To Honor We Call You: A Florida Action Adventure Novel (Scott Jarvis Private Investigator Book 9)

by Scott Cook

  “Well all them Johnny’s learnt their trade from us, aven’t they?” Said his mate Archibald Grimble, larboard watch. “And how do they thank us? By wipin’ King George’s eye, that’s how.”

  “Still, they make right seaman,” Said another man, a young topman called Stevens. “Them two lads in the cutter yonder handle her right nice.”

  “And what would you know about it, Bart Stevens?” Grimble chastised. “Not but one or two wrinkles in your own ass as yet.”

  “Which I were only pointin’ it out,” Stevens grumbled. “Sour old fart.”

  “Now don’t you be a’talkin’ disrespectful to a man old enough to be your own daddy, Bart Stevens,” Baldrick warned.

  “If that’s what passed for my father I’d have asked to be fuckin’ disowned,” Stevens grumbled… inwardly.

  “What concerns me,” Baldrick went on. “Is that young Miss a’runnin’ that schooner and that brig. Ain’t ever heard o’no girl captain in all my born days. Howsoever… she looks to be makin’ a credible go at it.”

  “Bein’ led in by her nose, is more like,” Grimble added. “Any halfwit can trail along behind another easy as kiss my hand.”

  “Why don’t you kiss my ass,” Stevens observed, once again in silence.

  “Still in all,” Baldrick droned on, hitching up his trousers. “She did swarm aboard like a good’n way I heard it told. Came a’leapin’ and a’slashin’ like a sally rover, she did. Strong as any man and twice as fierce, way old Cadbury lain it out.”

  Grimble waved that away. He was a grizzled seaman, having served in ships man and boy nearly fifty years. Little impressed him and little did not receive his disapprobation. Even less did anyone or anything fail to benefit from his opinions.

  “What old Cadbury knows about anythin’ I wouldn’t let go a hapenny to learn,” Grimble submitted. He had no great opinion of old Cadbury, who was a member of Indefatigable’s after guard, one of the ship’s quartermasters and was in fact five years his junior.

  “As if you’d have a hapenny for anything didn’t come with a cork or the pox,” Stevens contributed in his own thoughts. He did succeed in making several disobliging gestures in Grimble’s direction, however, although he was the only one to perceive them.

  Down below on the quarterdeck, Jenkins was eyeing the lighthouse on Morris Island, which was now off their larboard quarter. He held out a hand, pointed to the lighthouse and then used his other hand and sighted along his arm at the high spire of a church along the harbor’s waterfront. He waited a moment and then turned to the quartermasters at the wheel.

  “Gents, if you’d put your helm to larboard right about now,” Jenkins drawled in his peculiar South Carolinian accent. “you can point right for the spire up yonder.”

  To Pellew’s ears, it had similarities to the New England sound, with which he was more familiar. Often referred to as the Yankee twang, it was born from the King’s English and yet some pronunciations had lost their British structure and were smoother while others were harsher. This southern version was not totally dissimilar and yet had a more fluid and somewhat slower cadence.

  The men at the wheel turned it gently and the frigate’s bow came around until the steeple was directly ahead and the lighthouse directly astern.

  “Clue up the courses!” Pellew bawled out. “Heads’l sheets haul! Weather braces there!”

  With the sails trimmed and some of the way taken off the ship, the big frigate led her procession into Charleston road. There were several other ships anchored there, mostly consisting of smaller merchant vessels, local fishing smacks as well as another British man o’war. The seventy-four gun ship turned out to be Thunderer, most likely headed down to Jamaica and the West Indies station after spending the hurricane season in Halifax.

  Pellew extended his glass and examined the battleship. She flew a blue ensign and an Admiral’s broad pennant. Pellew recalled that Thunderer had been part of Lord Howe’s squadron during the Glorious First of June. He also recalled that her captain, Albemarle Bertie, had received some criticism for his evident lack of zeal in closing the French during the engagement. Pellew wondered who had her now. He also wondered how the big ship had gotten into the harbor and if she might be sitting on the bottom at that very moment thanks to her twenty-three foot draft.

  “This should be interesting…” Pellew muttered to himself as he collapsed the glass.

