H.M.S Valor

by Cal Clement

  “Land on the horizon. Two point off starboard bow.” The sailor drolled.

  “Good. Let’s get about it then. I’ll get a fix on our exact position.” Grimes continued.

  “Sail! Sail off the starboard stern rail Sir! Two Ships!” the lookout cried down, this time a streak of adrenaline fueled his voice. Grimes grabbed his looking glass extending it as he ran across deck to the stern. Reaching the rear of the ship Grimes and Pike looked out over the fantail into the growing light of the rising sun. Two ships sailing abreast bore down on their position, weather gauge in their favor. Lieutenant Pike’s stomach turned into knots as he found the silhouette of two warships to the east. Scouring their view of the ships the two officers stood together trying to discern the warships’ colors. In their view behind the Valor, the ship to the right in the duo changed her course slightly. The flag flying over her stern revealed a fearsome looking horned skull over a black field, a tilting trident behind the skull and a length of broken chain beneath.

  “Captain.” Will said, “Do you see those colors?”

  “I do lad. Beat to quarters.” Grimes replied sharply. Looking over both ships, the sting of a chill ran up Captain Grimes’ spine. They were in his class, both appeared to be frigates but there were two and unlike his bold confrontation with the French in the Atlantic he was at a disadvantage with his opponent upwind. That was before he took into account his damaged sails and rigging. The drum aboard the Valor sounded briskly while the crew erupted into a frenzy of activity to make ready for action. “Well, let’s bloody get to it then.” Captain Grimes muttered to himself. He looked over to Lieutenant Pike, “Run her towards the coast and make a hard-larboard turn facing us south. I want a volley as soon as we come about Will. Have the bosun and his mates get those damaged sails replaced as we make the run up. We’re going to need them.” Will smiled devilishly as he went about issuing his orders, Captain Grimes was in his element again.

  H.M.S Endurance

  14 Sept 1808

  18 Degrees 2’ N, 76 Degrees 16’ W

  The rains intensified after sunset and combined with a wind from the east that battered the ships anchored within the safety of the bay. Elliot had donned his oilskin cloak and large hat, but it only took a few minutes on deck until he was soaked through down to his skin. The longboats from his other two ships arrived at the stern of the Endurance, Elliot climbed down into one of the two longboats from his flagship. His longboat led the way toward the shore of the bay, Elliot instructed the marines to make landfall away from the mouth of the inner cove. The intensifying weather made conditions in the longboats miserable, even within the cove short choppy waves slopped over the surface of the water. With the sun down and the heavy wind and rain, visibility was limited as well; which brought a wry smile to Elliot’s face. He liked miserable conditions especially if he wanted to do something aggressive. Pouring rain and howling winds would discourage even the most ardent watchman.

  After making landfall Elliot waited until he had his entire compliment of marines before heading inland. They formed a column trudging into the tree line on the finger of land separating the inner cove from the larger part of the bay. After only a few minutes of weaving through the dense forest Elliot could see the opening of the cove ahead.

  “Douse those lanterns men, four of you come with me. Everyone else form up and stay put, we won’t be long.” Elliot said to the marine closest to him. The order was quickly passed in hushed tones through the column of soaking wet men. Elliot moved cautiously toward the opening, peering through the trees to the inlet ahead. The visibility had only deteriorated but as Elliot approached the edge of the tree line, he could see a light on the cove. He sent one of his four-man detail back to retrieve the marines who had stayed farther back. When the main body of the landing party all came up to Elliot’s location, he looked them over momentarily and addressed them quietly.

  “Alright lads. You’re probably all scratching your heads and wondering why the old man is dragging you inland in the pouring rain and wind, marching you through this damn mud eh?” Elliot said stone faced. A few grins and chuckles ran through the formation, a marine toward the rear grumbled. “Something has been going on in Jamaica, in the Caribbean. I mean to get to the bottom of it men. If we come across anything up here, it’s going to be a close engagement so fix your bayonets and keep your powder dry. Fan out and sweep the tree line, we need to cover this entire inner cove. Keep a weather eye on the water as we move, there’s a light out there which means a ship. Best not be taken by surprise. His Majesty expects excellence from his marines as do I. I’ve always said my marines are superior soldiers to any landsmen the Crown’s army has to offer, don’t make a liar of me.”

