by Cal Clement
“Girl! Are you paying attention?” Trina spoke, snapping Lilith from her daydream.
“Yes, Captain.” Lilith replied.
“I was saying, you need to keep your feet about you up here. Always, always mind your feet girly. When you must move a foot, you must keep two hands. It may seem simple here in the cove sweet thing, but out there in the pitch and roll you can lose yourself in a snap. It’s a long way down, love, just prey if it ever happens you land on water and not on wood,” said Trina. Her eyes locked on Lilith’s, conveying gravity and a sense of responsibility for the young addition to the crew.
The two descended from the upper riggings, climbing ratlines down to the deck of the Shepherd. Lilith’s heart was torn, she could not decide which vessel she would stay on. Though that morning the Captains had presented their plan of attacking the slaver camp in Jamaica and both crews would play a role in the plan, Lilith did not want to separate from Captain Trina. Nor was she fond of the idea of leaving the experience of Chibs and Captain James. Ultimately, she knew, she would have to make a choice and soon. The pair would be sailing from the cove, the Captains’ plan began with a sneak attack on any ship at anchor near the Jamaican camp.
James insisted they would have to sink or burn whatever vessels the slavers commanded before they could storm the camp. A direct assault would run the risk of sinking a vessel that was already loaded with slaves, which was pointed out repeatedly by the crew, especially the new crew of the Unholy Shepherd, being captives themselves not long ago. James fought through many interruptions and was finally successful in laying out their rough plans. After much back and forth, suggestions came in from across the crew. Finally, a vote was called. After a few dissenting voices were heard, the crew elected to follow their Captains’ plan.
“Slaves are not sold for free, there is a man somewhere profiting from this and I mean for us to take that gold.” James shared at the conclusion of their gathering, to an uproar of approval from the crew. Unholy Shepherd would not be long until she was ready to sail and along with the Drowned Maiden, would be a terrifying sight to behold on the horizon for any crew.
H.M.S Valor
12 Sep 1808
Nassau, Bahamas
The port in Nassau was a welcome sight for the crew of the Valor after their Atlantic crossing. Strong Caribbean breezes blew the fragrance of the tropics mixes with the old familiar smell of the sea. Those who were new to the ship by way of press gangs in London marveled at the beauty of the pale blue seas and white sands. These islands were a stark contrast to their home and a sense of adventure renewed the spirit of many of the sailors, old and young alike. The market ashore was teeming with activity, spices from the far reaches of the British empire, coffee, exotic fruit, spiced rum and beautiful women. Merchant ships came and went from the port daily, some arriving and leaving on the same day. Captain Grimes granted every man a day ashore on their arrival, offering another day ashore once refit was finished before setting to sea again. The repairs and loading of fresh provisions went about like clockwork, each man setting to his task heartily for the chance to go ashore again.
In three days’ time, the battle wounds Valor had endured had all been repaired. Her destroyed cannon had been discarded and a new twelve-pound gun sat in its place. Food and water reserves were loaded and one last evening ashore was granted to the crew, except for Cobb and another man who were confined while at port.
Grimes received his envelope with orders from the governor of Jamaica. He was to patrol the north coast of Haiti and the southern coast of Cuba for a missing American ship. A frigate named the Carolina Shepherd had not made rendezvous with her escorts and she was feared lost to the sea. Grimes also received a report that the French had commissioned more privateers in the effort of disrupting trade between Britain, it’s colonies and the United States. Small wonder Grimes thought to himself, the Carolina Shepherd was probably at the bottom of the Caribbean and her goods in the hold of a French privateer. Trade between the colonial island and the United States was a fledgling endeavor anyway, tariffs being what they were and the probability of another war on the horizon.
