Leopard (Fighting Anthonys Book 7)

by Michael Aye

  “The Tidewater Witch is approaching, sir. It appears that she’s got a coastal trader with her.”

  Smiling, Lord Anthony said, “Damned if that Jem Jackson don’t take to the hunt. Better than some, I know who is always looking for a handout from his betters.”

  “Them’s few what’s got sumthing to hand out,” Bart responded.

  The small coaster’s captain was a short, portly, older looking man with wisps of hair covering a bald head. His leathery face had so many lines in it, Lord Anthony was afraid it’d crack when the man smiled.

  After a cheerful greeting, in which the captain gladly accepted a glass of port, he told of his news. A large Spanish ship, one as big as the ship he was now on or bigger, almost swamped him during the night. A hellish time it had been when, after the big Spaniard passed, several more of the Dons passed also. One ship threw their garbage overboard, hitting his little coaster, and laughing about it.

  “Did you get the name of any of the ships?” Jackson asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Aye, it were the San Cristobal.”

  “Where did they pass you?” Lord Anthony inquired.

  “You have a map?” the little captain asked. Lord Anthony nodded and Lieutenant Mahan fetched one and laid it out across the table. Smacking his mouth, the captain asked if any more port was to be had. It sure as torment beat the bottled vinegar called wine he was used to. Without waiting for Silas, Bart refilled the glass. The captain continued, “I was between the Turks and Great Inagua heading to Port de Paix.”

  The admission of the man’s destination let Lord Anthony and his officers know he’d just as much as admitted to being a smuggler. Well, that was none of Lord Anthony’s concern. He asked the captain, “You would suggest they were following what course?”

  “Nor-norwest,” the man said. “No guessing, nor-norwest.” The little captain was given a few guineas for his information and told more would follow when he had more information for his Majesty’s Navy.

  Once the captain was seen over the side, Captain Earl and Captain Jackson rushed back to the great cabin. “If they are headed north, they are likely to meet Gabe’s patrol,” Lord Anthony said, when his captains returned.

  “How did we miss them?” Captain Earl said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “We sailed to Havana first. They probably sailed from San Juan,” Gil replied.

  “Do you think they are headed to the Bahamas, my Lord?” Earl asked.

  “It’s possible,” Anthony replied. “But since they passed between Turks and Great Inagua, I would think they have headed to the Florida Keys, Pensacola, or Mobile.”

  “I’ll have the master get a chart of the Gulf Coast of Florida to…to New Orleans,” Lieutenant Mahan said.

  “Thank you,” Lord Anthony replied. He then ordered, “Send your fastest frigate to get Gabe’s patrol. If they can locate him soon enough, he can meet us here,” Lord Anthony said, pointing to Andros. “If he misses us there, he is to sail toward Pensacola.”

  “Aye, my Lord, Phoenix is the fastest. Frostbrier will enjoy being out from the flag,” Mahan replied.

  Lord Anthony looked at his flag captain, “Make sure he knows he’s not out looking for prizes. If he sights the French or the Dons, he is to avoid engaging.”

  “Aye, my Lord, he’ll know his duty.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  GABE’S PATROL WAS FOUND sooner than later as luck would have it. Not one enemy vessel had been spotted. Two days later, after meeting up with Frostbrier’s Phoenix, Lord Anthony’s ships were spotted by Leopard’s lookout. Both groups were approaching Andros. Dropping anchor, Lord Anthony transferred to Lynx to have a closer look at the island and inquire if the Dons’ ships had stopped over or been spotted in their passing.

  It was an honor to Captain Montgomery and the Lynx for the admiral to come aboard. Lord Anthony had been told by his father, Admiral James Anthony, ‘If you truly want to know a man, go aboard his ship unexpectedly.’

  Lieutenant Mahan and Bart were the only ones to accompany his Lordship to the smaller ship. All due honors were sounded and Captain Montgomery was beaming that the admiral had chosen the Lynx. The correct orders were issued and the admiral’s flag was hoisted as he cleared the entry port. While time did not allow an official inspection, Lord Anthony’s professional eye could find nothing amiss.