  Jenkins had Indefatigable round to and drop her best bower half a cable from the seventy-four. Pellew had the crew pay out nearly half a cable’s length of hawser before he dropped his kedge astern. His crew then heaved on the capstan until the two anchor cables were of approximately equal length before making them both fast.

  He was pleased to note that the Resoundre followed his example, then the corvette and then Cook’s brig and finally the schooner. All five vessels lined up beam on to one another and to the flagship, perpendicular to the channel. All within pistol shot of one another as well. Very creditable considering.

  “Signal from the flag, sir,” Midshipman Arlus Utley reported. “Captain repair aboard.”

  Pellew grunted something non-committal and turned to his only remaining lieutenant, “Mr. Curtis, who has the Thunderer now?”

  Curtis was a tall burly man in his early twenties. Not particularly bright but a competent seaman. He had the forethought to bring Steel’s Navy list on deck with him in the event of such a meeting.

  He quickly thumbed through it, “Captain Thomas Kellogg, sir… junior to you by nearly a year.”

  Pellew frowned at that. He didn’t know Kellogg personally, but he did know something of his reputation. A conservative man. Thorough going seaman but he hadn’t seen much action to Pellew’s knowledge. Pellew found it interesting that a man junior to him already had command of a ship of the line. This wasn’t necessarily due to merit… most of King George’s line of battle ships were engaged on blockade duty or assigned to remote stations like North America or the West indies. Little chance to earn either distinction or prize money.

  “Very well,” Pellew said. “Call away my barge, Mr. Curtis!”

  Aboard Whitby Castle, Kate Cook let out a breath she hadn’t even been aware she’d been holding when both anchor lines were veered and hauled in and secured. With a crew of only eighteen, mooring could have been a nearly insurmountable challenge. Pellew hadn’t been able to spare her any extra hands, as his crew was already spread between the two prizes.

  However, the thing was done, and done handsomely. It wouldn’t do to muck things up within sight of an admiral’s ship, after all. Kate knew that she would have a devil of a time of things over the next few days, regardless of the outcome, and the last thing she needed was to make a poor showing into the bargain.

  “Mum… the Resolve is signaling,” young Willis reported, a spyglass to his small face.

  “And?” Kate prompted firmly but gently. “What’s it say?”

  “Uhm…” The lad rifled through his signal book. “Oh! Our number… request captain repair on board… need… assistance.”

  That was odd, Kate mused. Peter Albury was a seasoned officer and capital seaman. What could he possibly want with her?

  It wasn’t an order, either. Albury had requested that she join him aboard the French frigate. This was a pretty compliment to her mind and she certainly wouldn’t dawdle.

  “Danvers!” She called forward. “Danvers, there! The jolly boat, if you please. And a handpicked crew, as well. See they’re rigged out respectable, will you now?”

  “Jolly boat and picked crew, aye!” Danvers called from the vicinity of the foremast.

  Kate dashed below and examined herself in the looking glass. She had her last good coat, a clean white shirt and britches, a tidy neckcloth and her Hessian boots on. Her plain cocked hat was mostly presentable at least. It wasn’t that she wanted to impress Albury so much, that wouldn’t be necessary. However, it was entirely possible that she’d be asked to go aboard Indefatigable or more worrisome, Thun
derer. If she was to meet an admiral, she’d at least appear as ship shape as was possible.

  “Your hanger, mum?” Pitney asked, appearing from nowhere.

  “Aye,” Kate said, allowing him to help her belt it on. “God, wouldn’t I just give my right arm for a little gold lace on this plain blue coat… Christ… white lapels or even a reefer’s white collar patch would answer…”

  “You look main well, mum. Lovely as well as dashing, if I may make so bold,” Pitney said, flashing a smile.

  She thanked him, went up on deck and down into the waiting boat. She was pleased to see Danvers and the oarsmen dressed in clean trousers, neat slippers, blue jackets over clean white shirts, their brass buttons gleaming in the late morning sun. Each man was clean shaven and had neat senate hats perched atop their heads.

  “Let go the bow,” Danvers ordered. “Shove off there… give way starboard… give way all. Lay on your oars and row dry now, lads.”

