by Edward Cline
Captain John Ramshaw met Hugh as he stepped on deck off the gang-board. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Kenrick,” he said, shaking his guest passenger’s hand.
“Thank you, sir.”
“We will get under way shortly, sir.” Ramshaw studied Hugh for a moment, trying to reconcile his passenger with what little Garnet Kenrick had told him in Benjamin Worley’s office at Lion Key. He said, “I usually tell my passengers to go below to their quarters, to be out of the crew’s way. You may stay here, if you wish. Your berth is ready. It was an officer’s berth that we had been using for extra space, but it has been cleaned out and made comfortable. I hope you find it acceptable.” Ramshaw reached into his coat and handed Hugh a key. “Be sure to lock its gate when you leave the berth, or when you sleep. My crew is honest, but I won’t vouch for the other passengers or for the limpets.”
“Limpets, sir?”
“Never heard the term at Lion Key?” Ramshaw chuckled. “That’s our name for bureaucrats, and customs officials, and other two-legged albatrosses.”
Hugh smiled. “I expect to enlarge my vocabulary on this voyage, under your tutelage, sir.”
“Hmmm…a vocabulary, which, if what your father the Baron has told me about you is true, should match your own reputation.”
“I am certain that he exaggerated, sir.”
“We shall see,” said Ramshaw. “Well, over there, sir,” he said, nodding to some shrouds. “Take a last look at your family, and let them have a last look at you.”
Ten minutes later the Weymouth postmaster and two clerks arrived to deliver mail Ramshaw was taking to Philadelphia. Twenty minutes later the port pilot, his job done, climbed down the rope ladder on the side to his gig and pushed off. The Sparrowhawk crept out to sea on a mild breeze, bound for Falmouth, and then Plymouth, the great naval base on the south coast of Cornwall.
Hugh watched from the main deck until the town became an indistinct blur, then disappeared as the Sparrowhawk rounded the Isle of Portland, whose quarries were the source of the stone that was going into the construction of Blackfriars Bridge in London, and had gone into so many great houses in England, including the spacious place he had once called home.
Epilogue: The Voyage
HIS BERTH WAS MORE A CELL THAN WAS HIS BILLET IN THE TOWER OF London. There was a bunk with some blankets and drawers below it, a table, a chair, and a small bureau, all crammed together in a space little more than five feet by five, between the iron bars and the side of the ship. A lantern swung from a beam over the table, on which sat a single tin candleholder. Stashed in a corner were his valises and two trunks. The remainder of his luggage was in the hold. Next to his berth was that of Mr. Iverson, the surgeon, and across the way those of Mr. Haynie, the bursar, and Mr. Dietz, the ship’s master, Ramshaw’s second-in-command. At the end of the passage were Ramshaw’s cabin and the companionway stairs leading to the deck above.
The other passengers’ berths consisted of hammocks strung from overhead beams, with a common table for meals. Some of the wives had rigged partitioning sheets to separate their and their husbands’ berths from the others for privacy.
Except for the initial introductions to the other passengers, and occasional conversations with them, Hugh did not associate with them. He supped more often with Ramshaw and his officers than he did with the other passengers, when the captain was receptive to company; at other times, he was served his meals in his berth by the cook’s mate. He kept to himself, reading, or writing in the journal he bought in Weymouth, or going above to watch the crew at work, or to think. Most of the crew and all of the passengers knew who he was, but not why he was on board. His solitary demeanor whetted their curiosity, but did not embolden it to discreet enquiry. When he wished to be alone, he was left alone.
On the first night out of Weymouth, Ramshaw had him to supper in the cabin. Replying to the captain’s tactful queries, Hugh told him why he was going to the colonies.
“Well, imagine that!” said Ramshaw. “Thumbing one’s nose at the Crown! And over a band of freethinkers! I mean nothing darkish, sir, but you are a curiosity. So, it is not merely a clash of temperaments between you and your uncle?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, I must assure you that you are always welcome at my table—but, I don’t advise that you regale the crew or passengers with your tale. Someone may not appreciate the valor, or the tragedy.”