  The landing party formed a skirmish line and moved through the trees along the shore of the cove. Progress came slowly and with great difficulty through the wind and mud. Elliot remained just a few paces behind his skirmish line, weaving his way between trees and watching the cove every few steps. After a couple hours of pushing through the dense forest, the line inexplicably halted. Elliot looked out to the cove; he could still faintly see the dim light he had spotted earlier. A marine approached him, leaning in close to inform him why the formation halted.

  “Sir, we’ve come across a path leading uphill away from the cove. What are your orders? Shall we continue our sweep?” he whispered.

  “No. Send three to the beach and see if there are longboats. Then I want you to take three men and follow this trail up the hill. Be wary man, don’t be spotted and for God’s sake don’t fire a shot if you don’t absolutely have to.” Elliot ordered. He looked for a dry spot to sit and rest his legs, finally giving up and sitting on a soaked slick fallen log. He no more than took his weight off his feet when the marines returned from the beach,

  “We count four longboats on the shore Sir. But there’s something more you should know Admiral.” The marine paused, almost hesitant to continue.

  “What? What did you find son?” Elliot encouraged.

  “There’s fortification Sir, earthen bunkers flanking both sides of the trail head. They’re plain as day from behind Sir, but a ship out in the cove would never see. They both have twelve-pound guns fixed on the cove.” The marine informed him in a hushed, hurried voice. A chill rocked Elliot, his mind raced but he dared not give even a hint of panic to these men.

  “Very well. These cannons, were they bronze breech guns?” he asked.

  “Didn’t look Sir, I can surely go back and see.” The marine replied.

  “Do that. If they are, unscrew the brass fitting from the touch holes and bring them to me.” Elliot ordered.

  “Aye, Sir. Something else you ought to know Admiral. The trail, well Sir, ah. They’ve got men hanging next to the trail.” The marine informed.

  “What?”

  “Aye Sir, I wasn’t sure of what I saw at first. But there’s two down by the longboats, two more by the bunkers, and two not even twenty feet up the trail from those. All blacks Sir. I thought you should know.”

  “You might’ve led with that son. I think I’ve found more than I wanted to find out here. Get me two men, I need runners lad, get me quick goddamn men.” Elliot said. As he finished speaking the sound of a shot cut through the wind followed by two more. Then a rapid succession of gunfire erupted, lasting several seconds. The remaining marines quickly started moving toward the sound of the gunfire up the trail with Admiral Sharpe following close behind. Slipping and stumbling through the mud and rock the marines followed the path up hill. As they progressed, the trail crested the top of the rise and led into a large open area. The formation stopped at the edge of the clearing where they came across the dead bodies of two of their comrades.

  “I sent three, where is the third?” said Elliot.

  “Sir, we should return to the ship and come back with more men,” one of the marines suggested.

  “No lad, we’ll press on. There’s a missing man and I want to know who they exchanged fire with.” Elliot
replied.

  A chill set into the men as they continued into the clearing, in the dark with the rain and wind without the cover of the forest canopy, it wasn’t long until many of them were shivering. Elliot formed the marines back into a skirmish line and they pressed on through the clearing. As they proceeded the winds finally began to relent and the rain slowed to a steady drizzle. A light came into view ahead of them, as they drew nearer a second appeared. Slowly they moved toward the lights, seeing in greater detail as they approached a camp of sorts. Elliot again halted the formation. He called the senior man from the detachment to him.

  “Choose two men to go in and search the camp. The rest we’ll hold on the edge here and cover their retreat if necessary.” Elliot whispered. “I want a good search and anything they find brought back to me at once.”

  “Aye Sir,” the marine replied and set off at once. The waiting was an awful business, the men fought against shivers and tried to remain alert. The skies above started to grow lighter as dawn approached and soon there was enough ambient light for the men to clearly see the camp. Elliot’s heart sank as he began to make out the silhouette of the crude construction within the camp. The two-man search party returned and reported to the Admiral.

  “No sign of our missing man Sir, the camp seems abandoned and quite in a hurry by the look of it. There’s lanterns still lit.”

  “Right. Our detail must have met some of them on the trail, the gunfire raised the alarm and they’ve fled. Cowards.” Elliot replied.

