The Seahorse Read online

  “We have recently received word from Barbados of a daring attack on a convoy right under the noses of our fleet. Most of the ships carrying war supplies were either taken or destroyed without so much as a shot being fired on our behalf. We can’t allow this to happen again. We already are hearing grumblings about how the war is going. It’s getting more unpopular everyday.”

  “I have assured Lord Ragland that I put every faith and confidence in your abilities and judgment. We have to have something positive to give the public or this administration is doomed.”

  The stooped old messenger knocked on the door, halting the conversation. “It’s time for your appointment with Lord North, sir,” he informed Sandwich.

  “Very well, I will be ready to depart directly.” Turning back to Ragland and Anthony, Sandwich sighed, “Duty calls so I must bid you adieu. Fair winds, my friends.”

  Chapter Six

  Gabe left his meeting with the Port Admiral with a degree of excitement only to feel guilty over taking a ship so soon after he had wed. The task of taking command would cost him not only in money but time. It was the time he dreaded the most. At least he could return home to Faith in the evenings.

  The Port Admiral had said the Peregrine was anchored off the spit just outside the harbour, further proof she was not one of Graham’s favourite ships. Graham’s statement about her being an unhappy ship was a discouraging hint as to the poor state of the ship’s discipline and state of readiness.

  The orders had been delivered to his home the same evening he had talked to Graham. Faith had stayed behind at Deerfield to help Deborah get ready for the trip to Barbados. Lum had stayed as well. But his cox’n, Paco, the midshipman Ally—as Alejandro was now being called—and Hawks had made the trip. Gabe and the three men were now in a hired cutter that was taking them from the harbour steps out to the Peregrine. The wind was up and the harbour had a fair chop to its waters.

  The old boatman had made it plain from his look that he was aware of the Peregrine’s reputation when he was given the ship’s name he was to ferry the group to. It never ceased to amaze Gabe how quickly gossip about a ship spread. Spray from the chop dashed aboard the cutter as it plowed through the waves. Paco had wrapped Gabe’s sea chest in a tarpaulin to keep off the spray.

  The boatman eased the tiller over a bit to avoid a larger wave. “That be her,” the boatman said, pointing to a ship.

  Gabe was not happy at his first sighting of the Peregrine. The sails hung loosely on her yards. Stains ran down the hull where debris had been cast over the side without being washed. Ship’s boats were bobbing up and down with a single rope tying them to the gangway. This made entry a dangerous proposition.

  However, once he looked past the unkempt appearance, Gabe could see the makings of a fine ship. The neglect would end today, Gabe vowed. As the cutter came alongside Gabe was shocked at the lack of a challenge.

  Paco, seeing the look of disdain on his captain’s face, said, “Allow me Cap’n.” He then scooted past Gabe and made his way up the gangway steps. Protocol dictated that the captain was always first out of the boat but nothing about this met Navy tradition.

  Taking the opportunity Gabe gave the old boatman a handful of coins and said, “We’re expecting an entire change in crew for the most part.” This tip would ensure a brisk business for the boatman and his son.

  “Thank ye, Cap’n. Thank ye kindly.”

  Gabe made his way forward but stopped suddenly. A wave had caused Peregrine to rise and tug at her cable. As she did so, Gabe saw that she had been coppered. No shipworm would eat away this hull, he thought as he moved toward the bow of the cutter.

  Pausing, Gabe jammed his hat tightly on his head, and positioned his sword. Then with the next swell he grabbed a manrope in each hand…grimy, greasy manropes. He began to climb up the wooden battens to the entry port.

  He could hear shouts and curses from above as Paco was giving the watch hell. It was nothing like the reception he’d gotten when he, along with Dagan, first went aboard Merlin. I wish you were here Dagan, Gabe thought. I need you.

  Gabe was through the entry port and standing on deck before a lieutenant came running forward with a confused look, shouting out an order as he rushed to meet Gabe. Seamen rushed to form sideboys. One tripped over the tail of a rope, cursing as he hit the deck with a thud. Oddly the falling seaman’s cry brought forth a sudden silence on the deck.