“I had not intended to, sir.”
Ramshaw rose and renewed their glasses with Montrachet wine. “I like your father, sir, and not merely for the depth of his purse. Seems to be a hard-dealing man with a greater knowledge of my business than I would credit any, well, peer with having. I could do more business with him, if he were of a mind.”
“He is not a peer, and won’t be until my uncle expires.” Hugh paused. “I will write him of your interest, once I am settled in Philadelphia.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Hugh had glanced at Ramshaw’s bookcase. He did not see Hyperborea among the titles. He inquired about it.
“Oh, that? I have a house in Norfolk, sir, and I rotate my library. The sea air, you know, can be so cruel on books. Why do you ask?”
“It is a particular favorite of mine. I do not meet many men who have read it, or display it.”
“I see.” Ramshaw studied his guest for a moment. “What are your views on smuggling, Mr. Kenrick?”
Hugh shrugged. “It is an activity that would not be necessary if there were no taxes on imports, or on manufactures that go out from a country. I suppose that someday, when I am Earl of Danvers and am able to sit in Lords, I shall oppose every tax bill that comes up from the Commons, and argue and vote for the repeal of existing ones.”
“Why so thorough a dislike, sir?”
“For justice, and the eradication of limpets.”
“I see,” repeated Ramshaw. He spent some time lighting a pipe, then said, “I knew the author, slightly, of your particular favorite.”
Hugh’s jaw dropped. “You knew Romney Marsh?”
“Yes. That was one of his many names.”
Hugh leaned forward eagerly. “He was a criminal, was he not?”
Ramshaw shook his head. “No. He was a smuggler. Knew most of the Skelly gang, I did—but you’re not to let that go about.”
Hugh was beside himself with joy. “I envy you, sir!” He asked Ramshaw for more details.
Ramshaw obliged, ending with, “The only survivor was Jack. Jack Frake. He was transported to Virginia on this very ship. Sat where you’re sitting now. Found him in the Falmouth jail, and bought his indenture, and sold him for a penny to a planter in Queen Anne. Now he’s a planter himself. Saved his master’s life during the Braddock disaster, in Pennsylvania, though Virginia still claims that whole area. Massie—John Massie—he was a captain of a company of militia, who lost two sons there. Well, the last I heard, Jack’s indenture was nearly up, and he was to marry Captain Massie’s daughter, Jane. He’s not done badly as a transported convict. I might call on him after I put up at Yorktown.” Ramshaw grinned broadly. “Jack, you see, helped Marsh to copy out that book, when he was with the gang. I thought you might treasure that little item.”
“I do,” said Hugh. “That book is among several others I set aside to read on this voyage. Thank you.” He smiled at the captain. “Here is to your health, sir, and to smugglers, and to transported felons of the more valorous suasion.”
Ramshaw laughed, and touched his glass to his guest’s. “To your health, sir!”
* * *
When the Sparrowhawk reached Plymouth, Ramshaw had only enough time to attend a conference of merchantmen’s captains, called by the naval authorities, to receive instructions on formations, signals, and policies, and then be rowed back to his vessel to prepare to rendezvous two miles out to join the convoy. There were twenty-one merchantmen in it, in addition to two navy transports carrying troops and supplies to Massachusetts. The convoy was escorted by three ships of the line: two frigate
s of forty guns each, the Helios and the Jason, and a third-rate frigate of seventy-four guns, the Zeus. The Helios led the way, the Jason took a position in the middle of the procession, while the Zeus brought up the rear.
