The Shadow of Nisi Pote

by H C Storrer

  “You know what he was like, my sweet.” Jack caressed her arm, his thoughts immediately distant as he searched for the right words. “He took everything from me. No one on this earth has more of a right to end that miserable excuse of a man than I. It’s the only birthright I have left.”

  Her slight frame shuddered with another sob. “I . . . I fear tha’ I shall never see you again.”

  Jack brushed away the wet streaks from her eyes with his thumbs. “Not so. I will return. You will see…” Jack hesitated, “...and when I do we shall be married.”

  Anna took a sharp breath inward, followed by a hesitant smile. “Is that a proposal?”

  Jack grinned. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

  Wiping the wet from her cheeks, Anna pulled back and chided lightly, “Well that wasn’t very romantic.”

  After a moment of awkward silence, Jack pressed, “Well?”

  “No.”

  “No?” Jack’s heart was at his knees.

  “Not like that. You ’as to do it pro’er.” Anna giggled.

  With a sigh of relief, Jack took her soft fingers in his hand and slowly bent to one knee. “Anna Hemsworth, will you be my wife?”

  “Yes! With all my ’eart.” Again, tears streamed from her eyes, the reality of Jack’s conviction overwhelming. “Stay with me, Jack. Don’t go.”

  A brittle smile crossed his lips. He was desperate for her to understand. “My heart cannot be fully yours while that beast still breathes.” Jack released her hand and stood, running his fingers through his black hair in frustration. “I fear that was not very romantic either. Please have faith in me, Anna. I will be back. Then I will be yours, completely.”

  They had grown so close as the years of playful meetings had passed, but he had done little more than hold her hand for all of that time. Clutching her close, even with her tears, had been euphoric. Throwing caution to the wind, Jack lifted her chin and crushed her lips to his as she melted into his arms. “I love you, Anna.” he whispered.

  “Please—” Her voice was soft in his ear.

  Releasing her, he brushed his hands down her arms and stepped back. Her eyes were still pleading and he couldn’t bear to look at her pain another moment. Turning, he stooped to retrieve his sack then stepped to the garden gate and disappeared from view as Anna sank to the ground in renewed grief.

  ***

  “What be the ship yur look’n for?” The old sea-worn dock master looked Jack up and down, squinting in the morning rays.

  “The HMS Faversham. I was told she would be docked along this stretch. I believe she is preparing to be underway soon.” Jack’s black hair worried in the breeze as his eyes danced with adventure.

  “Aye, well all’s them Royal Navy boats is lined up along the wharf just there. If she’s docked, it would be past them guards.” The old man pointed a shriveled finger down the boardwalk at three men standing at attention, their red uniforms distinctly recognizable.

  “I thank ye.” Jack could hardly get the words out when he spied the captain from the day before pounding down the dock with three other officers in tow. “Sir, Sir!” Jack called out, his long legs in a fast stride.

  “Oy there, mate, you ’as best ol’ on!” A surly man with heavy shoulders and a crooked face turned on Jack, stopping him in his tracks. “That there is the Cap’n. You ’as best keep yur distance.”

  “Mr. Howard, what is the meaning of this?” The Captain had turned to the commotion, his stern face hiding behind intensely blue eyes.

  “This ’ere lad was crossin’ too close, Cap’n,” Mr. Howard replied, his fist still full of Jack’s shirt.

  “Sir, I met you yesterday in the office of Father John Messing. I wish to sail on the Faversham, after—”

  “Hold your tongue!” The Captain stepped to him before all secrecy was gone.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “What was your name?” the Captain asked.

  “Jack, Sir.”

  “Ah yes, the boy with only one name.” The Captain smiled abruptly, almost in a squint. “Is there any other name you go by?”

  “My Christian name is, well…” Jack paused. There was a war with France.

  “Out with it, one-named boy!” the Captain pressed, his lieutenant beaming from the comedy of it all.

  “Jacques Peters, Sir.”

  “Jacques?” The Captain stood back as if there was suddenly an awful smell.

  “My mother was French, Sir, but my father was English through and through.”

  “Then what is his name?” the Captain asked.

