A Journal of The Experiment at Jamaica (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 2)

by Georges Carrack

  “I think I told you last we visited that I was not well,” he began in a tired, rasping voice. “My condition has not improved, and there are those who despair for my life. I wanted to tell you both a few things while I can. I have appreciated your service to Jamaica, and I will do my best to see that you remain here, unless it is your wish to depart. I can understand that young captains may have better opportunities with the great fleets in Europe and that your men may long for home. Commodore Wright has again written to ask for Experiment to be sent back to his fleet,” Inchiquin said.

  Neville’s heart skipped a beat and its tempo began rising. I doubt I could survive another encounter with that tyrant. I had hoped the miserable creature had taken his fleet back to England by now, although now that I think on it, I didn’t see them going as we sailed home from Norfolk.

  “I have written him that our need for protection is not less and that Swan is too poor a sailer to be capable of fighting,” Inchiquin concluded.

  Oh, thank God, thought Neville. Be still my heart! But what protection will I have if Inchiquin dies?

  Inchiquin looked at Verley a moment, and said to him, “He writes nothing of the Comtesse, and since you were never with his fleet he seems ignorant of you. I have not writ a thing to change that. I am considering using my power to claim your vessel for Jamaica. We could man her with our own and allow you to do as you wish: remain her captain or report back to the navy for other duty. I do not need your answer now, as I have not made my decision about the ship.” That was then end of the interview.

  Two more patrols filled December and most of January. On their return from the second, they were informed that Lord Inchiquin had died of his illness.

  With considerable uneasiness, the two captains of the ‘Jamaican navy’ went to visit Acting Governor John White. The meeting was at Kings House on Thames Street in Port Royal, which White was using until he established proper offices in Spanish Town.

  Two red-coated sentries in the portico allowed them passage into the reception hall. Its normal coolness now seemed more of a chill, and the big barred windows were closed. The sconce candles were lit to decrease the gloom of a dull day. A new receptionist – that is, a different man than Inchiquin’s aide – greeted them. He was as round as Inchiquin’s aide had been thin.

  “Burton and Verley?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Neville said, “For 9:30.”

  It was 9:15. They waited until 10:00. Nobody else went in or out. They stood when the big wooden door to the inner room finally opened, and were ushered in by the round man.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” said a senior but healthy-looking man of medium stature and chiseled looks. “I’ll get right down to it. I don’t even know how long I will be in this position, so I have no need to change your orders. Please continue to do what you have been doing. You should know, also, that the Council are proceeding to commission many more privateers. If this approach is successful, we may have less need of your ships here. One more thing, Captain Burton. I have written to the Lords of Trade & Plantations asking what to do with that little Soufflé you brought in. The fact that you are navy complicates matters. I understand that Comtesse is not considered ‘navy’ at this time, and so we will not bother the Lords with her prize ketch and she will be used here in Jamaican defense. If you have no questions for me, we are finished here, thank you.”

  “No questions, Sir,” they parroted. They turned and walked out, thankful for the lack of change, but concerned about the notion that they might not be needed in Jamaica.

  23 - “Earthquake”

  Patrolling continued. Clashes with the enemy were infrequent and short, but produced enough prize money that the ships’ men were happy to stay in Jamaica. Life for Neville and Vincent held a strange combination of the excitement of young lovers and the danger of sporadic battles, as well as allowing them frequent visits to their ‘homes’ ashore. News came of another blunder by Commodore Wright on the 22nd of February. As at Marie-Galante, he had called his fleet back to form a line of battle and allowed the French to sail away.

  Neville was woken early by thunder in an unusually heavy storm and had not been able to remain asleep. He sat at Colonel Fuller’s desk with a single candle to study the Bahamas rutter, attempting to learn more Spanish and memorize more of the territory. The Colonel had left at first light for a council meeting in Spanish Town, leaving Neville to breakfast alone.

  It was Wednesday, the Ides of March. Juanita’s cart, with Trombé driving her to market, rattled out the gate. Neville heard the noise of it and his mind jumped to Maria. He found it difficult to stay here at the Fullers with Maria so close, and he not allowed to hold her, to put his hands on her or to kiss her. Nevertheless, being here and able to see and talk with her was better than being away at sea.

  He glanced at the windows and could see that the rain had stopped. That was probably why Juanita had finally left. The heavy overcast remained, however, leaving the day dreary, indeed. That’s probably why Maria isn’t up, he thought. It really is a perfect day to sleep in – dark and quiet. He went back to his book, thankful to have something useful to do that didn’t involve standing on the quarterdeck being pelted with rain and spray.

  Neville heard the door open with an almost silent creak, but decided to finish the sentence he was studying before looking up. The door hadn’t admitted much light, and it closed again as he looked up. Someone just looking in? With all the thoughts he had been having of Maria, it was understandable that when he saw her there he felt an instant increase in heart rate as well as a stirring within. She stood there in a thin sundress, her light brown skin barely visible at the distance she was from his candle. She was illuminated mostly by the dim morning light from the windows, which somewhat gave her the look of an old John Michael Wright portrait. She raised her hands when he lifted his head to see who had come, one to her lips in a ‘shhh’ motion, and the other to release the shoulder buttons of her dress. It fell silently to the floor. She paused for a moment, letting him view her, knowing that he would not – could not - resist her.

