by Peter Greene
The Still Secret Stowaway
The stowaway knew that silence must be kept and most importantly, food must be acquired as soon as the meager rations brought from Nassau were exhausted. I will attempt some scrounging tonight, when the activities slow and darkness can conceal all.
At seven days from their departure from Nassau, the Danielle was still heading southeast en route for the Cape Verde Islands. Tossing the log revealed she was making barely eight knots, simply an average feat for such a large ship. This process of measuring the ship’s speed was performed by Jonathan and Lane, and observed and supervised by Mr. Harrison. A triangular plank of wood was tied to the end of a prepared rope. The rope had knots tied at approximately fifty-foot intervals. The number of knots that went over the side after thirty seconds represented the speed of the ship.
Jonathan tossed the wood over the side into the swiftly passing sea, and almost immediately, the pointed edges of the triangle caught the water, causing a tension that pulled the rope over the rail as the ship sailed onward.
“One . . . two . . . three . . . ” Lane announced as the rope streamed over the side and each knot banged against the rail.
“Five . . . ten . . . ” Jonathan said as he watched his thirty-second sand glass trickle the time away.
“Thirty!” called Jonathan after the glass had emptied.
“And . . . eight!” called Lane after a short pause.
Despite this fine accomplishment of mathematical measurement, the Captain was hoping for a bit more speed, at least ten knots, but the winds would not comply. The crew sensed his foul mood and seemed to lapse into complacency, carrying out their tasks routinely as they had done thousands of times before. The only respite from the daily grind was the afternoon foil matches between selected officers and a few marines. As usual, when Harrison was chosen, he always won, unless he fought the Captain. The biggest excitement and most wagering came when on this particular day, Wayne Spears and Jonathan Moore mysteriously drew long straws yet again and performed a rematch of their earlier contest. Unfortunately, or possibly not, Spears was the easy victor.
At this point in the journey, Steward had noticed a few odd occurrences. As he sat in the main galley, enjoying a cup of coffee and nibbling on soft tack, he discussed these with Claise, who had now been accepted gratefully as the ship’s official cook.
“Tis a good cup o’ coffee, Claise. There is no doubt yer a master at the grinder!” complimented Steward.
“Aye, Steward,” answered Claise. “I thank you for the compliment. But I notice you are not taking your usual cream in the cup—and us just a bit from our last port. The cream is all right, isn’t it?”
“Ah. That’s the issue! I do like cream, when I can get it. But I can’t get it,” answered Steward.
“Out? Then take some of mine for you and the Captain. I have a small urn, but the men don’t use it and I can drink my coffee as dark as the night and still enjoy it. Please.”
Claise stood and went to his larder. He unwrapped his bundle of cool, wet-wrapped rags from about his small cream urn, the rags used to preserve delicate items for as long as he could aboard the ship. He opened the small lid and looked inside to check on the freshness.
“Dear me!” he said to Steward. “It’s gone!”
“I thought as much,” Steward said as he sipped his coffee and nodded. “Mine as well.”
“We will have to milk the goat then,” said Claise.
“It will be of no use. The goat is dry. I checked this mornin’.”
They discussed the oddity of this and a few other strange events they had both noticed. It seemed there were also missing loaves of bread and salted pork. Claise even admitted to losing a small cherry pie he had baked for Mr. Harrison; it had disappeared overnight. It was on the table in Claise’s small cabin in the evening and gone the next morning before he woke.
“A ghost, possibly?” asked Claise.
“Or a thief,” suggested Steward. “There are near three hundred men aboard the Dani and many come from a, well, less than pure background, if ya catch my meanin’.”
Claise nodded his head. “I assume Captain Walker must be told?”
“Aye,” said Steward as he stood up and drained the last of his coffee. “I’ll inform ‘im. But keep an eye out, Claise, and two ears besides. If someone is stealing food, they will continue. Look fer evidence. Ask around, those ya trust. See what ya can see.”
12
Planted Weeds
In the lower depths of HMS Danielle, usually a happy ship in all respects, existed a gloomy place. There was little light there, both in the way of illumination and spirits. The few rats that remained on board found its dark and dank spaces enjoyable. There was rarely anyone present, and now and again the rats could drag a bit of discarded food down to the creaky depths and enjoy it in peace.
This day, however, there was an unexpected guest, a large one, and the rats stayed hidden, only venturing out to the gloom if it was clear that the intruder was asleep.
This place was called the brig, by the crew, an area that was made up of four small cages, each being the size of a small closet, each with bars for a door. There were no windows or other comforts.
In one of these cages, sat Captain Walter Kozak.
He knew the ship was moving; however, he could not ascertain if it was going straight to London and most certainly his public execution, or going to Rio Muni and Fort de la Selva. He wondered, as he sat on the hard floor and tried to rest his head against the hull of the ship, if Captain Walker had believed his story of the manifest. If so, he had a chance to save his own life.
If not, Kozak needed another plan and maybe some help as well. There must be a way to escape.
