Pirates and Prisoners Chap. 12 Time to Go Hunting

[Jeff Thomas]

“Hope you fellers know what you’re doing.” Harrowstone muttered. He had been doing more of that from time to time, but few on the rest of the crew understood a word he said.

“Don’t worry,” Cunningham said cheerfully, “we did it before, up north of Massachusetts. We were not nearly as well set up as we are now. This will be easy.”

The crew now understood why Scorpion and Venus were on opposite sides of the jetty. The rocks supplied a stable platform for the hand-rigged crane and hoist and a plank walkway that provided a smooth rolling surface to move the guns from one side to the other. Several men tied a thick canvas sling on Venus under one of the ship’s nine-pound guns. When they secured the load, Cunningham ordered line handlers to pull the ropes through an elaborate block-and-tackle system to create the leverage needed to lift the ton-and-a-half burden.

“Easy lads, go easy,” Cunningham said unnecessarily, “this will sink fast if we drop it off the jetty.”

A few men, primarily those well out of the way, laughed—those nearest the weapon watched and prepared to run if they needed to. But the operation went smoothly. Ropes lifted the gun off the deck; deckhands pushed it until the trucks were above the planks. There the men lowered the weapon and removed the ropes. Everybody heaved sighs of relief. But a minute later, they faced an even more challenging task. More ropes ran from high pulleys and dropped through a loading hatch to the gun deck. There they hooked to a sling under a twelve-pound gun carefully lifted to the main deck. Even on Venus’ smoother weather desk, moving the weapon to its new position was heavy work.

Next, a twenty-four-pound gun was plucked from the sloop’s gundeck, hauled across the jetty, and down the hatch to Venus’s gundeck. Finally, the nine-pounder from Venus was placed in the space on the sloop.

“Well, there’s one, nineteen to go,” Benjamin said. “O’Reilly, give all hands a mug of beer. We’ll take a break before we switch to the next one.”

Three days later, they prepared to switch the last pair of guns. When they were done, Venus would have a heavier set of artillery; four eighteen-pound and ten twenty-four-pound cannons on the gun deck and ten twelves on the weather deck. The sixes and nines on Venus’s weather deck now resided on Scorpion. It had been back-breaking labor but worth it, in Benjamin’s estimation.

“Last one, boys,” Benjamin shouted exuberantly, “extra beer and run for all hands when we’re done.”

The last nine-pounder was parked on the plank walkway while the twelve-pounder replacing it was pushed into position. Thinking of the drinks awaiting them, the weary men secured its sling and began to heave on the block and tackle. After four days of heavy duty, the rope suddenly broke with a bang. Men yelled and jumped out of the way as the cannon rolled across the planks and plunged into the gap between the sloop and jetty. With a loud splash, it hit the water and disappeared into the depths.

Silence filled the air for a moment. Then Cunningham pulled off his hat, wiped his brow, and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll just jump down there and hand it up to you.”

Benjamin peered over the rail, watching the bubbles rising to the surface. “Mister O’Reilly pour out a ration of grog. We’re done.”

“Captain,” O’Reilly said, “don’t you want to try to recover it?”

“No need. This claim has not been settled yet. We’ll give the prize committee a sloop with nineteen cannons aboard. They can settle that.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

Venus left the harbor two days later. Benjamin wanted to go at once but decided the men needed a day to recover from their labor. A close observer would have noticed the change in armament. Benjamin was sure he could fight anything, a sentiment shared by the crew. Benjamin’s liberal distribution of rum, taken from HMS Scorpion, undoubtedly helped the mood. As he strolled the deck, he noted the greetings from his men, stopping to speak to them, building up their spirits.

When he reached the forecastle, he climbed into the ratlines and peered over the ship’s bow. After a moment, he whispered to himself, almost a prayer. “Father, this voyage is for you.”

*

“Commander Phillips, I’m glad you could make it here on short notice.”

“Your note sounded urgent; I have a good lieutenant who can manage the details of preparing for sea. Where is the commodore?”

“You’re talking to him; I’m Bedford. I’ve replaced the Commodore; I’m not at liberty to say why.”

Phillips nodded. He could guess there had been many rumors: alcohol, women, missing money, simple incompetence. Phillips found the last item the most probable root cause. However, that opened the door for all the others. There were also rumors about mysterious problems on the prisoner hulks. Those thoughts all went through his head in seconds.

“I see. I’m not concerned about it. I have orders to try to find a particular colonial pirate. I want to get to sea.”

“Yes, I’m sure you would. I may have information for you.” Phillips smiled but said nothing. He was not interested in participating in the political and administrative warfare ashore.

“Well then,” Bedford continued after an awkward silence. “I’ve been copied on the information you have. What you don’t know is that a few days ago, two of our blockading squadron engaged a ship that fits the description of the object of your search, a relatively large vessel with an unusual sail plan.”

“Two against one?” Phillips sat up, “You sound as if we lost the fight. Is this colonial that much stronger than our ships?”

“No.” Bedford took a deep breath, thinking. “Well, damn. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but I will anyway. You deserve to know, and I won’t miss this place if they reassign me to the far end of the earth. The three ships were closely matched; theirs had a better captain.”

Phillips was not used to candor like this from the shore-bound slackers. “I see.”

