Caribbee

by Thomas Hoover

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "Heave, masters!" Winston was waist deep in the surf, throwing his shoulder against the line attached to the bow of the Defiance. "The sea's as high as it's likely to get. There'll never be a better time to set her afloat."

  Joan Fuller stood on deck, by the bulwark along the waist of the ship, supporting herself with the mainmast shrouds as she peered down through the rain. She held her bonnet in her hand, leaving her yellow hair plastered across her face in water-soaked strands. At Winston's request, she had brought down one of her last kegs of kill-devil. It was waiting, safely lashed to the mainmast, a visible inducement to effort.

  "Heave . . . ho." The cadence sounded down the line of seamen as they grunted and leaned into the chop, tugging on the slippery line. Incoming waves washed over the men, leav­ing them alternately choking and cursing, but the rise in sea level brought about by the storm meant the Defiance was already virtually afloat. Helped by the men it was slowly disengaging from the sandy mud; with each wave the bow would bob upward, then sink back a few inches farther into the bay.

  "She's all but free, masters." Winston urged them on. "Heave. For your lives, by God." He glanced back at John Mewes and yelled through the rain, "How're the stores?"

  Mewes spat out a mouthful of foam. "There's enough water and salt pork in the hold to get us up to Nevis Island, mayhaps. If the damned fleet doesn't blockade it first." He bobbed backward as a wave crashed against his face. "There's talk the whoresons could sail north after here."

  "Aye, they may stand for Virginia when they’ve done with the Caribbees. But they'll likely put in at St. Christopher and Nevis first, just to make sure they humble every freeborn Englishman in the Americas." Winston tugged again and watched the Defiance slide another foot seaward. "But with any luck we'll be north before them." He pointed toward the dim mast lanterns of the English gunships offshore. "All we have to do is slip past those frigates across the bay."

  The men heaved once more and the weathered bow dipped sideways. Then all at once, as though by the hand of nature, the Defiance was suddenly drifting in the surf. A cheer rose up, and Winston pushed his way within reach of the rope ladder dangling amidships. As he clambered over the bulwark Joan was waiting with congratulations.

  "You did it. On my honor, I thought this rotted-out tub was beached for keeps." She bussed him on the cheek. "Though I fancy you might’ve lived longer if it'd stayed where it was."

  Mewes pulled himself over the railing after Winston and plopped his feet down onto the wet deck. He winked at Joan and held out his arms. "No kiss for the quartermaster, yor ladyship? I was workin' too, by my life."

  "Get on with you, you tub of lard." She swiped at him with the waterlogged bonnet she held. "You and the rest of this crew of layabouts might get a tot of kill-devil if you're lucky. Which is more than you deserve, considering how much some of you owe me already."

  "Try heaving her out a little farther, masters." Winston was holding the whipstaff while he yelled from the quarter­deck. "She's coming about now. We'll drop anchor in a cou­ple of fathoms, nothing more."

  While the hull drifted out into the night and surf, Winston watched John Mewes kneel by the bulwark at the waist of the ship and begin to take soundings with a length of knotted rope.

  "Two fathoms, Cap'n, by the looks of it. What do you think?"

  "That's enough to drop anchor, John. I want to keep her in close. No sense alerting the Roundheads we're afloat."

  Mewes shouted toward the portside bow and a seaman began to feed out the anchor cable. Winston watched as it rat­tled into the surf, then he made his way along the rainswept deck back to the starboard gallery at the stern and shoved another large anchor over the side. It splashed into the waves and disappeared, its cable whipping against the taffrail.

  "That ought to keep her from drifting. There may be some maintopman out there in the fleet who'd take notice."

  Whereas fully half the Commonwealth's ships had sailed for Oistins Bay to assist in the invasion, a few of the larger frigates had kept to station, their ordnance trained on the harbor.

  "All aboard, masters. There's a tot of kill-devil waiting for every man, down by the mainmast." Winston was calling over the railing, toward the seamen now paddling through the dark along the side of the ship. "John's taking care of it. Any man who's thirsty, come topside. We'll christen the launch."

  The seamen sounded their approval and began to scramble up. Many did not wait their turn to use the rope ladders. Instead they seized the rusty deadeyes that held the shrouds, found toeholds in the closed gunports, and pulled themselves up within reach of the gunwales. Winston watched approv­ingly as the shirtless hoard came swarming onto the deck with menacing ease. These were still his lads, he told himself with a smile. They could storm and seize a ship before most of its crew managed even to cock a musket. Good men to have on hand, given what lay ahead.

