Dex picked up the soft leather pouch and upended it over his palm. Twenty or more bright gold coins, the size of silver dollars, glowed in the light from the cabin’s stern windows. Under them lay a large gold ring set with an intricately carved green stone that seemed to glow faintly from within. “Wow,” he breathed instantly mesmerized. “Thank you.”
Campbell smiled. “It's you who deserves the thanks, lad,” he said. Those are Spanish doubloons we found aboard the Dutchman. Guard them well, they're worth far more than colonial script or even British coin of the realm although you've some of that coming as well. The ring comes from DeJong's very hand and I think it is right for you to have it, though in truth, I would not care to have it upon my hand. We can never know, but it may be that his defeat was the reason you came to be on this ship. In any event, it is done and now, with this wind, we'll raise Boston within two days, and when our business there is concluded, perhaps we'll venture north to see if we can find the...” he frowned. “...the Harbor Rose, was it?”
Chapter 17
With favorable on-shore winds over her starboard quarter, the White Shark raced northeast throughout the rest of the day.
After Dex left Captain Campbell, he went back to his cabin and examined his treasure. The dates on the doubloons ranged from 1732 to 1751 and each was a solid weight of warm, gleaming gold in Dex’s hand. The ring also felt warm to the touch and seemed to shimmer as Dex held it close to his eye to try to decipher the faint engraving around the stone. After some time, he realized that, one; he could not even tell if the words were in English and two; he had been crouched on his bunk staring at it for so long his knees had stiffened,
When Dex finally hid his treasure under his mattress and left his cabin it was late in the afternoon. He climbed to the main top and settled in to talk with Tobias. “I think I owe you an explanation,” he said gazing out at the windswept sea.
“You owe me nothing,” Tobias said. “But I must admit you sometimes seem a riddle I cannot fathom.”
Dex sighed and looked Tobias in the eye. “I did come aboard the White Shark from another ship,” he said, “but it was a fishing boat I fell off, not a merchantman… and it happened in the year 2005.”
Tobias frowned. “But how...” he began, “how could...”
“I don't know,” Dex said. “I don't know what happened or why. I only know I ended up here and I'm tired of trying to keep it secret... and I want to go home.”
“Do you know the way?” asked Tobias trustingly accepting the impossibility of Dex’ story.
“No. I fell over the rail of one boat and landed on the deck of another in another time. I'm afraid there is no way back.” Dex choked back a sob as he admitted the hopelessness of his position out loud.
Tobias put an arm around Dex's shoulder. “Perhaps not,” he said gently, “but never forget, you have friends and a home here if that be the case.”
The two boys talked until the change of the watch, each struggling to understand the others’ wildly unfamiliar times. After supper, Dex went to Captain Campbell's cabin and told him that he had let Tobias in on the secret and retrieved several items from his backpack. “I just couldn't lie to him anymore,” he said.
“Aye, keeping a secret from a friend can feel like a lie,” Captain Campbell said, “and Tobias is indeed a friend to you. You’ll not know it but, he insisted I put him ashore to find you in Boston, ‘tho he was fair terrified of being caught and dragged back into slavery.”
Later that evening, after Quill had left the cabin as he usually did when Dex came in, Dex put a cloth sack on Tobias' bunk.
“This is something I'd like you to have,” he said. “You'll have to keep it secret, but I hope you can put it to good use.”
Tobias opened the bag and examined the contents, eyes widening as he paged through the notebook and immediately grasped the use of the pen. This is finer than any captain's log,” he breathed, and trying the pen in his small neat script, “What a wondrous world yours must be.”
Dex sat on his bunk and reached under the mattress. “I want you to have this too,” he said, holding out his hunting knife. “Every time I see you carving with that rusty old blade of yours, I expect to see a finger come off.”
Tobias sat back on his bunk, abruptly sober. “I am suddenly rich,” he said. You've given me the two best knives on the ship and a book and quill that have no equal. I am ashamed that I can only offer this poor carving in return.” Tobias held out a small medallion, carved from a scrap of whalebone and hung on a leather thong. It had delicate, intricate scrimshaw decorations which almost appeared to be words surrounding the letters 'DEX' in the center.
