Quarterdeck

by David O'Neil

  “There is a hoard of treasure in this house, six chests and sealed keg. I believe you to be a gentleman, sir. Naomi is here against her will. She was sold to me in Africa. She had been my housekeeper ever since. Neither Roger nor I have ever touched her, though, god knows, I have been tempted. Please take the treasure and, if you will, give the keg to Naomi. I believe some of the contents were hers anyway.”

  Martin was aware of the effort Absolom was making to pass on this request. He found himself nodding in agreement, “She will be cared for just as this boy will be. I will see the keg is kept for her.”

  Absolom fumbled at the head of the bed and produced a key, a thin-toothed blade. “The library, Troilus and Cressida.” He gasped and fell back.

  Martin closed Absolom’s eyes, and stood back.

  Outside the door the others were waiting. Martin shook his head at the unspoken question and put his hand on Naomi’s arm. “He is gone and we must go.” He swung round to Peters, “We will need a cart.” Turning back to Naomi, “Pack anything you need to take, and for the boy if there is anything.” He checked her as she turned to go. “The library?”

  She pointed at another door in the hallway and went through to the back of the house. The doctor and Peter followed him into the library and he searched the shelves.

  The collection of Shakespeare was on a central shelf. He removed the copy of Troilus and Cressida and sighed when he saw the slim slot in the woodwork at the back of the shelf.

  The key slid in and the section of the book case moved back and swung to one side. The room held small a stack of chests were in the centre. The keg stood to one side on its own.

  Between them they dragged the heavy chests through into the library. The keg needed both men to carry it.

  Martin closed the secret door. They straightened the carpet and waited for Peters to return. Naomi appeared with a young woman who helped her carry her bags.

  “Sadie is my maid. She will accompany me. James, help with the bags, please.”

  The Bo’sun appeared., “I have a cart, sir. Is this the cargo?”

  “Yes, keep the keg separate. Place it in my cabin on the ship. It belongs to the lady.”

  Naomi looked at him in surprise. She opened her mouth to say something, but Martin shook his head. She closed it and shrugged. One of the Marines from the gate appeared. “Lieutenant Keats and his party are at the gate, sir.”

  “Good. Tell him to send his party back to the ship, leaving six men here with me.”

  The marine disappeared and Keats arrived with his six men.

  The entire party with the loaded cart followed the carriage back to the quay. Julia Savage was supervising the prize crew for the Paragon. The Blackhawk was still at her moorings but the rumble of the guns being moved made it clear that she was being prepared for action.

  Martin spoke to Julia, and Naomi and her maid were sent out to the Mohawk to travel with Julia, north.

  Before she entered the boat Martin spoke briefly to Naomi. “I have your keg in my cabin. I will deliver it when you have decided where you wish to stay. If you would rather, I will pass it over to Mohawk. But I think it will be safer with me just now.”

  Naomi smiled. “Until you produced it I knew nothing of it. I will trust you, sir.” And she turned and stepped down into the boat.

  Martin caught sight of Vixen at anchor in the channel. Brooks was back on board by now.

  He called the other boat alongside. “Take me out to the Vixen.” He ordered the bo’sun’s mate in charge.

  Once aboard, he called Brooks to his cabin.

  “Take the ship out to the shoals offshore and return at dawn to collect me. There will be battle tomorrow I am convinced. I will be spending the night ashore. I have things to do and people to speak with.

  He returned to the shore leaving a delighted Lieutenant Brooks in command, already calling for sails to be spread while Martin looked forward to a depressing round of the buildings in town and an eventual confrontation with the Mayor.

  ***

  The Mayor of Key West was not a prepossessing sight, but, as Martin conceded, his position had not been an easy one to maintain. He had arrived from the Everglades in Louisiana, and found the people of Key West agreeable and welcoming. His past had included teaching mathematics to unwilling schoolchildren, and he had settled here, welcomed as a teacher in the locality. His wife was a local from the mainland. The school had been started by the Episcopalian church and she had been the first teacher. Their marriage had been anticipated and his influence in the community was accepted leading to his election as Mayor. The arrival of Absolom, followed by his partner Roger Newton, had changed things considerably.

