“Enter,” called Neville when the knock came at the door.
Mr. Beebe stepped in, trying very hard not to grin. He was a stout man of possibly thirty years, having the typical appearance of the hands – mid-calf tarpaulin trousers, an old white linen shirt that he had obviously been told to throw on if was to see the captain – no shoes, and, for gun drill, a blue handkerchief tied ‘round his forehead. His long brown hair was tied in the back with stuff, and he wore no beard or mustache. An unusually short nose and large round eyes gave him a bit of a pug look. He knuckled his forehead and said, “Beebe, Sir, reporting as ordered.”
“Are you our best gunner, Beebe?”
“Beg pardon, Sir, but I thinks I am. Russell will claim he is, but my crew don’t agree, and just you watch next round.”
“Where did you learn to aim the guns? Did you have a good teacher?”
“On the old Panther, Sir. No teacher, really. I’ve just a good feel for it.” He bragged.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Beebe, I wanted to meet you. Don’t let ‘em forget your extra tot. ”
“No, Sir. That I won’t do.”
Neville spent another half hour improving his sketches while the banging and shuddering of preparing to turn the ship went on above, and then returned topside to observe the next round of gun drill. Beebe’s nemesis Russell had his laugh on the second trial. Russell’s gun tore the target in half before Beebe’s destroyed it, and one man of the larboard watch had his arm broken when he stood in the way of his recoiling gun. By noon, the guns had been housed and the breeze had increased enough to move the ship handsomely forward. She sailed west by nor-west at four knots under topsails and courses. They would hold this course for a full day before tacking north for Cuba.
“I didn’t like to see a man injured, Lt. Verley, but that’s the best lesson we can give ‘em about standing clear. They won’t forget it soon.”
“No, Sir. And Mr. Greaves reports it’s noon, Sir, at seventeen degrees, fifty-eight minutes north latitude.”
“Make it noon, Lt. Verley.”
A diverting afternoon passed quickly. After calling for MacRead, Neville explained his sextant sketches, and then left him to study them. He went on deck and after a few minutes observing the sea and feeling the breeze, ordered topgallants set, apparently much to the astonishment of the crew. Experiment’s speed increased steadily with the afternoon’s wind and held at thirteen knots as the men steadily reduced sail. A rain squall passed over, following which topgallants were reefed and then furled; topsails were reefed, and finally courses furled with topsails shaken out again. They ran on ‘til dinner under topsails
When the rum rationing was done Neville called for all hands to action stations and the guns cast loose and run out during the day’s second passing of showers. He sent his officers on inspection, and following Lt. Verley’s report of “all hands present and sober, Sir, if you please,” he ordered each gun fired once and then housed, and had word passed for MacRead.
“Ay-em most sure ay kin do it, Sah,” reported MacRead, “but we’ve nay the bits aboord. Ay kin find ‘em in Poort Royal, ek-sipt mebbe this aypiece.”
“I’ve thought on that, Mr. MacRead,” said Neville. “I don’t need a lens in it. It can be simply a sighting tube, so I think a short piece of small bamboo will do the job. When we get back to Port Royal, I’ll send you in for the parts.”
MacRead licked his lips on the way out, apparently thinking of visiting various establishments of the infamous Port Royal.
Neville awoke to the sound of eight bells in the morning watch. The excitement of a new command was still with him, so despite the darkness he rose to inspect his ship. He dressed quickly, and as he exited his cabin, he was met at the door by a dark form.
“Good morning Mr. Suddicke. I’ll have a plate of collops and a pot of coffee in a few minutes, if you please.”
Stepping up to the quarterdeck, he was pleased to see they had wind this morning. It had decreased significantly in the night, but had not gone entirely, and in the gathering light of the new morning he walked over to Mr. Greaves, who was on watch and standing by the helm. “Good morning, Mr. Greaves. More sail, you think?”
“G’mornin’. Aye, Sir. She’ll carry courses all morning, I’d wager.”
“Please see to it, then.” All else appearing fine, he decided to go below for a shave and breakfast.
