Trident

by Michael Aye

  ***

  After the group had taken their leave, Bart came back down to the great cabin. Pouring his cox’n two fingers of the Kentucky bourbon, Lord Anthony asked, “How did things go with Dagan?”

  “’E knew before I told ’im. ’E said we’re going after our ships and people, aren’t we?”

  “Aye,” I said. “’E said ’e’d ’ad a feeling since Jepson’s first lieutenant came in to the tavern where we was ’aving a wet and playing cards. Bloke carried on about taking the corvette and such. Course, soon as the bugger spied us ’e closed ’is trap quick like. But aye, Dagan knew something was in the air.”

  “Any thoughts on how Faith will react?”

  “Not peaceful like, yew can bet,” Bart answered, and then picking up the glass of bourbon he sniffed it and then downed the drink in one swallow. “Tolerable,” he admitted.

  “Tolerable,” Anthony repeated, not believing his ears. “You ungrateful dog! I pour you some of the finest liquor made and all you can say is tolerable. You just don’t know fine liquor.”

  “I know’s what I like. Now, yews welcome to yew’s ’pinion and I’s got mine. I might see if Dagan can get some of the St. Croix rum when they go. Now, that’s fine rum…what a man drinks.”

  “Humph,” Lord Anthony snorted. “Some folks never learn.”

  “Aye,” Bart responded. “No matter ’ow ’ard I tries to teach ’em.”

  PART II

  Stormy Day at Sea

  It’s a stormy day at sea

  The sky is gray it’s killing me

  Not knowing what to do

  ’Bout this loneliness and you

  The wind is howling

  The thunder crashes

  My soul sinks lower

  With every mile that passes

  It’s a stormy day at sea

  Michael Aye

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The ship’s bell rang four times in the middle watch. It was two a.m. and Gabe had been up pacing the deck for the last hour. Lieutenant Wesley was the officer of the watch, but all the officers were up. Most of them were down in the wardroom enjoying a quick cup of coffee to chase away the cobwebs before the planned action started. The first lieutenant hovered over the compass in conversation with the master. The admiral was up but had not left his cabin to come topside. The crew, those not required for the watch, were eating a hurried breakfast, if that’s what it could be called: cold salt meat, cheese, and ship’s biscuit.

  Gabe continued to pace. He and Faith had never departed on harsh terms. They’d never even fought. Maybe it was the sudden call to duty when they had expected a month or more together. Maybe it was because of the baby. Who knew? But the words had been said regardless, and the sting was still there.

  “Then go…go the hell on and see if I give a damn. Go on your precious ship.”

  “Faith, we are at war,” Gabe had pleaded.

  “Oh yes, the King must punish the colonies for wanting their freedom and independence from tyranny with taxes so high we can’t eat if we pay them. We are at war alright, but you are on the wrong side, Gabe.”

  “Faith,” Gabe replied, trying to reason with his wife. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Hell I don’t, Captain Anthony, and the first ship going to the colonies will find me, the baby, Nanny, and Lum on it.” With that, Faith slammed the bedroom door, leaving Gabe to stare at the painted wood.

  “She’s got a temper worse than her mama ever did,” said Nanny. “But don’t you worry, Mr. Gabe, she’ll cry and come to her senses by tomorrow.”

  Turning, Gabe murmured, “I’ll be gone by then, Nanny.”

  As Gabe walked out of the door of their cottage, Dagan was sitting on the steps. Rising, he placed his arm around Gabe’s shoulder and said, “Sudden squalls usually pass over quickly.”

  However, Faith hadn’t showed the next morning as Gabe departed.

  ***

  One of the people on the corvette captured by Jepson was the first mate of a merchant ship recently taken by the Revenant. He had been to St. Croix many times and was well aware of the waters around the island as well as the geography of the island. Using his knowledge, a plan was devised in the great cabin aboard SeaHorse. Admiral Buck and his captains, as well as Lord Skalla, Lord Anthony, and Captain Earl were all present. It was decided that a group would be landed ashore. A small vessel could enter St. Croix’s Salt River where Christopher Columbus once anchored. It would only be a short march up a road to Christiansted and Fort Christianvaern.