With many of her hands in port for their last night of freedom and debauchery before setting sail again, the Valor seemed almost a ghost ship. A skeleton crew of sailors and marines remained to stand the watch, Captain Grimes himself had remained aboard, deferring the opportunity to enjoy an evening ashore to his subordinate officers. Johnathan watched as the sun had set, seeing several merchant ships set off into the dying light. Lamplight created an eerie effect on deck, raising shadows that danced with the movement of the oil flame. Johnathan paced the deck, inspecting line and checking on the watch. As the moon arose, longboats ferrying crews back out to ships could be seen littered across the port. Songs and shouts floated through the night air; Johnathan smiled. In his experience, morale makes a crew all the better. A few dust ups in port and some hungover sailors at daybreak was a small price to pay.
The light of daybreak revealed bruised faces, aching hangovers and to Captain Grimes delight, not a single desertion. Johnathan passed orders to William to take the Valor out of port and the hands responded smartly. Sails trimmed and snapped crisply in the morning breeze and Will made short work of their maneuvers out to sea. In the matter of hours, Valor was plowing ahead full sail and tilt toward the southern edge of Cuba to begin her search pattern for any sign of the missing merchant ship.
Days passed without sighting of another ship. Captain Grimes ordered a sailing pattern by all coves and bays where a ship would likely take refuge from weather. They searched and scanned the southern coast of Cuba, doubling back to search along the north coast of Haiti to no avail. The crew quickly grew weary of the search and Captain Grimes wholly doubted the ship was still afloat. No wreckage or flotsam was found along the coast, no sign or sighting anywhere along the most likely course. A week had been spent searching for any sign of the missing ship when Captain Grimes decided to call off their search. He summoned Lieutenant Pike to his cabin to inform him of his intent and elicit his input on their next course of action, something he made a point to involve his subordinates in. The officer of the watch passed word for William, who was aloft in the rigging with his telescope, scanning shoreline. Will made his way down through the ratlines and hurried to report to the Captain, still in his linen shirt. The rigidity and formal manner he carried when he first assumed his post aboard the Valor had slowly but surely relaxed, he conducted himself with far more latitude and even a bit of swagger. Much of the crew had taken notice and approved, the petty officers and seamen found it endearing, their First Lieutenant was becoming more a part of the Valor every day.
“Captain Grimes Sir, you passed word for me?” William said, stepping into the cabin.
“I did Will, here, have a seat son. We’ve some matters to discuss.” Grimes said, ushering the young officer to the table where he had charts spread out. “I’ve decided to call off this wild goose hunt. We haven’t seen any sign of the Carolina Shepherd, I’m beginning to believe her Captain may have had other plans for his cargo, whatever the case. The Admiralty tasked us with protecting the India Company shipping from privateers and I think that a bit more pressing than spending our days chasing down some missing American tub. By the sounds of things in Nassau, we’ll likely be trading shot with the bloody yankees at sea again anyways,” said Grimes.
“Yes Captain, what shall I make our next heading then?” William asked.
“Kingston, Will. Let’s sail for Kingston and hope Admiral Sharpe can set us on a more sensible course of action.” Grimes answered his tone low.
“Perhaps he will have some answers for you about the standoff orders Sir.” Will offered.
“I would certainly hope so Lieutenant. On a different note, Lieutenant Shelton will be officer of the watch tonight and Cobb will be on lookout. See to it there are no problems Will, however you see fit.”
“Aya aye Sir,” Will responded. Immediately his thoughts were occupie
d by this, Will feared Cobb would try to undermine the newly promoted Lieutenant. “Perhaps he should be shifted to another watch Sir?”
“Not a chance Will. I refuse to accommodate that dishonorable wretch and I won’t see the young officer babied along. He will take command of the ship for his watch and nothing less. Any action by Cobb to undermine or otherwise interfere with Shelton fulfilling his duties is punishable by death. I’ll tie the damn noose myself if need be. Keep an eye on it and have a strong master at arms on the quarterdeck for his watch, that is all.”
