by D P Prouty
The man said, “Sir, I’m sorry for discharging my pistol, but that damned cat needs to go!” The captain looked at him in amazement. The sailor continued, “You see, sir, I was smoking my pipe over yonder, trying to settle my thoughts you see. When that damn Green Gato jumped up on the gunwale in front of me and slapped my pipe out of my mouth! It happened so quickly that I pulled my pistol and impulsively took a shot at him.”
Mr. Edwards snarled, “You did something to him!”
The man retorted, “My pipe tumbled into the water, that blasted cat is a menace.”
Freeman hushed them both as the captain paused and absorbed what was said. Then without saying a word, the captain began to laugh, slowly at first, but then louder. The laughter was contagious, and soon the entire crew was laughing uncontrollably, all except the irritated sailor and Mr. Edwards, who didn’t enjoy the humor of the moment. The laughter set our minds at ease and the tenseness seemed to melt away if only for a time.
As Captain Murray most assuredly pondered splitting the three remaining ships in order to prevent a decisive engagement by the two French warships, they suddenly tacked up their sails and turned to port enabling us to escape. They had captured the Retaliation, but for some strange reason, did not complete the victory.
That night, my nightmare returned. I stood on the deck holding tight to the railing as rain poured out of the sky and waves pummeled our bow. I heard men in the water screaming for help and I ran to the side to see a man in the water. As the ship passed by him, I reached down into the water and grabbed him by the arm but I was unable to pull him aboard. Our arms clasped together, his fingernails suddenly became claws and ripped at my arm as he slid away into the sea, leaving my arm with an open wound. I grimaced in pain and looked at my arm, then a lightning flash lit up the night sky and I saw that my arm was full of worms slithering about inside my body. Another flash of lightning and someone grabbed my shoulder. Suddenly, I was in my hammock with Frank holding a lantern near my face. “You all right, Clyde? I heard you groaning.”
“I’m all right, Frank, just had a bad dream is all,” I said. It was early morning and another fog had set in over the ship as we quietly sailed ever closer to home. Frank had lit a lantern to see below decks as men were making their way topside. I told Frank about my dream and the new part about the worms, he had no answers, but I appreciated him listening all the same.
15
Phantom in the Mist
A couple of weeks had passed since the Retaliation was captured. It felt strange sailing without her, like trying to swim with one arm. It was early in the morning and another thick November fog rolled in and covered the sea with a blanket of mist. As the watch changed, the men began to eat breakfast as the sun struggled to rise, giving off an eerie glow through the haze. Suddenly, Mr. McCall began to ring the bell frantically and pointing portside. Confused, the crew looked, as did I, at the shadow appearing as a ghostly figure in the fog not more than a ship’s-length away. It gradually took on the ominous shape of a vessel at close range! Mr. Freeman ran the length of the ship from the quarterdeck to the bow yelling for all to get to action stations, he shouted, “Get to the guns, boys, or we’re all dead!” The vessel erupted with cannon fire as it gave us a broadside just as the men got to their stations. The blast lit up the ship for a moment of intense brightness. I was thrown down, blinded by the flash and deaf from the penetrating noise. I was gasping for air as it seemed the blast sucked all the air out of my lungs. Dizzy, I strived to keep my wits as my sight returned after seeing dots flickering about. I took some cotton out of my pocket and jammed them in my ears as I lay on the deck. I could see the marines gallantly firing their muskets as the gun crews were loading their weapons. The smoke about the ship was thick, and air was heavy with the smell of gunpowder, leaving an awful bitter taste in my mouth as I drew it in. I could hear the faint sound of men in agony as I got up from the deck and started to run to seek shelter against the gunwale, but something was tugging at me, as if pulling me back to the deck. I looked at my leg which was bleeding profusely from my thigh. I didn’t feel anything but a slight pinch, but I began to experience a strong sense of panic as I thought maybe I’d bleed until unconscious, or worse, Bat would cut my leg off! I reached down to the wound, through the blood I felt something sticking out of my thigh. Another sailor grabbed my scarf and pulled the object from my leg, then tied the scarf around my thigh. Before I could say a word he was gone. It must have been a piece of wood from the ship.
The smell of blood filled the air. That strong smell of iron mixed with sweat made me nauseous as I lay on the deck. Another blast rocked the ship. This time, it was our own cannons. I felt someone grab my arm and pull me to the side of the gunwale. I looked up and there was Mr. Edwards roaring at me, “Get me some powder!” I hesitated a moment. “Now, boy! You can bleed later, we need to get this cannon fired!” What was he doing by the cannon? Where was the gunner? He snapped at me, “I said move it, boy, now! I wasn’t always a cook, you know.” I limped over and retrieved the gunpowder as he swabbed the cannon, and then loaded the powder and ball. He fired off the cannon just as another broadside from the corsair shook the vessel. The fire ripped into the foresail and jibs, the rigging breaking loose and the top square sail flapping wildly from the mainmast. Boarders from the corsair were sure to be preparing for an attack and I felt an overwhelming dread that this would be the end as I cower down while men around me continued to fight. I grasped at Simon hanging on my neck and held the Celtic knot as hard as I could, hoping that it would somehow stop the attack.