“Dex smiled. “Thank you, but I think I still owe you,” he said slipping the thong over his head. “You saved my life in Boston. This is beautiful. What does it say?” he asked twisting his neck to look down at the medallion which he noticed already felt warm against his skin.
Tobias waved a hand in dismissal. “’Tis but a small wish for your safekeeping in the tongue of my grandmother,” he said. “A ward against evil if you believe in it but she would caution that believe in it you must if you would enjoy its protection.”
The next morning, Dex was with Tobias at the main top eyeing the land that had appeared on the left at sun up. “The Captain will bear to port around yon cape, and we'll be in Boston by this time tomorrow,” Tobias said. “Mind you stay with Mister Davis, this time. I don't want to come and get you again.”
By sunset, heavy clouds had moved in and rain threatened. The White Shark, sailing with a following wind under the main gaff sail and two jibs, had passed Cape Cod and altered course to the northwest. Boston harbor lay fifty miles up the coast, but the sight of land was soon lost in the gathering darkness. Dex was in the forecastle, watching Bint Miller weave a complicated splice in two lengths of heavy mooring line when an excited yell came down from a lookout above, “Sail ho! Close on the starboard beam.”
Dashing out on deck and looking over the rail, Dex had a strong sense of Déjà vu as the towering sails of a British man-o-war loomed out of the night as they had during Dex's first week aboard the White Shark. Dex ran aft and scrambled to the quarterdeck to stand by Alan Davis watching the giant ship pass close behind them, already heeling over as she turned to follow. Davis issued his orders in a firm voice. To the helmsman, “Come about to starboard. Make your course north by northeast.” To the waiting bosun, “All hands on deck. Give us for'sl, main’sls and maintop’sls and trim for a broad reach.” As men scrambled aloft, he turned to Dex. “Up the main with you,” he said. “Watch her lights. We should have the legs of her in this wind, but you can tell if she closes.”
Dex hustled up to the main top, wishing that he had his binoculars and then realizing as he looked out into the night that they wouldn't be of much use in the dark anyway. At first he saw nothing, but then a cluster of lights appeared in the gloom behind the White Shark and, as his eyes adjusted, he began to make out the ghostly image of the ship itself.
The White Shark heeled sharply to port as she settled on her new heading and Dex braced himself against the mast as he called down to Davis. “She's right behind us,” he yelled, “but I don't think she's getting any closer.” Indeed, as the White Shark gathered way, the British warship seemed to drop back little by little until except, for the pinprick lights of her lanterns, she once again faded into the night.
All night, the White Shark ran hard to the northeast and Dex remained at his post at the main top platform, wet and shivering in the occasional rain showers despite the oilcloth coat Tobias had brought up to him. At dawn, with the sun doing little to light the clouded skies, Dex climbed stiffly down to the deck and accepted a mug of hot tea from Alan Davis who also had remained at his post throughout the night. To the stern, perhaps three miles back, the British warship still pursued, grim and menacing in the growing light as she slipped through patches of sea fog, but still not gaining on the White Shark.
“She'll not catch us as
long as this wind holds,” said Davis, “and I expect she'll grow tired of the chase before long.”
“Why is she chasing us at all?” asked Dex.
“She's looking for smugglers, and perhaps a raider of British ships that just might fit our description.” Davis chuckled. “We sorely vexed Jack Tar this summer whilst you were ashore, but 'twould be a cruel joke to be taken now with the treasure we have aboard. Oh, well, her captain will not be pleased at our escape, but our Captain would be pleased indeed if you were to bring him the news.”
