Trident

by Michael Aye

  “Shoot and be damned,” the man said. “I should have known better than come with you. Oh, Gawd,” he cried again as he swatted at them. “They’re everywhere…bats…black wings…they’re biting me. Help! Gawd, help me.”

  “Hush, you fool. I’m warning you. Be quiet or I’ll do it for you.”

  “No,” the man said. “I can’t stand it. You’re the fool. The man was right. You are evil. I’m not going to die for your deeds.”

  The man turned to run. Crack…the thief stopped and stared at the still smoking pistol barrel.

  “They are gone,” he gasped. “They’re coming for you now, Padget. They are coming for you.”

  During all this time, Dagan had remained standing, with his arms and cloak held out, not unlike a cape. Now, he let them down. “He is right you know,” Dagan spoke softly.

  “Not yet they ain’t,” Padget said. Realizing his pistol was empty, he dropped it next to a puddle left by the afternoon rain. A dagger was deftly drawn from a scabbard on his hip. “Now keep your distance, mate. One false move and I’ll slit his throat. I may die but it will be no never mind to this sod because he’ll already be dead.”

  “I don’t need to do anything,” Dagan responded. “You have already sealed your fate. You’re dead and just don’t know it.”

  “Not from the likes of you, I ain’t,” the man threw back, showing yellow-stained teeth. “Fact is, I am tired of all this talking. I think I’ll give your friend a new smile just to see how he looks.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Dagan answered.

  “I would,” Padget laughed…then coughed. A shocked look filled his face. The end of a blade protruded from his mouth almost like someone sticking out their tongue. As he coughed, blood gushed from around the blade as he fell forward, dead.

  “Shoot me will you, you bastard,” the other thief said, holding his stomach where the ball had entered. “I hope you bust hell wide open.” The man then looked at Dagan and said, “You were right. He was an evil man.”

  The thief then fell to the ground, “Mother…” he cried out as he died.

  “Are you okay, Jake? Jake…”

  “I’m alright, Dagan,” Jake replied, still trying to digest what had taken place. Were the stories about Dagan true? Did he really have powers? Was he really a soothsayer? Did it matter? Were there really bats flying about or just the thief’s imagination? Did it matter? Had it not been for Dagan, I’d been a goner, Jake thought. That’s what mattered.

  “They jumped me from behind,” Jake volunteered. “They clubbed me before I knew anything was amiss.”

  “Can you walk?” Dagan asked.

  “I think so. I am not as dizzy as I was.”

  “Good. You can lean on me if need be, but let us be on our way.”

  “I’m surprised that shot hasn’t already brought the watchman down on us. Shouldn’t we stay and explain what happened?” The look Jake got from Dagan made him say, “Dumb question.”

  “It will look like a fight between two rogues when the watchman arrives. Why hang around? It will only put Gabe’s name in the paper in a negative light. There’s always some jealous person ready to cloud matters if they can,” Dagan said.

  “Let’s be on our way then before the watchman arrives, but keep your eyes open for my hat when we get close to the street. I’d hate to lose it, I just got it today,” Jake said to Dagan.

  “I’d worry about your head, was I you,” Dagan growled good-naturedly.

  “Oh, I am,” Jake responded, “that’s why I want my hat.”

  As several watchmen passed, they noted the two men laughing; one probably worse for wear from drink as he seemed to be supported by the other. Wouldn’t mind a wet myself, one watchman thought.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Captain Sir Gabriel Anthony climbed the companion ladder, stepped over the coaming and out onto the deck of HMS Trident. He was a new man. A new father, the flag captain to a new admiral, and captain of a sixty-four gun warship. The smallest in the line of battle, true. The seventy-fours were taking over but still she was a force to be reckoned with. A thought came to his mind and made him chuckle…not unlike Faith. Did she have her hands full with the little one? Nanny and Lum would be there, not to mention Aunt Deborah, Uncle Gil, and of course, Uncle Bart, who would be the one to spoil the little one. This made him chuckle again, making several seamen and officers alike look toward their new captain.

  “Wonder what ’e thinks is so funny, mate?”

  “I don’t know,” the other replied. “But it can’t be the weather.”

