The Pyrate

by Michael Aye

  “We’ll put it to a vote,” Turner responded. “But I see no reason why the crew will not approve it.”

  “They are beautiful,” Cooper said to Mac after the ships got underway. “What are you going to do with them?”

  “Gifts,” Mac replied. “They’ll be gifts.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  After taking the Cambridge, Captain Taylor clamped on all sails but by dark they still had not sighted the convoy. Therefore, Taylor had the Raven put about and resumed their original course. They were off Cape Verde when the next sails were sighted; a large convoy with escorts.

  “A frigate and another large ship, Bombay buccaneers,” Taylor snorted.

  “That’s the Cornwall’s,” Mac volunteered, lowering his glass. “I’ve seen her in Portsmouth. The frigate might be the Bombay. They sailed together the last time I saw them.”

  “Buccaneer ships, they sail with the convoy?” Cooper asked.

  “Bombay buccaneers are what the Navy dubbed them,” Mac said smiling at his friend’s confusion. “The real title is Bombay marines. They are a fleet of private warships owned by the Honourable East India Company. A tough lot they are too. I’d recommend letting them pass.”

  “Aye,” Taylor agreed. “No use losing what we got. Prepare to come about, Mr. Turner. Let’s show them a fair set of sails.”

  Nothing else was spotted after a week of traversing across the Atlantic. They were off the coast of Africa when Turner and Mac approached Captain Taylor. “Do we round the Cape of Good Hope or put about, Captain?”

  “Put about, I think,” Taylor decided.

  It was noon and Raven was off the northern coast of Africa on a course for Cape Verde with a fair wind when a sail was spotted dead astern.

  “She be overreaching us, Captain,” the quartermaster advised. By four o’clock the ship could be seen from the deck. “She’s a frigate,” Johannes called down from the tops where he had lookout duty. “Looks British made, Captain, but I believe she’s flying a Spanish flag. Wind ain’t right to get a proper view.”

  Captain Taylor spoke to his quartermaster, “Let’s feed the hands, Mr. Turner, and then prepare for battle. Mr. Spurlock, once we’ve been fed I’d admire you take the larboard side, and Mr. MacArthur, you the starboard side.”

  We must be in for a fight with the captain being so formal, Cooper thought. After the crew had been fed, Taylor had the hands put to battle stations. The order was repeated by Turner and the hands began to scurry to their assigned stations.

  “Raise the American flag,” Taylor ordered. The ship kept coming and was bearing down on Raven.

  “Not a good wind,” Turner mused. “Fair winds all day and then when you need it, its contrary.”

  Cooper had been assigned to the quarterdeck as messenger. “Walk about when the firing starts, Coop. No need to give them a good target,” Turner said.

  “Aye,” Cooper replied, glad someone was thinking about him.

  Puffs of smoke could be seen from the frigate followed by a boom; a ball splashed one hundred yards astern.

  “Put your helm down,” Taylor called to the helmsman. The next shot was far off the mark but the following one was closer. “Up your helm,” Taylor called. “Hold it for the count of one hundred and then go back to our original course.”

  Cooper realized Taylor was making it hard for the enemy to get a good target. Taylor was doing for Raven what he told Cooper to do…move about.

  “Mr. Spurlock.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Do you reckon we are within range with our stern guns?” Taylor asked.

  “Close, I’d say, Captain.”

  “I’d admire you show yonder ship that we are not toothless.”

  “Aye, Captain.” Spurlock soon had the stern guns ready. The first shot created a water spout about twenty-five yards off the frigate’s larboard bow. The next time both stern guns roared, causing twin clouds of white smoke to drift back into the ship.

  “The winds have shifted in our favor,” Taylor commented, looking up at the sails. Cooper was sent down to the cabin where Spurlock had the stern guns hauled in and they were being sponged out. “Captain says you have straddled her,” Cooper relayed.

  “Aye,” was Spurlock’s only response. “Prime your guns,” Spurlock roared as the guns were made ready to fire again. “Aim ’em,” Spurlock snarled. “Damn it, aim the bloody guns you idjets. That’s it, that’s it, me hearty’s, on the up roll fire.” Again Raven’s stern chasers fired, with the smoke causing the men to cough and their eyes to burn.