Dex went to Captain Campbell's cabin to find him sitting at his desk, turned to look out the stern windows. “It seems we'll be in your home waters sooner than expected,” he said. “Once we've shaken this hound, we might sail to where you came aboard but, for now, you'd be best served by some hours in a warm bunk.” A grin of agreement on his face, Dex went to his cabin and stripped off his wet clothes before climbing up to his bunk. He took off the wet leather thong and medallion as well and put it with his bag of coins under the corner of his mattress before falling into a deep sleep.
Chapter 18
Dex was awakened by yells and the hollow rumble of cannon wheels on the deck over his head. Momentarily confused, he struggled to make sense of the noise and then turned over and closed his eyes as he realized it must be morning gun drill. He did not think he would be missed this one day, and he was just falling back to sleep when suddenly the door crashed open and Tobias loomed in the dim light of the doorway with a concerned look on his face.
Dex rose up on an elbow. “What's going on?” he asked.
“There's another British man-o-war and we're in for a fight,” said Tobias. “All hands were called and Mister Davis sent Quill to rouse you, but he said you refused to leave your bunk. He said you had no stomach for any more battle.”
Rage washed over Dex in a sullen red wave. “That lying snake never came in here at all.” he cried jumping from the bunk. “I'm going to pound him into the deck when I get my hands on him.”
“And no doubt he richly deserves it, but right now you're needed at your station,” Tobias said quietly.
The White Shark heeled to port as Alan Davis fled the new menace of the second British warship that had appeared from the east. With the first ship now gaining because White Shark lost the advantage of the wind in her turn to avoid the second her escape was turning into a fight for her very survival.
As Dex clambered up the companionway to the main deck, he could hear Ian Carmichael shouting orders as he prepared the White Shark's guns for battle. Gaining the deck, he ran to his assigned place between two of the eighteen pound cannons at the port rail, but a young sailor was already there with powder bags in his hands.
“Mister Stockford,” the gun captain said, “you're to report to the Captain in his cabin.” Dex nodded and ran back to the companionway. When he got to the stern cabin, the door was open and Captain Campbell was standing at his desk with Alan Davis.
“The British are fast closing with fifty guns from the south and seventy-four from the east,” Campbell said as Dex skidded to a stop at their side. “They'll soon have our range.” As if to underscore his point, Dex heard a muted thud from the stern and looked out the small stern window panes to see cannon smoke whipping away from the bow of the British warship behind them.
Captain Campbell glanced up briefly. “And so it begins,” he said. “Our only chance may be to get into shallower water where they can't follow. I thought you might guide us with your chart.”
Dex saw the chart of the Southwest Harbor area he had brought aboard unfolded on the desk. “I've only been in a boat here once before,” he said desperately. “I don't know enough to help.”
“Nonetheless,” said Campbell grabbing the chart and limping for the door, “you'll join us on the quarterdeck and guide us as best you can.”
By the time they got to the quarterdeck, the second British warship had also opened fire with her bow chasers although the range was still too great to allow any but a chance hit on the White Shark. Ian Carmichael reported the guns ready for action, and Captain Campbell distractedly passed the chart to Dex as he studied the oncoming British ships.
Dex dropped to his knees and spread the chart on the deck, looking from it to the closest land, feverishly trying to orientate himself. Suddenly, it clicked and he knew where they were. “Those are the Cranberry Islands,” he shouted pointing ahead to the left of the bow. We can go straight in between them and Mount Desert and then turn right behind Sutton Island and come back out to the east.”
Alan Davis studied the chart. “If these numbers are the depth in feet, and if they are accurate, we could do just that,” he said to Captain Campbell. “They won't be in any hurry to chase us that close inshore.”
Dex remembered something else. “Be careful,” he warned. “There's a ledge ahead of us that's really hard to see.”
Davis jumped for the rigging and climbed six steps, peering intently ahead. “It’s right there three hundred yards off the bow,” he shouted to the helmsman pointing to a spot in front of the ship. Bear off to port and round it gently as though you were looking for more wind. Perhaps we can entice that bastard behind us to gut himself.”