  "When're you thinkin' you'll try for open sea?" Joan had followed him up the slippery companionway to the quarter­deck. "There's a good half-dozen frigates hove-to out there, doubtless all with their bleedin' guns run out and primed. I'll wager they'd like nothing better than catchin' you to lee­ward."

  "This squall's likely to blow out in a day or so, and when it does, we're going to pick a dark night, weigh anchor, and make a run for it. By then the Roundheads will probably be moving on Bridgetown, so we won't have a lot of time to dally about." He looked out toward the lights of the English fleet. "I'd almost as soon give it a try tonight. Damn this foul weather."

  She studied the bobbing pinpoints at the horizon skepti­cally. "Do you really think you can get past them?"

  He smiled. "Care to wager on it? I've had a special set of short sails made up, and if it's dark enough, I think we can probably slip right through. Otherwise, we'll just run out the guns and take them on."

  Joan looked back. "You could be leaving just in time, I'll grant you. There're apt to be dark days ahead here. What do you think'll happen with this militia now?"

  "Barbados' heroic freedom fighters? I'd say they'll be disarmed and sent packing. Back to the cane and tobacco fields where they'd probably just as soon be anyway. The grand American revolution is finished. Tonight, when the militia should be moving everything they've got up to Oistins, they're off worrying about cane fires, letting the Roundheads get set to offload their heavy guns. By the time the rains let up and there can be a real engagement, the English infantry'll have ordnance in place and there'll be nothing to meet them with. They can't be repulsed. It's over." He looked at her. "So the only thing left for me is to get out of here while I still can. And stand for Jamaica."

  "That daft scheme!" She laughed ruefully and brushed the dripping hair from her face. "You'd be better off going up to Bermuda for a while, or anywhere, till things cool off. You've not got the men to do anything else."

  "Maybe I can still collect a few of my indentures."

  "And maybe you'll see Puritans dancin' at a Papist wed­ding." She scoffed. "Let me tell you something. Those in­dentures are going to scatter like a flock of hens the minute the militia's disbanded. They'll not risk their skin goin' off with you to storm that fortress over at Villa de la Vega. If you know what's good for you, you'll forget Jamaica."

  "Don't count me out yet. There's still another way to get the men I need." He walked to the railing and gazed out into the rain. "I've been thinking I might try getting some help another place."

  "And where, pray, could that be?"

  "You're not going to think much of what I have in mind." He caught her eye and realized she'd already guessed his plan.

  "That's a fool's errand for sure."

  "Kindly don't go prating it about. The truth is, I'm not sure yet what I'll do. Who's to say?"

  "You're a lying rogue, Hugh Winston. You've already made up your mind. But if you're not careful, you'll be in a worse bind than this. . . ."

  "Beggin' yor pardon, Cap'n, it looks as if we've got a visitor." Mewes was moving up the dark companionw
ay to the quarterdeck. He spat into the rain, then cast an uncom­fortable glance toward Joan. "Mayhaps you'd best come down and handle the orders."

  Winston turned and followed him onto the main deck. Through the dark a white horse could be seen prancing in the gusts of rain along the shore. A woman was in the saddle, waving silently at the ship, oblivious to the squall.

  "Aye, permission to come aboard. Get her the longboat, John." He thumbed at the small pinnace dangling from the side of the ship. "Just don't light a lantern."

  Mewes laughed. "I'd give a hundred sovereigns to the man who could spark up a candle lantern in this weather!"

  Winston looked up to see Joan slowly descending the com­panionway from the quarterdeck. They watched in silence as the longboat was lowered and oarsmen began rowing it the few yards to shore.

  "Well, this is quite a sight, if I may say." Her voice was contemptuous as she broke the silence. Suddenly she began to brush at her hair, attempting to straighten out the tangles. "I've never known 'her ladyship' to venture out on a night like this. . . ." She turned and glared at Winston. "Though I've heard talk she managed to get herself aboard the Defiance once before in a storm."

  "You've got big ears."

  "Enough to keep track of your follies. Do you suppose your lads don't take occasion to talk when they've a bit of kill-devil in their bellies? You should be more discreet, or else pay them better."