  The Danes were breaching their neutrality by keeping British captives locked up in the fort. Lord Skalla wanted the people freed, taking whatever action was required but avoiding as much bloodshed as possible. Therefore, he felt the person leading the assault on the fort needed to be someone of rank and position. Consequently, it fell on Gabe to lead the action.

  Lieutenant Campbell had protested, “It’s my place to go, sir.”

  “Aye, Donald, I don’t disagree,” Gabe answered. “Were I in charge of the operation, you would be the leader, but I’m not.” Gabe understood his first lieutenant’s feelings and didn’t want the man to believe he was not trusted. However, he was reluctant to say anything that might be considered negative about Lord Skalla.

  “We don’t need to cause more of an international uproar than necessary,” Lord Skalla had explained.

  Gabe understood…if only Faith had.

  ***

  Lieutenant John Jenkins, Captain of HMS Zebra, watched as Gabe stepped through the entry port. There were no drums, pipes, or side party. Marines and sailors making up the shore party were brought aboard the sloop with as much silence as possible. Gabe, Hex, and Dagan were the last to board.

  “With your permission I will get underway, Sir Gabe.”

  Gabe acknowledged the lieutenant with a nod. How strange it had sounded, in the wee hours of the morning, off an island where death might come at any minute…to be addressed as Sir Gabe.

  The deck heaved as the sails filled with air. Caught off guard, Gabe stumbled into Hex. Catching his captain, Hex remarked, “Lively little sloop isn’t she, Captain? Not steady like Trident.”

  “Aye,” Gabe replied, glad he’d not busted his arse on a canting deck.

  “It’s a good night for the action, sir,” Jenkins said as he returned. “Moon is bright and the master says the weather will hold.”

  “They usually know,” Gabe agreed, trying to not let personal problems foul his relationship with this energetic young officer.

  Jenkins’ ship was one of the three sloops in Admiral Buck’s squadron. It had been chosen to land the shore party, while HMS Fortune and HMS Thorn would enter the harbor at first light. Men from the two ships would retake, if possible, or burn any British or American ships at anchor. Gabe was to take the fort by land assault and row the freed prisoners out to the ships. If the assault failed they would return to the Salt River and be picked up by Zebra.

  “How will we know if you’ve taken the fort?” Peter Parkinson, captain of Fortune, asked.

  Before Gabe could reply, “We’ll send up a flare,” Joseph Taylor, captain of Thorn, said, “If you get buggered by a big thirty-two pound ball, hot off the furnace, you’ll know they ain’t.” This brought a chuckle from the group.

  ***

  Gabe sat in the wet stern sheets of the cutter as it heaved under a swell. When the men pulled with their oars they left a trail of phosphorescence in the dark, murky waters. The men had to be hushed as they whispered about such an unusual phenomenon. Even in this early hour, the humid heat had drenched the men in sweat. In the semi-darkness of a full moon the shadows of trees towering above the edges of the narrow Salt River could be seen. Huge nests of great white birds filled the trees.

  Gabe whispered, “Caution.” To disturb the birds would bring warning to everyone within miles.

  A reek of decay from the swamp’s edge filled the air, insulting the nostrils, at times almost gagging a few of the men. Making a turn i
n the river, a small island stood out, full of mangrove trees whose great tangled roots seem to crawl out into the brackish water. A faint sound carried to Gabe as he heard the surf washing up on a small beach. They bore to the left slightly and soon the hard-packed sand grated underneath the boat.

  The men piled out of the boats and gathered along the narrow beach, tiny seashells crunching beneath their feet. Marine Captain Schoggins had his sergeant check the men’s weapons, and wrap them in cloth to muffle any sound, before they started out.

  The fort lay a little more than a league, some three to four miles, away, Gabe had been told. There was a road of sorts that stretched from Christiansted to Frederiksted at the other end of the island, some twenty-eight miles away. There would be little, if any, movement on the road at this early hour, but to get to the road they had to travel down the spongy wet path of a rain forest and mangrove swamp. Leaving a few men with the boats, the party marched off. By the time the men made it to the road they’d been eaten alive by insects.