In the next moments, White Shark curved around the ledge and entered the channel between Great Cranberry Island and the Arcadia coast. Dex held his breath as he watched the warship behind them approach the area of the ledge and then groaned aloud as, sails flapping thunderously, she abruptly veered to port at the last second. “She missed,” he said sourly.
“But she's lost the wind and left herself in irons,” crowed Davis. “She'll be a fair time getting close again.”
“Aye, but she has only to stay on station,” said Captain Campbell who had been watching the other warship. “Look; that one's turned to the north.” He pointed to the chart. “It appears her captain is no stranger to these waters. Between them, they will have us bottled up behind these islands.”
As morning passed into early afternoon, the White Shark raced to north and then turned due east around the far side of Sutton Island. Captain Campbell grimly ordered the huge casks of fresh drinking water dumped into the bilges and then pumped overboard and excess cargo jettisoned as well to lighten the ship in search of a few extra knots of speed, but he refrained from dumping the great weight of the cannons, knowing that a fight must be inevitable. The ship from the south was again following but slowly, with apparent care for the uncharted waters, and posed no immediate threat other than blocking any retreat in that direction. The ship to the east had disappeared northward behind the islands however, no one doubted that they would soon see her again.
As the White Shark rounded the eastern tip of Sutton Island, with the open Atlantic ahead, the British Man of War was lying directly across her path, three rows of black gun ports agape and obviously ready for battle.
And a battle she would get. Among the men on the quarterdeck and all the seamen standing behind their cannons, Dex heard not one suggestion of surrender. “I'll come to port and give you one starboard broadside,” Captain Campbell called to Ian Carmichael. “Make the most of it.”
Carmichael nodded grimly and strode to his guns. Dex could only stare as the distance between the two ships narrowed until the gigantic British man-o-war opened fire at a quarter mile, and the White Shark seemed to stagger in the water at the massive impacts against her hull. A huge cloud of smoke hid the British ship only to be ripped apart in the next minute by her second thunderous broadside, and again the White Shark shuddered under the accurate fire, but then she responded with all of her starboard cannons firing at once and the British ship shuddered in her turn. For the third broadside, the British guns lifted and the White Shark's deck became an instant shambles of shattered gunwales, tangled rigging and broken men. Dex saw Bint Miller and two other men cut down in a hail of splinters as they crouched behind their gun, and he could barely hear Captain Campbell's orders over the screams of wounded sailors.
“Com
e about to starboard,” the Captain yelled as they closed to within four hundred yards of the British ship. “Mister Carmichael, her decks if you please. Mister Davis, have a look below.”
As Davis leaped from the Quarterdeck, the White Shark heeled sharply, turning her bow back to the east. As she came out of the turn, the ten cannons on the her port side spoke as one and every ball struck home on the upper gun ports and deck of the British warship. Dex saw men and cannons blown high into the air and whole lengths of painted bulwark and polished gunwale disappear, but he knew it would not be enough. Even as the White Shark's shot battered the upper gun-deck of the warship, her lower cannons roared out once again at near point blank range.
Finishing her turn, the White Shark picked up the wind over her port side and sluggishly began to pull away from her enemy toward the southeast. Captain Campbell had chosen to run towards the smaller of the two British warships which was now in the channel between Mount Desert Island and Great Cranberry Island. As the larger British ship maneuvered to begin a stern chase, the White Shark's guns fired a third ragged broadside before losing the angle to the other ship, and seconds later her nine pound stern chasers roared out their final shots.
“There's shoal water between those two islands,” Captain Campbell said as if to himself nodding towards the two Cranberry Islands that lay off to the left. He peered ahead the British ship coming towards them. “If we can get by her, we’ll be alright. She’ll not be able to turn in that channel. We’ll cross her bows and then come due south.”
“I’m afraid, we won't be afloat long enough to get past her, Jacob,” Alan Davis said as he climbed wearily back to the quarterdeck. “The hull’s breached in a dozen places and the forward pumps are blown to hell, but worse, the orlop’s afire abaft the powder magazine. We can't save her; we must strike and abandon her now.”
Bystander in Time Page 10