  “Sponge out,” Spurlock shouted, “that’s it. Handsomely now, times a wasting, load ’em with shot and a measure of grape. If we don’t get a direct hit maybe we can sprinkle a few of the sods.” Once again Spurlock gave the order, “Fire.”

  Grape and round shot erupted from the hot muzzles of the guns and flames belched forward to drive the shot home into the frigate’s bow.

  “Lovely shooting, mates,” Spurlock said just before a ball crashed into Raven’s stern. Men shrieked in agony as a second shot slammed into the stern. The larboard gun was overturned and all but one of its crew was dead. The enemy’s guns had found their target.

  Cooper winced in pain as a sharp object struck his chest. One of the gun crew’s severed arm had hit Cooper square in the chest. Looking at what had been the gun crew, bile rose up in Cooper’s throat and he feared he would vomit. Blood was spurting from one of the downed men. The rest of the men lay in a heap under the overturned gun, torn and bleeding as the last of their blood pumped out onto the deck planks by dying hearts. The gun captain, the only one who had survived, was sweating profusely, his face a pasty white color, with his leg caught under the gun carriage.

  “Move yourself, Cooper. Tell the captain we need more men,” Spurlock barked.As Cooper rushed off, Spurlock was rising from the deck apparently unhurt. He got his surviving crew members together and lifted the gun carriage from the trapped man. He then had the starboard gun loaded and run out. He sighted the long nine himself and fired on the up roll. The crew shouted as the ball hit the frigate’s bow sprit. Hanging by ropes the shattered bow sprit acted like a sea anchor as the frigate came almost to a stop and slewed around to starboard.

  Maybe it was the sudden stop, maybe it was a lucky ball, but the forward mast followed and came down with a crash almost as loud as a cannon firing.

  Seeing the ship come to a stop, Taylor called Mac and Turner over. “I intend to cross the frigate’s bow and pour a broadside into her. I’ll teach the whoresons to fire on me ship. Mac, I want you to fire every gun into the bow. Aim each one and fire as you bear. If we’ve not sunk her after the first pass, I’ll try to come about and give her another dose. Mr. Turner, make sure we don’t allow the frigate’s broadside come to bear. Those are twelve pounders at least on the frigate and the Raven will not stand to their punishment.”

  Raven came about and Mac shouted at the gun crews. “Direct your fire to the bow. The bow is your target. Punch a hole clear through to her arsehole. Double shot, double shot, you idiot, not shot and grape. There you are. Now, gun captains, direct your fire and make sure you aim true.” Mac watched as the gun captains directed each crew and raised their hands signaling they were ready.

  A voice from the quarterdeck called out, “Be ready, Mr. MacArthur.” Mac bent over and looked out of the gunport. They were no more than two hundred yards from the frigate. “Ready,” he called out. “Gun captains, fire as you bear.”

  BOOM…BOOM…BOOM, Raven’s guns fired one after another until the entire broadside had spewed out its fiery hell. The swivel guns barked out their loads of grape spraying a lethal swarm of lead balls cutting down a number of men trying to cut away the wreckage. The double-shotted nine pounders tore through the bowels of the frigate. Shouts and screams floated across the water. Curses of mad, wounded, and scared seamen could be heard. The wounded ship then leapt up from the ocean followed by a large explosion as flames engulfed the frigate.


  “Hit the magazine,” Taylor said, speaking in a low soft voice now that the battle rage was off him. Men watched, awed at the horror and destruction before them.

  As the frigate sank, the men turned to righting the Raven. The gun captain’s leg was so bad the carpenter had to amputate it. However, the gun captain died just as the leg was removed. One of the helmsmen had had a ball pass thru him. “Shot clean through,” the carpenter swore. “No ball to fester, nothing in the wound to cause ill humors.”

  “Thank Gawd,” the man said, and then yelled as rum was poured on and through the wound.

  “Told by a surgeon that helps,” the carpenter volunteered.

  “Well, you could have given me a tot first,” the helmsman cursed.

  “Could have been worse,” the carpenter shot back.

  “Aye, and it could ’ave been better,” the wounded man shot back, determined to have the final word.

  Later that evening the crew puzzled over who it was that chased them and why. “Possibly a ship sent out to make us pay for our past deeds.” Taylor mulled the thought over for a while. “Could have been. We’ve hit the British convoys hard of late.”

  “Some not hard enough,” Cooper said.

