by Cal Clement
“No one Sir. Is everything quite alright?” Will asked.
“I’m unsure Will and growing more so every day. We discussed our ship’s orders the day we left port and I fear that I didn’t level with you entirely on my concern about the standoff orders for East India Company ships. It’s just odd. Our tasking involves escorting them, stopping French interference in trade, but we cannot approach. Why? Why in the bloody imagining would we be restricted from aiding them if they are in distress?” Johnathan pondered aloud. William realized it was not a rhetorical question as he looked up from the charts and saw Johnathan was looking directly at him, awaiting a reply.
“I couldn’t say for sure Sir. I thought the order odd when you mentioned it as we left port. But then again, I haven’t made it habit to question orders, Sir. I’ve done it aloud once and I honestly believe I would have my own command right now if not for that.” William replied. “Perhaps their port of origin has an outbreak of some sort. Plague or such. The Royal Navy wouldn’t get along well with half its sailors dying and the other half quarantined. Or maybe their cargo is of a dangerous nature.”
“Astute Will. Good man, good form. Both reasonable solutions to the dilemma. That answers why there is a general standoff order, but the orders specifically list remaining four cables at a minimum even if there is distress at sea. I’m just vexed by the matter.” Johnathan said, furrowing his brow and continuing, “But, I am honestly supposed to watch a countryman in distress at sea and not approach closer than four cables? If she’s afire? Or engaged by the enemy? What in God’s name?”
“Yes, Sir. But, if the Crown is overly concerned about an outbreak in a port of origin, wouldn’t that still ring true. We can’t have half the navy dying and the other half quarantined or heaven forbid we bring some awful malady back to jolly old England. I mean, the channel fleet is engaged blockading Brest, all through the Atlantic ships stand to engage the French. On top of that Sir, there’s trade enforcement and dealing with smugglers and the like. I shared a pint with an officer I’d known since boyhood in London, Sir. He was on the H.M.S Dawn Fire, they had just returned from a cruise enforcing and interdicting Parliament’s ban on the slave trade. Some of the stories he had, Sir, they’ll turn a stomach.” William said, his voice trailing off as he felt he was starting to carry on too long. Johnathan stared blankly at the charts, lost in his own thoughts on the matter when Will concluded. Johnathan looked up at Will.
“I won’t let a ship of my countrymen flounder in distress, Will. I have my honor, I have my decency. Whatever the inspiration is for these absurd orders, if circumstances call for such, I will not stand off a ship in distress and watch sailors perish. So. Young man, we never had this conversation. We never had our conversation off port and you know nothing of these orders. Do you understand?” Johnathan said. His voice carried grave implications, an edge that hadn’t been there before. Not even when he was calling down discipline to Cobb from the quarterdeck had Captain Grimes held a tone like he was with William.
“Yes, Captain.” William replied.
“That will be all in that regard Lieutenant. Be sure that you keep a close watch on Cobb, de-rating an officer and flogging him like that surely wounded the man’s pride. But I won’t carry on with an officer who has dishonored himself in such a manner, not on my ship, not on my watch.”
“Aye Sir,” said William. He promptly exited the cabin and went about making his rounds before turning in for the night.
Alone in his cabin, Captain Grimes had turned from his charts and logs, consumed in his mind over the matter of the standoff orders. William had touched on his deep suspicion, just not in direct terms. It was common knowledge through the fleet that parliament had abolished the slave trade, levying fines against any ship flying the union jack caught for every slave aboard. Is it too far a stretch that the company would take advantage of the near monopoly this would create? How high would they have to collaborate with the admiralty to favor the standoff order? If that was the case, did the admiralty even know? Or was it disguised under likely cover of an outbreak somewhere in Africa? Turning back to the charts laid out across the table, Captain Grimes put his mind back onto his current situation. Temporary repairs to the damage Valor had sustained engaging the squadron of French ships would hold them until Nassau, but the disabled cannon would need to be replaced and permanent repair would be necessary before beginning their tour in the Caribbean. He poured over the charts, analyzing the approaches, shoals, small islands and reefs. The Bahamas and the Caribbean overall were notorious for making ruin of seasoned Captains who had become complacent or overconfident. The oil lamp and charts were the Captain’s companions long into the night as he balanced studying charts and making strategic plans with his turmoil over secret orders he still could not make sense of.
