“There, Sir,” said Ratshaw. “The Comtesse, I’m sure, and three others. One might be Beagle. Two points on the larboard bow; just about to come out from behind the barrier.”
“We’ll hope so. Otherwise we’ve lost our prize and some good men,” voiced Neville.
It was indeed the Beagle, and in two hours the two groups of ships came together and backed sails close enough to speak with their trumpets.
“We went all ‘round the island and saw nothing,” reported Beagle, “… pirates must have gone to a hideout north in the bay rather than taking the west passage. We were glad to see Verley in the Comtesse.”
“Aye. Off to Tortuga, then?”
“Aye. Sprightly and Comtesse will stand for Port Royal.”
The return passage east was not as fast as the passage west had been a week earlier. The winds from their normal northeast direction are more contrary to begin with, forcing a few large tacks. In addition to that there began a series of variable winds, whereby the fleet slowed almost to a stop every afternoon for several days in a row. It was six days before they rounded Cabo Cruz at the southern tip of Cuba and began their crossing of the often-boisterous Windward Passage. On morning of the seventh day, they estimated themselves to be in the center of the passage, so at noon Comtesse du Provence and Sprightly bore off sou-sou’east on a course for Port Royal. The fleet continued until they saw the southern peninsula of the Cul-de-Sac of Hispaniola rise from the sea. There they tacked north. By the time breakfast was done, the wind had gone again completely. The fleet bobbed uncomfortably, baking in the hot autumn sun with their sails hanging limply above the decks.
In half a glass, the breeze began to rise, but from the west, and clouds came with it. They were light wispy clouds at first, but thickened by the hour as they enjoyed the fair wind.
The breeze quit again, and they sat and bobbed once more, this time in a heavy warm rain. Once more the breeze rose, this time from the north, and the sun shone weakly through it.
“I’ve seen this before,” said Mr. Greaves, “and it’s not good. We was out in the Wind’rd Passage off Cuba in the Mordaunt when the sky went like this and the wind boxed the compass; then two days later, it blew a hurricane for four days. If we hadn’t-a had Manzanillo Bay for some shelter and a man aboard who knew these waters we’d-a ne’er been heard of again, methinks. After this, if it goes quiet, and then starts a-comin’ strong from the north, we’ll not have much time to get into some good hidey-hole somewhere with all our anchors out! Sorry, Sir. Don’t mean to tell you yer business!”
“It’s a chance I’m not willing to take, Mr. Greaves. Taking the fact that this is hurricane season and your experience together, I will agree we need to find a place. What choices do we have?”
“There’s no safe place on the north shore of Jamaica, and we can’t make Port Royal in time – it’s fifty leagues of open ocean. I know a little mangrove bay inside the bigger bay on the north of the Isle of Ash, Sir. It should do.”
“Lt. Dinman, raise the signal ‘follow’, if you please.”
Tension increased noticeably on the quarterdeck as the fleet now worked its way slowly along the southern shore of Hispaniola.
“It’s most of a day’s sail, isn’t it, Sir?” asked Midshipman Weller. “Will we make it?” Everyone aboard was now aware that they were expecting a hurricane and were sailing to a place that might protect them from it.
“It is most of a day’s sail, aye, but we should reach it in the daylight if any good breeze holds.”
This day the breeze did hold. It came from the north, but not strong, as Mr. Greaves had worried. Afternoon found them tacking into it, watching the Isle of Ash grow larger at a sickeningly slow pace. Then the breeze quit. Mr. Greaves’ face seemed to turn hard as stone, and it reflected the eerie yellow light that the cloud cover began gathering into itself above. There was no wind for half an hour… then an hour. They were beginning to consider towing with their boats when a zephyr began from the west.
“Get those yards ‘round, men. Pipe all hands, Mr. Tilburne. Braces, there, you. Clap on and heave,” shouted Greaves angrily. The sail fluttered for five minutes before filling, and the ship’s wake began to grow in length. They were between the headland and the island when the zephyr rose to a genuine breeze, and the whole fleet was moving steadily toward its goal – an anchorage.