Mr. Tilburne and his mates began piping the watch into the rigging to add sail. Shortly after that, the sound of holystones scrubbing the deck below increased as the men finished stuffing their hammocks in the nettings along the gunwales.
They beat northwest all morning, passing though eighteen degrees and twenty minutes latitude at noon and encountering a stiff wind change once clear of the western tip of Jamaica. They shortened to topsails and continued to fight nor’east into the ‘Windward Passage’ between Cuba and Jamaica, then turning sou’west when the Spanish island rose high from the sea.
The weather over the next few days alternated between strong winds and lazy calms, clear skies and rain showers. There was no need for sail practice, as the weather gave them all they needed with no artificial excuse. Sails passed in the opposite direction, appearing to be merchant traffic, or were seen only briefly at great distance. It was taking far longer to circumnavigate Jamaica than Neville would ever have estimated. The crew did not complain, and seemed to be settled to the routine of sea life. There were few instances of insubordination, and those insignificant enough that the cat was not used for punishment. Two men lost their rum ration for three days because of a fight over a hat, and one accusation of stealing was settled when the misplaced knife was found in a halyard tub.
Experiment approached the northern Jamaican coast on Friday.
“Oi! On, deck, there. Sail ho!” the lookout called down.
“Where away, Philpott?” yelled Ratshaw back at him.
“Two points on the starboard bow. She’s a three-masted lugger, I think, coming off the beach.”
Neville had heard the call and jumped quickly up the quarterdeck steps. “Keep our course for now, Lt. Ratshaw,” he ordered. “We’ll wait ‘till we have some idea of her course. We may be glad of our daily gun exercise.”
They paced the quarterdeck for half an hour, at which time the mystery ship’s topsail was intermittently visible from deck.
“I’m going up,” said Neville, grabbing a glass from the binnacle and walking forward to the main shrouds. A few minutes later he was up in the top with Philpott, trying not to show that he was winded from his climb. This will never signify, thought Neville. I can’t have the men thinking I’m not fit. I’ll have to climb more. This leg doesn’t make it easy, though.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Philpott. Where away?”
“There, Sir,” he said, pointing.
“Ah, yes. What would you say is her course?”
“She’s been coming at us on t’other tack, Sir,”
“I agree. She is indeed a lugger, though not very big; maybe 16 guns.” He was about to lower his glass and climb down, when he noticed a flag atop the mainmast. “A red flag, Philpott. What’s that? Not Spain or France, and she’s certainly not one of ours.”
“Dunno, Sir, but Mr. Greaves might.”
With a terse, “Right you are,” Neville slung the glass across his back and slid down the larboard backstay to the quarterdeck.
“Keep her on this course, Lt. Ratshaw, and pass word for Mr. Greaves. We’ve got a red flag and she’s crossing us.”
After another half hour, the lugger was hull up and still coming on.
“It will be pirates, in my experience, who will fly a flag with swords and skulls or skeletons, often on a field of either red or black,” announced Mr. Greaves when he joined the group on the quarterdeck.
“We’ve got the weather gage, but he’s still coming at us. The only reason she’d do that would be that she thinks we are his prey. We must look enough like a fat merchantman, and I would guess there ar
e no other British naval vessels about. Strike the colours, Lt. Ratshaw, and let’s get the marines out of sight. Replace the mizzen marines with a contingent from the off-watch. Let’s not have him smoke us too soon.”
“What say you to an action, Lt. Verley? Are the men good enough with the guns?”
“Aye, Sir. I think we could now hold our own.”
The two ships drew closer and closer. They waited for another hour, and Neville passed word to cast the guns loose and for all hands to be ready at the sails. They had closed to about a mile when the lugger made a sudden tack to starboard.
“She’s smoked us, sure!” yelled Neville, his heart pumping harder. “Shake out those topsails and t’gallants, Lt. Verley, and get Mr. Beebe up to the starboard bow chaser.”
“Lt. Ratshaw, hoist our colours.