  “Edwin, Sir, he was called Edwin Peters. He died when I was young.”

  “Yes, in the great Lisbon quake,” the Lieutenant said, interjecting himself. “You are from Cornwall?”

  “Yes Sir,” Jack replied, confused.

  “I’m from Cornwall as well.” The Lieutenant was immediately amiable. “Sir, his father is something of a legend about Penzance. I can vouch for him.”

  “As I recall, you have no sea experience,” The Captain reminded. “As was said, this is no adventure for amateurs my boy.”

  “I could be a cabin boy. I have been cleaning for Father Messing for years. I could polish the brass or mop the floor… Sir, please,” Jack begged.

  The Captain groaned and looked skyward, running a hand over his face. “Firstly, you swab a deck, not mop the floor.” The small group of men shared a laugh at Jack’s inexperience. “You vouch for him?” The Captain turned to the Lieutenant.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Then he is your problem. I don’t want him under foot.” The Captain sighed and continued down the dock. With a flick of the commander’s wrist, Mr. Howard released Jack roughly so there was no question as to the hierarchy on board.

  “It is good to see little Jackie Peters,” the Lieutenant said ironically as Jack was good sized for a lad of seventeen. “Is your mother in good health?”

  “Well, uhm,” Jack chewed his lip, not sure how to reply, “she’s good. Well, that is she was sick and, well, she passed.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s quite alright, it was many years ago. You haven’t been back to Penzance for a very long time, then,” Jack observed as they continued behind the other members of the crew.

  “No, I suppose not,” the Lieutenant replied.

  “You have me at a disadvantage, Sir. You know my name, but…” Jack let the question hang.

  “Oh, quite right. Richard, Richard Benning. My father is Lord Benning of Sopshire.”

  “Well, nice to meet you, Lieutenant Benning.” Jack held out a friendly hand. Benning was a good head taller than Jack, and when their hands met his gangly fingers swallowed Jack’s whole. Benning’s blond hair danced with the wind, his ponytail loose, reflecting a man who had recently been hard at work. Over his thin lips, his sharp nose was the most obvious feature; it looked much like the beak of the squawking gulls that floated overhead. His eyes were kind, filled with experience, but in a way that meant no malice to anyone. “Who was the burly man who had me by the collar?” Jack asked.

  “Ahh, that is Mr. Howard, the bos’n,” Benning replied.

  “And does the captain have a name?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, we call him captain—or cap’n, if you like.” Benning smiled at the jest. “Captain Johnson if you are really brave.”

  Jack smiled. “I’ll stick with just captain, then.”

  “You are orphaned,” Benning finally observed. “I would suppose that is why you are in London. Although, as I heard it, your fortune could very well purchase my commission. Why beg your way on board?”

  “Well…” Jack rubbed his head. “It’s a rather long story.”

  “I see. Well, if it’s one thing sailors love, it would be a good long story.” Benning laughed as he led the way to the HMS Faversham.

  Chapter 20

  “M r. Peters,” Lieutenant Benning called up to the crow’s nest.

  Ignoring him, J
ack kept his eyes locked on the horizon, his pulse quickening. After months of hunting, this was it. Every muscle in his body knew by instinct, he was finally going to lay eyes upon Nathan.

  ***

  It had been a month on the cross to the West Indies, and another month and half sailing about the Caribbean after leaving Port Royal. Jack had spent the first few days at sea as a cabin boy, a job he was much too old and large for. Bos’n Howard, the task master on board, seemed to find delight in issuing him the worst work imaginable. It was a crash course in the life of a sailor, and Jack was positive that the old bos’n was trying to break him. When the seasickness never set in, the salty dog upped the ante and had Jack running the foul muck buckets from the bilge and emptying them to the sea. It was horrible, disgusting work. The only thing worse was being suspended over the side to wash off the streaks of human filth that accumulated and then adding hot pitch to the hull where it needed it. Jack did it all without complaint, working faster and more efficiently with each job he was given, becoming clever enough that he could anticipate what the bos’n would have him do next, and he would go ahead and complete that task before he was asked. It was in this light that the cold gruffness he had become accustomed to melted into admiration. Before long, the bos’n had the boy taking on heavier duties with the other men. Through it all Jack felt the same as that night’s sail from Penzance from a lifetime ago; the ocean was like a long-lost friend.