  As the jolly boat skittered across the rippling harbor, Braiscirtle and his men aboard the French corvette let out a hearty cheer. The Lieutenant even doffed his hat to her as Kate went by. She smiled and returned the gesture, beaming all over her face.

  As they drew near the Resoundre, already being referred to by the British sailors as Resolve, Danvers cast a questioning look her way. Kate knew what he wanted to know. Should he steer for the starboard, or honorific side, or the larboard so that Kate could go aboard without ceremony?

  Her natural humility asserted itself and she was just about to instruct Danvers to head to the frigate’s larboard side when a midshipman, a youngster whose voice hadn’t yet cracked looked their way and shouted.

  “The boat ahoy!” he called in his pre-adolescent voice. “What boat is that?”

  Danvers held up four fingers and replied in his powerful coxswain’s roar, “Whitby Castle!”

  This reply meant that he had a captain aboard, regardless of rank, and that proper ceremony should be observed. Kate wanted to contradict but now that the declaration had been made, it wouldn’t do to appear wishy washy. She was reassured to see Albury’s face appear at the taffrail and grin down at her.

  Danvers eased the boat toward the starboard main chains of the lovely frigate where white man ropes had already been laid along, “Easy all… way enough… Bowman, hook on… up oars!”

  The maneuver had been done smartly and Kate, drawing in a deep breath, stepped up onto the boat’s gunwale and leapt for the chains, seized hold of the boarding lines and raced up the side with remarkable grace. As her head appeared above the deck in the center of the entry port, the boatswain’s pipes twittered and the stamp and clash of the marines welcomed her aboard. White gloved side boys stood as erect as statues.

  Kate felt herself flush but couldn’t afford to stop. She continued up and through, turning toward the quarterdeck and doffing her hat in salute.

  In the Navy, and in fact in any seagoing service, it was customary to treat a captain with these honors. Any person commanding a vessel, be they civilian or Navy, be they a captain by post rank or by assignment, was a captain and might be due the honor of an official call.

  Kate was somewhat startled but singularly honored to see Albury and Canning, the Indi’s senior midshipman standing near the fife rail along with two more midshipmen. Another party of Marines were arrayed in perfect order behind them as well.

  “Captain Cook, welcome aboard,” Albury said, coming forward and extending his hand.

  “Thank you, Peter… er… Lieutenant,” Kate said with a grin. “You do me far too much credit, though. Too much by half.”

  “Nonsense, Katie,” Albury said in a low tone, leaning in close. Then louder and more formally. “Would you care to take a wet in the cabin? There’s a capital champagne that the French captain was kind enough to leave behind.”

  Kate grinned and followed him down the starboard companion ladder and into the cabin. Like most rated man o’wars, the great cabin, even on a modest six or seven-hundred ton frigate such as the Resolve, was splendid. The captain’s dining cabin and sleeping cabins lay to either side of a corridor that ran through the coach and opened into the day cabin itself. A magnificent curve of stern windows, Kate took note that they’d been repaired already, looked out over the harbor and Charleston beyond. The room was appointed in a much finer style than one might expect to find in a British ship, of course.

  The French captain being a privateer, had been well off. He’d surrounded himself with every luxury. A large oaken desk sat to one side, two ornate velvet wingback chairs sat off to the other. A large wine cabinet seemed filled to overflowing and on every vertical surface hung decorative silk tapestries that appeared East Indian to Kate. Several fine paintings hung there as well.

  The two setae’s set beneath the sash windows were themselves padded and fabriced in fine burgundy velvet. It was upon one of these that the most striking ornament in the cabin sat, sipping from a glass of her own Champagne. A young woman, finely dressed, stared with wide eyes at Kate as she strode in after Albury.

  “Captain Catherine Cook,” Albury said with a grin as he moved to the cabinet to pour two more glasses. “May I introduce senorita Helena Maria Carmelita Ortega. Senorita, this is the captain I spoke of this morning.”

  “A woman!” The pretty woman, who was in her early twenties and whose long raven hair was braided and fell nearly to her lower back said with apparent astonishment in her voice. It was not disapprobation, however. She smiled and turned the smile on Albury. “Peter, you did not mention she was a woman… and so young as well as muy bonita, tambien!”

