The Seahorse Page 7

  “My Lord.” This was from Bart. “I’s let you sleep longer than be usual. Yew seemed restless like.”

  I must have been, Anthony thought, if Bart had come in without awakening him.

  “Lord Ragland, is he awake?”

  “Aye,” Bart replied.

  Anthony roused out of his cot and dressed quickly. He then looked at Bart and said, “Go topside and invite Buck and Lord Ragland to breakfast.”

  “Aye,” Bart replied, easing the cabin door to as he left.

  The breakfast consisted of coffee, cold cheese, pastries, and a discussion about the meeting with the foreign office agent, Sir Victor.

  Sir Victor had given Sir Henry his orders recalling him to England. He alluded that it was just a normal rotation with Admiral Lord Anthony replacing him.

  But in private Lord Ragland told Anthony otherwise. “British trade in the West Indies has been hit hard. To the point it’s critical. Only twenty-five ships out of a convoy of sixty carrying provisions to the Caribbean arrived safely. The governor of Grenada sent a letter to Lord North stating that they would soon die of hunger if the losses were not stopped. Insurance rates have soared and the Admiralty has been bombarded with demands for protection. More than three hundred trading vessels have been captured…a good many by the daring privateer, Malachi Mundy.”

  Gabe had met with him, Anthony recalled, but did not mention it.

  Lord Ragland continued, “Sir Henry was being recalled due to his inability to stop the losses.”

  Sir Victor had informed the group that it was now certain the French would enter the war…probably very soon after the New Year. He felt that Spain would soon join in as well. They had been secretly aiding the American privateer for a while now. “This has been confirmed by our agents,” he stated.

  Sir Victor had then pointed out the window to the harbour that spread out below them. “Do you think the eighty-gun Sceptre is here for her health? Where did her consorts go?” He had been speaking of the St. Michel, a seventy-four, and Toulon of fifty guns.

  “They’re spying,” he exclaimed, “and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.”

  ***

  At Port-au-Prince, Haiti, Paul de Verge sat behind his desk drinking a glass of wine. The wine was to steady him so that he would appear outwardly calm as he spoke to the man sitting across from him.

  “So you failed,” he spat at the man. “You failed in the assassination attempt of Lord Anthony. You failed to capture any prizes from the convoy. You have failed me at every turn.”

  “Bad luck,” the man across from de Verge said. “All bad luck. But we will eventually succeed in our goal.”

  “You have the luxury to be patient,” de Verge responded. “I don’t. The investors are screaming about the loss of the Lizard.”

  “They’ve made a fortune under my guidance,” the man retorted.

  Adam Montique was not a man used to being scolded like a child. He’d taken about as much as he intended from the little Frenchman that sat before him.

  “I’m the one who risks his life. All you risk is a few dollars. You can tell your friends their financial resources have only been scratched by the loss of the Lizard. There are more than enough backers either here or on Guadalupe that are willing to undertake the cost of my enterprise. So tell your backers Adam Montique said they can all be damned.”

  He then stood, and after a quick glare walked out of de Verge’s office, leaving the small Frenchman grabbing for a handkerchief to wipe his brow. Was it fear or the heat? Perhaps both, he thought as he filled his glass.

  ***

  Barbados was the eastern most island of the Windward Islands. Compared to Antigua it was relatively flat and somewhat diamond shaped. Barbados gained its wealth from sugarcane plantations and the export of molasses and rum. Slaves had been imported to work the fields, which were very rich.

  The cry “land ho” from one of the lookouts came as the sun had begun to bear down on the ships in Anthony’s squadron. Gabe paced the quarterdeck of Peregrine. He was in an ill humour. Like his brother he’d rested badly the previous night…the first without Faith in some months. He’d awakened to the sound of a new temporary cabin servant. It had been decided the Lum would stay in Antigua with the women…a means of protection.

  The new man was not Lum and he had never acted as a captain’s servant, so he had to be told what to do at every turn. Dawkins had rolled his eyes more than once, amazed over the man’s continuous mistakes. However, being a landsman, he would not be missed as much as a seaman would be when taken away from his daily duties. No, none of this is what caused Gabe’s mood.