  The tasks of a sailor were not exactly mentally trying, and Jack soon realized that towing a line or setting rigging was more a matter of brawn. Muscles he didn’t even know he possessed had begun to ache and burn from the efforts, but as the motions became repetitive even those pains faded. He was smart and eager to pick up the trade, often staying on deck when he wasn’t on watch just to learn from anyone that would teach him. Lieutenant Benning was right; sailors did love a good story. He found that sharing a story or poem or even asking riddles in exchange for any tips and tricks made him less of a pest. All too soon, the crew began to teach him what they knew about sailing, just to hear another one of Master Jack’s tales. By the time they reached the Bahamas he had mastered just about every knot in existence, and he knew every inch of the Faversham from bow to stern. He had earned his place as a valued member of the crew and was able assist any position if needed.

  The day after they set off from Fort Nassau, Lieutenant Benning approached Jack and changed everything. “Jack, you have taken to the seas faster than any man that has braved them, and to be perfectly honest you are better educated than most of the midshipman. I spoke to the captain and he agrees, it would be a waste to squander noble talents on the bilge.”

  “Sir?” Jack was flattered but confused.

  “I thought you were smarter than the midshipman.” Lieutenant Benning smiled as he straightened to his full height and began to speak formally. “Today your life as a ‘swab’ is over. It is requested that you join the other midshipman in their lessons.”

  Jack was floored. “But, Sir, I have only been a sailor for less than a handful of months. I have neither the experience nor the money to fill a commission—”

  “Pish, posh, Mr. Peters. You know this ship better than all but the captain, and I would wager you could even give him a run for his money. Besides, this is not really so much of a request as it is an order. Do you understand?”

  Jack snapped to. “Aye, aye, Lieutenant, I understand.”

  “There’s a good chap! See that you put in your best efforts; we are expecting great things from you.” With that, Lieutenant Benning turned and climbed the steps to the helm.

  Jack stood, stunned, when out of nowhere he was swarmed by the bos’n and a few other of his mates, all of them taking turns slapping him on the back. “You’s done a right fine job, Mr. Peters, an’ I didn’t mind telling the cap’n so meself.”

  “Do us proud, but don’t be forgetti’n where’s you came from, eh?”

  “Mr. Peters! I suggest you quit fraternizing and lay below for your lessons!” Lieutenant Benning shouted, a smile returning to his face. With a salute, Jack scurried down the ladder to the deck below as the Lieutenant’s voice continued to bark out, “You all best quit your lollygagging and get back to work before Captain Johnson catches you on your laurels!”

  Jack came to a stop outside the small room used for the midshipman’s lessons and took a deep breath. He hadn’t had a lot of interaction with the midshipmen since he had been on board. They were young boys of noble birth who had purchased rank for a career in the Royal Navy. Often referred to as ‘the brats’ by most of the crew, when no one of importance was listening. The air below deck was a constant musty, humid and it did nothing to ease his anxiety as he rapped his knuckles on the door. Seconds later it was pulled open by a squat man with flaming red hair cropped short, spectacles halfway down the bridge of his freckled nose. “Yes, what is it?”

  The ship’s surgeon, Mr. Wells, was a stern man and someone that Jack never wanted to cross, so he stumbled over his words at his abruptness. “It was request… er… I was or… ordered by the captain to ummm… begin lessons—”

  “Ah, Mr. Peters is it!” Mr. Well’s demeanor shifted immediately as he removed his glasses. “The captain mentioned I would be gaining a new student. Well come in, come in! Along with being the ship’s surgeon, I am also the schoolmaster of sorts. Lads,” he turned to the four boys sitting on a bench, “this is Mr. Peters. He may not be of as noble a birth as you lot, but I expect him to be treated with the courtesy that you show each other. Do we understand?”

  “Yes, Sir,” all four boys intoned in unison.

  “Splendid!” Mr. Wells turned with a smile.