Another blast resounded as I thought they must be trying to sink us. I looked up at the sails floating loosely in the wind, but there was no further damage, did they miss? Gunfire erupted from the enemy vessel, but strangely we took no fire. Then the men began to cheer, I got up enough nerve to look over the railing and saw something on the far side of the corsair. The corsair tacked up and turned hard to starboard, vanishing into the fog. In its place I saw a monster cutting through the fog, I must be dreaming, I thought. I looked again as the smoke and fog began to clear and I saw that it was a ship, a mystery ship that saved us from certain doom. It couldn’t be the Retaliation, she was already captured. It had black sails! What kind of ship has black sails? I had heard that only pirates had black sails in order to get close to their prey during darkness. But why would a pirate save us?
Bat and his loblolly boys began treating the wounded even before the firing had stopped. They had fired up the irons and tar to seal wounds and thrown sand on the deck to soak up some of the blood so they wouldn’t slip. One of the loblolly boys looked at my thigh and signaled for assistance. A couple of men grabbed me and held me down as the loblolly boy tore at my pants near the wound. He took some water and washed it out and then took the iron and struck the wound. The searing pain penetrated my entire body. I couldn’t help but scream out and begin to cry, my leg felt like it was on fire and I could do nothing but endure it. When the men let loose of me I felt dizzy and didn’t want to move as to agitate the wound further. The bleeding had stopped and the men quickly left me to help others in need. Utterly exhausted and shaking, I tried to focus on something else to isolate my mind from the pain. I focused on the loblolly boys as they scampered about the deck laboring over the wounded when I saw Charlie lying on the deck with Bat by his side. I hadn’t even noticed that he had been hurt. He too was under the iron but was not moving.
I felt ashamed for my conduct during the battle and for crying in front of the crew. My insecurity amplified as I realized I had urinated myself when they cauterized the wound, I just wanted to vanish.
Captain Campbell was conversing with the anonymous ship, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying, my ears were still ringing from the cannon fire and the pain from my leg was making it hard to concentrate on anything. I lay on my back and focused on the sails above me. A loblolly boy returned and bandaged my wound. Every little movement sent a wave of sharp pain. When he was done,
I did not want to move a single muscle.
The fog had burned off and the morning air was crisp. I could see a gull flying about the mast and a broken yard with a sail flapping against the blue sky. I closed my eyes for what seemed to be just a few seconds, but I opened them to find I was below deck. Mr. Duffy was sitting on a stool by the lantern and as the ship rocked back and forth, his shadow blacked out the light so the light was on then off again constantly like the rhythm of a clock. Confused, I first thought that maybe it had all been a nightmare, but the soreness of my leg assured me it wasn’t. I looked at him and he said, “Well, it’s good that you’re awake, how do you feel?”
My head was pounding with a headache and my leg was throbbing, but not on fire like before. “What time is it?” I asked.
Mr. Duffy said, “It’s night, you slept most of the day, are you hungry?”
“No but I am thirsty. How did I get here?” I replied. “Mr. Edwards carried you down here,” he said as he poured a cup of water and put it in my hand. I drank the cup and started to get up, but he gently pushed me back down and told me just to rest. I asked him how bad was the damage and he said, “Rather bad, lad, it was a dreadful day.” “You said Mr. Edwards carried me down here?” I asked. “Yes, he wouldn’t let anyone touch you. He stayed with you all day until he saw you coming around. He went to make you something to eat.”
Mr. Duffy got up as Mr. Edwards approached me through the darkness. He said something to him as he left, but all I heard was a whisper. Mr. Edwards approached and said softly, “How ye making out, lad?” I told him that I felt weak but thankful I still had my leg. He gave me a bowl of stew and expressed that I had to eat to get well. He cooked stew after that fierce attack? He must have the constitution of a lion, I thought. I was not hungry, but I ate the stew he made to appease him and he kindly padded me on the head after I finished the bowl and he left. I had never seen him so placid—I didn’t know how to respond.
I feel asleep, but sometime during the night I awoke, hearing a faint whimper. I couldn’t see who it was in the darkness and asked if they were all right. Frank came into the light rubbing his eyes. I asked him if he was injured and he said he wasn’t. He then explained that he couldn’t sleep and sat down on the deck instead of the hammock hoping he might sleep with the rocking of the ship. He said, “I kept seeing Mr. McCall in my sleep.” I didn’t understand what he was saying and he said, “You don’t know?”
I replied, “Know what?”
“McCall’s dead,” he paused trying to hold his emotions in check, “He died near me, it was horrible!” He explained that he was adjacent to Mr. McCall as he rang the bell and when the phantom ship fired, a projectile hit Mr. McCall in the throat. He asserted, “He looked at me in disbelief and blood started squirting from his neck as he grabbed me by my shirt collar. He was trying to say something but nothing came out. He fell to his knees on the deck. I couldn’t hear anything because of the ringing in my ears from the cannon fire. I put my hand on his throat to try and stop the flow, but there was too much blood.” Frank started to whimper again. “It was awful, Clyde, just awful. He lay down on the deck and died right there in front of me. He was just a few years older than we are.”
