by Peter Greene
“Well, well, well,” Walker said. “It seems—” and he stopped. The Captain turned his head slightly to one side and closed his eyes.
“Sir?” said Harrison. “Are you well?”
“Shhhh!” snapped Walker. He listened for a long moment. “Do you hear it?”
Jonathan listened intently. And then there was . . . a faint rattling.
“A rattle?” he asked.
“Yes!” cried Walker, happy that someone else had heard the noise. Each night, as he stood on the poop deck, he would hear the scraping from time to time and believed that he might be going mad. Unable to find the cause, he walked about the deck, listening. “Do you hear it, Mr. Moore?”
Jonathan listened again, though he now heard only the sounds of the busy ship.
“I do not, now, sir,” he said. “It could just be my ears ringing. I was very close to the guns aboard the Fiero.”
Walker seemed to frown at Jonathan’s lack of confidence in his hearing and waved his hands in the air in dismissal. He would continue to listen by himself, later.
“Miss Dowdeswell!” boomed Captain Walker, wanting to change the subject. “Are you comfortable? Do you require anything at all?”
“Not at all, Captain Walker,” she said, eyeing the table’s fare and taking a napkin for her lap. “How very kind of you to ask.”
Jonathan marveled at Delain. How she could be firing a gun at pirates one moment, then thirty minutes later, be a lady with the most proper manners and delightful way, sipping tea and eating finger cakes. As the Captain asked the other officers to sit at the cramped table, Jonathan moved to sit to Delain’s left. However, he was rudely and literally elbowed out by none other than Spears, who grinned as he sat down next to the Governor’s daughter.
“Spears,” said Harrison, “have you tossed the log as of late?”
“Tossed the log, sir? Why, not since last night,” said Spears. He had a questioning look on his face, as if to ask, Why would I need to toss the log to check the ship’s speed at this moment? “We are just cruising a few islands under minimum sail,” he added, as if to question Harrison.
“Is that what we are doing? Lord, I assumed we were on a merry-go-round at the fair,” said Harrison sharply, yet calmly. “Please take Lane with you and report the ship’s speed back to me immediately, thank you. You are dismissed.”
“Aye, sir!” said Lane, who quickly grabbed a handful of the peppered eggs and marched to the door. As he left the cabin, Spears glared at Jonathan, who took the seat next to Delain.
Mr. Harrison caught Jonathan’s eye, smiled, and winked. “Always good to know a ship’s speed, Mr. Moore,” Harrison whispered. “A critical element in the calculations of position upon the sea.”
“I agree, Mr. Harrison,” said Jonathan, smiling.
“Now then,” said the Captain, eyeing Harrison, “Since the seating arrangements have been adjusted to please the young at heart, I would like to make sure that Miss Dowdeswell is perfectly well and if she suffered any injury in her adventure.”
“I am as perfect as can be. No injuries whatsoever, Captain,” she said, taking a small bite of the sugar puff. “It was most exciting, I must say. I never had an opportunity to fire a cannon, or as you say in naval terms, a ship’s gun, as cannon are for, how did Mr. Moore say it? For cretinous land-lubbers of the army? Ah, that alone was worth the effort.”
“You fired a gun?” said Walker, taken aback. “Mr. Harrison, details if you please and hurry.”
Harrison then began the tale of finding the rum stored in a cave and then Jonathan’s report of seeing a small pirate brig just off the outer reef of Conception Island. Sean interrupted just long enough to explain his discovery of strawberries and how all the evidence of his find was devoured by the marine detachment.
“Not that I need to ask, but protocol requires it,” said the Captain. “Whose idea was it to take the Fiero?”
“Jonathan’s, sir,” said Harrison. “It was his idea and his plan. Quite ingenious, I would say!”
Jonathan just smiled and blushed, then took over the tale. He explained the stationing of their small party among the bonfires and Mr. Tupper’s idea of stuffing a few jackets and blouses with palm fronds and coconuts to increase their numbers. He also mentioned, much to the mortification of Steward and a few officers, how they wasted a large amount of rum in an obvious manner to entice the pirates ashore.