  Shaking hands with the admiral, Montgomery invited his Lordship below to his quarters with a quick warning to get all four into the smallish cabin would make for close quarters. After he squeezed into the cabin, a decent wine was offered and the ship made its way into Andros. The admiral went ashore hoping that his rank might open doors and gain information faster than would be provided to the lieutenant or captain.

  Yes, the Spanish ships had sailed past showing no concern for the island’s fishermen or their nets. They did not drop anchor but continued to sail on by.

  Back aboard the flagship, the charts of the West Coast of Florida was looked at. “I think we could send someone ashore at any of these islands,” Waters, the master, said. “We may scare a few pirates to death, thinking we are raiding them, but if they were not seen at one of the islands, then it’s unlikely they’d be seen at another.”

  “Which island would you suggest?” the captain asked.

  “Marco, I think, would be my choice. I’ve been told there’s usually a few of the blackguards there. If they did not pass Marco Island, they probably stood out in the Gulf if they did indeed come this way.”

  Lord Anthony nodded. “Make the necessary signals, Captain Earl.”

  “Aye, my Lord.”

  ***

  SEVERAL SMALLER SHIPS WERE indeed at Marco Island. “If that’s not a privateer anchored there, I’d be surprised,” Captain Gregory Kirk whispered to his midshipman.

  Lord Anthony had sent Bulldog in to shore under a flag of truce. Several seamen lounged about the beach. A few palmetto huts had been built and several tents were spread about. Several blackened spots indicated where large fires had been built. The remains of a roasted goat were still hanging from a spit over one such spot. The rogue, who had come down to meet Kirk’s boat, had a British accent, and had surely been a jack-tar at some point.

  “Got no love for the Dons’ I ain’t, so I’d tell you truthful like, if we’d spied ’em, but we’s been at anchor more’n a week and we ain’t seen or heard of the buggers.” Pirate he might be, but Kirk believed him, and so did his cox’n.

  Hearing this news, Lord Anthony had all captains repair on board and bring their masters or anyone else that might have been aboard who knew the Gulf.

  ***

  LORD ANTHONY MADE HIS way on deck. The dawn horizon had been empty and so he’d gone below to break his fast. The taste of Silas’ strong coffee warmed his belly. The sea was still empty except for the long rollers with their white crest. The wind had picked up and you could hear it humming in the riggings.

  The master laid a course for Pensacola, Florida. If the Dons were not there, they’d sail to Mobile, Alabama. If there was no sign of them in Mobile, they’d accept it, and admit that they’d made the wrong choice and the Dons had sailed north, up the coast of Florida to God only knew where. Still, Anthony felt they’d sailed to support the attacks on those ports proposed by Bernardo de Gálvez. He felt it. It made sense to take another course if their information had been correct.

  With a stiff wind following, Captain Earl had ordered the topsails and forecourse be reefed. With the wind pulling the sailors’ slops tight against their bodies, they scurried up to the tops, seemingly with agility and ease.

  “Aren’t you glad you don’t have to climb to the tops in all kinds of weather, Bart?” Lieutenant Mahan asked the burly cox’n.

  “I wouldn’t mind a bit o’ exocise now and then, but I’d not want to do it regular like. Shame ’em I would…wouldn’t be fair to ’em, I’m thinkin’, to hurt their feelings that way. Course should the need be there, I’d take ’em under me wing so’s they’d kno
w ’ow it s’posed to be done.”

  “I’m sure you could and would,” Mahan responded with a smile.

  “Aye Lieutenant, never worry, old Bart will pitch in and teach ’em when there’s teaching needs to be done.”

  ***

  IT WAS SEVEN BELLS in the first watch. The midshipman flipped the hourglass, thinking only a half hour left and he’d be off watch. The wind had calmed down to a moderate breeze. Small waves rolled along with breaking crests and fairly frequent white caps. In the admiral’s cabin, Bart was sitting on a soft cushion next to an open stern window, which caused the tobacco smoke to drift out the opening. He was smoking a corncob pipe Dagan had given him. Dagan had gotten it from the Indian Kawliga, at his uncle’s horse farm in Virginia. Bart just about had it broken in. It smoked cooler than a clay pipe, but not as cool as a briarwood or meerschaum pipe. Still it was a nice gift and not a bad smoke.

