Trident Read online

  Scolfes offered a covered, paved walkway lit up by oil lamps. The inn’s rooms were clean, and the beds comfortable and relatively vermin free. The staff had proven to be courteous, professional, and showed appreciation for any tips that might be given. In short, Scolfes was a very well run place that would match any in Portsmouth. It was home and headquarters for Rear Admiral Rupert Buck as his newly assembled squadron made ready to set sail.

  Thinking of the days to come, Buck felt excited and apprehensive at the same time. The conflict of emotions was due to a message he had received from the port admiral a week ago. His voyage was to be slowed down and hampered by the tedious task of convoy duty. With the ink still wet on his promotion orders to rear admiral, Buck felt it ill advised to complain. After all, had not Lord Anthony’s squadron been saddled with the same type of duty when he last sailed from England? Should he damn the American privateers for raiding England’s commerce or thank them, as otherwise the promotion to flag rank would undoubtedly still be years away.

  It was hard for Buck to realize all that had transpired since he was first lieutenant aboard Drakkar. Vice Admiral Lord Anthony had been the ship’s captain and Gabe a midshipman. Now, Gabe was commanding officer of the sixty-four gun HMS Trident, and Buck’s flag captain. Buck’s seven-ship squadron included three frigates: two thirty-twos and a smaller twenty-eight. The last three were a ship-rigged sloop of war with eighteen guns and two brigs, each carrying sixteen six-pounders.

  Gabe had been discussing the possibility of mounting two carronades on the bow of the ship sloop, arguing that the added firepower of the smashers would more than make up for their short range. Thorn’s captain was warming to the idea after re-reading the article in the Gazette discussing Gabe’s defeat of a larger French squadron that was largely due to the heavier firepower of the carronades.

  Buck was to meet with his captains tonight to discuss the convoy assignments. No doubt the topic would come up again. The captain’s cabin on Trident was not that large. Were it not for the fact that all the ship’s officers, starting with the captain and going down, were making room for the admiral and his staff, it would have seemed grand compared to that of a frigate. Buck had been quick to accept her as his new flagship, but had he done Gabe and his officers a disservice by doing so? That was one of the reasons to have the captains’ meeting at Scolfes. It would not be so crowded. Looking toward the entrance, he spied Gabe. He always had been punctual. Other uniformed personnel filled the dining room. At a time when most young men were either in the Army, Navy, or Marines, a young officer shouldn’t garner much attention. Yet with all the country in an uproar over this dashing young hero, all eyes were on Gabe when he entered. Looking neither left nor right, Gabe made his way straight to the admiral’s table. Droplets of rain ran down the sleeves of his uniform as he shook Buck’s hand.

  “Not a fit night,” Buck volunteered.

  “Nay, but better in here than out in the anchorage.” As if to punctuate Gabe’s words, Captain Lamb, of Stag, entered the room soaked to the bone.

  “You’ll get no argument from that one,” Buck said smiling.

  Soon all the officers of Buck’s new squadron had entered. First they had a social hour, and then got down to business. “You want to know a man, you go aboard his ship” – words Lord James Anthony had passed on to his son, Gil, who had passed them on to Rear Admiral Buck. Buck had visited each of the captains aboard their ships and had not been disappointed.

  Eli Lamb, of HMS Stag 32, was a tall man. He had a ready smile but a quick temper. He was the next senior captain after Gabe but was some years older.

  The other thirty-two gun frigate’s captain was William Peckham. He was short, starting to gray, and looked like a reverend. He was a thick-set man but not fat, a man who had spent time in the revenue service before the war.

  Herschel Chatham was captain of the Brilliant, the smallest of Buck’s three frigates. Chatham was a young captain in an old ship. He had previously commanded one of the other ships now in Buck’s squadron, the Thorn. Chatham was the nephew of Vice Admiral Chatham. Buck had, however, got it from one of the man’s previous captains that he was a good seaman; he’d been very successful against American raiders when under Admiral Howe in North America.