‘Gazelle’
14 Sept 1808
17 Degrees 27’ N, 74 Degrees 43’ W
Flashes of lightning broke the darkness over the Gazelle as she pitched and rolled through heaving seas. The storm had come upon her after sunset and escalated fiercely until it was everything the crew could do to keep her upright. Below deck, the captives in their cells were tortured by the constant violent movement of the ship. Many became ill and all were fearful. In his small cabin LeMeaux was utterly failing to console Omibwe. The young man was panicked almost to hysteria. Omibwe worried for his parents and his sister, he heard screams from the other prisoners outside the cabin. Each time a wave broke over the bow of the ship the walls and floors trembled; seawater seeped from the ceiling while the deck above was in a constant wash of wave upon wave. Lanterns swung precariously, threatening to spill their flames out and engulf the storm-tossed ship.
A slamming knock came on the door, Dr. LeMeux got up to answer it stumbling slightly with a heavy pitch of the ship. Lemeux opened the door to find one of the sailors, soaked from head to foot and holding a lantern,
“You better come wit’ me doc. It’s the Captain, he fell in his cabin,” the sailor said.
“Ok, let me grab my bag.” Lemeux replied, he turned to Omibwe, “I need you to stay here, young man.” Omibwe struggled to get up, fear plagued across his face.
“No friend, no don’t go, don’t leave me,” said Omibwe, grabbing at Lemeux’s arm.
“I must go Omi, you will be fine here, I won’t be long. Stay here.” LeMeux answered, pulling the boy’s hand from his arm. He grabbed his medical bag and followed the sailor out into the passageway, stealing one last glance at Omibwe as he shut the door. He could see the pain of fear wracking across the young man’s eyes. Lemeux whispered a silent prayer to himself, hoping his companion would stay put.
He followed the sailor up the passageway, both men unsteadily making their way as the ship continued its violent roll side to side. On their way the two passed numerous cells including the one containing Omibwe’s family. LeMeux nearly gasped looking through the cells, the numbers had dwindled severely. Where once each cell barely afforded its captives room to sit with legs pulled to chest, the imprisoned Africans numbered far fewer. He knew this would happen from the last trip he had to endure, but this time was far worse. If they kept losing captives, they would arrive with only a very few still alive at their destination. LeMeux cared not for the profit of their endeavor, only in the toll of human life lost.
They climbed the stair up the companionway to the main deck, where the sailor heaved up a weather hatch creating a rush of seawater that slammed into both men nearly washing them back down the stairs. Step by step, they worked their way through the hatch and above to the deck steadying themselves wherever they could. Although LeMeux had been at sea on the Gazelle for months now he was far from experienced on ship during storms and his legs were unaccustomed to the challenging conditions. They reached the door to the Captain’s Cabin in the aft castle as a wave broke hard over the rail of the ship, washing sideways it took LeMeux’s legs out from under him and pushed him helplessly across the deck. He reached out for something to grab onto, thrashing against the water sweeping him towards the blackness overboard. Lightning flashed and illuminated the ship for a fleeting moment, LeMeux looked frantically for something to grab ahold of, clawing in vain at the deck to stop his perilous slide. From what seemed out of nowhere, the sailor who had retrieved him from below grabbed the back of the French Doctor’s collar and wrenched him up onto his feet.
“Thank you!” LeMeux said, gasping for air.
“Don’t mention it Frenchman, really, if Sprague finds out I didn’t let you wash overboard, he and I’ll be for crossing blades. Now quit flopping about the deck like a fish out of water, the Captain needs your attention,” the sailor grumbled, pushing LeMeux back toward the door to the aft castle. LeMeux opened it and flung himself into the cabin, closing the door just as another wave crashed over the deck. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior, but when they did, he could see the ship’s Captain sprawled into a hammock. Mr. Sprague stood next to the hammock, watching intently while the hammock swayed, stopping only as it came to rest against Sprague’s steady stance. Sprague, an unquestionably experienced sailor was steady as a rock against the motion of the ship, not even the impact of the hammock seemed to sway his stance.
“Come have a look at him Frenchman. I’d be surprised if there’s anything you can do for the old man, but you’d better see to it.” Sprague grumbled.
“Yes, by all means. Can you tell me what happened? Did anyone witness it?” LeMeux asked.