  It was Faith. She had been sick every morning for the last three mornings they were at Antigua. The very mention of breakfast had caused her to turn green and rush out the door. By mid-day she seemed as rosy and healthy as she’d ever been. Gabe had wanted to send for the ship’s doctor but Faith had refused.

  Where the hell is Caleb? Gabe thought, and then wondered if he’d be with Dagan in Barbados. Would Dagan be there as he’d stated in the letter?

  Before long Ragged Point became visible…they would be in Carlisle Bay soon. To the western end of Carlisle Bay was Bridgetown. It was here that Gabe had met Caleb and that damned ape, Mr Jewels. Gabe couldn’t help but chuckle thinking of the antics that blasted creature had pulled.

  “What was that, Captain?”

  Gabe looked to see his first lieutenant speaking.

  “It was nothing, Mr Lavery. I was just recalling Caleb and his ape.”

  This brought a smile to Lavery’s face. “Aye, Captain. I remember it well. I thought His Lordship would bust a gut with the damn monkey shrieking to high heaven as he climbed the riggings. He’d have been shot if Lord Hood had been awakened.”

  “Aye, those were the days, Nathan…those were the days.” Glancing at his watch, Gabe said, “We’ve still got to pass South Point and Needham Point. I think I’ll go below. Call me before we reach the bay.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  As soon as Gabe disappeared through the companionway, Lieutenant Wiley approached Lavery. “What’s this about an ape aboard Lord Anthony’s ship?” Within a minute Wiley was laughing till he cried as Lavery told his story.

  Word had rushed down the coast to Bridgetown that a British squadron was in the sighting. Having a wet at the Anchor and Plow, Dagan finished his drink. The tavern was one of the nicest on the island. The proprietor named his tavern to attract both the sea trade and that of the island planters. He had gotten wealthy in doing so and like many self-made men had little tolerance for lesser beings.

  This morning had been particularly busy. The cook was a very smallish man, almost frail in appearance. He had been very busy when the owner arrived.

  “Give me a cup of coffee now,” the owner ordered.

  The cook rushed to do as he was bid. Upon delivering the cup of coffee the owner drank a swallow then tossed it on the floor.

  “Clean that up, you idiot, then go get me a fresh cup of coffee…hot coffee. I like it hot.”

  The little cook rushed back but the pot was empty and the other pot had not yet started to boil. “It will be a minute or two, sir,” the cook said in a very timid voice.

  “Now damn it. I want some hot coffee now or so help me I’ll throw you out on your arse, you little snit.”

  The cook darted back into the kitchen embarrassed and mad as a hornet. He touched the coffee pot but it was not ready yet. Then he spied a bowl of jalapeno peppers he’d cut from the little vegetable garden he’d planted. He squeezed the juice of a couple into the empty coffee cup. He then filled the cup up with the still brewing coffee. He put it on a saucer and took it to the owner, who gulped it down. The man jumped up and ran to the water keg screaming profanities as his face turned red and sweat beaded up on his bald head.

  The little cook slowly took off his apron, a look of satisfaction on his face. “You said you wanted it hot,” he quipped as he strode out the door.

&n
bsp; Dagan threw some coins on the table and went out after him. “That was some trick mate. What did you put in his coffee?”

  “Jalapenos,” the little cook said. “They’re a very hot type of pepper.”

  “I know about them. They’ve been around for centuries. My name is Dagan Dupree.”

  “I’m Joshua Nesbit, but people call me Josh.”

  “Well, Josh, what are you going to do now?”

  “First, I’m going to sneak into the back room,” he said, pointing at the tavern. “My things are there. After that I’m not sure.”

  Liking the little man, Dagan asked, “Ever been aboard a man o’ war?”

  “No. I hired on as a cook on a merchantman once but never a warship.”