  The Thorn was an eighteen-gun ship-rigged sloop of war. She was much like Gabe’s first command, which had been a captured American brigantine, the SeaWolf. Joseph Taylor was the lieutenant who commanded her. Old for his rank, he’d spent time with the “Honest Johns” until he tired of the India trade. He seemed a likable sort with a vast knowledge of the sea.

  The Fortune and the Zebra were sister ships. They were brigs of the same class, each with sixteen six-pounders. John Jenkins had brought the Zebra back to England as a prize from the colonies with the strongest recommendation for command. With the war escalating, the Lords of the Admiralty followed through with the recommendation. Jenkins had been a master’s mate, passed the lieutenant’s exam and had been the second lieutenant on a frigate. The brig had been British, then taken by the Americans in 1777 and retaken in 1778. Hopefully, she would now serve the king for the remainder of her service.

  Peter Parkinson of the Fortune looked no older than a school age boy. In fact, Buck doubted he even needed to shave. He reminded Buck of Lieutenant Davy. Like Davy, he was proud and brave, maybe too brave. Buck was glad Fortune had a wise old master.

  ***

  HMS Pegasus bobbed like a cork on a fishing line as the wind picked up. Lieutenant George “Jep” Jepson, the ship’s captain, stood as his guest entered the main cabin. Captain Stephen Earl, soon to be Vice Admiral Anthony’s flag captain, was drenched from head to toe. His uniform appeared to be pasted to his skin.

  Unable to hide his smile, Jepson spoke with a snicker, “I see you didn’t get far.”

  “Hell no,” Earl snapped his reply. “We’d no sooner shoved off when the sky opened up and I was soaked clean through.”

  “Ahem…well,” Jepson said, “if you can’t get ashore, I could send Parks to pay your respects or possibly even entertain the young lady until the weather moderates. Of course, you would have to advance him a little. The first lieutenant of such a small ship could hardly be expected to entertain a lady in such a lavish manner as would be expected from a post captain.”

  Chomping on his cigar, Jepson talked out of the side of his mouth, “Should I send for the lieutenant, Captain?”

  “No,” Earl snapped again, and then added, “but do you know where you can go, sir?”

  “Aye,” Jepson replied, “to my bed…but only after we’ve had a wet to warm us up. It’s not a night to be out.”

  Smiling, Earl slung his soaked coat over a chair and accepted the offered brandy. As if in deep thought, Earl stared into the brown liquid. Raising his glass in a toast, he said, “Here’s to what might have been.”

  “Aye,” Jepson said as the glasses clinked together. After refilling the glasses, he spoke again. “We got our sailing orders this evening.”

  Looking over his glass at Jepson, Earl said, “And?”

  “We’re to set sail ahead of the convoy,” Jepson stated. “If weather permits, we can weigh anchor tomorrow if not the following day.”

  “I see,” Earl said. He had thought of sailing aboard the Trident to Barbados but didn’t think it would be fair to Gabe having the old and the new captain on the same ship. He had enjoyed several evenings out with Gabe and Jepson, and even had dined at the home of Gabe’s mother, where Jepson had also been a guest.

  Striking up a friendship with the man, Earl had asked Jepson if he’d mind him taking passage aboard Pegasus. Since then, he’d taken over the first lieutenant’s quarters, refusing Jepson’s offer of his cabin. Parks was young enough he could sleep anywhere without the aches and pains brought on by a cramped hammock or cot. He’d not displace Jep, but Parks was fair game.

  “Not tomorrow,” Earl stated. “Give us a day to say our farewells.”

  “Aye,” Jepson said a
bsently. An extra day would be good. His only thoughts were to whom did Earl wish to bid good-by? Family…or sweetheart? Well, it didn’t matter. Hopefully, by tomorrow the weather would clear.