  “I think we have,” Taylor answered in a stern voice. “Let’s be burying our dead and putting Raven back to rights.

  “Captain,” Mac called. “Nothing against the carpenter but why don’t we have a surgeon? Wounds like that happen in the Navy and the surgeon saves most of them.”

  Taylor nodded. “I’ll not dispute the need, Mac, but I’ve yet to see a surgeon volunteer on his own accord to be part of a free ship. But if you find one, we’ll welcome him. He wouldn’t even have to sign the articles; being a man of medicine he’d be exempt.”

  Well, it’s worth thinking on, Mac decided to himself.

  At sundown, the dead were given their last farewells. In canvas shrouds, with round shot at the feet and a last stitch through the nose, the dead were buried as was a sailor’s right.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  On deck, Diamond had the hands hard at work. The channels were cleaned, the decks holystoned, and the sides washed off with fresh water. Hammocks were stowed away. Awnings and wind sails had been brought up from below. The hawse-bucklers had been removed and the anchors had been taken off the bow, anchor-buoys had been rigged; all in preparation for anchoring. The damage that the frigate had inflicted upon the Raven had mostly been repaired. It stood out from lack of paint, but that would be taken care of in the safety of Barataria Bay.

  Cooper’s knees were sore from holystoning the deck. Banty had been next to Cooper earlier that morning when preparation for entering the harbor and anchoring had started. “Captain ain’t no slouch when it comes to the Raven,” he said. “He runs a tight ship 'e does, unlike Black Ceasar and some of his like. Time you get within hailing distance the stench hits you square in the face. Man with weak innards would cast his bout over the side before he could board.” Banty always amused Cooper. One time he’d say he and the next time it would be ’e. The more excited the little man was the more slang he used. “’Em buggars wouldn’t last a day wid the captain, they wouldn’t. They feel deck work is beneath ’em.”

  Cooper was smiling at Banty’s talk when the seaman caught his smile. “You thinks it’s funny,” Banty snarled.

  Thinking fast, Cooper said, “No, I could just imagine one of the rogues telling Mr. Diamond he wasn’t going to do his part.”

  “Aye,” Banty smiled. “It’d be fun to watch only it wouldn’t last long, that is unless the bugger could swim, cause Mr. Diamond would throw ’is arse over the side.” Cooper thought, Whew, got out of that one.

  Robinson was climbing onto the fore-chains with a lead-line in his hand. They had anchored here many times but Captain Taylor took nothing for granted. He’d play it safe and take soundings. Cooper looked about and realized just how much he’d taken for granted and overlooked. It was easy when you were a passenger. A lubber as Mac put it. Both Mac and the captain said the trip to the quarterdeck started forward, meaning you had to learn to be a seaman before you could be the captain.

  Mac said he’d been a midshipman for four years before making lieutenant. “I was given every shitten job that could be found,” he swore. “No matter how good a job I did, there was always someone that would find fault in it. You have to start at the bottom, Coop, as it should be, but at least the captain and crew have taken to you and are willing to teach you. In the Navy, most of the snobbies, that’s slang for a midshipman, are jealous and afraid you’ll catch the first lieutenant or captain’s eye before they do, so they’ll screw you every chance they get. Of course, the captain’s usually got some toady willing to put a knife in your back.” The surprised look on Cooper’s face caused Mac to laugh. “Figuratively only, Coop. Figurative of speech.”

  ***

  The entrance of the bay was just off the bow when Captain Taylor called to Mac, “Mr. MacArthur, you took us to sea, would you care to bring us to anchor?”

  “Aye, Captain, it will be a pleasure,” Mac replied.

  Cooper stood envious as Mac took to the quarterdeck and picked up the speaking trumpet. He turned his head and had a private word with the captain. Probably asked where he wanted to anchor, Cooper thought. Coop had learned Captain Taylor did not like getting too close inshore so that weighing anchor might prove difficult.

  “All hands, prepare to bring ship to anchor.”

  Cooper was proud of the trust and responsibility his friend had been given. He watched intently, thinking one day that’ll be me.

  “Stand by to take in flying jib, royals, and studding sail,” Mac barked.

  “Haul taut! Shorten sail!”

  “Come on, Coop, move your arse,” Banty said, grinning like some fool. “It’ll be a warm whore ashore tonight.”