  A fine sprinkle was coming down, more than a mist but not a downpour. Gabe glanced aloft and smiled as he saw blue at the mizzen, Admiral Buck’s flag. Looking over the anchorage, the ships in the admiral’s squadron and those of the convoy would be getting ready to weigh anchor and make sail. Gabe wiped the rain from his face with a handkerchief. The decks were spotted with the drizzle and would make for slippery work as they got underway.

  Lieutenant Donald Campbell walked over to Gabe and greeted him. “Morning, Captain.”

  “Mr. Campbell.”

  “The anchor’s hove short, sir. The ship is lashed down and all is ready.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Campbell, have the signal midshipman make a signal to the flag, ‘ready to proceed’.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Gabe felt a pang of guilt. He’d spent so much time ashore getting things taken care of for his mother he’d not spent as much time aboard his ship as he normally would. Stephen Earl had spoken highly of the first lieutenant. “Campbell is a fine officer who has my every trust. He will make a good captain and, indeed, should already be one.” From Stephen Earl this was true praise.

  Turner, that was the midshipman’s name, Lee Turner. Campbell’s slight clearing of his throat made Gabe turn. The admiral had just come on deck. Campbell had subtly alerted his captain of the admiral’s arrival; this was a good trait for a first officer.

  From his spot at the signal halyard, Turner called out, “Flag has replied, sir, ‘Congratulations and God’s speed.’”

  Seeing the puzzled look on the first lieutenant’s face, Buck explained, “Our captain is a new father, Mr. Campbell.”

  A smile broke out on the lieutenant’s face. “Let me add my congratulations, Captain. We, the wardroom, will have to toast the little one at the first opportunity.”

  “Thank you,” Gabe replied, and then turned to Buck. “Signal the squadron and convoy to make sail, sir?”

  “Aye, Gabe, we’ve dragged our anchor long enough.”

  Gabe smiled; there would be some who disagreed. Turning to Campbell, he ordered the lieutenant, “Get the ship underway, please.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Lay a course to weather the headland.”

  Admiral Buck spoke in a whisper to Gabe, “Do you recall the times when Gil was the captain, and we stood back and watched you take us to sea?”

  Gabe recalled with a smile. “A few anxious times I’ll wager.”

  “Aye, but not so many either.”

  The shrill of the bosun’s pipe made men jump and sent barefoot seaman scampering in organized chaos.

  “Hands aloft, lively now you lubbers.”

  Swarming topmen made their way up the dizzying heights.

  “Move it Taylor, you lazy lubber, or my starter will find your back.”

  Not an empty threat, Gabe decided. The first lieutenant would not want to be embarrassed the first time they put to sea with the new captain. He had surely warned the bosun he’d tolerate no slackness. The bosun, therefore, had his eyes open and every jack tar knew it.

  “Break out the anchor, Mr. Wesley.”

  Wesley had been the first lieutenant on Peregrine. Did he resent being second on Trident? Gabe had privately given him the option to stay or leave with a very good recommendation. “Loyalty,” Buck had said. “You inspire loyalty. He’d rather stay with you and chance a promotion than cast his lot elsewhere.” Whatever the reason, Gabe
was glad. Wesley had proved a good seaman and a brave officer who had the respect of his men.

  “Heave, you lazy whoreson,” a bosun’s mate was shouting. “Put your backs into it,” he shouted at the forecastle hands. “I declare, you whimper worse than a whore who spent her last schilling and has no more for drink.”

  Crack! Somebody’s back just tasted a starter. “Don’t be shirking, Kent, I got me eyes on you.”

  Clank…clank…clank. The capstan turned slow at first and then faster as the hands put their backs into it. Soon the dripping cable made its way inboard. A flapping sound was heard from above immediately after Campbell ordered, “Loosen head sails.”

  The topmen were catlike as they made their way along the swaying yards, seeming to pay no mind to the wind, rain, and flapping canvas.

  From forward, Wesley cried out, “Anchors aweigh, sir,” and Gabe could immediately feel the shift of the ship as it moved with the current, the deck canting slightly.

  The forward group set to catting home the anchor. “Amidships,” Campbell yelled out, “Man the braces, look alive now, the admiral’s eyes are on us.”

