. Lord Skalla has a spy working for the Danes. Wonder what they’d think if they knew about the attack on the Fort at St. Croix.
“Foxfire,” Lord Skalla said, thinking aloud. “What a name for a ship. Is that not the luminescence you see on wood rotting in the forest?”
“Aye,” Gabe answered, “but Dagan told me it was called fairy fire in Scotland and Ireland.”
“Nonsense folklore,” Skalla said.
Gabe just shrugged. “The Indians in the colonies call it ‘Cold Fire’. Dagan got that from a family friend, Kawliga. There is also a tale of a fox carrying a torch or firewall in its mouth.”
“The Americans must have someone in their company with a sense for the dramatic, someone with a hand for painting,” said Hex, who spoke for the first time.
“What makes you think that?” Gabe asked.
“The Tomahawk had an Indian war ax painted on the stern. Now, we have a fox with a torch in his mouth. Have you seen such before?” Hex replied.
“Come to think of it, I haven’t,” Gabe admitted.
“Reckon what he’d come up with for a ship named Nymph?” Hex asked, a grin on his face.
“Damme, Jake, but you’re a sly one,” Lord Skalla exclaimed. “All tales,” he continued on.
“What about Thorn and Trident?” Gabe said.
“Point taken,” Skalla replied and helped himself to another glass.
After the laughter died down, Gabe saw Taylor over the side and watched as the ship sailed back to its station.
***
Hayes had brought the charts down, and when asked if he’d ever sailed around the Cape of Good Hope he answered very frankly, “Aye, Captain, and it can be a nightmare. Not like the Horn, mind you, but I’d not like to get washed up on the rocks either.”
“Is this a good bay to anchor while Lord Skalla goes ashore?” Gabe asked, talking about Cape Town.
“Aye, Table Bay lies here,” the master said pointing to his chart. “Good anchorage between here and Moville Point. That’s actually before we get to the Cape. Once around the Cape of Good Hope and Cape Point there’s another good anchorage here on this side of the peninsula. It’s called False Bay and is actually much bigger than Table Bay. Small town there, not much more than a village last time I was here. It’s called Simon’s Town.”
The charts did little to ease Gabe’s tensions about either the east side of the peninsula or any other part of the Cape. What Gabe read was only words to some, but would cause a seaman to want plenty of sea room: a rocky peninsula, a sheer cliff rising eight hundred fifty feet above the ocean, hazardous winds and currents. No wonder the master called it a nightmare. It could prove to be a challenge, Gabe thought as he rolled up the chart, glad he had Hayes around for his experience and advice.
Overhead, the shrill call of the bosun’s pipe was followed by the soft thuds of bare feet as one watch replaced the other. It was eight p.m., the first watch. Gabe could never rationalize why the particular upcoming watch coming would be called the first watch. Why not call the middle watch, which started at midnight, the first watch? That’s when it went from one day to another. Oh, well. He always thought the admiral, who was in charge of naming each watch, was either in his cups or in bed with some wench, and when asked said the first thing that came to mind.
Once when he’d told Gil his theory, his brother had said, “I’d not deny either of those distinct possibilities but I’d not go spreading it around. I don’t see how it would do your naval career any good were it to be heard in the wrong circle.”
What he’d give to have those carefree days back. Ah…well.
Dagan rose from where he was sitting and said, “It would not be amiss for the captain to take a stroll on the quarterdeck and pause long enough to smoke a bowl of tobacco with his uncle.”
“By damn, you are right,” Gabe said with a smile. “Let me find a pipe.”
“No need,” Dagan replied, holding one of Gabe’s father’s pipes in his hand. Together, they walked on deck and past the quarterdeck watch.
On deck, Turner was enjoying the rise to acting lieutenant. While on watch he made it a point to examine everything he could: the standing riggings, a line that needed splicing, a spot that needed a touch up of paint. He listened to the groan of tackles, a squeak that might need grease. He was so intent on his inspections that when the sound of laughter was heard from aft he couldn’t figure what would cause such an outburst. Nor did he hear Mr. Mark, the midshipman of the watch, whisper, “Captain is on deck,” as he rushed pass.
“What’s going on here,” the acting lieutenant snapped as he came upon two men passing a bottle and smoking pipes. Too late he realized his mistake.
Still smiling from some joke or tale, the captain looked up and said, “Nothing to keep you from your duties, Mr. Turner.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A low, heaving rolling of thunder that grew with intensity boomed from the southeastern horizon. Standing by the fife rail, Gabe looked to the master.
Catching Gabe’s look, Hayes replied, “Aye, Captain. Someone’s in for a blow. Should have blown itself out before we close, however.”
Not one to doubt the master, Gabe nevertheless felt a pang of anxiety as the heavy Atlantic rollers crashed into Trident’s hull on the larboard side, occasionally sending spray on board.
The smell of cooked beef drifted along the deck. Looking forward, Gabe could see a small plume of smoke from the galley funnel dissipate on the wind. The smell of food caused his stomach to growl.
“What’s that, sir?”