  “Well, come along with me and let’s see if we can’t find you a billet.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Commodore Lord Benjamin Hewes set sail the week after Anthony’s squadron and Lord Ragland had arrived. Lord Hewes was an old gentleman who was glad to see a younger man take over as governor during these troubled times. He was to sail back to England with Admiral Teach.

  Lord Anthony held a meeting for all captains, first lieutenants, and masters. He introduced Sir Victor, the foreign office agent, to his men. He explained the problem with shipping and privateers, the likelihood of France entering the war soon and the tactics he intended to deploy.

  “We will take a few days to replenish our ships and then we will get down to the business at hand—winning a war for England.”

  After the meeting, refreshments were served, and then pipes and cigars were broken out. New faces and old, he thought. How quickly they come together as comrades. A poem he’d read came to mind.

  You laugh, you drink, you dance

  You men who sail the sea

  For tomorrow who’s to know

  What might assail upon thee

  Be it gale or sword or cannon

  A sinking ship it be

  So live life hearty

  You men who sail the sea

  As the meeting ended Gabe caught Anthony’s eye and held back.

  “So Dagan showed up?” Anthony asked.

  “Aye, just like he said.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Having a wet with Bart and the master.”

  “Aye, I would expect that given the chance. Sir Victor wants to visit St. Lucia tomorrow,” Anthony continued. “He has asked for two ships. More specifically he’s asked for you and for the Lizard.”

  “You don’t like the man do you?” Gabe asked.

  “Not him as much as what he does. He’s a spy…a necessary evil but an evil just the same.”

  After a pause, Gabe said, “The fly and the fly trap.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Anthony responded. He laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Have a care.”

  “I will.”

  “Good…now if you have no other engagements, dine with me tonight. You and Dagan.”

  “My pleasure, Gil. I want to tell you about my new servant.”

  ***

  The sun was hot…bright and hot as it dazzled off the glass-like surface of the Caribbean Sea, creating a harsh glare. Gabe plucked at his sweat soaked shirt. It was sodden through and through. He was thirsty as was every jack tar aboard the ship. Gabe used his hand to shield his eyes as he looked across to Lizard not two cables to starboard.

  He wondered if her new captain was cursing the sticky deck seam that gripped at your shoes, or was he below in the shade? He had that advantage, Gabe thought. If I went below I’d have to make polite conversation with Sir Victor. I wonder if yonder captain knows his ship is being used as bait.

  Richard Culzean had until recently been the first lieutenant aboard Admiral Teach’s flagship. Now he was given command of a twenty-eight-gun frigate, a tribute to the departing admiral.

  “A nice ship even if she is a bit old.”

  Gabe turned to find Dagan speaking. He always seems to know what I’m thinking, Gabe thought.

  “It’s an excellent ship for his first command.”

  “Well, I expect he’s earned it,” Dagan said. “Three years as a first lieutenant aboard a flag ship.”

  “Aye,” Gabe answered, feeling ashamed of his retort. “At least I never had to work my way up the chain of command spending years as a first lieutenant. Thanks to Gil.”

  “How is the new recruit doing?” Dagan asked, speaking of the little cook, Nesbit.

  “Splendid, just splendid. If only he could play the lotz or violin,” Gabe replied.

  “Aye,” Dagan smiled. He missed Lum’s musical talents as well.

  “Here comes the surgeon,” Dagan volunteered.

  Isreal Livesey had been recommended by the Portsmouth Port admiral as a highly competent, seldom in his cups surgeon, who was also a good card and chess player. The old man was as weathered an old salt that Gabe had ever seen. His skin was like mahogany wood. He had a portly appearance with round shoulders. He also had a huge cherry-like nose and heavy jowls that looked bigger than they were because of mutton chop whiskers. His eyes drooped, not unlike one of Lord Anthony’s hounds and were the saddest thing Gabe had ever seen. However, he was a jovial old soul and kept the wardroom in stitches with his jokes and tales.