18 August 1808
Jamaica, east of Kingston
The evening sun painted the western sky into a breathtaking spectrum of oranges and violets as a column of red coated infantrymen marched from the edge of Kingston into the surrounding hillsides. At the head of the fifty-man double column rode a squadron of twenty dragoons led by Tim Sladen. By his side were two more Americans, both rough looking bearded men who were heavily armed. The column had wound its way from the barracks in Kingston to its outskirts and began ascending into the hills as the sun dipped low. Passing farm and field on its way east from Kingston the column continued their slow steady march upward along the road that wound its way between sugar cane fields. Torches were lit to illuminate the way as the blaze of sunset gave way to dusk and eventually faded into twilight. Despite the absence of the sun, the air hung heavy in the night, hot and muggy with little breeze to relieve the marching soldiers.
The road snaked between hill and field, climbing and falling with the land skirting the shores of the Caribbean. The pace they kept, while leisurely for those mounted, was grueling for the infantry. Every ascent uphill became a challenge to the soldiers’ weary legs and soon their uniform coats were soaked in sweat and caked in dust from the road. Darkness only added to their frustrations and fears as ambush from bands of rebels were a common occurrence after nightfall. But the column drove on, goaded by the three Americans up front. Several of the foot soldiers could be heard cursing and complaining, but none within earshot of Mr. Sladen. The American’s position was a mystery to the British soldiers. Their commanding officer had been summoned before Lord Governor Alton the day prior and issued specific instruction to accompany Mr. Sladen on a sortie against a band of escaped slaves. Tim Sladen seemed to have a manner of intelligence about the escapees, but the lieutenant in command of the soldiers was perplexed why the Governor would grant him any more authority than a common informant.
Tim halted his mount and after a short exchange with his two countrymen riding next to him, he turned his mount and approached the Lieutenant.
“They are camped on the hill just east of the one in front of us Lieutenant. Now would be a good time to get your men formed up and make ready. Come dawn, we will move in to take them captive.” Sladen instructed.
“What makes you so sure they will throw down arms and surrender to captivity again Mr. Sladen? Most of these slaves turned rebels we have dealt with have fought dearly. They are more likely to flee, Sir,” the Lieutenant challenged. His demeanor was stern, and he was quite doubtful of this American.
“You’ll do best to do as your told Lieutenant. I’m taking your mounted men around the rebel position; we will cover the north and east. You hold your line below the crest of the hill in front of you. At dawn you will see that there are Royal Navy sails just off the coast. Do you have the signal flag I gave you?” Sladen cut back, his words dripping with disdain.
“I do,” the lieutenant answered, suddenly losing any inclination to carry the conversation further.
“When dawn breaks, make sure that signal flag is visible. We will be flying one at our position to the east and the ships will begin battery of the hillside in between. If you see the
escapees surrendering, drop your flag immediately.” Sladen ordered, his accommodating tone of requests and suggestions from earlier in the evening as they departed Kingston disappeared. Now he seemed to be about his business and the Lieutenant could gather that he had serious personal interest in the escaped slaves, far beyond that of a simple informant.
Sladen departed with all the mounted troops with the exception of the Lieutenant, who remained with his foot soldiers. The infantry dispersed out and formed a skirmish line just behind the crest of the hill as instructed. At first, forming a skirmish line and awaiting dawn was a welcome change for the line of infantry. They could sit and rest their weary legs and sore feet, some even removing their shoes. After the first half hour the stillness of the night set in, only slightly cooled the humid air hung over them and each man had to fight to stay awake. The hours drug by slowly as each weary soldier watched the hillside and fought his eyelids. Sounds floated in on the night air, voices from the opposing hillside. A bell could be heard off the coast in the long hours before sunrise cast its first glows on the horizon. About a half hour before daylight the lieutenant walked his line, steadying his men and making sure everyone was ready. The muggy warmth had given away and the morning air felt crisp as a steadily increasing glow to the east threatened dawn break.