  Bart had just cleaned the admiral’s sword and was wiping the excess oil off the blade when a cry from the lookout caused him to look up. His Lordship sat in his desk chair napping with his feet propped up on another chair.

  “Deck there, sails fine off the starboard bow.”

  A good lookout, Bart thought, hearing the report. The captain did not have to shout ‘where away’.

  Lord Anthony rose up and with a smile, looked at his cox’n, “Found them?”

  “Aye,” Bart answered, hoping that it was the Dons. The lookout had said, ‘sails, not ‘sail.’

  Within moments, the marine sentry stomped the butt of his musket on the deck and answered, “Mr. Prentiss, sir, midshipman of the watch.”

  Anthony was still in his chair when the midshipman announced, “Captain’s compliments, sir, we’ve sighted several sails, possibly the Spanish ships.”

  “Thank you, young sir. Inform the captain that I will be on deck presently.”

  “Aye, aye, my Lord.” As the midshipman left the admiral’s cabin, he thought, wait until I get to the midshipman’s berth and tell them that with the Dons now in sight, his Lordship just sat there cool as you please while his cox’n cleaned his blade. Might even say he offered me a glass. They’ll be envious, no doubt.

  Once on the main deck, the captain looked at the midshipman, “You, Mr. Prentiss.”

  When the youth didn’t respond, Captain Earl called him again, “Mr. Prentiss!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your daydreaming, but did the admiral send a reply?”

  “Oh, yes sir. I’m sorry, sir, Lord Anthony said he’d be up presently.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Prentiss, I will be watching you.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Now, get back to your duties.”

  As the boy rushed off, Earl wondered how many times he’d left the admiral’s cabin, his mind awash from the grandeur that lofty soul enjoyed. Little did he realize the responsibility that went with the office.

  Moments later, Lord Anthony and Bart came on deck. Captain Earl greeted the admiral and nodded to Bart. “We spotted them, sir. Mr. Hunt went aloft and with his young eyes was able to make out two ships of the line, a pair of frigates, and two smaller ships. Brigs, he thinks.”

  “My compliments to the young sir on such a fine report,” Lord Anthony said.

  Standing near, Midshipman Hunt beamed at the admiral’s words. Prentiss could say what he wanted, but Hunt would say, ‘the admiral recognized me for a fine job.’ The thought never occurred to the youth that he might be visiting the cockpit instead of his berth on the orlop deck.

  The Spanish ships were still not visible from the deck. “Looks like it will be a long chase,” Captain Earl volunteered.

  “Aye, close to evening at the earliest, I’d say,” Lord Anthony acknowledged. “Speak with Mr. Waters and see if the master has an idea about landfall. They may run all the way to the coast before we close with them.”

  “Aye, my Lord, I was thinking the same thing. We may have a night action.”

  Lord Anthony nodded; a long day chase and possibly a night action. The adrenalin of sighting your enemy would long be gone by the time the enemy was brought to battle. The men would be tired and sluggish. He’d rather have a day action but unless the enemy came about to meet them, only God would decide when the action would be.

  Pausing a moment, Lord Anthony turned, looked up at the sail and his flag, “Captain, signal Phoenix…and Leopard to close with the enemy. They are faster than SeaHorse, so maybe they can stalk them.”

  “Aye, my Lord.” That cost him, Captain Earl thought. Sending two lesser ships to stalk the larger ship could easily turn bad if the enemy decided to come about.

  It didn’t take the ships long to pull away from their positions and pass the flagship once the signal was given. For a fifty-gun ship, Leopard put on a good show of speed as she quickly caught up with and passed the flagship. Not as quick and graceful as the greyhound-like frigate, Phoenix, but enough. As Leopard passed, Gabe stood at the rail and doffed his hat in salute to his brother. With a sense of pride, Lord Anthony waved back.

  “A fine officer, Sir Gabe be,” Waters said.

  “Thank you, that was kindly said,” Lord Anthony replied.

  Feeling suddenly embarrassed, the master excused himself and went to collect charts of the Gulf Coast.