Smiling Gabe said, “Just thinking, other than coffee I’ve not broken my fast today.”
“That’ll do you no good, Captain,” Hayes replied in a fatherly manner. “Eats when you can, I says. You never know when the fires have to be put out. Then it’s cold beef and beer…or rum.”
“Good advice,” Gabe answered. “Hex.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Tell Nesbit I think I’ll eat within the hour.”
“Aye, Captain, within the hour.”
Walking over to acting-Lieutenant Laqua, Gabe asked, “Settling down to the wardroom, Lieutenant?”
Laqua smiled at being addressed as lieutenant. “The other officers have made it a warm and easy transition, sir, one that will be hard to give up.”
“No reason that you should. As soon as we get back to Barbados you can sit for the lieutenant’s exam. You can study when off duty, though I’ve little doubt you could pass the exam now.”
“I’ve heard that they can ask some mighty difficult questions,” Laqua said.
“Aye, there’s always one or two that will do his best to stomp you. Somebody always wants to know how you’d go about box-hauling in a blow on a treacherous coast.”
For the next hour, Gabe and Laqua talked about the exam and different aspects of handling a ship in all types of conditions. Seeing the new lieutenant and captain in deep conversation, Adams took it upon himself to handle things normally done by the officer of the watch.
Laqua was a likable sort and hadn’t put on airs since he’d been bumped up to the wardroom, like some. He’d likely make a good officer. He’d do the sod a favor or two. You never knew when you might need one in return. Besides Laqua didn’t seem like the sort to forget.
“Captain…captain.” Gabe had been so intent in his conversation that it took a moment for him to realize he was being spoken to. Looking up, Gabe spied his cox’n who had been speaking. “Nesbit has everything ready, sir.”
Gabe nodded and then turned back to Laqua. “Some good points, Lieutenant, we will continue this conversation later.”
***
That evening, Dagan and the surgeon were playing cribbage. The whalebone board had been intricately decorated with scrimshaw work. It didn’t take but a glance to see who was ahead in the game. Dagan was leaning back, arms crossed and smiling, while Cornish was scowling. Hex sat on an upholstered cushion under Trident’s stern window tuning his mandolin. Gabe had feasted on roast chicken, potatoes, buttered peas, carrots, and apple pie with a sweet whipped cream poured over the top.
Nesbit had poured a cool glass of sweetened tea. This he’d picked up from Nanny. A jug of tea rested in the bilges to keep cool, as the captain was not much for hot tea. Following the meal, coffee was served with the apple pie. Gabe now sipped on a glass of brandy as he watched the others in the cabin; his belly felt so tight he considered loosening his trousers.
Hearing Hex strum his mandolin, Gabe was reminded of some of the shanties he and Stephen Earl used to sing back on Drakkar. It’s amazing how things changed with the responsibility of command, he thought.
“Play me a tune, Hex,” Gabe called.
“A fast tune or a slow one?” Hex asked.
Gabe took a sip of his brandy then replied, “One of each.”
He cleared his throat, and then struck up a bawdy little tune.
There’s poker there’s whist
All games that people play
But for me the cards
Has done seen their day
So if my bed is a squeaking
Don’t you come a peeping
Don’t look so shocked
At what I have to say
Met a blonde-hai
red beauty
She came right to me
And gave me a list
Of games we can play.
“Damme Hex, but ain’t you a rowdy one,” said Cornish, who had given up on beating Dagan in cribbage and turned his attention to the music and song.
Gabe had gotten up and recharged Hex’s glass and then filled Dagan and the surgeon’s glasses. I wonder what Butcher Brian would have thought, seeing a captain fill a seaman’s glass, even his cox’n, Cornish thought. Such different styles, such different men. Thank God for men like our captain, he decided.
“Still want a slow one, Captain?” Hex was saying.
“Aye.”
Another swallow of the brandy and then Hex started again.
The day is dark and dreary
I can smell the rain
The ships set for sailing
Will I stand the pain
What’s it like to be along
I worry what she’ll do
I been taken by the press gang
Will she find someone new?
The cabin was very quiet as Hex sang. It seemed that even the ship was suddenly still as the mournful ballad was sung. With the skylight open the men on deck gathered around and listened. No doubt the song struck home to more than a few.
Lieutenant Holton had the watch. No wonder the cap’n likes Hex, he thought. Bugger’s got a voice that would make the angels cry.
***
Gabe rose from his cot. He’d not undressed, had not even taken off his boots. He’d just lain back for a moment and fell asleep. Now it was several hours later and he was thirsty. A glass of lime juice or Nesbit’s cool tea would be good about now, Gabe thought. But a small glass of wine would have to do. There was no reason to wake his servant. Not wanting to sit in the darkened cabin, Gabe went topside. Out of habit he peered at the compass.
Acting-Lieutenant Turner was on deck. “Morning, sir, the wind has backed a bit and the rain has been falling off and on for the last hour or so.” Gabe could see water dripping from the shrouds and stays onto the deck. “It will be dawn soon,” Turner was saying.