“’Tis a sin to waste, Mr. Moore!” exclaimed Steward.
Koonts laughed his squeaky cackle as Jonathan continued, explaining Delain’s part as a ghost and her firing of the deck guns.
“It was really quite simple,” Delain said, “once Mr. Moore had prepared them for me. His advice to stand to the side of the gun was well received, as I could have been horribly injured had I stood behind.”
“He has great experience there,” added Harrison with a laugh, referring to Jonathan’s mishap and near injury when he first fired a gun aboard HMS Poseidon. Harrison had saved him by knocking him out of the way. Only Jonathan’s pride was seriously injured.
“I remember that lesson well,” said Jonathan, flush with embarrassment.
“If I may ask, sir,” said Harrison, “how did the Danielle come about Conception Island? We didn’t expect you to be coming from the north.”
“Ah, it was fortuitous,” answered Walker, taking a bite of a large piece of toasted cheese, “we made our tour of the waters to the south past the Turks, and as we sailed northwards, we saw flashes of light in the morning sun as we passed east of Rum Cay. Guessing they were a ship’s guns, we stayed to the east and headed to San Salvador to hide ourselves. We spied a slow-moving vessel, the Fiero as we now know, and decided to engage from the north and trap our prey as she approached. We had all guns ready to fire. Quite a close call.”
“The bloomers certainly were . . . unique,” added Koonts. “Bravo, Miss Dowdeswell.”
Now it was Delain’s turn to blush.
“Ah, but all’s well that ends well,” said Sean. “And we had strawberries to boot!”
The ship sailed on to the south, lazily as the wind was sparse, but the turquoise water and golden sunlight flickering off the waves made the crew sigh in relief, as indeed, it was a beautiful day. They also smiled as they talked about how the prize money would be split and the probable selling price of the Fiero was guessed at by many.
In the galley, Sean engaged in a conversation with Claise and Steward. He was surprised that he would even see a shilling of the prize money.
“Aye, you’ll get a penny, Flagon,” said Steward as he rummaged through Claise’s pots and pans for an implement of some kind. Claise didn’t mind – the pots, pans, and spoons that made up his galley supplies were actually the property of the Danielle, not his own. He could always borrow them back when Steward was busy with other business besides cooking for the Captain.
“I figger the Fiero will present itself decently in prize court. Should sell fer almost two thousand pounds, and after all the officers and leeches ashore take their undo share, we should see, oh, a couple ‘o pound or thereabout. Not a fortune, but a few days o’ comfort at some interesting port-o-call!”
“I’d like to buy some spices, if I can,” said Claise. “Before he left with Mr. Langley, Gallotta suggested that I obtain some oregano and fennel, and basil as well. He gave me his mother’s tomato sauce recipe. He swore it was authentic Italian, whatever that means, but it must be good!”
“No doubt, Gallotta was a fine cook and his days aboard the Poseidon were filled with stories of his mother’s sauce and her pasta dishes. ‘used to make me stomach growl just hearin’ ‘em,” added Steward, finally pulling up a small metal spatula from a drawer. “Fer the toasted cheese. Mine is worn to a nub and nothin’.”
“Pardon me, Steward,” Sean asked, “Did you say one or two pounds would be my share of the prize money? That’s a lot of money. I’ve never seen so much as that!”
“Aye, it’s a small fortune, accent on the small,
but, better than a poke in the eye it is,” Steward said, laughing. “I remember when I was on the Troy with Jonathan’s father. We captured a Spanish galleon, an old one mind ya, but a beauty. Over eighty guns it had and some gold pieces as well. I believe my share as bosun was over seventy-five pounds. Oh! I remember a long and comfortable Christmas that year. And being a bachelor, as I was and am still, well, I went through it fast, but it was worth it!”
“What did you spend it on, Steward?” Sean said, giving little Stewie a scratch on the head.
“Ah! Oh, well,” stumbled Steward, “just some nice evenings with some new friends is all! But no time fer that tale now, Flagon! Captain wants ya to board the Fiero with a crew and get ‘er cleaned up as best ya can. The sail master will inspect the sheets and see if he can repair or replace. So get a move on!”