  Looking around Gabe saw no semblance of a Navy ship. Brass had not been shined and rusty cannonballs were stacked and not placed in a brass monkey. Sails were furled loosely. Gaskets were just hanging.

  “I’m Lieutenant Seymour, sir. We were not expecting you.”

  Gabe eyed the man coldly but didn’t speak. Ally and Hawks were now aboard and stood on either side of their captain. Finally Gabe spoke.

  “You’re under arrest, Lieutenant, for drunkenness on duty.”

  “But sir, I’m not on duty.”

  Looking about Gabe asked, “Is there another officer aboard?”

  “No sir.”

  “Then the charge stands.”

  Turning to Paco, Gabe ordered, “Have my chest brought aboard by the most sober seaman you can find.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” Paco replied, smiling at the cap’n’s word. Well, maybe there was a sober man about but he wouldn’t count on it.

  Gabe made his way down the companionway toward the captain’s cabin. He halted halfway down, suddenly sick to his stomach. The stench of unwashed bodies mixed with alcohol and the reek of full chamber pots filled the air. Holding his handkerchief to his nose Gabe made his way into the cabin.

  Men and women’s clothes were strewn everywhere, chairs were overturned. Wine bottles rolled across the deck…some empty, while others still contained fluid. Gabe would not have bet on the liquid inside the bottles being wine.

  He reached the captain’s desk and found it locked. The only damn thing that’s as it should be. Overhead he could hear his chest being dragged across the deck. Not wanting his trunk soiled he rushed on deck.

  “Don’t carry it below,” he gasped, taking in a breath of fresh air.

  Looking at the two mids he could see a greenish pallor. They had gone below but stood outside the cabin while he looked in.

  “She’s about ripe I’d say, Captain,” Hawks volunteered.

  “Aye young sir, a bad beginning.”

  Ally then spoke up in his broken English. “Don’t worry, Captain, we’ll have this place looking ship shape pronto.”

  “I’ve no doubt, Ally.”

  Gabe then spoke to Paco. “Have one of the scalawags stand guard over my chest until my cabin has been cleaned.”

  Nodding, Paco said, “Si…aye, Cap’n.” Then he went to find a burly seaman.

  “Mr Ally. Mr Hawks.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the youths said in unison.

  “It’s my understanding that the warrants have all transferred off the ship. I am therefore promoting both of you to lieutenant. Temporarily, mind you, but it’ll go in your records.”

  This made the mids grin from ear to ear.

  “Now, lieutenants, divide what crew we have into two groups. I want this ship scoured from top to bottom.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” they replied, then off they went, suddenly full of importance.

  ***

  It was shortly before the forenoon watch that the old boatman started ferrying officers and crew out to the Peregrine. The first “boat ahoy” startled Gabe, as he was in deep thought about how well provisioned the ship might be and the state of inventory that was claimed on the books.

  Making his way topside to see who was reporting on board, he was in time to see his new First Lieutenant Nathan Lavery coming through the entry port. Behind him were Lieutenant Davy, and two of Merlin’s old warrants: the bosun, Mr Graf, and the gunner, Mr Druett.

  “The cutter must have been crowded,” Gabe said as he greeted the men. “Let’s go below and I will fill you in on what so far has been a big
disappointment.”

  After filling in his officers and warrants on the sorry state of affairs, Gabe went back to reviewing the ship’s books. He now opened the “punishment” book and was horrified. Being assigned to Peregrine must have been hell on earth. Flogging was routinely awarded for every offense and punishment was rendered each day.

  “Boat ahoy.” The challenge was heard through the open skylight.

  More hands were reporting, Gabe thought. However, Lavery would deal with it. The knock on the cabin door interrupted Gabe’s review of the ship’s records. Paco had been sitting just inside the cabin, acting as unofficial sentry as Peregrine’s new detachment of marines had not yet arrived.

  Gabe nodded to Paco, who opened the door. Seeing the visitor he called out, “First lieutenant, sir.” Then as an after thought he added, “With another officer.”