  “The camp Sir. It’s like a prison of sorts. There are log cages all through, empty, but they have certainly been occupied before.” Said the other marine.

  “Yes. I expected we would encounter a smugglers camp here. Though it seems I was correct just in a manner I didn’t calculate something of this magnitude. Nor did I figure on human smugglers.” Elliot replied. “It explains the hanging bodies down the path. Alright men, we need to be headed back for the ships. Hope to god these slavers don’t return with reinforcements.”

  The pace up the hill had been quick, the march back was relentless. Leading the way, Elliot lost himself in his thoughts and took long hurried strides. The evidence clearly indicated someone was trafficking slaves, whether it had anything to do with the Governor and his curious association with the American man was another matter. When they reached the bottom of the hill by the shoreline of the inner cove, Elliot paused their progress only long enough for his men to disable the cannons. They were newer, American made guns, so there was no bronze breech to unscrew. Instead they had to settle for temporarily disabling the pieces by snapping off their flint firing mechanisms.

  Back aboard the Endurance, Admiral Sharpe went below into his cabin in a fury. He drafted written orders for both the Bayonet and the Hunter. He then sealed each set of orders along with a letter, immediately returning on deck to a single waiting marine from the detachment of each ship.

  “You are to proceed back aboard your ships and hand these orders directly to your Captains. Not the officer on watch and not his steward, directly to each Captain do you understand?” Elliot said, each word in a cutting tone that left nothing to misinterpret.

  “Aye Sir,” came their response, almost in unison.

  “Very well then. Off with you, snap to it men.” Elliot said clapping his hands. He turned to his officer of the watch, “Fly sails young man, bring us out of the bay and make course for Kingston at once.”

  “Sir, there’s something…” the midshipman began, before being interrupted by the Admiral.

  “Honestly man, make sail. We need to be making way for Kingston with all haste.”

  “Sir! Two ships arrived outside the bay with the dawn. They both fly black flags Admiral.” The midshipman said with a tremor in his voice. He snatched a looking glass from out of the young officer’s grasp and stepped over to the rail. Extending the glass, he could see two ships beyond the rocky finger sheltering the bay.

  “Officer of the watch see to it the ship’s log is updated, ‘encountered and engaged two pirate vessels immediately outside anchorage used as port for slave smugglers’, that is a direct quote, write it word for word.” Elliot snapped. Through his scope he could see that both vessels were frigates, their gun ports were open, and they appeared ready for action. Elliot looked at the banner flying from the stern of each ship. Pirates flew their own colors, sometimes when they sailed in concert, they would match the lead ships banner. No pirate on the Caribbean currently had that sort of notoriety, it was nearly a century ago when Edward Teach sailed under his skeleton and goblet banner. He’d had a squadron of ships trailing behind the Queen Ann’s Revenge all matching his banner. It was a curious and bone chilling sight to behold, two ships bearing down their guns on the mouth of the bay both sailing in concert with one another. They were beholden to no nation, bound by no law and Elliot assumed, would give no quarter.

  “That’s fine you bloody buggers. I won’t be asking for any today.” He said to himself. Then he turned back to his officer of the watch, “Well. Make sail and beat to quarters, look lively man. If we wait much longer, they’ll think us cowards.”

  “Admiral, a third!” the Midshipman pointed across the mouth of the bay to the southeast. Elliot snapped his looking glass back open and examined the third ship carefully. Union Jack was flying crisply above her stern as she made a tight larboard turn to face southward. The Admiral focused closely on the fantail as it came into view and smiled broadly when he read the ship name. “Captain Grimes and the ‘Valor’, Johnathan, it will be good to see you old friend,” Elliot said aloud to himself. As he collapsed his looking glass, the exchange of cannon fire began.

  Gazelle

  15 Sept 1808

  17 Degrees 53’ N, 76 Degrees 01’ W

  Dawn approached, unknown to the captive slaves holding guard against the weather hatch. The seas had calmed over the last several hours, but no sailors had made their way below deck yet. Tension hung in the thick air of the hold and Dr. LeMeux tried to reassure everyone, including himself, that their fight would not be in vain. He reasoned that there could be no more than twenty above deck. The party they had gathered numbered no more than two dozen and of that only half would have the strength to fight. LeMeux tried to reason with himself that this entire endeavor wasn’t folly, that he hadn’t signed the death warrant for everyone aboard by inciting this rebellion. Then a thought occurred to him, with the weather calming, now could be their best chance. Now with the crew weary from the night and the storm, if they stormed the deck and took the Captain’s quarters, perhaps they could kill Mr. Sprague perhaps then they stood a chance. He turned to Omibwe, who was being fretted over by his mother and sister, both lamenting over the young man’s loss of his leg.