“If we can’t get anchors down before she blows, we couldn’t be in a much worse place,” grumbled Greaves nervously beneath his breath.” The tension was palpable now as the main bay opened to starboard. The smaller Laurel and Camelot were no longer slowed by the larger waves of the open sea; they accelerated more quickly with the breeze. They had shot ahead and were already within the mangrove bay. They chose locations close in to shore, and by the time Experiment and the other ships had entered the bay they had their anchors down and were running long lines to tie into the mangroves. Mr. Greaves was not the only one familiar with this exercise.
“There, Mr. Greaves,” said Neville, “behind that ship there, the … what is it? Ferret? I’m sure I’ve heard that name before, but where?” Ferret lay close in to the mangroves with what appeared to be four anchor lines out and more lines to shore. “Here’s good,” he said. “Round up outside the little bay and get the best bower down. Let her swing, and then have the boats take out everything else we’ve got. Furl every sail tight and double gasket them.”
The rest of his fleet was wasting no time doing the same. Neville noticed another three very small vessels tied into the mangrove trees.
The launch and jolly boat were still out when the wind piped up yet another notch and clocked ‘round to the south. The stays began a low thrumming. The boats struggled to regain the ship and then swung dangerously in the wind as they were being swayed up. The wind rose to a strong breeze. By the time the boats were wrestled into place and tied down, it was a moderate gale of wind, singing falsetto in the halyards and standing rigging. In another half glass, a full gale was upon them, and the eerie yellow light was fading into the darkness of night. Rain began to fall. Experiment began to jerk at her anchor cables.
“Call the sentries in. I can’t believe anyone could come to us in this. Send them out every half hour to check for chafe on the cables. Pass word that the galley fire won’t be lit tonight.” A hard rattling began above, so strange that Neville sent Suddicke out to see what it was. He came back in a moment with a round ball of ice about two inches in diameter.
“This,” he said. “It’s all over the deck, and has smashed two of our side lights. I’ve seen hail in the north of England but this… unbelievable!”
All night and all the next day the wind roared around them, occasionally gusting spectacularly, causing its song to become a shriek and Experiment to jerk angrily at her restraints. At intervals when the rain ceased and the wind lulled they could see the other ships, but could have done nothing if an emergency had occurred. On the second morning they watched in horror as Wasp slid by, dragging her anchors. She fetched up against Lord Aaron and they could see men from both ships working to lash them together. One of the little vessels in the mangroves was now on its side and half under water.
At noon, the wind dropped unexpectedly and the sun came out. Every member of the company of every ship came out on deck, blinking their disbelief in the glaring sunlight while the humidity increased rapidly. The quiet was almost deafening.
“Lt. Ratshaw. Take a boat ‘round our fleet and see if all’s well. Go to Lord Aaron first and ask if we need to help re-anchor Wasp. Mr. Greaves says there’s more to come. If you still have time, row over to Ferret and ask where she’s from.”
“Lt. Dinman, have Cookie light the fires. We’ll try to get a hot meal in before the storm hits again. Ask Misters Stokes and Weller to give me a report on the anchor cable chafe.”
The fleet’s boats came out and easily towed Wasp back to her anchor position. This time the anchors were carried farther out, and additional lines taken to the mangroves.
Men from the little swamped boats either were in the trees or had been taken to one of the ships.
Experiment’s company was cleaning their mess kids and sending their mess stewards for rum when the weather changed with a bolt of lightning that struck on the island. A crash of thunder followed that sounded like a giant gun was fired on the deck above. The sun clouded over and a heavy hot rain began. In ten minutes, the wind returned to its shrieking and whining, and did not stop for another day and a half.
9 - “Catch a Ferret”
The storm did not quit so abruptly this time. It had dropped to a near gale of wind when the sun rose, however, allowing them to creep out onto the deck to survey their surroundings and assess their situation. Wasp had stayed put, but Laurel had broken free of the anchors holding her out of the mangroves at some time during the night and was now on her side in the trees, much as the little vessel in the mangroves had been. Her company was in the water, clinging to any part of her they could, or sitting on any flotsam still attached to her. Some were ashore, clinging to the roots or trunks of the mangroves. The wind still blew hard enough that moving about was difficult, if not impossible. In the other direction, it appeared that Ferret was preparing to leave. That would be a tricky maneuver, and could be dangerous to his fleet.