“What do you mean did anyone witness it? Why would you be asking me what I know? Can you help the man or not?” Sprague snapped, his questions too rapid for LeMeux to process, much less answer.
“Let me see him and I’ll have a better idea.” LeMeux responded, his tone becoming as icy as he dared let it. Sprague had left no question about how much he disliked the doctor and now that he was laying unconscious in his hammock LeMeux knew he’d best tread carefully. He examined the Captain’s head, a split in his scalp was deep enough to reveal a band of skull near as wide as LeMeux’s thumb. He was still bleeding profusely and completely unresponsive. LeMeux carefully bandaged the man’s head, stemming the blood flowing from his scalp. He sat on the edge of the Captain’s desk, looking at the injured man intensely.
“His skull was cracked in the impact. It’s difficult to say if he will survive, even if he does there’s no telling the condition he will be in after such a blow to the head,” said LeMeux, his eyes unmoving.
“What do you mean, condition?” Sprague asked, his tone a bit softer. Softer than LeMeux had ever heard.
“A head injury like that can, well, it can change a man. He may survive, he may be completely normal, although, he may not. Sometimes men are shades different, sometimes they can’t even remember who they are and sometimes they survive but never truly function again. It’s hard to say, we will need to watch him closely.” LeMeux said solemnly.
“Who’s this we, doctor? You are the doctor. You nursemaid the old man.” Sprague said, his softened tone had disappeared. “I’ll have him moved below to the crew quarters, so you can look in on him. You may need to get rid of your pet African, the Captain comes first.” LeMeux could feel his face flushing with anger, he fought the urge to air his opinions to this belligerent blowhard. Biting his tongue, quite literally, so hard it drew a taste of blood into his mouth. “Back below decks with you doctor, fetch that slave boy and put him into a cell. Go on.” Sprague hissed, contempt in his words and hatred seething from his eyes.
“Mr. Sprague, the boy, well, an amputation is a serio…” LeMeux stammered to respond, trying to illicit some leniency.
“Enough! The boy goes into a cell! Or so help me, I will make you throw his entire family overboard while he watches! Do you understand me Frenchman? Is the King’s English plain enough for you or should I draw you an illustration? Put that one-legged slave boy into a god damned cell like the rest of those animals!” Sprague shouted. LeMeux took his leave back out into the storm, fighting against wind and wave to make his way back below deck. As he walked the passageway, he couldn’t help but steal a somber glimpse into the cell with Omibwe’s family. They looked hollowed and weak from their time at sea. Horrid conditions, sea sickness and stomach-turning rations barely able to
sustain children had taken their toll. LeMeux was beside himself, unable to process. He knew Omibwe’s condition would deteriorate rapidly, his father had been the picture of strength for the first few days at sea. Without the benefit of LeMeux giving the boy part of his rations, he would lose strength. Strength he needed to cope with his life’s new reality and the conditions his future would hold.
Reaching his cabin’s door, LeMeux paused momentarily, bracing himself for the unpleasant task ahead. LeMeux opened the door to find Omibwe struggling to stand with the help of his makeshift crutch. He stepped into the little cabin and began to shut the door when a hand wrapped around the door’s edge holding it in place. LeMeux turned to see the rough face of the sailor who had come to get him earlier and who had also saved him from a grim and watery fate.
“Mr. Sprague says I’m to see to it you move gimpy out to a cell, he says the boy can’t be within sight of his family,” the sailor said. Lemeux could see he was less than enthusiastic about his orders.
“Sir. Suppose we just allow the boy a night here and move him after the storm?” LeMeux asked.
“What are you saying? Sprague told you Frenchy, he will ‘ave you shovin’ the boy’s family over and make ‘im watch! You want that? I’m no saint, but I won’t be a party to it. Give him over,” the sailor snapped at LeMeux and then grabbed Omibwe’s arm. Omibwe, unaware of what was going on resisted the sailor pulling away from his grip. The sailor struggled to keep the boy’s arm, but Omibwe wriggled his arm free.