  With Absolom it had been possible to treat, with Newton it was impossible. Honore Verlain was not a happy man, and now he had another man to deal with, British, though he had Americans with him. But then Newton was British.

  Chapter twenty

  Tigers and tails

  Roger Newton was not happy. This was putting it mildly. He was enraged. His beautiful ship was battered, the men working to replace shattered timbers from the fire of the guns at the fort in Campeche. The gunners had been very good, and obviously prepared for action. He could only conclude that the incipient rebellion in Mexico against their French masters had caused the increase in efficiency and the repairs to the previously-crumbling fort.

  When Abigail had reported no ships in the harbour, he had assumed the door was open.

  It was open, but despite the French colours he had displayed, the fort had opened fire. His swift action to reverse course had been the only thing that had saved him. As he had retreated hastily, a strange flag had been raised over the fort. It seemed that the incipient revolution had reached farther than he had realised.

  Looking around the ravaged bulwarks on the port side of Huron, he reflected it was a far cry from his days as a Naval Captain, when a quick visit to the nearest dockyard would have been taken care of. On more than one occasion he had wondered what his career would have been had he not gambled away more than he could possibly pay. He had reassured himself that the crew had had something to do with his final decision, but underneath it all he was not fooling anyone but himself. He was here, today, because he had elected to run. As a result he had wealth, comfort, as many women as he desired, and one friend. He wondered if Absolom would forgive his outburst of temper. He shrugged. The way things had gone this past few weeks he could have lost his only friend as well. He smashed his hand against the mizzen mast. Wincing and shaking his mutilated hand, he strode forward across the quarterdeck and shouted at his First Lieutenant. “Any sign of Abigail?” She had been sent ahead to see the way was clear while Huron repaired herself as well as she could.

  “Mr. Watson, please tell me we will be ready for action once more, today!”

  Lieutenant Watson looked warily at Newton, “Should be completed by mid-watch, sir.” His Cornish burr still there in spite of being away from home since he was nine years old. To his surprise the captain did not fly into a rage.

  Nodding, he said, “Well done. We took a beating.” He waved the lieutenant away, saying quietly to himself, “There will be a battle.” He did not know why he was convinced of this. He was just aware that there was a threat in the air and he resumed his walk along the quarterdeck.

  As promised, the essential repairs were finished by mid-watch, but it was close to evening before the Abigail hove into view.

  As the schooner closed, Roger Newton strode back and forth, containing his impatience, realising that it would not be until after dark that the other ship would be close enough to make contact. Even though he was aware of it, he still felt impatient. Eventually he went below to eat at the request of his steward.

  Captain Matt Hooper joined Newton in his cabin at ten on the clock. A tall elegant, stylishly dressed young man, his dark curly hair hung over his collar. His boat cloak was draped around his shoulders. The night was dark outside and the schooner rode off a cable-length
to starboard.

  The young American shook his boat-cloak and draped it over the back of the other chair in the cabin. Seated on the bunk he accepted the glass of wine from the steward and sank most of it in one. “Whee! that was fun!” He said with a chuckle. “I guess the ownership of Campeche is changing hands a little more often these days. Once the buccaneers thought of it as the local family bank and restaurant. Now the damn place keeps fillin’ up with soldiers. Did you see the flag? What the hell was that? Zapata? Weren’t Maximillian, that’s fur shore?”

  Roger Newton looked at his companion with disgust. “Why can’t you speak English, man? Your language has been getting worse ever since you took up with that quadroon woman Emma.”

  Completely un-fazed, Matt Harper just laughed. “Man, that woman is a tiger in bed. She lights my fire just by lookin’.”

  “Well, Mathew. Was there any sign of problems at Key West?” Newton spoke casually but he listened keenly for the answer.