  I wonder which admiral he means, Gabe thought, the port admiral or the one here on deck.

  Slowly, the yards swung around with a groan as the hands heaved with all their might, trying to get a grip on the wet deck. The sails flagged a time or two, and then filled with the wind. They billowed out with a snap like a gunshot. Like an animal released from its cage, Trident reacted; the land quickly fell astern in the gray clouds and rain. Admiral Buck remained on deck until the last ship had weathered the Isle of Wight.

  “You have a good ship and experienced crew, Captain,” Buck said in a voice so that all near could hear his comment. “I look forward to a successful voyage.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Gabe responded to the admiral’s praise. “Trident will do her best to bring honour to your flag.”

  A cheer went up, “Huzza…huzza for the admiral!”

  “Thank you,” Buck replied, “that was well said.” Then plucking at his sodden uniform, he said, “I think I’ll go down and see if Chen Lee has unpacked something I can change into.”

  As the admiral’s head disappeared down the companion ladder, Gabe motioned for his cox’n. “How is the admiral’s staff coming along, Jake?”

  “Nesbit has taken Chen Lee under his wing and he seems to be coming along nicely. Dagan and I have gone over the cox’n duties with Crowe. He should have it all down. I can’t say about Fleming. Your secretary, Mr. House, is going over things with him. Of course, Fleming has always been good with figures. He might have made a good purser were he not so honest.”

  This brought a chuckle from the master. “Well, there’s one that probably agrees with you,” Gabe responded. David Hayes was the ship’s master. His face was like leather from years at sea, facing all the elements. Crows-feet gathered at his eyes when he smiled, which seemed often. He was slim and wore his graying hair shorter than most of his kind. From the few times he and Gabe had talked, he seemed very knowledgeable. A true professional, Gabe thought. A good ship and a good crew indeed. Hopefully, I will not fail her as a captain.

  Out of nowhere, Dagan appeared. “A promising command,” he volunteered. Was he reading my thoughts? Gabe wondered. Very little had been said when Dagan and Jake had come home the night Jake had been waylaid.

  “Trouble?” Gabe had asked as the crumpled package of toothbrushes was handed to him.

  “Jake had some problems keeping up with his hat but all is well now,” Dagan replied. Gabe had not pressed. He would hear the story when the time was right.

  “Captain, sir,” It was one of the young gentlemen.

  “Yes.”

  “Admiral’s compliments, sir, and would you care to break your fast?”

  Gabe’s growling stomach punctuated his answer. “I’d be grateful. I will be down directly.”

  “Yes sir.”

  What is his name, Gabe wondered. Brayden, that’s it. Humm, I’ll know them all soon enough; maybe too well for their liking.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Lieutenant John Berry pulled his watch cloak tighter about his neck and shivered in spite of the coat. It was soaked from the constant spray as the ship dove and reared as it cut through a rolling sea. Pegasus was a good ship and not so cramped now that they’d gotten rid of one of their passengers. Captain Earl was a nice enough chap and appeared to be a good seaman. Otherwise, he’d not have been chosen to be Lord Anthony’s flag captain. Of course, they still had one passenger, the foreign office man, Lord Skalla. He’d gone ashore with the captain and Captain Earl.

  The next thing Berry knew, the captain was back with new sailing orders. Pegasus would be putting to sea as soon as she could be made ready. Damn the luck, Berry had thought. He’d looked forward to having his cabin back and a few days ashore. There had been a planter’s daughter who had shown interest in the young officer. Now that he was back, he’d fill her with tales of their dashing exploits and having his and the ship’s name in the Gazette. He even had a copy to show her. In truth, his name was only mentioned in one sentence but it was there just the same.

  Captain Jepson was an old tar who had made it to being captain of his own ship. He seemed to be in good with Lord Anthony, and the foreign office gentleman certainly could have had a larger ship take him to Savannah. So the captain, though only a lieutenant, was a man with influence. The time would come when one of his junior officers would be needed. Therefore, it stood to reason, being with a captain such as Jep Jepson would see him promoted or dead before too long.