Sean and his crew of at least a dozen of the Danis hurriedly set about their work of polishing, painting, sweeping, and straightening the Fiero. Others, the team of carpenters mostly, inspected and probed the old ship and made lists of all the heavy work to be done. The officers had another chore. As they gathered on the stern deck, the poop, as it was called, Walker called to Hudson, who was standing just below on the main deck.
“Hudson, have the pirate brought to me immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” Hudson said, and sharply saluted and turned, quickly walking across deck and disappearing down a ladder to the brig.
“Captain,” said Harrison, “Do you think he is really a pirate? I mean in the truest sense?”
“We shall see,” Walker said. “There is something about the Fiero that is out of place. Holtz here thinks it resembles HMS Drake, lost in the American War of the colonies. If so, it may actually be British property and that would make our prisoner an enemy of the King.”
Jonathan and Delain were standing by the rail and inched their way closer to listen in. They could see Hudson now on deck with two marines escorting an interesting person to the stern. The prisoner wore a black coat—one that looked like a tattered officer’s uniform from years gone by. The blouse underneath was stained with heaven-knows-what, appearing almost brownish and mottled with bits of red as well. His pants, also black, were ripped and dirty, and his shoes mismatched. One had a buckle, the other a single bow, wilted and grey. However, in contrast to his garb, his hair was clean and flowing about his shoulders, a dark brown with some streaks of grey, and looked as if it was in many small waves, like the ocean itself. One wave was in the center of his forehead and as Jonathan stared, he believed the pirate had purposefully positioned the curl just so. His eyes were blue, like the Captain’s, and he smiled broadly.
“The prisoner, as you requested, Captain,” said Hudson.
The prisoner bowed elegantly and then straightened himself to his full height to look Walker directly in the eye.
“Captain Walter Kozak, at your disposal, Captain Walker,” he said, smiling.
His accent is a strange form of English, thought Jonathan, It sounds, well, funny. He must be speaking American. How very odd it is!
Walker looked Kozak in the eye as well and didn’t blink. They held the gaze for a moment. Kozak finally looked away, nodding at each of the officers.
“Gentlemen, a fine ship, very fine. Seventy-two guns, is it?” Kozak asked as he surveyed the main deck and the massive sails above.
“Did you say your name was Kozak?” asked Walker.
“Yes, Captain Walter Kozak, of the privateer Fiero,” he answered. “Then there must be seventy-four guns if there is a one, eh?”
“And under what flag do you sail?” continued Walker, not even acknowledging Kozak’s questions.
“Flag?” asked Kozak. “None really. I am an international citizen, Captain Walker. I work for many nations, though I do reside in the Caribbean, mostly, at times as far north as Virginia and as far south as the Lesser Antilles.”
“So how did you become chained to the overhead beam, Captain Kozak? Odd place to command a ship, isn’t it?” Walker asked.
Kozak seemed slightly put off guard, but after a moment, he smiled and nodded knowingly.
“Yes, it is odd and unfortunate as you can imagine. I was the object of a mutiny. Can you believe that?” Kozak said.
Walker smiled. “No, actually, I don’t believe it.”
Kozak continued, “Dear Captain, what a horrible thing to say! My men are not of the disciplined sort such as yours! I must pick them all as volunteers—no press gangs in America, I can tell you that! Each man comes under his own volition and, unfortunately, under his own desires. One little disagreement and a mutiny is brewing.”
“What was the disagreement?” asked Walker, calmly. He was watching Kozak’s eyes, looking for a sign that might show a lie. Kozak knew it. He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly.
“If you must know, it was over rum. The crew wanted to change our plan and pick up a few hundred bottles some of them had buried on Conception Island. They wanted to make a quick penny selling it to the locals in the Bahamas, Jamaica, and the Tortugas, maybe a few other small settlements. I disagreed.”
“So they locked you in irons?” asked Walker.
“Extreme, yes, however that is the first thing the scum did when they took my ship.”
Walker knew this was true and wanted Kozak to feel safe in his story. But now it was time for the real questions to begin.
“I wonder about the Fiero, Captain Kozak. If memory serves me, it was a Spanish ship, yes?”