  Pausing to rest a few minutes before starting down the road, Hex swore as he scraped a blood-swollen leech from his lower leg. “Between the mosquitoes, ticks, and leeches, I believe I’ve been sucked dry of blood.”

  Dagan sympathized with him. His body itched from head to toe from countless insect bites.

  “I feel like I’ve been in a steam bath,” Gabe swore as he tugged at the damp coat he’d worn. It had helped prevent some of the insect bites but the increased heat made him fill weak and exhausted.

  “Captain.” It was one of Schoggins’ marines.

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “There is a fresh water stream just up the trail. Probably not fit to drink, but might do to pour over yer head the cap’n says.”

  It couldn’t hurt, Gabe thought, as he used a damp handkerchief to mop his face.

  ***

  The town was asleep in the predawn hours and there didn’t seem to be any activity this side of the fort. A type of sea oak grew on the grounds between the warehouses, wharf, and the fort. Hex had recommended to Gabe that they bring along a couple of old poachers, Thorpe and Morgan. It was these men that Gabe sent out to see if any sentries were patrolling. The two were back within a quarter hour with two prisoners. One apparently had tried to resist and found a belaying pin bounced off his head for his troubles.

  Trying to communicate with the Danes was difficult, but Gabe finally figured that a company of soldiers stayed inside the fort with one officer, who usually stayed in his quarters, frequently with one of the young ladies from town. The general lived in town and was probably at a festival being held in Frederiksted. The British prisoners were locked up in the dungeon except for the doctor, who was allowed to stay in the small hospital quarters.

  Gabe looked at the sky; it was almost dawn. They had to hurry…hurry, but carefully and quietly. At the other side of town a dog barked…at what? Not his men, Gabe knew, but it wouldn’t take much to set off the alarm.

  “Robert,” Gabe spoke to the marine captain, using his first name. “Are you ready?”

  The tall marine smiled, “Whenever you are, sir.”

  “Mr. Hawks,” Gabe spoke to his fifth lieutenant. “You are to set up a rear guard at the fort’s gate in case we have to make a hurried departure. If you need me, send Mr. Thomas.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Dagan, Jake,” Gabe spoke to his uncle and cox’n. “Keep your heads down and your guard up.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The men moved like a pack of wolves across the clearing between the warehouses and the fort, taking advantage of the oaks to provide cover as they ran. One-hundred fifty yards, one-hundred yards, fifty yards, and finally they were at the fort’s back wall. No alarm had been sounded. Grappling hooks had been brought, but Thorpe and Morgan were nimbly up and over the wall. A thud and grunt was heard from inside.

  Just as the gates were flung open, a shout rang out followed by a gunshot. Gabe and his men poured through the gate. From a parapet, a sergeant barked orders and a volley of muskets cracked out, while off to the side a trumpet blared.

  “Forward, move damn you,” Schoggins was shouting at his men.

  Finding targets, the marines were firing, then kneeling as their comrades stepped around and fired. The soldiers on the wall, fewer in number now, fired a scattered volley at almost point blank range. Several of Gabe’s men were cut down, which enraged their mates. The sounds of blows and curses were heard as those firing the muskets were quickly and savagely struck down. A pistol was fired almost in Hex’s face. He turned sharply as the ball missed, but the powder singed his hair. Striking out with his blade, Hex took his foe down. Now men were pouring from the barracks, their muskets with bayonets fixed, joining the battle. The Danes may have woken to a great surprise but they had recovered quickly and fought like demons.

  Snatching at Hex’s arm to get his attention, Gabe shouted to be heard. “Take some men and spike the big guns…don’t let them be used on the ships or us.”

  Hex nodded and was off, grabbing men to assist as he went. Gabe quickly lost sight of Hex’s group as a man bellowed like a bull and charged at him with a musket and bayonet in his hand. Gabe struck at the barrel of the musket with his blade and then, like a dancer, did a quick side step. The move saved him. The bayonet passed a hair’s breadth from his face. With a backhanded slash, Gabe cut his attacker down. The fighting continued but was ebbing as the British sailors and marines overwhelmed the Danes.

  “So much for limiting bloodshed,” Schoggins shouted.