“Mr. Daweson, send your marines up. Get your marksmen in the tops.”
The two ships, of which Experiment was the larger, were now on a parallel course toward Jamaica. Experiment had the weather gage, so at least for a moment, she threatened to run the un-named probable pirate ashore.
“Philpott!” Neville yelled upward, “Can you see her ensign clearer now?”
“Aye, Sir. I’ll have it in a minute.”
“I’ve never chased a lugger before, gentlemen. Have any of you?”
There was a chorus of “No, Sirs,” except Mr. Greaves again. “We chased one with a revenue cutter in the Channel some years back,” he said. “We didn’t catch her. When they get those sails tight as a board, they can crack on like fire on pitch, and out-point us as well, mebbe. They made it illegal to build a very narrow one in Britain because we ‘revenuers’ couldn’t catch ‘em, they sail so fast. This might be one somebody had to hide.”
Philpott hallooed down again, “A skull over wings o’ some kind.”
In another half hour, it was obvious that unless something unexpected happened with the wind, they were not going to catch the pirate. She had forereached a cable in half an hour, and was climbing up the wind in front of them, but still out of range of their long minion. After an hour, she was yet another cable ahead and now almost directly ahead. The wind held steady, but they were not gaining on the smaller ship as Neville had expected.
It was now two bells in the first dog watch, or 5:00 in the afternoon, when the men might have been called to gun drill.
“Have Beebe give it a try, Lt. Verley,” ordered Neville. “It’ll be dark soon, and she’ll be gone by morning. We might’s well get in some practice. Maybe we can get lucky and skip a ball from the long minion into her.”
“She’s tacking, Sir! She’s tacking!” yelled Midshipman Dinman from forward.
The pirate made a sharp left turn in front of them, slowing for a few minutes while she did so, allowing Experiment to enter into gun range for a short few minutes. Beebe fired. They heard a ‘bang’ from the larboard chaser on the foredeck, and saw a splash when the ball landed short and to the right of the target.
“There is no possibility we can make such a quick turn, Lt. Verley,” Neville admitted dejectedly, “and we can’t catch ‘em anyway. They’ve beat us. Have the men stand down. Get the t’gallants off her. Keep to this course as close as we can. We’ll have to tack before long.”
“So that’s a ‘barcolongo’, hey?” he mused. “And could be de Graaf himself, couldn’t it?”
Three days later Experiment’s best bower dropped into the aquamarine waters of the Port Royal harbor. They had stood off until morning and sailed in slowly under topsails alone after the morning’s cleaning chores and breakfast.
“What on earth is that foul stench?” pondered Neville aloud shortly thereafter.
“City garbage dump,” answered Dinman. “Buggers ain’t got the brains to put it downwind. We’ve had to smell it day in and day out. It’s the cause of the ague, y’know – bad airs.”
“Cor! We’ll stay as short a time as we can manage, then. I wonder how our ‘fleet’ is getting along. Rig awnings and pass word for Mr. MacRead, Mr. Tilburne and Mr. Gooden to join me in my cabin, if you please.”
The three had soon received their orders to go ashore on various errands, but not before shore boats carrying everything from fruit to prostitutes began rowing toward them from town.
“What do we do with this lot?” Neville asked Vincent as they stood watching the line of little boats coming their way. “This is the first our men have had any contact with the land since Antigua months ago and Britain a month before that other than the shore boats during their quarantine here – and the experience at Antigua was clearly not pleasant, as you know only too well. Most of our men have recovered now and must be almost beyond themselves, particularly given the reputation of this place.”
I can scarce contain myself, but it is for the love of a single woman ashore, thought Neville.
“I must pay respects to the Governor this morning and get a report on the preparations of the ‘fleet’,” he continued to Verley, “You’re in command until I return. Allow the women aboard. They may stay if not found objectionable,” he added in a defeatist tone. He had seen enough of Lt. Verley by this time to know that his trust would not be misplaced.
“Sway the boat out, Mr. Tilburne. Let’s get on with it,” commanded Lt. Dinman with as flat an affect as he could manage between annoyed and expectant.