Ramshaw and the other captains were especially pleased with the presence of the Zeus; no single privateer would think of tackling her or any vessel she protected, not unless it was working with other privateers or accompanied by a French man-of-war of similar size. Allowing for troublesome winds and sea conditions, the convoy was to keep in a two-column formation, the smaller vessels in front behind the Helios, the larger vessels following in order of size. No privateer or enemy vessel would try to capture a merchantman if its captain knew that a line of larger, armed ships would soon bear down on it; fighting a merchantman and taking it as a prize was too risky and time-consuming an operation. Any merchantman that strayed more than a mile from the convoy, regardless of sea conditions or other circumstances, would not be defended or assisted by the frigates, if it was attacked. This was made clear by the commander of the convoy, Post-Captain Timothy Farbrace. The convoy would break up once the mainland was sighted, and the merchantmen would be free to go their separate ways.
Ramshaw brought back on board with him copies of the orders and rules of the convoy, and also a list of all the vessels in it. Among the lighter ships was the Charon, a brig-sized merchantman, captained by Charles Musto. She carried more than one hundred men, women, and children. Three-quarters of these were redemptioners, or “indenteds”; the rest were convicts of both sexes and a variety of ages, including an eleven-year-old girl sentenced for stealing a pair of ladies’ hose, and a sixty-two-year-old man sentenced for hawking untaxed port in Dover.
Among the frigate-sized vessels was the Manx, owned by the Royal African Company, which carried three hundred slaves. This vessel arrived from Bristol, and had been anchored at Plymouth for over a month, waiting for a convoy to assemble. There had been four hundred slaves, but every day several of them died of disease, starvation, or heat prostration, and her captain was ordered by authorities on shore to sail five miles out to sea to dispose of the bodies, so that none would wash up on the tide anywhere near the town.
There was no reason for Ramshaw to share this information with any of the passengers, and so Hugh did not learn of the Charon until one month into the voyage.
* * *
The rigors of the sea voyage were such that Hugh was temporarily cured of the melancholy of leaving far behind everyone and everything he ever cared for; his energies were channeled into surviving the boredom, monotony, and claustrophobia. He soon learned that, in such unrelenting close quarters, a balance must be struck between sociability and solitude; that is, to know when to seek the company of others, and when to leave them alone. He absorbed this lesson quickly, and it made the experience tolerable. Aiding him was his status as an aristocrat; no one but Ramshaw and his officers spoke to him, unless spoken to by him. He allowed no one else to become familiar with him. For the first time in his life, Hugh was pleased with the deference paid his rank. It spared him the annoyance of contrived small talk with tiresome people.
The voyage was blessed with fair winds and little in the way of rough seas. “This very likely will be the last pleasant crossing of the year,” Ramshaw remarked to him one day on the main deck. “In the fall, the ocean prepares to make itself an obstructive harridan.” The convoy managed to retain its formation. Sails had been sighted on the horizon; whether they belonged to friendly or hostile ships, no one could say, for they were not seen again. The Sparrowhawk occupied a place near the rear, two vessels away from the formidable Zeus. Even so, Ramshaw ordered battle drills twice a week. Hugh was astounded with the efficiency of the crew and with how quickly the ship could be made battle-ready.
“Can you handle a musket, sir?” the captain inquired during one of the drills.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You will be given one, if the necessity arises.” Ramshaw pointed to a swivel gun on the quarterdeck above them. “See that, Mr. Kenrick? Jack Frake helped crew that very gun. He saved this ship when we were assaulted by a French privateer. Blew the captain’s head off with it.”
In late September, a brief easterly squall struck the convoy, scattering the ships widely in a torrential rain and with winds that tried to drive them back to England. It was a dangerous predicament. The thick gray curtain of rain reduced visibility to a few score yards on any side of the Sparrowhawk, which could ram the vessel ahead of her, or be rammed by it or the one behind. The squall moved on, and just as suddenly, the sea was calm and the skies blue.