Finally, with the first fingers of sunlight stretching out from the horizon word was passed through the line to fix bayonets. Each soldier swallowed a lump in his throat, no matter how experienced in battle as he mounted the ghastly appendage to his gun. Sails appeared off the coast; the signal flag was raised. Each man readied himself for a fight to begin as the first ship passed by the signal flag. The first boom of a cannon thundered across the water and echoed up off the hill. It was followed by a second and then a third, forth and fifth. Musket fire intermixed with the echoing reports of the cannons and a group of two men and one woman came bounding over the hill in a sprint for life. As the trio ran down the hill, the lieutenant started to call out for shackles to bind them when they ran up to the skirmish line. A shot sounded out, one of the fleeing men fell to the ground. No weapon was visible to anyone in the skirmish line. The lieutenant began to shout down the battle formation, demanding to know who fired on the unarmed group. “Sir, I believe it was them,” one soldier said, pointing up at the crest of the hill. The three Americans sat mounted on their horses, one still shouldering a musket. A very different fear began to take hold of each man on the infantry line.
H.M.S Endurance
19 Aug 1808
17 Degrees 51’ N, 76 Degrees 34’ W
Dawn broke over the Jamaican coast revealing a low hanging fog clinging to the shore. Lookouts had been posted throughout the squadron of ships that sailed in concert with the Endurance. There was the H.M.S Endurance in lead with Admiral Sharpe on board, then the H.M.S Hunter commanded by Captain Nestor and the H.M.S Bayonet commanded by Captain Brant brought up the rear of the formation. Admiral Sharpe’s instruction had been issued very clearly. The Endurance heave to slightly farther offshore and west of the target area while the Hunter and Bayonet sailed through in a circuit delivering battery on target for as long as was necessary.
Standing on the bow of the Endurance, Admiral Sharpe looked ashore for the signal flags, locating them easily just above the misty line of fog hugging the beaches. Tide was slacking and time was certainly of the essence for maneuvers this close to shore.
“Commence fire,” Admiral Sharpe said in a low tone.
“Aye Sir,” replied a petty officer who had been at the Admiral’s side. He immediately turned to the signalman and shouted, “Commence fire!” The signal flags went aloft into the rigging of the Endurance and the two frigates in cohort started their assault by fire. Admiral Sharpe watched on closely through looking glass, observing both ship and shore. The Hunter ducked in close to shore, raking fire one gun at a time on target, Captain Nestor was a seasoned commander and had a reputation for commanding fine gunnery. The Hunter’s fire was landing seaside on the hill, just below earthen mounds where rebels had dug in, each ball sent up a showering plume of dirt as it struck into the target hill.
The Hunter’s last larboard gun fired, and she peeled away from shore in a steep starboard turn, her crews already making their guns ready for another round of fire. The Bayonet came in just a few minutes after, slightly farther out from the shoreline than Hunter had been. A grimace of concern flashed across Admiral Sharpe’s face, Captain Brant was his newest Captain and the Admiral was bracing for the young new commander to make folly of his first run at the target. At first shot, the ball landed very high on the hill, sending a shower of dirt high into the morning air as the shot hit earth and then skipped up sailing over the hill. The second shot from the Bayonet was adjusted to deadly effect, landing directly on one of the dug in positions the rebels were occupying. Sharpe scoured the impact area through his looking glass, he could see smoke from musket fire and dead men on the field. He immediately checked the signal flags ashore again, both were still flying, no surrender yet. Three more blasts of cannon fire came from the gun line aboard the Bayonet, each impacting with deadly effect. Sharpe watched as the line of rebels broke from their dug in positions. There were men and women among them, even from a distance Elliot Sharpe’s heart sank as he could distinguish female forms. They were caught in a deadly crossfire between naval gunnery and the mounted soldiers closing on their position.
