Caribbee

by Thomas Hoover

  *

  "That's no Roundhead. I'll wager it's likely Briggs' mu­lata. Though she's just a little too late. I've a mind to leave her." He paused to watch as a wave washed over the figure and sent it staggering backward. Then another bullet sang past and he heard the shouts of Benjamin Briggs.

  "Maybe I owe a certain planter one last service."

  "Cap'n, we've got to get this tub to sea." Mewes was crouching behind the bulwarks of the Defiance. "Those damn'd Roundheads along the shore don't have many muskets yet, but they're apt to be gettin' reinforcements any time now. So if it's all the same, I don't think I'd encourage waitin' around all night."

  "John, how are the anchors?"

  "I've already weighed the heavy one up by the bow." He called down. "Say the word and we can just slip the cable on that little one at the stern."

  "Maybe we've got time." He pushed the longboat back away from the side of the Defiance. As he reached for an oar, Morris threw down his helmet and dove into the swell. In moments the commander was swimming toward shore.

  "Aye, he's gone, Yor Worship. He's a quick one, to be sure." The Scottish infantryman gave only a passing glance as he threw his weight against the oar. "You'll na be catching him, on my faith."

  "And what about you?"

  "With Yor Worship's leave, I'd as soon be stay in' on with you." He gave another powerful stroke with the oar. "Wher­e’er you're bound, 'tis all one to me."

  "What were you before? A seaman?"

  "A landsman, Yor Worship, I'll own it. I was took in the battle of Dunbar and impressed into the Roundhead army, made to come out here to the Caribbees. But I've had a belly­ful of these Roundheads and their stinking troop ships, I swear it. I kept my pigs better at home. I'd serve you like you was the king himself if you'd give me leave."

  "MacEwen, wasn't it?"

  "Aye, Yor Worship. At your service."

  "Then heave to." Winston pulled at the other oar. Through the dark they could just make out the bobbing form, now neck deep in the surf. She was supporting the black arms of yet another body.

  "Senhora!" Winston called through the rain.

  The white-clad figure turned and stared blankly toward them. She seemed overcome with exhaustion, unsure even where she was.

  "Espere um momento. We'll come to you." He was shout­ing now in Portuguese.

  A musket ball sang off the side of the longboat as several infantrymen began advancing down the shore in their direc­tion. The Scotsman hunkered beside the gunwales but did not miss a stroke of his oar as they neared the bobbing heads in the water.

  "Here, senhora." Winston reached down and grasped the arms of the body Serina was holding. It was Atiba. While Katherine caught hold of her shoulders and pulled her over the gunwale, MacEwen helped Winston hoist the Yoruba, unconscious, onto the planking. He was still bleeding, his breath faint.

  "He is almost dead, senhor. And they have killed Derin." Serina was half choked from the surf. "At first I was afraid to try bringing him. But then I thought of what would happen if they took him, and I knew I had . . ." She began mum­bling incoherently as she bent over the slumped form of Atiba, her mouth against his, as though to urge breath back into him.

  "Katy, the minute we're on board take them straight down to the cabin and see if you can get a little brandy into him. Maybe it'll do some good."

  "I'll try, but I fear it's too late already. Let's just get un­derway." She turned to look at the deck of the Defiance, where a line of seamen had appeared with muskets.

  The firing from the shore slowed now, as the infantry melted back into the rain to avoid the barrage from the ship. By the time their longboat was hoisted up over the side and lashed midships, Morris had retreated to safety with his men.

  While Mewes ordered the remaining anchor cable slipped and the mainsail dropped, Katherine ushered Serina through the companionway to the Great Cabin, followed by seamen carrying Atiba. Then the mast groaned against the wind, a seaman on the quarterdeck unlashed the helm, and in mo­ments they had begun to pull away.

  "That was easy." Mewes spat in the general direction of the scuppers, then hoisted up his belt as he watched the rain­swept shore begin to recede.

  "Could be Morris is just saving us for the frigates." Win­ston was studying the bobbing mast lights off their portside bow. "He probably figures they heard the gunfire and will realize something's afoot."

  "They've got their share of ordnance, that much I'll war­rant. There's at least one two-decker still on station out there, the Gloucester. I sailed on her once, back when I first got impressed by the damn'd navy, twenty-odd years back. She's seen her years at sea, but she's got plenty of cannon between decks for all that."

  "I think you'd better have the portside guns primed and ready to run out, just in case. But I figure once we get past the Point, we'll be clear. After that we can steer north and ride this coastal westerly right up to Speightstown, maybe heave-to there till the storm eases." He turned and headed down the deck. "I'm going aft to take the whipstaff. Get the yardmen aloft and damn the weather. I want the maintop and all braces manned."

  "Aye, you never know." Mewes yelled the gunnery orders through the open hatch, then marched down the deck giving assignments.

  Katherine was standing at the head of the companionway leading to the Great Cabin as Winston passed on his way to the quarterdeck. "I've put the African in your cabin, along with the mulatto woman." She caught his arm as he headed up the steps. "She's delirious. And I think he's all but dead. He's got a bad musket wound in his shoulder."

  "Even if he dies now, it'll be better than what Briggs and the planters had planned." He looked at her face and pushed aside a sudden desire to take her into his arms, just to know she was his at last. "But see if you can clean his wound with brandy. I'd hate to lose him now after all the trouble we went to bringing him aboard."

  "Why did you do it, Hugh? After all, he tried to kill you once, on this very deck. I was here, remember."

  "Who understands why we do anything? Maybe I like his brass. Maybe I don't even know the reason anymore."

  He turned and headed up the steps.