The Zeus signaled her charges to reform, then flew special flags to the Jason to count the ships, a message that was in turn relayed to the Helios, once she was back in signaling range. Hours later, a lieutenant reported to the convoy commander that two merchantmen were casualties of the squall: the Manx, whose upturned keel could be seen bobbing in the water over a mile north of theJason, with survivors clinging to her; and a sloop, George’s Pleasure, a mile south of the Helios, listing on her larboard side with damaged masts. The Charon, too, was driven far away from the convoy. Though she appeared undamaged and was in a position to assist George’s Pleasure, the Helios reported that the Charon seemed inclined neither to give aid to the sloop nor to rejoin the formation with any haste, though she was paralleling the convoy and edging back in its direction. The convoy commander instructed his lieutenant to repeat the formation order, and to add the caution that any vessel breaking formation to aid one of the disabled ships or rescue its crew would do so at its own risk.
Ramshaw was on deck, observing the progress of the crew as it repaired some minor tears in the spanker and staysail. The bursar, a decommissioned midshipman from the last war, was able to read the Zeus’s signals. He handed the captain a transcription of the communications to the other warships. “The Manx and George’s Pleasure?” remarked Ramshaw. “Caught with their topsails down, I’ll wager.” He sighed. “Well, at least those black devils on the Manx have been spared a worse death. Heard they were being taken to the Carolinas to work rice.” He paused, then strode across the deck to larboard and raised his spyglass. “There’s George,” he said, “and that must be the Charon. Yes, that’s her. Can just make out her name.”
“What an odd name,” said the bursar.
“It was once the Pelican,” said Ramshaw. “But Musto takes so many souls to the colonies that he renamed her after the fellow who rows the dead across the Styx to Hades—for a fee, of course. Queer sense of humor, I’d say.”
“Well,” chuckled the bursar, “at least he’s read a book or two.”
“What name did you say?”
Ramshaw and the bursar turned to the questioner. Hugh stood there. After the squall passed, he had reappeared on deck. He had removed his frock coat and waistcoat, and offered to help clean up the deck. Ramshaw had refused him the request. “Thank you for the interest, sir, and no offense intended, but you wouldn’t know where to put things.” Now he answered, “The Charon.”
“Where?”
Ramshaw handed him the spyglass and pointed.
Hugh raised the glass and after a moment found the vessel. He gave the glass back to Ramshaw, who noted the look of joy on his passenger’s face.
“Why do you ask, sir?” asked the captain.
“My three friends are on her.” Hugh’s face brightened a little. “Think of it! Four Pippins have been banished to… Hyperborea!”
“How do you know they are on her?”
“Their attorney wrote me that their indentures were purchased by a Captain Musto, of the Charon, almost a month before you came to Weymouth.”
Ramshaw grinned ironically. “Well, they had better be praying that Musto falls back into line with this convoy, sir, else the Charon may be picked off by a privateer and towed to the Barbary. The folks in that part of the world never tire of slaves. There would be no working off their indentures then.”
* * *
; An hour later the lookout shouted down, “Sails ahoy! To the southwest, bearing down on a stray!”
Ramshaw rushed up the steps of the quarterdeck and raised his glass. George’s Pleasure had been left far behind. Through the glass he could see, a little less than a mile to the southwest, two sets of sails, both belonging to two-masted brig-sized ships. One flew the red ensign, the other the gold and white of France, whose yellow border and fleurs-de-lis glinted occasionally in the sunlight.
“Why such predators should sail under so pretty a flag is something I will never understand,” Ramshaw said to himself. To his ship’s master, he said, “Ready the larboard guns, Mr. Dietz, but don’t load just yet.”
A cabin boy soon appeared with a drum and beat the alert. The crew of the Sparrowhawk jumped to life and the deck swarmed with men who cleared the deck for action and prepared the guns to be loaded.
Hugh had remained on deck to watch the Charon. Now he rushed below to his berth and fetched the long-glass Roger Tallmadge had given him. He joined Ramshaw and the others on the quarterdeck to be out of the way of the gun crews. Through his glass he could see the French privateer close in on the English brig.
The convoy was sailing in a southwestern direction, bringing the vessels in the rear of it closer to the tableau. The gun crews on the larboard side stood braced to act the moment Ramshaw gave the word. All the other passengers had gathered in mid-deck to watch what was about to happen.