“The colonial ship had slipped out of harbor overnight. Our schooner followed him out through a narrow channel. When they exited, one of our sloops cut them off, but our two ships didn’t coordinate their movements. The schooner ran off, and the sloop struck his colors. A bad business.”

Bedford picked up a large glass paperweight, looked into it momentarily as if it was a crystal ball, and set it back on his desk. “Yes, it was. I’m to aid you any way I can. But I think you’re hunting a needle in a haystack.”

“That is what I think, but certainly someone at the admiralty wants it destroyed. Or perhaps somebody here.”

Bedford picked up the paperweight and gazed into it again. “You haven’t heard the rumors?”

Phillips laughed. “I’ve heard hundreds of rumors; which one do you refer to?”

Bedford continued to look into the glass without speaking. “Well,” he said finally, “I won’t burden you with silly stories. I wish you luck and a successful voyage. I hope you find this ship. How does the admiralty expect you to find it?”

“To be honest, sir, I don’t know. I plan to go out and fight privateers. I understand that fighting these privateers is like beating at a swarm of biting flies. Smack one with your hand, and a hundred take its place. If I get this one, so much the better.”

“I agree. Whomever it was on that ship, they left Plymouth yesterday. We think they went south. How soon can you sail?”

“Thank you. I hope to leave tomorrow. About this rumor you mentioned….”

Bedford motioned him for silence. “Don’t ask about that. It is information that might get you hanged and won’t help you perform your duty.”

“I see,” Phillips said. He knew of one rumor that might fit that description and did not want any more involvement. “Perhaps, when I return, our meeting will be about settling the prize money.”

“Perhaps.”

*
“Are we there?” Tabitha asked, “I’m tired of pushing this cart.”

“Almost; I have secured lodging for a night or two while we book passage north. Be careful; that cart holds everything we own.” Caitlin winked at Tabitha to tell her it was part of their act. Since getting a free ride from St. Eustatius to Savannah, they had adopted a disguise. Caitlin now carried an official-looking paper stating that she owned Tabitha. While in Savannah, it became painfully clear that they needed official permission to travel together. She couldn’t read the paper Tabitha provided as an example of what to write. But she could copy; nobody questioned the legality of the notice. So, their trip north continued unhindered, although a bit adventurous.

Caitlin smiled at the memory. She had managed to get them to Savannah without spending money to do it. Instead, through a combination of guile, lies, flirtation, and spirits, she had convinced the captain that the following night, whenever that was, she would join him in his cabin. She maintained the pretense that she would sleep with him for two weeks. The night they made landfall, she poured the whiskey freely and contrived to be in his bed when he woke up. Of course, he remembered nothing but assumed a successful seduction.

She had to pay for the next leg, from Savannah to this obscure village on the colonial coast. She had only a vague notion of where she was. But she knew she was getting close to her destination: Boston. The presence of a dozen or so privateers surprised her. Perhaps she could find someone that knew Captain Allen. Tabitha, for her part, hoped to hear news of Henri.

“I’m tired of running, Tabitha. Maybe our luck will change. And here we are. Let me go in and speak to the gentleman; I will secure passage as far north as I can get us.”

“All right then.” Tabitha slumped on a barrel next to the door while Caitlin walked inside.

Two men occupied the small room, “That is not what I agreed to pay,” one yelled, “An ignorant young whip like you won’t cheat me.” The man yelling was clearly older. The other seemed no more than a boy, too young to shave, but something about him made Caitlin think he was older than he looked.

“Get out of here,” the older man yelled.

“Feel free to stay,” the younger piped up. “We’re almost done with our negotiation here.”

“This isn’t a negotiation; it is theft!”

“I wish to book a passage to Boston.” Caitlin interrupted the argument. “I was told to see a Mr. Bedford about the passage to Boston.”

“I’m Bedford,” said the young man, “and I’m sailing north, but you aren’t going to get to Boston. The damned rebels control Boston and the seas around it. I could get you to New York, though.”

Caitlin’s mind reeled. She realized that she knew too little about where she was going. She did not know the cities or the relative loyalties of their inhabitants.

“Loyalists hold New York?”

“It is…”

“Are you going to give me a reasonable cost, boy!” The older man yelled.

“This is reasonable; if you don’t want it, I will take it up the coast and sell it for more than that.”

“You assume you won’t fall victim to one of these so-called privateers. That will teach you to try to cheat your betters.”

“You forget,” the younger man said, “my uncle is the yardmaster in New York. He is clearing the seas of this vermin as we talk.” He held an elbow toward Caitlin, “Come, M’lady. I’ll find a way to get you to Boston.”

An hour later, having settled on what Caitlin hoped was a reasonable price, she and Tabitha secured their luggage in their “private cabin.” The two women thought about the right size for a closet but had no choice. Although she did not know the details of her goal, she knew Boston and New York were not too far apart. And young Mr. Bedford quickly dropped his uncle’s name, giving her hope that she could manipulate one or both of them to get her Captain Allen’s hometown.

https://www.jeffthomasbooks.net/

My IT guy is working on some broken links and the like in my web site. If you scroll down you'll find book one of this series. We should be done working on it next week. Lack of attention to some problems like this is part of my ongoing medical issues.

[jemhouston]

Nicely done

[1Big Rich]

Thank you, Jeff!