“Lt. Ratshaw, did you get over to Ferret when you went out before? I’m sorry I forgot to ask.”
“Aye, Sir, I did. It seemed quite odd. They weren’t friendly like, as I’d expected, and waved me away; with a pistol, that is – but I didn’t have much time anyway, as the wind was comin’ up again. I think the man I spoke to was drunk.”
“Ferret!” Neville almost yelled. “I remember now. She’s been pirated. She belongs to a plantation on Jamaica. We must make an effort to recapture her.”
“The wind is from the sou’west, Captain,” said Greaves. “That means she might manage to leave the bay, and if she can beat real close, she’ll also be able to get out from behind the island and escape into the sea. We could do the same and give chase. It would be a risk, but I’m sure the storm’s over.”
“That’s so, Mr. Greaves. There is enough help here for Laurel. Send Midshipman Stokes over to the Lord Aaron in my gig with word that Ferret’s a pirate and preparing to flee and we’re going to chase as soon as we can get loose. Stokes will be able to row over to Aaron quickly enough, but if the wind don’t drop, he’ll not be able to row back. Tell him to ship with Aaron if he can’t. We will try to take Savage with us if we can make her understand us. She’s out farthest in the bay. Whether we recapture Ferret or not we will return to Port Royal.”
“Lt. Ratshaw, get the topmen up to remove the double gaskets. They’ve been up in worse. Buoy the downwind anchor cables and pull the jolly boat out the shore lines to cast them off. That’s what Ferret is doing, see.”
“The wind must be down to a near gale, but I’d think only a crazy man…,” Ratshaw was saying in a sort of disbelieving mumble, “Sir, I think…. I think Ferret is heaving short.”
A thin rain shower passed across the bay, obscuring Ferret for several minutes. Ratshaw began again, “Beagle is downwind of Ferret, and if she lets go, she must run upon Beagle. Who would raise anchor in such conditions?”
“Desperate men, Lt. Ratshaw. Look. There she goes.”
Ferret began to slide downwind, her anchor still not up, but no longer holding, either. Men continued tramping around the capstan even as the fore staysail and fore topmast staysail began to rise. The spanker began flapping with a noise that could be heard from Experiment. Sheets were tightening on the staysails and spanker even as the foretopsail was unfurled. Ferret was backing, her staysails trying to get a bite on the wind in order to turn the ship toward her escape route, and closing on Beagle with every passing moment. It became obvious from Experiment, and certainly from Beagle, that there would soon be a collision. The few men that had been standing in the beakhead of Beagle observing the debacle began running aft and could be seen to fall when the deck was shaken beneath them by the collision with Ferret.
“They’ve struck, Sir! They’ve struck!” yelled Midshipman Weller, chanting the obvious.
“My word, Mr. Greaves,” began Neville, “As contemptible as that was, it was a superb feat of ship handling, was it not? See, she is turned now, staysails drawing, and free to run. She cats her anchor, look! Alas, Beagle will need to stay here a few days for repairs.” Beagle’s bowsprit canted off to larboard. Her martingale hung broken, releasing tension on her forestays and rendering her foremast useless.
Ferret’s foretopsail snapped taut, and the spanker was being slowly brought to bear to provide forward speed. Her staysails hauled the bow around easily, and the gap between her and Beagle was widening quickly. The master of Beagle had fired a gun at Ferret out of pure anger as she ran off, but no effect of it could be seen.
Ferret was now turned to sail out of the inner bay past Experiment, and she was approaching at increasing speed. They had been watching with fascination, but it was time to break the spell and act. “We must raise anchor quickly if we expect to catch her,” said Neville. “We have no ship downwind of us. Lt. Ratshaw, clear for action and beat to quarters. Get the landsmen to the capstan.”