  After the men bade each other goodnight, water continued to drip from the soggy uniform coat that Earl had left hanging on the back of Jep’s chair. Soon a large puddle had formed. With the motion of the ship riding the swells, the puddle ran towards the bulkhead where Jepson’s cot swung. The first thing he’d feel when he arose the next morning would be wet stockings.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Gabe watched the men working in front of his mother’s house. A lot had changed since he’d last been home. The improvement commissioners had given approval for the streets to have oil lamps to light them up at night. The street had long been paved with cobblestones, and they now even had a man called a scavenger, who collected rubbish with a cart once a week. It was no wonder Gabe’s mom, Maria, did not desire to move to one of the newer suburbs.

  Several naval officers had built houses at Kingston. It was a very fashionable area, away from the noise, dirt, and activity that came with the dockyard and naval base. It was close enough, however, that it was just a short horse or carriage ride to Portsmouth.

  Gabe didn’t think his mother would ever leave the house that she and his father, Admiral James Anthony, had shared. It had taken both Dagan and him to persuade his mother to agree to some new furniture. They had bought several pieces of comfortable upholstered furniture made by Thomas Chippendale and a new clock by James Cox. Because the townhouse was built on three floors, keeping the place up had gotten to be too much. Gabe’s mother had denied it, but the housekeeper had said help was a must. Therefore, Gabe and Dagan had set up an interview process. In the last four weeks they had hired two additional maids and a cook. They also hired a man to act as a gardener as well as carriage driver, and had even given the man permission to hire a stable boy to help. Gabe had also purchased a new carriage, an unnecessary extravagance, his mother had protested. Neither Gabe nor Dagan had felt so, and they had argued that it would last for years.

  The coach was very similar to the German Landau that had made its English appearance in 1743. Gabe and Dagan had made a pact to never let his mother know how much the carriage had cost.

  “She’ll know it wasn’t cheap,” Dagan said matter-of-factly a few days before the coach arrived. “With all the sawing and hammering going on to build a new coach house, she has to know it was, as she put it, extravagant.”

  Gabe didn’t care, his mother was now starting to show her age. She’d been put through enough in her life, and Gabe had decided she’d live as comfortably as he could arrange it for the rest of her years. After his recent victories, he could arrange a lot. It appalled him, however, that some of those who once called her Lord Anthony’s mistress or the admiral’s kept woman could be so friendly now. He was amazed how at St. George’s church the previous Sunday, one of the women, who’d been so critical of Lord Anthony’s mistress and bastard son when he was young, had sat on the pew next to his mother and chatted before service.

  When Gabe had later discussed this with his mother, she simply said, “Have you never done anything you were ashamed of?”

  “Why yes,” he replied, “but…” His mother had shushed him before he could finish.

  “Have you ever thought of the indignity Christ suffered before he was crucified, son? Christ didn’t die so some folks and not others could be forgiven. He died so that we all may be forgiven.”

  Gabe didn’t know what to say to that. His mother then in a soft voice said, “I know how you suffered at times. But you had your father’s pride and refused to let anyone see you cry. Now you are the talk of England, my son. How do you think they feel now, embarrassed maybe? Don’t be so quick to judge until you’ve walked in another’s shoes.”

  “That’s not always so easy,” Gabe mumbled.

  “I know, son, but you will be stronger for it.”

  ***

  Jacob Hex was sitting at a trestle table in a tavern in Deal. The new cox’n’s uniform with his gold braid, purchased by Captain Anthony, made some take a second look, not sure if he was an officer or what.

  “Captain Sir Gabriel Anthony,” Hex corrected himself as he gave a silent toast. He was now Sir Gabe, but he was still the captain, Hex thought, until he made admiral, that is.

  The tavern had a sign proclaiming it to all as The Baskerville, the finest in Deal. Outside the establishment on a clear day, Walmer Castle could be seen to the south. Hex had grown up playing in the shadows of the castle, but that seemed an eternity ago. He was in a foul mood. His homecoming had been far from what he had expected. He had been away almost four years, but someone could have written and warned him. He’d expected to come home to his widow mother living in their old home place. He thought he would see the place somewhat run down and his mother living off what little had been left after his father had been killed and the debts paid off. None of his expectations had proven true. His mother had married one of his father’s previous business associates, meaning a smuggler. She had allowed her new husband to sell their property, lock, stock and barrel. All these changes and he’d not received one letter. Not when he’d been aboard HMS Rapid, not when he’d been a prisoner of war, and not after being made Captain Anthony’s cox’n aboard HMS Peregrine. He’d written letters home from all of those places and not received one letter in return. Well, now he knew why.