The signal flag on the eastern edge of the engagement disappeared, Elliot in turn ordered for a change of signal aboard his flagship. All fire from the ships ceased, the Bayonet and Hunter turned out from shore heading for deeper waters. Admiral Sharpe lingered momentarily with his flagship close to shore, he had a deep suspicion he wished to disprove before departing. Through the large looking glass Sharpe watched the events on shore unfold, he scanned back and forth between the advancing mounted troops and the line of infantrymen. A cluster of surrendering men and women had thrown down their weapons, though a small group of three fled. Elliot followed the path of the fleeing trio down the western slope of the hill. One man fell with the sound of a shot rippling through the air.
“You won the day lads, no need to shoot down a man running for his life. In the back no less.” Sharpe mumbled to himself. Elliot scanned back up the hill, searching through his growing anger for the source of the shot. Near the crest of the hill were three riders not in Royal Army uniform. He was far too distant to make out faces, but the tall slender man with musket still in his hands Elliot suspected was the American he had met at the Governor’s mansion. He watched as the riders separated, two continued down the hill in pursuit of the fleeing, the third man lingered atop the hill on his mount.
Elliot watched the lone man for a long moment, internally he could feel an urge to run his battery out and rain cannon fire on the man. The urge passed; his temper cooled. His eyes sunk down to the deck of his flagship. He asked himself silently what grievous thing he had done this morning. Was he serving king and country? The leadsman along his larboard rail called out a reading, reminding the Admiral of the slacking tide. There were dangerous shoals in the area with the tide running outward beneath him he ordered his flagship to depart from the coast. Admiral Sharpe passed word for his signalman, pacing the rail as he awaited the petty officer’s arrival.
“You summoned me, Sir?” said the sailor as he approached.
“Yes, signal orders for the squadron to make sail with us,” the Admiral replied. Turning towards the quarterdeck Elliot increased his volume slightly. “Officer of the watch.”
“Yes Sir,” a young fat faced lieutenant answered as he hurried over to the admiral.
“Pass the word, I want lookouts fore and aft, double the watch. Set a sailing pattern as close to the coast as we dare. Scour every inlet, every beach, every cove and bay. Set our course eastward and follow the shore around to the north side of Jamaica. I want an immediate report of any irregularity.” Elliot said as he walked toward his cabin. His tone was distracted, his m
ind already occupied by questions that wouldn’t easily be answered. He would set about to find out more information, as much as he could anyways. His next visit with Governor Alton would not go the same as his last and he desired to know as much as possible before he walked in.
Chapter 5
“Drowned Maiden”
19 Aug 1808
19 Degree 36’ N, 72 Degrees 59’ W
The morning sun shone brightly through the cove, warming Lilith’s shoulders as she stood high up in the rigging of the Unholy Shepherd. Her task since waking had been assisting Trina and Big Bob in replacing lines and blocks through the intricate workings of the upper rigging. Their purpose was twofold, replacing line and block was surely part of their effort, but getting the freed slaves off the deck and up into the rigging was another essential task. There would be some from the Maiden who crossed deck to remain on the Unholy Shepherd, but for the ship to sail efficiently at least two dozen of the freed slaves had to become competent sailors. Learning the rigging was a critical skill aboard any ship, but especially so with a small crew. The plans discussed amongst the two Captains would demand skilled ship handling and superb seamanship from the entire crew. Unlike a Navy ship or even a merchant vessel, a ship that intended to fly black colors demanded a broad range of mastery from her crew. They must trim sail and register gunnery with the same proficiency, ready to wield hand tool and weapon alike. Lilith was being indoctrinated in skills alongside the new crew and was beginning to get a sense of bearings up in the rigging. All the different lines, each with their own purpose, all the commands, preparatory and executing, sail positioning, course change and so much more. It was enough to make her head spin.
Lilith felt there was so much more she should know even having only been aboard for a couple of weeks. Trina was a good teacher, as patient as Chibs would have been though not as much of an expert. Lilith paused for a moment to take in the spectacular beauty of the cove. Under the brightly shining Caribbean sun the waters shimmered in bright greens and deep blues, the air smelled sweet from the native fruits ashore and the white of the beach sands contrasted the deep greens of the forest canopy. Lilith imagined a life lived in the cove, swimming and fishing in the brilliant emerald waters, lounging on the white sandy beach in the sun and exploring through the mysteries of the forest beyond.