  Mathew smiled. “Like you said, I kept out of sight. Didn’t go in or nothin’. Noticed the Mohawk had arrived. Otherwise it was a mite quiet. I thought about goin’ in. Then remembered what you said and steered clear, Paragon was alongside still, I guess that lazy bastard, Wilkes, will be set down in the Inn with his ladies. They are sure a pox-ridden bunch of excuses for women. I don’t understand how he is still alive. I guess he just sells them. He don’t fuck em.”

  His comments were not giving Newton any encouragement. His last encounter had been with one of Wilkes’s women.

  “We’ll set course for the Keys in the morning. I guess I’ll be seeing Naomi tomorrow. I’m still not feeling right.” Newton rose to his feet.

  “Hey, Roger!” I did not realise you were not feeling so good. Sure I’ll send over my man from Abigail if you like. He’s pretty good.”

  “Thanks, Mathew. I agree he’s pretty good, but I’ll wait for Naomi if you don’t mind. We’ll set course in the morning.”

  Mathew left, still a little troubled. Roger Newton was the reason he was still alive, and rich. Then he thought that Emma was waiting in his own ship. With a wave and the word “Tomorrow,” he was over the side into the boat still waiting alongside to take him back to his pretty schooner.

  ***

  In Key West, Mathew Harper’s visit was not without witness. John Harris, commanding HMS Hera spotted the flick of the sail as he was returning to Key West. Martin had sent him to cruise the area south of the archipelago, keeping a low profile while watching out for the returning pirates.

  He got lucky, by changing course at the last moment. As the head of the schooner came round to the new course the lookout called the sight of the sail halfway round. His arm and hand stuck out like a signal pointing in the direction of the sail. Harris immediately came to a course in the new direction and it was not long before they had the contact outlined against the sunset sky to the west, their own ship concealed by the darkening sky from the east. Harris identified the Abigail, a ship he had seen before and encountered during the Bahamas episode. There was no immediate sign of the Huron.

  Hera returned to Key West and Harris reported to Martin at the big house, once used by Absolom. He found Antonio Ramos seated with Martin and Julia Savage. Absolom had been taken to the graveyard where a grave had been prepared. Naomi, who had run the house was now lodged in Mohawk. Martin decided to use the place as a meeting place for his people while he was ashore. HMS Vixen, currently under the command of Lieutenant Brooks, lay off in deep water beyond the fort at the entrance to the deep-water channel.

  There was a relaxed attitude about the room. The big windows were open to the sea-breeze and the quiet buzz of conversation made it seem less a conference, more a social occasion. He was given a glass of wine by Peters, Martin’s bo’sun, and invited to sit and join the group.

  Startled, he did so, finding a place next to the smiling Julia, who raised her glass to him as he joined the party.

  Martin leaned forward and tapped his glass to get attention. He then leaned back to give them their instructions for the following day. In measured tones he made the point that Captain Newton was no normal pirate. He was a highly trained professional seaman. His ship and crew were naval, both trained and skilled at what they do.

  “Despite our greater strength, this will be no easy task. Commodore, please return to your ship tonight and sail south then give chase from astern, to cut off any retreat in that direction . You, Harris, take Hera out before midnight tonight. I want you out to the west to give chase from that direction, pushing Huron into confrontation. I intend to tackle Huron in deep water, so I will have Vixen at sea by the time the enemy arrives. Julia, I want Mohawk out to tackle Abigail. It may seem that I am overreacting, but since my base is 3000 miles away, I cannot afford to get caught out and possibly seriously damaged with only part of my mission carried out.”

  He looked at the others before him. “The other ships, HMS Spartan, and Lively have already been detailed to by-pass the returning ships to cut off any chance of escape.

  “As most of you are aware my task here was to bring my diplomatic friend,” he nodded to Dominic, who had been seated in the corner in the room while the tactics for the forthcoming engagement were discussed, “to tour down the east coast of America, mending relations disturbed by the attitude of the Royal Navy over the past few years. This is a case of first things first.”

  He rose to his feet. The others rose also. Lifting his glass, he said, “Lady and gentlemen. To ‘tomorrow’ first!”