  "I pay them more than they're worth now."

  "Well, they were most admirin' of your little conquest. Or was the conquest hers?"

  "Joan, why don't you just let it rest?" He moved to the railing at midships and reached down to help Katherine up the rope ladder. "What's happened? This is the very devil of a night. . . ."

  "Hugh . . ." She was about to throw her arms around him when she noticed Joan. She stopped dead still, then turned and nodded with cold formality. "Your servant . . . madam."

  "Your ladyship's most obedient . . ." Joan curtsied back with a cordiality hewn from ice.

  They examined each other a moment in silence. Then Katherine seemed to dismiss her as she turned back to Win­ston.

  "Please. Won't you come back and help? just for to­night?"

  He reached for her hand and felt it trembling. "Help you? What do you mean?" His voice quickened. "Don't tell me the Roundheads have already started marching on Bridge­town."

  "Not that we know of. But now that the rain's put out the cane fires, a few of the militia have started regrouping. With their horses." She squeezed his hand in her own. "Maybe we could still try an attack on the Oistins breastwork at dawn."

  "You don't have a chance. Now that the rains have begun, you can't move up any cannon. The roads are like rivers. But they've got heavy ordnance. The Roundheads have doubtless got those cannons in the breastwork turned around now and covering the road. If we'd have marched last evening, we could've moved up some guns of our own, and then hit them at first light. Before they expected an attack. But now it's too late." He examined her sadly. Her face was drawn and her hair was plastered against her cheeks. "It's over, Katy. Bar­bados is lost."

  "But you said you'd fight, even if you had nobody but your own men."

  "Briggs and the rest of them managed to change my mind for me. Why should I risk anything? They won't."

  She stood unmoving, still grasping his hand. "Then you're really leaving?"

  "I am." He looked at her. "I still wish you'd decide to go with me. God knows . . ."

  Suddenly she pulled down his face and kissed him on the lips, lingering as the taste of rain flooded her mouth. Finally she pulled away. "I can't think now. At least about that. But for God's sake please help us tonight. Let us use those flint­locks you've got here on the ship. They're dry. The Round­head infantry probably has mostly matchlocks, and they'll be wet. With your muskets maybe we can make up for the dif­ference in our numbers."

  He examined her skeptically. "Just exactly whose idea is this, Katy?"

  "Who do you suppose? Nobody else knows you've got them."

  "Anthony Walrond knows." Winston laughed. "I'll say one thing. It would be perfect justice."

  "Then use them to arm our militia. With your guns, may­be –- “

  "I'll be needing those flintlocks where I'm going."

  Joan pushed forward with a scowl. "Give me leave to put you in mind, madam, that those muskets belong to Hugh. Not to the worthless militia on this island." She turned on Winston. "Don't be daft. You give those new flintlocks over to the militia and you'll never see half of them again. You know that as well as I do."

  He stood studying the locked fo'c'sle in silence. "I'll grant you that. I'd be a perfect fool to let the militia get hold of them."

  "Hugh, what happened to all your talk of honor?" Kather­ine drew back. "I thought you were going to fight to the last."

  "I told you . . ." He paused as he gazed into the rain for a long moment. Finally he looked back. "I'd say there is one small chance left. If we went in with a few men, before it gets light, maybe we could spike the cannon in the breast­work. Then at least it would be an even battle."

  "Would you try it?"

  He took her hand, ignoring Joan's withering glare. "Maybe I do owe Anthony Walrond a little farewell party. In appre­ciation for his selling this island, and me with it, to the God damned Roundheads."

  "Then you'll come?"

  "How about this? If I can manage to get some of my lads over to Oistins before daybreak, we might try paying them a little surprise." He grinned. "It would be good practice for Jamaica."

  "Then stay and help us fight. How can we just give up, when there's still a chance? They can't keep up their blockade forever. Then we'll be done with England, have a free nation here. . . ."

  He shook his head in resignation, then turned up his face to feel the rain. He stood for a time, the two women watching him as the downpour washed across his cheeks. "There's no freedom on this island anymore. There may never be again. But maybe I do owe Anthony Walrond and his Windwards a lesson in honor." He looked back. "All right. But go back up to the compound. You'd best stay clear of this."

  Before she could respond, he turned and signaled toward Mewes.

  "John. Unlock the muskets and call all hands on deck."