Experiment’s launch hit the water about the same time the first shore boat thumped against her hull. The female chattering was obviously affecting any man within hearing distance, which was almost the entire company of Experiment. Most were hanging over the gunwales or standing in the chains to get a better look at their visitors. Many were calling the women up to visit with them.
“Heave them up. There’s more comin’!” someone yelled.
Neville and his three officers had clambered into the launch with the twelve oarsmen to go ashore, but the second shore boat that arrived managed to discharge four of their female company into the launch. It was close on an uncontrollable situation when Neville commanded, almost angrily, “Shove off, cox’n! Make way, all.”
All four of the women went straight for the officers, but Neville made it instantly clear that he would have no part of it. Tilburne was also showing no interest. Gooden and MacRead, as well as two of the oarsmen, however, were well on their way to public lewd conduct when Neville stopped them cold. “Hold on there. Oarsmen, see to your duty or we will finally get out that cat. And you two,” he continued, waving his finger at Gooden and MacRead, “had better see to setting a proper example until we have at least reached shore. Furthermore, when we get there, no one will leave this boat until it is fittingly beached.”
The women hooted loudly, though, yelling promises; “I’ll be good, sir, I will,” and, “Is you available once we’re ashore, then, Cap’n?” and worse. A good snickering went round the boat; almost a laugh.
Neville smoldered quietly the rest of the trip to town, but decided to stop short of pitching the women overboard. Once they had the boat beached safely ashore and assigned one very disgruntled guard on it, the crew vanished with the women. Neville expected that most, though not all, would be there when he returned, thereby preventing the boat from being stolen.
On the strand, Neville learned that it was only a ten-minute walk to the ‘King’s House’ opposite the water on Thames Street. They could have beached their boat across the street in front of it. Once there he stepped into the small portico on the seaward side of the large brick building and was confronted by two red-coated guards. He announced himself, and they begrudgingly allowed him passage into the reception hall. It was a large hall, and surprisingly cool compared to the sweltering heat of September outside. A light breeze blew through several big open barred windows. The floor was some flat stone, which undoubtedly helped keep the place cool. Numerous candle sconces and large paintings hung on the walls, creating a very formal atmosphere, and two large, heavy-looking wood doors concealed any interior rooms.
“Welcome,” said a
thin man at a desk to his right. “May I ask, please, who you are, who have you come to see, and whether you have an appointment?” he asked courteously but condescendingly.
Neville suspected he already knew all the answers to his questions, but decided to play along politely, “I am Captain Burton of Their Most Holy Britannic Majesties’ Ship Experiment, and have come to pay respects to the Governor, Lord Inchiquin. I have no appointment.”
“These are not his regular offices, you know. He does not normally receive anyone here without a prior appointment.”
“Where are his regular offices, then, and when might I make an appointment?”
“His residence is in Spanish Town, but he will still be here tomorrow.”
“Well, then. May I make an appointment for tomorrow?”
“You could make one for three tomorrow,” the clerk replied, looking down at a ledger before him. At that, Neville knew that he had been expected and provided for, or such an appointment would never have been made available. The governor was making sure that Neville knew his place; that he couldn’t be allowed simply to walk in. “Write it down, then,” replied Neville curtly, “and I wish to leave a note.” After taking a few minutes to write at a small side table provided for such purposes, he left his paper with the aide:
To the Most Honorable Lord Inchiquin, Governor,
Experiment stands ready at any time such as the Jamaica fleet can be prepared to depart. I request an audience together with you and your captains prior to our departure to receive your orders.
Your humble servant,
Acting Captain Neville Burton
He folded the note once and handed it to the clerk, saying only, “Tomorrow, then,” and stepped out the door into the heat wondering where he might find a peaceful pint.
Since he had had no idea how long a visit with the governor might take, he had allowed several hours. The situation now vexed him no end, for he had nothing to do while he waited for the agreed hour for the return boat trip.
A Journal of The Experiment at Jamaica (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 2) Page 11