As Ferret began to pass astern, there appeared aboard her a group of drunken men, halooing and gesturing crudely at them. Two raised muskets and fired in their direction, and another group had formed a gun crew at the stern chaser, probably with thoughts of returning Beagle’s shot, but now with an obvious new intention of firing at Experiment. The gun swung slowly to point at them as Ferret continued her curve out of the bay. A blast followed, throwing a ball of possibly nine pounds across Experiment’s deck where it made a very neat hole in the near side of the hulls of both the launch and jolly boat which were nested together there amidships and splinters of the far sides. The scream of a man who was apparently hit by a splinter was all but drowned out by the rush of the ship’s company to duty stations at the urging of drums, pipes, bellowed commands and the tramping and clatter of marines.
Ferret’s stern presented itself as she finalized her turn to starboard, showing that her small quarter gallery and taffrail had been smashed badly in the collision, but her backstays and rudder appeared undamaged. At least she was not having trouble maneuvering or worrying about the force of the wind on her mizzenmast.
“Up anchor, Lt. Ratshaw,” commanded Neville. Seconds later the tramping of dozens of feet at the capstan began. Experiment began inching forward, squeezing water from every foot of her cable that rose above the bay.
“When we win that bower, Mr. Greaves, be ready to do as they did, except without the part where we have a collision. Raise signal for number three to chase.”
“Aye, Sir,” he replied. “Mr. Dinman, go forward and see to the staysails. Mr. Weller, the mizzen.”
The stamping at the capstan was very slow. Each clack of the cog was won with great strain. The wind’s force on the hull fought every movement of the cable.
The staysails rose steadily until their halyards went tight, and the sheets followed, providing a forward-sailing force. When the anchor broke free, its cable slackened, allowing the capstan easier movement. Experiment began falling to leeward with surprising speed. It was not long before the wind in the staysails forward spun her about her keel.
“Anchor’s up,” called Lt. Dinman from the foredeck. The foretopsail sheeted home with a loud crack, leaving them waiting for their ship to pass into the channel north of the island and the wind to pass across her stern before they sheeted in the spanker.
“Signal for Savage to chase, Mr. Weller,” ordered Neville.
Experiment then gathered way out the channel from behind the Isle of Ash, waiting until they gained the open sea to add more sail. Ferret was not visible. Sight of her was blocked by the island. At this point, they knew not how far she had gained while they were struggling with the anchor.
“I’d wager she has sailed east to work north, Sir,” offered Ratshaw. “She
will seek the safety of her friends in the Cul-de-Sac, and she will have the whole sea to run.”
“Aye, Lieutenant, but we are the larger vessel, and should be able to catch her.”
“God between us and the deep,” Mr. Greaves prayed aloud within minutes of their leaving the safety of the bay. Hurricane-driven waves still rolled across the expanse of the sea. Experiment was sailing out into twenty-foot high monsters that were still being pushed by the dying wind. The waves streamed foam on their tops and broke erratically. “There’s Ferret, though.”
“Amen,” said Neville emphatically. “We don’t have to fight them in this; just keep them in sight. The wind is falling fast, but we’ll have these waves for hours. We could never go against them. Pray that the wind doesn’t die and leave us to wallow. Such a condition would be most uncomfortable. Lt. Ratshaw, see that the guns are double-lashed, and have the men stand down. We don’t want a loose cannon in this, and there will be no conflict soon.”
They proceeded to sail more slowly than they would ever wish for under reefed topsails. Ferret was doing the same, and probably wishing they had not ventured out so early. She had given herself away completely, though, and could not return to the bay among a half dozen of her enemy. A sad chase it was; more up and down than any direction of the compass, with nary a chance to hit anything with a gun even if they dared loose one. Supper was another sad, cold affair as well, although by midday they were all sure that the wind had dropped to a fresh breeze and the waves were diminishing. The wind had begun to veer, as well. It was now more east than southeast.
“Lookout reports Savage has come out and kept with us, Sir,” said Lt. Dinman, “though she’s a bit south and behind. I’m a bit surprised she didn’t turn for home once she saw the size of the seas.”
A Journal of The Experiment at Jamaica (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 2) Page 15