  “Omi, we have to get everyone up. If we are going to be successful, I think the time is now.” LeMeux said over the young African’s shoulder. “We have to take them by surprise.” Omibwe translated to the gathered captives, his father the first to move to the weather hatch. The doctor’s throat tightened when he saw this, unsure if the Africans realized some of them would not survive this fight and most likely the first on deck would be the first to die.

  Omibwe’s father lifted the heavy weather hatch slightly, sword in hand. Daylight poured into the opening as he lifted. Voices from the sailors could be heard, but no alarm had been raised yet. Omibwe’s father looked down into the faces surrounding him, ensuring they were ready. Then as if he were taking a plunge off a tall cliff, the African took a deep breath and pushed hard, forcing the weather hatch open. With a massive thud, the hatch swung over and landed on the deck. In a headlong rush the crowd of African captives moved up the stairs and onto the deck of the ship. LeMeux, for his part, made his way up the stairs amid the main party. When he stepped out of the hatch onto the deck, he heard the first sound of alarm,

  “The slaves have escaped! Down to the deck everyone, the slaves are out and some of them are armed!” a shout from overhead came. The crew of the Gazelle a
ll raced to storm the Africans and their French leader. Pistol shots sounded in rapid succession, several of the Africans fell from the first exchange along with a pair of the closest approaching sailors. LeMeux scanned the deck for Mr. Sprague, not finding him.

  “Sprague must be in the Captain’s cabin!” the Doctor shouted over the fracas of the fighting. Omibwe’s father looked over to him and followed, the two making their way to the door of the cabin in the aft castle.

  LeMeux shoved open the door to the cabin to find Sprague pulling on his trousers. Panic and rage plagued the man’s face when he saw the French doctor in his doorway, sword in hand.

  “I should’ve killed you, you damn shit eating dog,” Sprague shouted angrily, reaching for his sword.

  “Indeed. You should have.” LeMeux said, running into the cabin all his strength and momentum behind a right sideways swing with the cutlass. Steel rang on steel as Sprague brought his sword up to parry. Another desperate slash from LeMeaux met Sprague’s sword from the opposite direction, loosening the startled sailors grip on his weapon slightly. LeMeux saw a flash of fear cross his opponents face and he swung his sword in rapid succession, each blow growing in strength and fury meeting against Sprague’s rebuttals. The sound of the steel swords connecting filled the cabin until LeMeux felt his sword impact soft flesh and bite into bone against Sprague’s wrist. The sailor dropped his weapon under the flurry of blows from the raging doctor. LeMeaux freed his blade from the man’s arm and plunged with a great thrust, diving his point into Sprague’s chest. A guttural gasping noise escaped from Sprague, deep in his throat. Blood poured out of his wound, dark red and quickly soaking through his clothing. Sprague’s strength slipped away, and he crumbled onto the deck. LeMeux pulled hard, removing the blade from its target.

  A shout from behind snapped LeMeux out from slipping into a trance of shock as his eyes locked onto the face of the man he had just killed. Outside the cabin on the main deck, swords collided as the African’s battled the crew of the Gazelle. Each party to the fight seemed to lose their taste for the battle quickly as bodies scattered the deck of the ship. LeMeux scanned over the onslaught as the Africans drew into a semi-circle enveloping him and the cabin entrance by the weather hatch. A standoff developed as the crew of Gazelle faced the circle of Africans. It seemed as though neither side would initiate a second offensive for a moment and there were only shouted threats and taunts from the crew. Doctor LeMeux looked up into the rigging to see four sailors still aloft. They had either refused to join in their crew’s battle or were being held in reserve, he could not decide which. From the weather hatch, Omibwe struggled up the last couple steps into LeMeux’s vision. The doctor dropped his sword to step forward and assist his young friend coming up on deck, keys still in his hand.