  Jack could see on the midshipmen’s faces that they had no intention of following through with that order. Chewing his cheek, he took just a second to size up the boys. He had been in many a street brawl, and he was sure that if he had to, he could take on the whole lot. In wide strides, he spun himself about and took a seat right in the middle of the bench. Like Moses before the Red Sea, he forced two of the boys to part ways. At seventeen, he had a good foot and a half as well as fifty pounds on his fourteen-year-old counterparts.

  Not that the boys didn’t try to make him look like the fool, but as time passed it was obvious that Master Jack was quick of wit. With a mind like a trap, Jack quickly accelerated to the front of his class, casting a cloak of envy over the other boys. The ship’s schoolmaster had found a new favorite, and so four pairs of covetous eyes shot daggers at him wherever he was on board.

  ***

  “Mr. Peters!” Benning called up to the crow’s nest again, “You are relieved, Sir!”

  Jack still hesitated to respond. He had been on the night watch for a week to learn the stars for his navigation assignments. The morning sun had just crested the horizon, casting a golden sprawl of heavenly rays across the crystal-blue eastern sky, a soft wind playing with his dark hair. “Just a moment, Sir,” Jack mumbled. He wanted to be sure before he called alarm. Steadying his right arm with his left, he held the weathered brass spyglass steady.

  “MR. PETERS!” Benning bellowed. “You are relieved, SIR!”

  “Sails ho!” Jack yelled back. He was positive. As their course led them due south he hadn’t been sure at first, and he fought to keep the blinding sun from his vision. But there it was in a south-easterly course, the mast of a vessel, its sails taught and white.

  “Are you sure?” Benning, still a bit perturbed, called back.

  “Aye, Sir. There are sails on the horizon, and we are gaining, or they are sailing for us!” Jack yelled back as he started down the rigging, spyglass slung over his shoulder.

  ‘Boom.’ The sound of a cannon in the distance was almost mute against the morning spray.

  “That’s cannon fire.” Benning rushed to the starboard side. In the far distance, he was almost sure he could see the white of splashing volleys in the water.

  ‘Boom.’ A second volley removed all doubt.

  Lieutenant
Benning grabbed another midshipman as the faint popping of gunfire sounded in the distance. “Mr. Gregory, rouse the captain!” Turning to the helm, he yelled out, “Make true the sails, set a course south south-easterly! Mr. Peters, if you would, Sir, at the helm to guide us. I need a relief on the crow’s nest! Mr. Peters, hand him that glass before you go running off!”

  The entirety of the deck sprang to life, sailors scurrying about like ants on a hill. ‘Boom, Boom, BOOM!’ The cannon fire grew with intensity. Instead of just a vague sound, each report was increasingly separated and audible.

  “What is all the hubbub, Lieutenant Benning?” the Captain barked as his door flung open.

  “Captain, there are sails on the horizon, and gunfire, Sir.” Benning saluted.

  “I need a glass,” he demanded as he headed topside near the helm, still adjusting his belt, his ‘man’ behind him ready to fling his decorated coat over his shoulders. “Who spotted the sails?”

  “It was Mr. Peters, Sir,” the Bos’n answered, spyglass in hand.

  “Hurmph,” Captain Johnson intoned as he finished tightening his belt and saber. As the sounds of battle expanded around them, the men milled about on the deck while the Faversham groaned under full sail, each one keeping a weathered eye on the distant white linen and masts. As the minutes passed, the anxiety on deck had built to a fever pitch when all of a sudden, the captain turned to Benning. “It’s square rigged. Make ready the guns.”

  “Make ready the guns!” Benning yelled out. Turning to Jack, his eyes glowing with excitement, he ordered, “Mr. Peters, marshal the lads and get the muskets topside. Make sure Lieutenant Durphy readies his marines.”

  Jack smiled and saluted with excitement, then started below deck. His heart nearly skipped a beat as he overheard the captain tell Mr. Howard, “There are two vessels. But I can’t tell who is the aggressor. Blasted, make silent the deck!”

  “All quiet on deck!” Bos’n Howard issued the order and quickly the crew responded as the ship grew still.