  Gabe marked the page he was on by laying a quill between the pages then closed the book. Lavery stepped into the cabin, allowing the other officer to enter.

  “Lieutenant Wiley, sir. Request permission to speak to the captain.”

  “Very well, Lieutenant Lavery, you may go.”

  As Lavery left, Gabe caught Paco’s look…his unspoken question. “Do I stay or leave you in private?”

  “You may round-up our young gentlemen, Paco, and tell them with my regrets their temporary promotions have unfortunately come to an end.”

  Smiling, Paco left to do his bidding.

  Gabe then looked at Wiley. Other than looking apprehensive, he was turned out professionally. “Are you George Wiley, Second Lieutenant of Peregrine?” Gabe asked.

  “I am, sir.”

  Gabe had noted from the records that Wiley had spoken up for several of the men who had been brought up for punishment.

  “Why have you been absent from the ship?”

  “I was on leave, sir.”

  “There was no mention of it in the ship’s log.” Gabe responded.

  Wiley didn’t look surprised but added, “I was on leave, sir. You can check with the port admiral. He will confirm it.”

  This was a strange answer as officers didn’t check in or out with the port admiral in regards to leave.

  “Are you a friend or relative of Admiral Graham?”

  “Yes…ere no, but soon sir.”

  “Soon what?” Gabe asked.

  “Admiral Graham is soon to marry my mother.”

  “I see,” Gabe said. “What were your dealings with the admiral in regards to this ship?”

  “I had asked for a transfer, sir,” Wiley replied, taking a deep breath.

  “Do you still desire one?”

  “No sir.”

  “Why may I ask?”

  “Admiral Graham said the ship had finally gotten a captain that knew how to run a ship and I’d be a blundering idiot not to return.”

  Gabe couldn’t help but chuckle. “Find yourself a clean glass, Mr Wiley, and we will make a toast to a new beginning.”

  “A new beginning, sir, and here’s to your health.”

  Chapter Seven

  Anthony and Lord Ragland had attended the Royal Theater and were discussing the play they’d seen. “You never know when we’ll get the chance to see such a play,” Ragland said, encouraging Anthony to go along.

  Finally Anthony gave in and the two attended one of the best plays he could remember seeing. It had been put on by an Italian opera group. Not only was it good but it also was long. Lord Ragland had drunk so much wine that once the play ended and he was packed into the coach, he slumped over apparently out.

  Bart climbed in a seat next to Anthony, passing him a pouch of tobacco. “Try this,” he said. “Man swore it would burn slow so your pipe wouldn’t get hot and it won’t bite yer tongue. It doesn’t smell half bad either.”

  Anthony had lit up his pipe and was amazed at how refreshing it was. “Not English tobacco,” he said to Bart.

  “Nay. Better, much better.”

  Then the two sat back against the seat pulling the coach blanket over them. The only light in the dark coach came from the tiny embers inside the bowls of their pipes. The coach moved along at a good clip down the largely deserted streets in the early a.m. hours. One or two other coaches rushed along trying to get home before the temperature dropped further. Small puffs of tobacco smoke escaped the coach’s windows and horses hooves clapped on the cobblestone streets.

  “Whoa! Whoa!” the driver shouted.

  The wheels and horses were sliding on the dew-damp street. A carriage had darted out in front of the coach so the driver had to stop quickly or wreck. One of the lead horses lost its footing and fell. Bart tried to open his door but the coach in trying to stop so quickly had slid up against one of the street lamps. From up on the driver’s box, you could hear curses and shouting, then a pistol shot. The shouting suddenly ceased. The three standing horses danced nervously in their harnesses.

  The driver lay on the dark street groaning and gasping. The downed horse was finally able to right itself but stood wild-eyed not sure what was happening.

  Several men appeared at the coach’s door on Anthony’s side. One of the men snatched open the door and jerked Anthony and Bart out onto the street. He had a mask over his face as did the rest of the men. However, he was the only one showing a pistol…a brace of pistols. One of them was still smoking from shooting the driver.

  “Stand there,” the masked man ordered. “Stand and deliver.”