  Berry peered at the compass. This was more from habit than need. One of the helmsmen stretched one arm and yawned. Not much longer now and they’d be relieved. Berry turned and walked down the weather side of the deck. He could see himself in command of a fine ship like the Pegasus…to start with. But a frigate, that’s what he longed for. A thirty-two would do. He’d rather have something with a bit more iron like a thirty-six or even a thirty-eight. But they would come later. No, a thirty-two would do well to start with.

  As Berry made his turn and closed with the helmsman, the seaman spoke out. “The wind seems to be dropping, sir. Feels a bit colder, I believe.” The helmsman was an old hand. His comments were to alert the young lieutenant to stop daydreaming and pay attention to the pull of the sails.

  They’d have to rouse out all the hands if the wind dropped any further. He glanced once more at the needle on the compass, still on tack.

  Bucklin, the midshipman, was moving his arms back and forth over by the rail. Was it to stay awake or stay warm? It always seemed coldest in the pre-dawn. Pacing back and forth it dawned on Berry that he could now see the bow of the ship clearly. The watch would soon be over and he’d have a chance to get a cup of hot coffee and get out of these damp clothes. He’d have some bread and butter as well. A fresh supply had been brought aboard at Barbados. A spoon of the preserves would be nice. Damn, Berry thought as his stomach growled. Thinking of food had awakened his innards.

  “Deck thar! Sail on the larboard bow.”

  Well damme, Berry thought. Breakfast just got postponed. “Mr. Bucklin.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Up you go, lad. Tell me what you see.”

  “Aye, sir. A right report it will be, sir.” Bucklin seemed almost glad to have something to do, even if it was nearly time for the watch to end.

  “It had better be a good report,” Berry snapped, “or Mr. Hacket will see you kissing the gunner’s daughter.”

  This only made the mid smile as he slung the telescope strap around his shoulder and bounded up the shrouds, shunning the lubber’s hold, he climbed up and over onto the platform. The lookout, glad for the company, smiled a toothless grin and moved over, pointing toward the sighting.

  It only took Bucklin a moment to call down, “Two ships, sir. One, a small frigate, looks French and the other one is a cutter.”

  Stout, the toothless lookout, spoke to the mid, “Sh
e be French all right, Mr. Bucklin. I seen the likes of her before.”

  Looking once more at the distant ships, Bucklin snapped the glass closed grimacing with the sound of the snap. Break the glass and he’d be kissing the gunner’s daughter every evening for the entire voyage. Taking a deep breath, he called down, “The ships are crowding on all sail, sir.”

  “Very well,” Berry answered. “Come on down.”

  As Bucklin turned to make his way down, Stout spoke again, “Look sir, the flags.”

  Bringing his glass back to his eye, Bucklin could see the British flag over a French flag. Humph…grabbing a backstay, he took the faster route down. He could feel the burn in the palms of his hands and was glad when his feet touched the deck.

  After hearing his report, Berry ordered, “My respects to the captain, young sir, and we have two ships in sight.”

  “No need, Mr. Berry,” Jepson volunteered. “A French ship, a small frigate, perhaps a corvette and a cutter. With our colors over French colors…here in the Caribbean. A British cutter and a French warship, does that not make you suspicious, Mr. Berry?”

  “The flags,” Berry sputtered.

  “A possible ruse, Mr. Berry, to get us to drop our guard.”

  So much for command of a frigate, Berry thought. “I’m sorry, Captain,” Berry began, but the apology was waved away.

  “Experience, young sir. We may be seeing two friendly ships. I hope so, but I’ll prepare for the worst.” Taking a glass from the rack, Jepson climbed a few feet up the shrouds. He stared out across the gray horizon until he found the ships. Focusing the glass, he watched for a minute and then climbed down.

  A corvette and a cutter, why here? He didn’t think they were British. The cutter had been at one time. But not now, he thought. Probably privateers. No signs of any other ships on the horizon, so that increased the likelihood. Picturing his charts in his mind he positioned them somewhere between Montserrat and the islands of St. Kitts and Nevis. None of which were British.

  “We still have an hour or more, Mr. Berry. Let’s get the men up and fed, and then we will quietly go to quarters.”