He sat staring into the gloom for what seemed like hours, when suddenly a shaft of light pierced the darkness and two figures appeared on the stair-like ladder that led down from the upper decks. The figures were soon discernible as small officers and within a moment, as his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see clearly that they were midshipmen—and one looked familiar. He carried a platter of what Kozak hoped would be some food; he was starving. The other had a large cup of what he thought could quite possibly be coffee, as the slight breeze caused by the opening of the hatchway had blown the smell of rich beans directly to his cell.
“Captain Kozak,” Jonathan said, “some breakfast for you.” With this he slid the tray and food under a space in the barred door. Kozak nodded and slowly took the tray. It was filled with some stale cakes, a bit of cheese and something else that looked like it may have been an egg at some previous time.
“Coffee as well,” added Spears. He set the cup next to the bars and the boys turned to go.
“You, I recognize,” said Kozak, causing both boys to stop and turn back. “You are the one who stole my ship.”
“You mean the ship that was stolen from the British Navy? Yes, that was my friends and I,” said Jonathan.
“You’re welcome,” said Kozak after a moment. “I am sure you will be congratulated by your King, if you were ever allowed to meet him.”
Jonathan smiled but decided that speaking to Kozak would do no one any good. Certainly saying he had already met the King and that the King actually owed Jonathan a favor would just not be believed.
“Now, you,” said Kozak, motioning to Spears, “You I have not seen. You are a midshipman as well?”
“No, I am the Queen of England,” snapped Spears angrily.
Kozak laughed a bit.
“And I am the President of the United States! A joy to meet you, Your Highness.”
“We must go,” said Jonathan, “Come, Spears.”
“Come yourself!” said Spears. “I do not report to you!”
“Not yet,” said Jonathan quickly, and he turned to go. “Captain wants no discussion with the prisoner. That’s orders.”
Spears stood still now, defying Jonathan and also the Captain; however, it’s all he could do. If he followed Jonathan, it would see
m as if he actually did report to his rival, so he stayed, watching as Jonathan walked out and climbed the ladder to the main deck.
Kozak now knew that these two boys were adversaries and that maybe, just maybe, there was a way to use that to his advantage. He needed to escape and that meant he needed someone to break him out of the brig. Possibly one of them could be persuaded to assist him. If he could learn something about them and use it to his advantage? Perhaps get information from the remaining boy.
“Your name is . . . Spears, is that correct?” asked Kozak.
“Yes,” snapped the midshipman. “What is that to you?”
This boy is nothing to me, thought Kozak, but I need to gain his confidence. A common cause? A common enemy? Yes, that is it!
“Oh, nothing,” said the pirate, “though I think I have heard of you in America. The Spearses are a well-to-do family, correct? Most in America are poor, as you know, and we desire to learn of those who actually have a better life.”
This seemed to spark interest from Spears, and Kozak noticed his flush of excitement at the compliment. The pirate was gambling, of course, and tried one more lie. He knew a bit about the British Navy, and that only privileged families could receive an appointment for their son to become a midshipman.
“Your father? He is a Lord? Or a captain in the Navy?”
Spears wondered how this man knew of him and also his father. Maybe the family Spears is news in America.
And why not? Spears thought. “Yes, he is a Captain. And we are well-to-do. What is that to you?”
“I was just wondering why someone with your stature and family name would have someone like that boy,” and Kozak said “boy” as if it were a derogatory word, “as your superior officer.”
“He is not my superior in any way!” blurted Spears, now exposing his anger once again. “Jonathan Moore is a spoiled brat, and before that he was a common street urchin!”
Kozak could now tell there was a hatred deeply seeded in this Spears character. He also knew the other boy’s name.
If I could use that to my advantage, thought Kozak, maybe I could sway Spears to free me. “Midshipman Spears, your first name wouldn’t be the same as your father’s would it?”
“No, he is Derrick, I am Wayne. And another thing,” Spears quickly added, “the Captain seemed to have bought the idea that Jonathan Moore is something special! His capturing your ship, certainly the work of Lieutenant Harrison and the two marines, was credited to Moore! It’s a conspiracy!”
“I see,” said the pirate. “You do all the hard work and studying and get no notice, no reward.”
“Exactly!” cried Spears.
“What you need is a chance to prove your worth,” said Kozak, “without this Moore boy getting in the way, correct?”
Spears agreed and continued explaining how the Moores were nothing but worthless, money-grubbing opportunists, gaining advantage by keeping others down.
“Why, even after I pushed Moore off the gangplank to teach him a lesson or two, he was coddled! Like a baby!”
“You pushed him off the plank? When was this?” asked Kozak, laughing.
“Just before we left dock at London!” laughed Spears, bragging. “It was enjoyable, I can say! But in the end, Moore continued to receive favor, attending the Governor’s dinner, being applauded for his actions aboard the Drake, and even making his way towards the Governor’s daughter! It will improve his station to marry into the Dowdeswells, as if he needed more assistance!”
“Outrageous!” said Kozak in mock concern. “It must be a hard thing to live with, Wayne, seeing that sort of scandalous behavior being rewarded.”
If I could offer the promise of recognition and fame to Spears, thought the pirate, at the expense of Moore, then maybe, just maybe, Spears would team with me. At least long enough for me to use him to effect my escape.