  “Aye,” Gabe replied. Seeing Dagan, he shouted, “Get some men and free our people from the dungeon.”

  Dagan raised his sword in acknowledgment and was gone. Advancing to the front wall of the fort, Gabe could see Hex’s men were busy with the cannons. The last pocket of resistance seemed to be contained, when out of the melee a smallish man with flowing blond hair leaped at Gabe. Startled, Gabe parried the man’s blade out of instinct. Cursing and calling Gabe an English dog the man moved like a true swordsman.

  “Surrender,” Gabe called. Seeing his opponent was an officer, Gabe stepped back and tried to reason with the man. “Sir, the battle is over. Surrender and your life will be spared.”

  “Never,” the man snapped, his chest heaving as he breathed. Several of Gabe’s men had now surrounded the officer. “Sir,” Gabe tried again. “Drop your weapon and you shall live. You have fought a brave fight. There can be no shame in an honourable surrender.”

  The officer’s reply was to spit in Gabe’s face and shout, “English bastard.”

  The outburst was followed by a pistol shot. The man’s eyes seem to lose focus and glaze over just before he fell to the ground. It was Thorpe, still holding a smoking pistol.

  As if to explain his actions, Thorpe volunteered, “I don’t let no man spit on me cap’n that way. Not respectful, ’ad no respect at all, the bugger didn’t.”

  A flash from the parapet meant Hex had sent up a flare. It was now dawn. How long had the battle lasted? Not near as long as it had seemed.

  “Sir.”

  Gabe turned to face a man of short stature but who had a commanding voice. “I’m Doctor Robert Cornish. I will be glad to tend to your injured men if you will get them to my small facility.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Gabe replied. He then ordered Thorpe to assist the wounded to the sick quarters.

  Hex returned and reported, “Our ships have entered the anchorage, sir.”

  It finally dawned on Gabe the reports he was hearing were the cannons on the British ships entering the harbour.

  “Good.” Gabe looked about the grounds then ordered, “Hex, find all the boats you can and get our people to the ships. Captain Schoggins, if you will assign a few men to gather our dead I want to move them out of the fort if we can.”

  “That should not be a problem, sir. We’ve only lost a handful. I did take the liberty of having the fort’s people placed in their dungeon. See if they enjoy it any mor
e than our people did.”

  “You’re a devilish man, Captain…but I like it.”

  “Thought you would, sir…gives them a taste of their own medicine.”

  It took less than an hour to get everyone on boats and rowed out to the waiting ships. Midshipman Thomas had reported that a group of men were approaching the fort with a flag of truce.

  “Have you or Lieutenant Hawkes spoken to them?” Gabe asked.

  “No sir.”

  “Then don’t, but fire a shot over their heads. Well over their heads, mind you, and then report back to me.”

  Turning back to the marine captain, Gabe spoke again, “Captain Schoggins, I don’t want anything left behind that can be used as evidence that the British navy was here.”

  “They’ve heard our voices, sir; surely they’ll know we are English.”

  “They’ll know we sounded like English,” Gabe corrected. “But tell me, Captain, did you go ashore on St. Croix?”

  “I don’t know that I’ve even heard of the place, sir.”

  “Good man,” Gabe said. “Now let’s be off.”

  ***

  The rendezvous back aboard Trident was overwhelming. Even Captain Sir Gabriel Anthony, who thought at this point in his career that nothing about the officers and men in his Majesty’s navy could surprise him, was amazed. While the attack on the fort had caused more of a fight and casualities than desired, the attack on the ships in the harbor was nothing short of miraculous. The British merchant vessel had been retaken, and a small American gunboat had been set afire. Then Lieutenant Davy had a master’s mate steer the retaken merchant ship close to a small Colonial privateer ship. He and a handful of tars were able to board and take that ship as well. A nifty little schooner of ten guns, the name Tomahawk was painted across the stern. Someone with a mind for the dramatic had emphasized the name by painting an Indian war ax with blood dripping off the blade. Her battery was made up of four six-pounders per side and two four-pounders on the fo’c’sle. She would need a complement of seventy to seventy-five hands.