  “Are you mad?” Anthony exclaimed. “I’m an officer in His Majesty’s Navy.”

  This brought laughter from the highwayman. “’E said you was a lofty bugger.”

  “Who said that?” Anthony demanded.

  “Ye jus never mind now,” one of the other villains chimed in. “Ye’s got a ’andsome reward on yer ’ead. We gets yer valuables and a reward. Be on wid it mate so’s we can get going.” This came from a man standing by the carriage.

  Pulling Bart up close by his collar, the highwayman’s hand went under his great cloak and whipped out a dagger and cut a fine red line across Bart’s cheek.

  “Now ’and it over or the next one will be ’is gullet. Quick now, your money purse, rings, and any other valuables or ’e dies.”

  “We’re dead already,” Bart spat.

  “Right you are, matey,” the rogue said with a laugh. Then his head exploded.

  Blood, brain, and bone sprayed Bart. However, being a man of action he snatched the pistol from the dead man’s belt before he hit the ground. Turning, he fired and one of the rogues hit the street, blood oozing from a hole in his chest.

  The other man jumped into the carriage that had blocked their way. The driver who had been silent laid the whip to the horses and they took off. By this time Lord Ragland had descended from their coach. He calmly tucked his left arm behind his back, took aim with the pistol in his right hand, and fired. The shot echoed in the still night air and a scream was heard. The man that jumped into the carriage to make his escape now lay on the hard, cold cobblestones. The carriage with the driver dashed on into the darkness.

  Damme, Anthony thought looking at Lord Ragland with renewed respect. No wonder he’s won so many duels. The man has ice water for nerves.

  Lord Ragland shot the first rogue in the only place he could without fear of hitting Bart…the head. A head shot from ten paces, drunk and minimal lighting. He then shot another man at thirty paces from a racing carriage.

  “Well, damme,” Anthony said aloud. “It was a poor showing I put on.”

  “At least you and Bart had your wits.”

  Bart was tending to the driver of their carriage. He’d been shot in the shoulder and a handkerchief was used to staunch the flow of blood. Several lights were appearing in windows along the street and a few of the more curious ventured out. A couple of watchmen were now on the scene and someone had sent for the constable. A doctor had also been sent for.

  Sitting back in the coach waiting on the constable, Ragland spoke quietly to Anthony. “Do you recall t
he remark about a reward on your head?”

  “Aye. I haven’t forgotten. I wish we’d been able to learn more. Whoever it is went out of their way to make it look like robbery rather than murder.”

  “Well, it’s glad I am to be putting to sea again,” Bart chimed in.

  “I agree with that,” Ragland replied. “It’ll do no harm to get out of the country for a while.”

  “I wonder,” Anthony replied, deep in thought. “I wonder.”

  Chapter Eight

  Lord Anthony looked at Bart all decked out in his new Admiral’s cox’n uniform. His others had faded from being continuously washed at sea in salt water. Regardless of the new blue jacket with gilt buttons, nankeen trousers, and brass buckled shoes, Bart still looked like a rugged old salt. His hair was starting to show a little salt and pepper but that did little to disguise the fearsome appearance of the man.

  “Well, Bart, you ready to go down and greet our captain?”

  “Aye,” the cox’n replied, “I’m ready to see yews flag flying again. It should be at the fore I’m thinking and will be before long iffen them block’eads at the Admiralty can put down their wine glasses and get out of some wenches’ beds.”

  “Bart…you’re talking about his Majesty’s officers.”

  “More like ’is Majesty’s bumpkins and that’s no error.”

  Turning to look in the mirror, Anthony straightened the new epaulettes on his shoulders. Would he ever see the single star replaced by two stars? Was the thought of Vice Admiral only a dream?

  “Time to go,” Bart said, breaking Anthony’s train of thought.

  He was dining with his officers here at the George Inn. It was a chance to meet each of the captains in a neutral environment. That was a trick his father had taught him and one he’d passed on to Gabe. Tomorrow he would go aboard his new flagship for the first time. Then it would be only a matter of days before they set sail.