  Although he had known her before, he had never seen her thus, and the vision was, to him, almost ethereal. Shadows caused by the dim light accentuated the myriad female curves of her young, firm body. He stood. She motioned him to come to her, but Neville was immobilized by the sight of her body. The dappled light rippled across it when she moved, cat-like, to the Jaguar rug. Finally, he began to breathe properly and summoned the strength to move, which he did somewhat clumsily.

  She helped him remove the obstacles to their lovemaking and pulled him down on the rug. Their coupling was passionate and quick. They clung to each other desperately, enjoying the warmth of their bodies, and did not separate for some time. Maria whispered, “We are very lucky today, Neville. Juanita will not be coming back for a couple of hours, at least, and father might not even be home today. The house is as quiet as it ever will be and the moon is in the right place. I should be safe today.”

  “Safe? I would never let anything hurt you, Maria,” he whispered back. With his nose by her ear he noticed smell of the plumeria flower she so often wore.

  Maria giggled, “You don’t know what I mean, do you? You have a lot to learn about women. You should come upstairs and I’ll teach you more.”

  “Upstairs?” he queried. He had never been in rooms of the main house other than the library, dining room, the large salon they rarely used, and the kitchen areas.

  “Through there,” she said, indicating the room’s second door to the side of Thomas’ desk. We don’t have to go outside.”

  They rose and went through the door, carrying their things up a stair with a few treads that creaked and through another door at the top. That door opened to a hallway that appeared to pass the length of the house. Two doors further on the left she pulled him into a room that was clearly hers. Neville’s first impression was that it was not as feminine as he expected. There was no question that light yellow was her favorite co
lor, but the tasteful room was not ablaze with it. Neither was the room frilly. There were her favorite books, but not dolls or knickknacks. There were no colour pots at the commode, but that would be because her natural radiance needs none of it.

  Maria went directly to the bed, pulling back the coverlet and hopping in like a child. She then sprawled in a most summoning pose, and her mood changed. He lay beside her and she took his hands and guided them lightly over her naked body. As they kissed, she realized that he had taken her hint, and each felt every curve of the other. Neville’s heart raced at the knowledge of every smooth part of her. This coupling was much slower, each of them wishing they could remain together forever. They languished for some time and repeated their exercise before Maria finally whispered, “Neville, we must go. I think it may be almost noon, although it is difficult to tell on this dreary day. You must go back to studying.”

  “I am studying,” he answered quietly. “I’m studying you. What is this here?” he asked, feeling a two-inch scar below her left knee.

  “I cut it on a rock four years ago when I fell from a horse. But that’s enough studying me for now, although you have my permission to do it forever. We really should get up.”

  In mid-May, Experiment returned from a month-long patrol of the northern coast. Her anchor splashed into the azure waters of Port Royal harbor.

  “Guard-boat, Captain,” said Ratshaw. “Pulling for us, I think. There.”

  “Yes, so it appears.” They watched the boat crawl across the quiet harbor until it bumped against Experiment’s hull.

  “From the Governor, Sir,” said the boat’s coxswain. He ordered his men to shove off.

  “I’m summoned to see Acting Governor John Bourden at King’s House,” Lt. Ratshaw. It doesn’t say why, so I can’t tell you how long I’ll be gone.

  “Suddicke,” Neville yelled below.

  Suddicke’s head poked up the companion, “Aye?”

  “Lay out my best uniform, if you please. Your captain must appear respectable before the new acting governor.”

  “Aye, aye,” said Suddicke, and retreated below.

  When Neville arrived at his cabin a few minutes later, there was a uniform laid out on his bed, but it was not one he would be proud of.

  “Suddicke, what’s this. I asked you for my best one.”

  “Sorry, Sir, but that’s it. Not much left of it, eh? I’ve patched and mended, but there’s little left to work with.”

  Neville sighed. “I’m due for a new one, then. After I meet with the governor, I’ll take some time to go ‘round a tailor’s, so I may be late for supper. Call for my gig, if you please.”

  It seems I never know what a governor will want, he reflected on the way in. I wonder if it is a new mission. No promotion for me could ever come from here. I’m already a captain before permission from the King.

  Neville was admitted to the governor’s chambers after the usual process of waiting in the outer room for some time.

  “I am pleased to finally meet the famous Captain Burton,” said the tall, wiry man behind the desk inside. I have heard you give a few reports to the Council, but have not an opportunity to greet you personally. “I am Acting-Governor Bourden, but I expect I will not be in this chair long. We are given to understand that a Colonel Beeston will be the next governor, whenever it is he arrives from England. We must carry on, however? We have an answer to Mr. White’s question already, Captain Burton. Do you remember it?”

  “About the Soufflé, Sir? Yes.”

  “It has come from the Lords of Trade and Plantations that you are to take command of the Soufflé and sail her to Barbados. From there, Captain Wright can take the ship along with his convoy back to the English prize court.”

  “He’s finally going, then?”