  “And as capable as any man,” Albury said, handing Kate a glass of Champagne and refilling the young lady’s glass as well. “I served with her father. In fact, I might boldly suggest that I’m at least partially responsible for teaching her the craft of sailing ships of war.”

  “Ay dios mio!” The woman exclaimed with obvious delight. “This is so much better than I had hoped for…”

  “Please have a seat, Katie,” Albury said and then grin sheepishly. “Forgive the familiarity… it’s just that for the better part of three years that’s how I came to think of you. Young Katie the incorrigible, or Katie the irrepressible.”

  Kate laughed, “Or that Goddamned girl! Please don’t ever stand on ceremony with me, Peter. We’re far too old and close friends for that. Besides, senorita, I’m a captain only by courtesy. I don’t serve in the Navy, of course. Yet that stubby brig and that beautiful schooner do belong to me as prizes.”

  Albury chuckled, “You’ll be hard pressed to find anyone braver, more steadfast or more trustworthy, Helena.”

  The woman nodded, considering Kate with large and intelligent eyes the color of sea ice, “I can imagine. She’s taller than you, Pedro. Yet still muy bonita. I believe I will trust her, as you say. Would you explain…”

  Peter took a long sip from his glass, “Oh, as to that… we discovered Helena early in the middle watch. Not being able to sleep, I was taking a tour of the ship. Inspecting the condition of the hold, the berth deck and so on. Making certain that our French prisoners were indeed well stowed. When I see what at first I took to be a ship’s boy or one of the midshipman playing at some caper or other. A figure in the gloom attempting to steal out of the cable tier. Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be a Spanish lady, no less!”

  Kate and Helena both laughed.

  “Evidently,” Peter pressed on. “Helena and nearly a score of women had been taken from a Spanish transport leaving Havana a month back. An illegal prize, of course, as the Spanish and French are allies… at least on paper.”

  Helena spat fiercely, “Putas Francesas! Allies indeed!”

  “I’m heartily sorry for your troubles, senorita,” Kate commiserated. “I’ve no love for the Frogs myself. Had dealings with a particularly disreputable man not long hence.”

  Helena met her eye and smiled, “Por favor, please call me Helena.”

  “As you wish, Helena,” Kate si
pped. “How is it you think I can help you? What might I do that Mr. Albury here cannot?”

  “There are important things in my possession,” Helena suddenly blurted, rushing to her point quickly, as if time were short. Her excitement thickened her Spanish accent considerably. “By the grace of God they were not found by those French hijos de las putas! But I cannot risk them falling into anyone’s hands. Even you’re oh so gallant English or the Americanos. It is difficult to explain… but I would ask that you, as a private citizen, keep them safe for me? At least until my and my fellow women’s affairs are set in order?”

  Kate was taken aback by this, “Sen… Helena… you can certainly trust the Royal Navy not to molest you, your friends or your belongings. That I can vouch for personally. Aside from Peter here, Sir Edward Pellew is a fine man who would do his utmost to protect you.”

  Peter nodded and grinned reassuringly.

  Helena nodded gravely, “Peter says this, too. And it is not that I don’t believe you… I’ve seen firsthand proof of this already… yet… yet what I hold could become political. For one, I am related to King Charles by marriage. I am Queen Maria Lusa’s second cousin, and the daughter of Count Armand Moleno de Lérida.”

  Peter’s eyes widened slightly. He evidently hadn’t learned that as yet. Kate only sipped the good Champagne and listened intently.

  “There is trouble in the Spanish possessions in Sudamérica,” Helena, or the Contessa, explained. “There has already been more than one revolt there. With the war and the country’s attention and resources spread thin, it’s thought that within the next twenty years Spain may lose much there.”

  Peter nodded, “I’ve heard rumors to that effect as well. Probably more hopeful musings than anything, truth be known. But what does it signify, Helena?”

  “I have some things that must be kept safe for the time being,” Helena said. “Until I can arrange to receive them again. Nothing much, Catherine… just some papers and a necklace… but in the wrong hands, these could be used to great effect to foment revolution in Columbia, Venezuela, Chile… all of them. Would you carry them for me until we can arrange to meet again?”