  “What whore’d have you, Banty?” Looking over, Banty saw Moree had spoken.

  “Oh, they’s plenty,” Banty said and then crowed like a rooster.

  “Man topgallant clew lines.”

  “Sounds like ’e’s on a man ‘o war,” McKemie grunted.

  “Aye, trained right he was,” Robinson responded.

  “Haul taut!”

  “In topgallants!”

  “Up foresail!”

  The ship must appear to be mass confusion to a landsman, Cooper decided, remembering when the Bonnie Lass first sailed. But they don’t know what I do…or as Banty might say, ‘What I does.’

  “Helm alee!”

  “Main topsail clew lines!”

  “Haul taut!”

  “Let go topsail sheets!”

  Breathing hard from exertion, Cooper shouted, “You is right, Banty, thinks ’e’s still in the bloody navy, ’e does.” Damme, now I sound like Banty, God I love this, Cooper thought.

  “He’s yer mate,” Robinson said with a grin. He too was breathing hard.

  “Aye, I’ll claim him,” Cooper replied.

  “Haul taut!”

  “Let go topsail sheets!”

  “Top bowlines!”

  “Clew up!”

  “Down jib!”

  “Haul out the spanker!”

  “Settle away the topsail halliards!”

  “Square away!”

  “Stand clear the starboard cable!”

  “Stream the buoy!”

  “Let go the anchor!”

  At last, Cooper thought, then remembered he had to be part of the party to rig awnings and wind sails.

  ***

  The three day trip to New Orleans had been a miserable one. Misty, wet weather that had increased to a steady drizzle. At times, you were fighting a wind that drove right into your face, making the pirogues difficult to pole. Repairs had been completed on Raven including a new color scheme. This was to disguise the ship if there were indeed pirate hunters after the successful Raven, who had probably done more than any other ship to raise the insurance rates levied by Lloyds of London. Had it been a ship Lloyds had sent
out to sink or capture the Raven? Captain Taylor mused this possibility over, time and time again. Or…was it some rogue who wanted the Raven and felt that due to the ship’s size, the smaller Raven would be easy prey. Well, if that was the case they paid dearly for their mistake.

  Captain Eli Taylor was not a man to give up all so peacefully. He was a fighter, a leader, and his men were alive with healthy purses because of his leadership.

  “Aye, he’s a man to follow,” Mac had said. “Not a cruel man but one that can be as hard as the situation dictates.”

  Quang had decided to stay in Barataria. He was not sure his transgressions in New Orleans had had sufficient time to be forgotten. Rooster and Diamond were in the captain’s pirogue and Robinson and a new seaman, Bridges, were in Cooper’s. Mac had decided to go to Cindy Veigh’s house in the hopes of spending time with Lucy. He had bought a few gifts, silk and jade for Lucy, Linda, and Cindy. He also had a nice knife for Jumper, a long rifle for Gus, and a nice bolt of cloth for Belle.

  Cooper wanted the best for his friend but was sure his heart would be broken in the end. It was unlikely that Lucy’s father would ever let his daughter’s hand be taken by a commoner. If the knowledge that Mac was a pirate became known there wouldn’t be a chance in hell. But, why speak about what both the lovers surely must know. Let them enjoy the time while they had it.

  When the pirogues tied up in New Orleans, the men all went separate ways. Rooster, Banty, and Bridges made for a bordello on Conde Street. The establishment had a doctor on staff who examined the girls on a weekly basis and any not passing examinations were put on leave until she proved to be symptom free. Any girl who was unwell after a month was turned out and the money put up for retirement was given to her.

  The upscale bordello was run by Madam Toussaint, who was affectionately called Dutchess, and was a fair hostess. Only men who had the means entered the doors of her parlor. Fewer still made it to the backrooms where high stake card games went on Friday and Saturday nights. Admittance was by invitations only and a new guest had to put up ten thousand dollars prior to admission. If, at any time, the sum was reduced the player had to replenish the account by the following Friday or he was not eligible to resume play. More than one fortune had been lost and won in the Dutchess’s rooms without any ill behavior. The Dutchess received five percent from the winnings and this was split with her silent partners, Captain Eli Taylor and lawyer Edward Meeks. The men each received one and a quarter percent each. Just that small percent had made for comfortable living and had in fact purchased Hotel Provincial.