  A hail from the lookout made Gabe look across the way to Lizard. Her commission pennant, which only minutes before had hung limply, now fluttered with a small breeze. This excited the crew as they rushed to the bulwark to see. They were half naked men whose skin had lost the pale white of England and now was almost a copper or bronze color.

  The calm had occurred shortly after Barbados disappeared over the horizon. Now maybe it was over. A flapping noise was heard overhead as the sails filled with the freshening wind. Then a loud snap was heard as the main sail became taut. Cheers went up from the crew.

  “Mr Lavery.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “If you can regain control of the crew would you reset the watch?”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Mr Gunnells, if you will kindly put us on a course to St. Lucia.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Mr Livesey.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “It appears your coming on deck caused the wind to return. I consider you a lucky soul. It would be my pleasure if you would dine with me tonight.”

  “Thank you, sir. I accept of course.”

  “Good,” Gabe said. He then added, “With your luck I shall request you as my partner if we can talk our guest from the Foreign Office and Dagan into a hand or two.”

  The little surgeon clapped his hands together and smiled. “Indeed, Captain. It will certainly be my pleasure.”

  Gabe had known several seamen would overhear his conversation with the surgeon. It had been intended. Seamen were usually a superstitious lot. Having the captain think the surgeon was a lucky man could only help.

  Gabe’s cabin was cool compared to the blistering heat on deck. Sir Victor was seated next to the stern windows looking out, his mind on God knows what.

  Nesbit appeared and asked, “A glass of hock for you and the gentleman, sir.”

  “Aye,” he replied for both of them.

  Seeing the little man go to retrieve the hock it was hard to imagine this mild and meek person would have the gall to pull such a stunt as he did with the tavern’s owner. I’ll remember to be polite, Gabe thought.

  Gabe had just finished his hock and signing a collection of papers the purser had brought when the sentry knocked.

  “Mr Ally, sir.”

  Once the boy was inside the cabin, Gabe could see from his excitement that something was up.

  “Mr Lavery’s compliments, sir, and I think I hear gunfire.”

  Gabe had leaned back in his chair when the sentry knocked. Now he sat upright.

  “You hear gunfire!”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Course it could be thunder.”

  “There’s not a cloud in the sky.”

&nbs
p; “That’s what the master said, Captain.”

  “Very well, tell the first lieutenant I will be on deck directly.”

  As Gabe reached for his hat, Sir Victor asked, “May I come on deck with you, Captain?”

  Taken aback with Sir Victor’s sudden show of manners, Gabe replied after a pause, “Of course, sir.”

  Seeing the captain come on deck, the helmsman whispered to the master, “Cap’n on deck.”

  The master then nudged the first lieutenant, who turned and reported, “Mr Ally heard the sound of gunfire, sir. Then it was heard again but so far there’s too much haze to see any distance.”

  Seeing his captain look up, Gunnells volunteered, “The winds holding.”

  “There it is again,” Midshipman Ally said, pointing to larboard.

  “Damme, but that boy has got ears,” Gunnells exclaimed.

  “We will go investigate,” Gabe said. “Mr Gunnells, two points to larboard if you please. Signal Lizard to take station to starboard, Mr Hawks.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Have nets and chain slings rigged, Mr Lavery. We don’t want a busted noggin from falling spars.”

  This caused a group of seamen to laugh. The men lay to with frenzy. The possibility of prize money was on everyone’s mind.

  “Gawd, Phelps! Take another turn on the tackle. That net’s as loose as a Portsmouth whore’s drawers.”

  “Buckley, lend a hand, you lubber. Haul tight now me laddies. Haul tight I say.”

  Graf, the bosun, was everywhere, shouting as he went. “Rose, ye little nipper, I see ya shirking.” Smack…encouragement by way of the bosun’s starter. “Now carry your load, ya laggard.”

  In the distance another rumble was heard, this time by all those on the quarterdeck.

  “Mr Lavery, swing out the boats for towing.”

  From overhead the lookout called down, “Three ships…one much smaller than the other two, probably a brig.”

  “Who do you think they are?” This came from Sir Victor, causing a glare from the officers on the quarterdeck.