“A hard thing indeed,” said Spears. “And as his father did to my father, young Moore will surely stand in my way for promotion. The British Navy is wrought with favoritism and privilege.”
“Ah,” said Kozak, “as it is the American Navy as well. That is why I left—”
“You were in the American Navy?” interrupted Spears, interested.
“Yes, and being in a like situation as yours, my friend—having others pass me by for favor and promotion because of their name and position—well, I decided to use my experience at sea for my own gain! I became a privateer, a merchant seaman, captain of my own ship. It is a respected career in America and I have never regretted my decision. Adventure! Riches! Why, I was on my way into a very lucrative deal when your Mr. Moore decided to ruin my plans! Wayne, it seems we both owe him a thing or two!”
“But I heard your crew mutinied,” said Spears warily.
“Of course they did,” laughed Kozak, “Once they heard of the money to be made on this venture, they decided to change the game and take it all for their own. My share as captain was much larger than theirs, so they jailed me. They probably planned to kill me at an opportune time. If I only had a right-hand man that I could trust! One with some experience and discipline. Like yourself, a military man.”
Spears now seemed to feel slightly more comfortable with Kozak and even smiled as the man continued telling him of his pirate adventures, the riches to be had and the fame that Kozak had obtained as a business man, a privateer, in America. Spears even believed that he could be the trusted, right-hand man that Kozak needed. After all, he had experience in military matters.
However, unbeknownst to Spears, the pirate was a born liar and a good one at that. He was not always successful in swaying others’ opinions and cheating people out of their fortunes, but with a young boy, one with a chip on his shoulder, Kozak was a master at turning a phrase. He found it easy to prey on the weaknesses of the boy’s simple mind. After a few more minutes, Spears would see Kozak as the only one who believed in him and who shared his hatred for their mutual enemy, Jonathan Moore.
“Yes, in America, a man with some backbone and industry can rise above his station easily, as a privateer, a seagoing business man. A man with experience, like you, who knows the sea—well, where I come from he is valued. All one needs,” said the pirate, “is a chance to prove oneself.”
Kozak could see that Spears was now thinking this over, putting himself in a place of splendor, seeing himself as a man of importance, a man who is respected. The seed of discontent had been sown and was quite possibly taking root in the young mind of Spears. It only needed time and some care to flourish.
“However, for you,” said Kozak, “this Moore character must be dealt with. He is obviously plotting against you.”
“I am being watched by Moore’s cronies, Lieutenant Harrison, for one, and his silly Irish friend, Flagon. Gaining retribution is nearly impossible!” continued Spears. ”I have even challenged Moore to a duel!”
“Indeed?” asked Kozak, surprised. “Certainly justifiable, considering the circumstances.”
“It will never come to pass,” continued Spears bitterly. “He is too well protected.”
“As it may seem,” said Kozak, standing and leaning close to the barred door. He now had something with which to bait the hook and catch Spears. “But there are ways to make things come to pass, to urge them along.”
Spears looked Kozak in the eye and a questioning look came across his face.
“How can I duel with Moore? You know of a way?”
Kozak smiled, knowing he was leading the dull-witted Spears along to a predetermined conclusion.
“I believe I can devise a plan for you,” said Kozak. “I have been in numerous duels myself, as they are commonplace in America. But I will have to think about it for a day or so. Will you be back?”
Spears frowned and squinted his eyes at the pirate.
“You can’t tell me now?” asked Spears, now annoyed and impatient.
“Now, now, Wayne,” soothed Kozak. “These things take time. I need to recall all of my own duels and see which
situation is most appropriate. We may need more than one attempt. Patience!”
With that, Spears stomped out, slamming the door, plunging the pirate into the dank gloom once again.
Kozak laughed inside, knowing that the idea of revenge would eat at Spears. In a day or two, as he thought it over and over in his mind, the young man would become incensed, and it would not be long before Spears would willingly do anything to get at Moore.
The stowaway stirred from sleep in the jolly boat that was tied to the main deck, right across the beam. It wasn’t comfortable there, even with the fashioned rope-bed. But the tarp that was always pulled tightly over the boat kept it dark and private. As long as no one actually needed the boat, its occupant was safe and out of the way.
Food was now a simple issue. Earlier, to get cream and milk, the stowaway struggled, sneaking into various places, the galleys in particular, in the middle of the night, hoping to find something reasonably fresh. During one forage, a goat was discovered in the lowest deck. With a few tries, milking was accomplished that supplied a generous amount of goat’s milk from time to time. To remain concealed on these night missions, the stowaway would don a small coat that had been left in the boat and ever so slowly sneak into one of the two galleys. The one that was manned by the quiet gentleman—the one in the center of the ship—certainly had more food than the one back by the Captain’s cabin, though not of as good quality. It was easy to wait until the cook fell asleep, then sneak inside, close the door ever so gently, and take a few things that were easy to get. There were biscuits, some salted pork, and even, at times, some stew that had been left over. One evening, the stowaway even found a small cherry pie and cream.