  “He meant it,” Bart volunteered. “He was not trying to toady up like some.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE ENEMY BRIGS WERE in long cannon range. Generally, in ship-to-ship action, the smaller ships were left out of the battle. However, time was not on the side of the British ships. Gabe fired at the nearest brig with his bow chaser. Short! The next shot splashed water over the stern. With his glass, Gabe watched as there was a flurry of activity with the last ball.

  Signals quickly went up, asking for assistance, Gabe guessed. Phoenix’s guns were now in range and his bow chaser boomed as he fired at the other brig.

  “Deck thar, signals from one of the seventy-four’s and two frigates have come about.”

  “Any change with the lead ship?” Gabe called up.

  “No sir! Yes sir! Yes Sir! Sir, one o’ the Dons’ big boys be breaking formation.”

  This brought a smile to Gabe, “Lieutenant Vallin, make sure that man gets an extra tot this evening.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Gabe fired two more shots at the brig, and then changed his target to the approaching frigates. The seventy-four was not close enough yet.

  “A guinea to the gun crew who finds his target first,” Gabe said.

  The gun crews worked feverishly to get the guns loaded and sighted in, aimed and fired. The acrid smoke drifted aft toward the quarterdeck. The shots had straddled the leading frigate. The next rounds were true. Both guns scored hits on the bow.

  “A guinea for both,” Gabe shouted. “Mr. Pittman, let’s come about. We’ve tarried long enough. Mr. Vallin, have the gunners on the starboard lower deck fire as they bear.”

  “Aye,” Lieutenant Vallin said, and then he relayed the word to Lieutenant Laqua, who was in charge of the lower deck.

  “First time I seen the cap’n run,” a young seaman said to an older petty officer.

  “’E ain’t running, ye fool. Its tactics, what the cap’n be doing and glad you should be of it. Were ’e to sail on you’d likely be feed for the sharks ’fore long. Foolish idget,” the petty officer swore, shaking his head.

  The ship was filled with the sound of the gun ports opening and the rumble of the trucks as the carriages were hauled forward, sticking their large black snouts out of the ports. One after another, each big twenty-four pound cannon roared, belching flames as it spewed forth its ball. The last gun captain fired as the ship came about, unsure if they’d scored a hit or not, so dense was the smoke. Above decks the hands were cheering. The ship had completed its turn and was now pulling away from the Dons. To larboard, Phoenix had just completed her maneuver.

  Laqua took a chance and run up the ladder. Seeing the first lie
utenant, he inquired, “Did we aim true?”

  “Aye,” Vallin said, with a smile. “Our frigate is minus her bow and the foremast is down as well.”

  Seeing Laqua, Gabe bellowed, “Damned fine target practice I’d say, Mr. Laqua. Every shot told.”

  Laqua knew the bravado was for the men. He doubted every shot hit, but the captain said so, and so far as he, newly promoted Lieutenant Laqua was concerned they all fell true.

  “Huzzah! Huzzah!” The cheers went up.

  Turning to his first lieutenant, Gabe ordered, “Make sure our lookout keeps his eyes on that large Don.”

  “Aye,” Vallin replied. “Lord Anthony is near, so we will have to come about.” Gabe looked forward and, as Vallin had said, the rest of the ships were fast approaching.

  “Signal from the flag,” Prentiss called out. “Our number, sir, take station to starboard of flag.” He then called again, “Phoenix number, sir, they’re to take station to larboard.”

  Gabe had to use his glass to see the signals, dusk was approaching. He heard Vallin telling the master to bring the ship about and take station as directed by the flag.

  “He’s a good first lieutenant, Gabe,” Dagan said. He had walked up and Gabe hadn’t even noticed.

  Nodding, Gabe said, “It’ll be a night action, Uncle.”

  “Aye, I’ve had a feeling all along,” Dagan replied. His attention now on Dagan, Gabe said no more. If his uncle wanted to expand on his words, he’d do so.

  From the masthead, the lookout called down again, “They’ve gone about, sir. The big Don has taken station at the rear of the formation.”

  “To protect his brigs, the same as I would do,” Gabe said.

  The sun seemed to hang on the horizon for a long time, and then not unlike a candle that has burned all the way down, it gave a last wink and was gone.