  She would have had to tell him about all the changes and she couldn’t bear the thought of it. He had no animosity that she had remarried, as she was only forty when his father had died. But to marry John Spencer? He’d likely end up much as his father had and she would be a widow again. Spencer was lucky he’d cheated the hangman as long as he had. But for his mother to allow Spencer to sell the property without so much as a by your leave was too much.

  “We intended to give you your share,” Spencer had said.

  “It’s well you should,” Hex had snapped, “as it was my entire share. As father’s only son, I would have inherited it all.”

  “As you should have once the expenses and debts had been subtracted,” Spencer replied, trying to dampen the heat of friction.

  “Well, how much am I owed?” Hex asked, not really having a figure in mind but sure whatever it was it would be less than the real value. He was right.

  With all the dignity he could muster to tell a bald-face lie, Spencer said, “Your part came to two hundred five pounds, three shillings, and eight pence.”

  Hex had almost choked on his beer. “Surely you jest,” he said. “Just the house and gardens were worth twice that.”

  “Were,” Spencer said. He then added, “Before the debts and loans were paid. Remember you sent nothing home.”

  “Aye,” Hex agreed. “But the solicitor said mother should have been able to live comfortably off the fifty guineas per annum that had been set up by my father.”

  “Perhaps, had your mother had someone to advise her about her finances. As it was, her standard of living far exceeded the fifty guineas, so loans were made.”

  “By whom were the loans made?” Hex asked.

  “By the bank, sir.”

  “With your guarantee,” Hex stated.

  “I was glad to be of service,” Spencer said hotly, now that the conversation had turned as it had.

  “Well,” Hex said, making a sudden decision. “Pay me my two hundred five pounds. You may keep the rest.”

  “Well, sir, there has been some added expenses…”

  “Which you will pay,” Hex said, finishing the sentence as his hand fell to the pommel of his sword. There would be no arguing the point. Realizing he had much to lose and little to gain, Spencer quickly agreed to pay the amount owed.

  The money quickly changed hands, and Jacob Hex had left without as much as a farewell. He’d thought to leave his mother with one hundred pounds that had been advanced to him towards expected prize money by Captain Anthony. The hundred pounds
along with the promise of another twenty-five pounds per annum to add to what she had been receiving would have been more than enough for his mother to live on. Now, he was leaving on the morrow’s coach with a heavy heart, but a full purse.

  “Jake. Jake Hex, you ole blade.”

  Half turning, Hex saw two of his old running mates. Ian Fleming had been an apprentice to his father’s accountant, and John Crowe had been one of the boats men, meaning he’d been one of the smuggler’s crew alongside Hex. For the first time since he’d returned home, Hex felt joyful.

  “Come have a wet,” he called to his friends. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  The two men eyed each other then looked at Hex. “Have you been home yet?” they asked.

  “Aye, what a surprise that was.”

  “Good,” they replied.

  “Good?” Hex frowned.

  “Good that you already know,” Crowe replied.

  “Yeah,” Fleming added. “We’d hate to be the ones to break the news.”

  “Old news now, mates, belly up for a wet,” Hex said.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The next few hours passed very quickly. During their time reminiscing, Hex found both men had gone to work for his stepfather. But being the skinflint he was, Spencer had not treated either of them fairly and had in fact cheated them out of their wages, hard earned wages. Now, they worked for Spencer’s competitor.

  “Ever think of going to sea?” Hex asked.

  “We’ve thought about it,” Crowe admitted, “but it’d be our luck to get separated or stuck with some tarter for a captain, who would rather see a flogging than eat.”

  “What if I could put you on an admiral’s staff?”