  “Yes, and it is certainly no loss to us here or to the Lesser Antilles either. You are ordered to depart on the 8th June. I know of your wedding, and this should allow you ample time to return before twenty-sixth August. In addition, you might take note that your orders are written as a ‘delivery passage’ and that you are not discharged from the Experiment at this time. You may also name a man to accompany you, if you so choose.”

  “Thank you, sir. Is there anything else?”

  “I might get a new uniform, if I were you,” the man said.

  “My next stop, Sir, thank you.”

  Several thoughts clashed in Neville as he walked down the street in search of a reputable-looking tailor: On the positive, we will be shot of Wright. That’s the best news in a long time. I must be sure he does not order me to go with him. I’m also not leaving Experiment. To the negative, this is a terrible time to leave Maria, though I believe her to be the strongest woman I have ever known. The preparations for our wedding will so busy her mind that she may not miss me too badly; it will be a month and a half, at least. Aha, this shop looks all right.

  The tailor shop happily received him, but it was a half hour of measuring before he left the place. Neville gave detailed instructions for the making of a lieutenant’s uniform as he remembered his in 1797. I might as well be ahead of my time, he mused. He was told to return in three days for a fitting.

  Under the basic concept that ‘the sooner we leave the sooner we’ll be back’, Neville went ashore early on Saturday, 7th June, in his new uniform. Suddicke had opened seams to sew in a sufficient number of gold coins to offset any emergency that might arise. Since the Soufflé would not be returning to Jamaica, Neville went in to Fort Charles to execute a proper release of the ship. The process proved to be straightforward. When he exited the fort’s office, he found Maria’s carriage in the courtyard.

  It was instantly apparent that she was quite flustered. “Neville, please climb in,” she said, “We must go home.”

  “I can’t go now. I must sail forthwith if I must be returned by twenty-fifth August. What’s afoot? I can tell something’s wrong. Is your father well?”

  “I went to the shore opposite the ship and your gig was there. They told me you weren’t aboard and had come here.”

  “Yes, and you’ve found me,” he said in a slightly annoyed tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound rude. What’s wrong?”

  “I have news,” she said nervously. He had climbed in to the carriage, supposing he would at least accept a ride back to the gig. Maria leaned over to him and began to speak in a tone that was rapidly escalating his concern, “I must tell you,” and then came closer to whisper in his ear, “I know we’re to be wed in August, but…” she paused.

  He sat back, wondering if she was going to tell him of a change of mind, but she pulled him back and whispered very quietly, “I’m pregnant, Neville. I have been worrying, but I’m certain of it now. I must be three months along – from, well - you remember when.”

  He turned his head to stare into her eyes, and his emotions fluttered and flared through his head: great love, joy, and concern all crowded in at once.

  To Maria’s obvious relief, his reaction was a big smile. He grabbed her hand and said quietly, “You’re right, Maria. We must go see your father. I will endure his wrath if it must come, but he will not wish us ill at all, and he will know what to do.”

  “Trombé, take us to my gig on the strand. I must give the men orders.”

  He would not release Maria’s hand as the carriage jumped forward and began rattling across the cobbled courtyard and out the fort’s gate. Trombé took Lime Street from the fort toward the strand. At the corner with Thames Street, that ran along the water where the gig was waiting, a sound like thunder began.

  “What is that?” asked Maria with a hint of concern.

  “I don’t know,” answered Neville, looking around. “It’s not thunder. The sky is clear. I can’t believe it’s cannon. I’ve seen no sign of French ships, and...”

  The horses were acting up now, beginning to prance about and snorting.

  “My God, Maria. Look there,” said Neville, pointing down the street. A wave was coming at them, but it
was not a wave of water. It was a wave of cobbles and sand – the street itself. A glance to seaward showed the water in the harbor had receded at least two cables and the Swan, that had been careened for repairs, was stranded on the wide beach.

  A useless thought passed through Neville’s mind. How will they ever get her back into the water?

  When the wave passed beneath them, the sand turned to mush and Trombé’s horse went down into it. The horse did not so much fall as be sucked into the street. The carriage lurched to the left as its wheels dived into unseen holes, pitching Maria into the street. Neville’s sailing instincts caused him to grab a hold on the carriage. Then, when he realized his need to rescue Maria and let go to do so, the carriage dropped in another hole, and he was flipped out the opposite side. Trombé had reappeared and was standing waist deep in sand, his mouth in a voiceless scream.

  Neville saw Maria stand, then fall, and the wall of a building behind her toppled. A pedestrian who had watched her thrown from the carriage stepped into the street to offer a hand, but then the wall fell on them and slid into the liquid street, causing a suction that pulled them both with it. Maria’s hand was visible and Neville dove for it. The motion was cut short by a sign falling from the wall of the building closer to Neville. The force spun him onto his back, sending the force of the tropical sun into his wide eyes. Something else came with the sign. The wall of the other building, perhaps? The bright sunlight instantly became blackness, and Neville’s mouth filled with seawater. He struggled and swam, finding a window in the downed wall through which he could reach the surface. His head poked above the liquid sand as Swan went by, carried on an immense wave. He felt a curious mixture of hot bright sunlight, cooling water and a feeling that darkness was washing over him from above.