  They all raised their glasses and repeated ‘Tomorrow’. Then they took their leave. Only Dominic, Julia and Martin remained.

  Martin said, “I will be leaving for the Vixen in five minutes. Miss Savage, please join me in the carriage.”

  Julia checked him for a moment. “I will join you there, Commodore.” Martin left her with Dominic and went to collect his charts and instruments, and check that his servant was ready for the return to the ship.

  Julia turned to Dominic, finding him standing right behind her. She smiled. “You are a nice young man, and I confess I was flattered when I noticed that you took a shine to me.” She lifted her hand and stopped him stepping closer, and reaching for her. “But I confess I was cut out for a different life. I’m not ready to entertain at tea parties, and I’m not cut out for a fling. I like you, Honourable Dominic Gordon, but I don’t love you. I will happily be your friend, but I won’t be your lover. If we understand each other, nod your head?”

  Dominic was stunned. Never had he been spoken to so bluntly by a woman. He nodded his head almost automatically in response to the command.

  Julia reached up and kissed him. Then was gone, off, out to the carriage which stood at the outer door waiting for Martin and Peters, Martin’s servant. Leaving the forlorn figure of Dominic still trying to understand what had gone wrong.

  As the carriage departed Martin asked, “Did you tell him?”

  Julia looked at him. “Why are you so interested?”

  Martin said, “I have my own reasons.”

  Julia did not answer immediately. She sat swaying to the motion of the carriage seemingly lost in thought. Then Martin heard her say quietly, “Of course I told him.”

  At the quay both stepped down from the carriage and Peters collected Martin’s bag.

  The cutter lay alongside. Martin handed Julia into the boat and seated them both, as the crew cast off. At the Mohawk Julia swung aboard, and immediately started calling orders to weigh anchor and make sail. As the cutter sailed away Martin saw her hand lift in farewell. He lifted his in return then concentrated on his plans for the forthcoming fight.

  He dismissed Dominic from his mind for the present. He had been given the task of arranging the list of places to be visited on the way north after the removal of Roger Newton. The cutter would collect him after Martin had been delivered back to HMS Vixen. Brooks should be waiting at the deep-water channel already.

  Martin lifted his eyes. He could just make out the l
oom of a ship at the entrance of the channel ahead of the cutter.

  Martin sighed. There was little else he could do now. The die was cast and there would be blood, and hell to pay in the morning.

  It was not easy to sleep. It had been different in the past. Then it had only been himself to worry about, now there were a whole series of people who depended on him, not the least his present crew and the lives and livelihoods of the people ashore and the others of his fleet. Men and women could die, would die, all because of him and his reading of the orders—no, his interpretation of the orders.

  ***

  When he rose in the early hours of the morning his sheets were wet with sweat and his eyes were tired. The breeze revived him somewhat and he allowed it to blow through his tangled hair, drying it and throwing it where it will. The sun was not yet up. On the horizon the feint line of light was just announcing the new day when the voice from aloft called, “Ship in sight, hull up, she lies west-south-west of us and she hasn’t seen us. I’ll gamble.”

  “Take that man’s name. He’s earned himself a guinea.” Martin said to Brooks who had just taken over the watch.

  “Shall we run out the guns?” Brooks asked.

  “Let us see if we can get a little further south of her first. If we’re spotted, we’ll run out the guns then.

  Martin went below and dressed in clean linen and a fresh shirt, then his full uniform. Peters appeared as he always seemed to and attached the sword to the frog from the dress belt. He then dusted off the bicorn hat and presented it to Martin.

  “There we are, sir, just the last touch.” He produced a box and took out the two pistols. Already loaded and primed for action one thrust each side of the belt ready for use if required.

  Martin mounted the stairs to the deck. There was a call from the masthead and the ship heeled round to starboard, pointing directly at the distant swaying mast of the enemy schooner. “Two ships: one frigate, one schooner approaching from due west, mebbie ten miles off sir.”