Kozak nodded.
“And as I remember, the Fiero was sunk before the war with America, by the British ship HMS Cloud. Could this be the same Fiero, raised from the deep?”
“Indeed, the Fiero was a Spanish ship originally,” Kozak added. “But this Fiero could not be the same one you mention, could it? Just a name my employer chose, I assume.”
“I wonder. It resembles HMS Drake, wouldn’t you say, Lieutenant Holtz?” Walker said.
“Yes, sir, I would,” answered Holtz.
Kozak was now without a smile. “I was assigned this ship by my employer. An American businessman named Rockwell. He hired me to transport some goods—”
“Did you know that the Drake was captured by the Americans in 1778?” interrupted Walker.
Kozak now looked absolutely pale.
“That is an interesting fact, Captain Walker. I had not known that,” Kozak said.
“Surely, you know of the American Naval hero, John Paul Jones? He captured the Drake and then sold her at auction in New York. I would wonder if we remove the plaque across the stern, we might see her original name.”
Just then Sean called out from the Fiero and held aloft a plank of wood that read Fiero. He tossed it to the deck and looked over the stern with Hicks at his side. They stared for a moment, then called to the Captain.
“Aye Cap’n,” called Hicks. “As ya said. The original plaque reads HMS Drake!”
Kozak was slightly stunned, but he had figured he couldn’t play ignorant any longer.
“If I can explain, Captain,” Kozak said.
“Take him to the brig, Hudson.”
Assisted by two other marines, Hudson grabbed the prisoner roughly and began escorting the struggling man below.
“Wait! Captain Walker! At least hear me!” Kozak pleaded.
Walker just stared at him with contempt, his steel-blue eyes squinting in the sun.
“You are in possession of a stolen British ship, Kozak. You will hang after your trial in London, no doubt.”
Kozak managed to halt his departure for a moment and turned to face the Captain.
“Captain Walker, I have news of something that might interest you. At least hear my story, then hang me by the yardarm, keelhaul me, or simply set me adrift on a plank if you must. But I guarantee you will want to know what I have to say. It can aid you in the war against Napoleon and the French!”
Now, Walker was interested.
* * * * *
The Danielle sailed into Nassau harbor right as
a noon bell was ringing, most likely from a church or schoolyard. Many townspeople came to see the strange sight of the great ship now accompanied by the smaller Drake. The ships then anchored in the harbor, and Walker sent Steward and Claise ashore with a team of men to report to the Governor and to escort Delain back to her parents. Jonathan and Sean stayed aboard to complete work on the Drake and tell the story of their adventure and the capture of their new prize to all who would listen.
“Sounds like a great amount of luck to me,” said Lane as he supervised a painting crew aboard the Drake. “There is no way scabs like you could even catch a cold if you tried, much less a pirate ship!”
“True,” added Spears, who was doing nothing that Jonathan or Sean could discern, except wandering about the ship, adding his opinion when it was not asked for or useful. “They must have all been drunk to allow you to get the drop on them. Luck, pure luck,” he added.
Sean bit his tongue, not wanting to anger an officer. Though he tried to remain close to Jonathan whenever possible, he could not avoid Spears all the time. He kept his head down when the Midshipman was about. Sean remembered their altercation below deck at the bow, and there were other times when Spears would bully and insult him. It was best, for now, to avoid any confrontation.
Jonathan, being a midshipman and the same rank as Spears and Lane, however, could say and do as he pleased, as long as he remained professional.
“There was some luck in the capture of the Drake and our party meeting up,” Jonathan said. “However, when presented with the opportunity, we used our wits and courage to take advantage. A lesson you could learn, eh Spears? But I am sure you need to get back to work. By the way, what are you doing besides sucking up air?”
Spears grinned and stood toe-to-toe with Jonathan. “I don’t have time to waste on your fairytales, Moore,” Spears said. “Someday we will all see the truth about you!”
“And I,” said Harrison, who again came by to keep the two midshipmen from injuring one another, “I will be there to substantiate Mr. Moore’s story. In the meantime, Spears, get some cats from the Danielle and put them aboard this scow. We need some rat catchers!”