I felt a great sadness overcome me, but resisted the temptation to show sorrow since I wanted to console Frank. I asked if the ship was all right and he said we sustained damage to the foremast, but the crew repaired enough sails to get us going. He had heard Lieutenant Potts say that we were sailing alongside the Cetus, bound for a place to conduct repairs to the ship.
“Cetus? That’s Captain Daquin’s ship,” I said.
“Who?” he replied.
I asserted, “Captain Daquin. You remember, I told you about him—the Negro captain I saw at Eustatius.” He asked me why the Cetus crew would do such a thing and I shook my head. I too wondered why. It made no sense; we had no alliance with his country. I asked him if anyone else was injured and he said there were, but he did not know how many—several had died and many more were injured. I asked him about Charlie and he said that he was injured in the shoulder and Bat bandaged him up. He was under his care with the other wounded and I too should be, but Mr. Edwards would not allow it and brought me here.
“Frank, do you believe in luck? I mean, do you think there is something that can protect you somehow?” I exclaimed. Frank looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. I told him that as soon as I clasped onto Simon’s bone and wished that the fighting would stop with all my might—it did. He shook his head and said, “You think the spirit of your horse saved you?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “But maybe something
did.”
Then Frank got angry and cried, “Well it didn’t do much for McCall or even Charlie—and look at you, you got it in the leg!” Then he stood up and went up on deck. I shouldn’t have brought it up, not now anyway. Mr. Edwards came down and asked about my leg. I told him that it was better, but was aching, he gave me some rum to deaden the pain and I fell back asleep.
In the morning Mr. Edwards returned and told me to get some air on deck if I was able. I got up and followed him up to the deck, shuffling right along behind him. I remembered when he caught Frank mimicking his shuffle— this time however was no mimic. That seemed so long ago. Every step was followed by a sharp pain emanating from the wound. I said, “Now I limp like you do. Do you think I will always limp now?” I asked.
“No, you’ll heal, that’s nothing like mine.”
“How did you get your leg injured, Mr. Edwards?” I asked.
He didn’t even turn, he just uttered that it wasn’t important. I shuffled over to Mr. Duffy on the deck as Mr. Edwards continued on to tend to the cooking.
Mr. Duffy said of him, “He really likes you, Clyde—I’ve never seen him act this way with anyone.” He looked at Mr. Edwards working over his pots and then said, “I think maybe he sees himself in you.”
“Why did Mr. Freeman call him Sally?” I asked.
He looked down at me and gave a snicker, “That’s his name—Salvatore. I think his mother was Italian, I’m not sure. But don’t call him Sally—only Freeman and I can get away with that. You call him Edwards or Mr. Edwards, but never Sally lest you get on his bad side again.”
From the deck I could see the damage clearly. As Frank had said, the foremast was broken about halfway up just above the gaff and the crew had patched some sails together.
I could see the Cetus sailing off to our starboard. On the bow of the Cetus was a large dragon head. The monster I thought I saw was not a dream, it was the figurehead of the Cetus. I hobbled over to the captain who was on the quarterdeck talking with Bat. When I approached, I saw the captain manage to crack a slight smile and exclaim, “Good to see you up and about, lad, how’s that leg of yours?”
“All right, sir, I’ll manage,” I replied.
Bat looked tired, dark circles surrounded his eyes on and expressionless face. “As I was saying, sir, of the fifteen wounded, I have two that are critical, I’ll do my best to keep them alive but we will need to get them somewhere ashore soon,” Bat said in a weary voice.
The captain acknowledged the doctor and Bat took his leave. Lieutenant Gross approached the captain and provided him a detailed status of repairs. He told him what repairs the men had completed and what still remained to do. Captain Campbell raised his eyes to the sails and told him, “This is the test, Will, now we see if the crew we trained is overcome by circumstance or becomes stronger and more determined.”
16
St. Gabriele
The lookout reported seeing land straight away as we sailed alongside the Cetus. Getting closer, I could see it was a small island with a high peak in the center. The captain asked Lieutenant Potts to pull the chart and tell him what island we were approaching. He did so and remarked that it was the island of St. Gabriele, about forty or fifty miles south of Puerto Rico. The island was surrounded by a coral reef evident by the large waves crashing on the shallow approach to the i
sland. Lieutenant Potts stated, “Sir, this island has no known harbor.”
“Just follow the Cetus, Lieutenant Potts, I’m sure Captain Daquin knows where he is going,” the captain replied.
The crew anxiously watched from the deck as we made our way around to a small inlet. The Cetus sailed into the opening and disappeared around a large green cliff. We followed on the same path through the reef and discovered it opened into a cove, protected by land on three sides, not clearly visible from the sea. A village of about twenty dwellings rested next to the beach which had a single pier jutting out into the lagoon. The thin strip of beach was outlined by lush green vegetation leading to the sharp rise of mountains on either side of the small village. Plenty of people bustled about the dock as we anchored in the cove. The Cetus launched their ship’s boat and they rowed into the dock.