“We’ll not disturb you for long, Neville, but I have some news and we both had great curiosity about your ship.
“First, some word of pirate activity. Mary Gavall, a resident from St. James's Parish on the north side of the island - you haven’t met her - petitioned the council the other day for restitution of damages caused by the French and that scoundrel Laurens when they landed and plundered the houses there not long ago. I’ll show you where that is on the map before I leave.
“Also, two hundred more negroes have come in altogether so that, what with killed and wounded, we look upon their rebellion as over. You remember when I had to chase off a month back?”
“How could I ever possibly forget,” thought Neville, feeling that he was beginning to blush, and stole a very quick glance at Maria.
“And now - We brought these gifts to remind you that you are always welcome at the Fuller plantation,” he said, pulling two boxes out from a bag he had carried aboard.
Neville took the first, a wooden box with hinged lid that was about a foot and a half square by five inches deep, and opened the lid. Within, nestled in fine velvet padding, was a pair of exquisite dueling pistols.
“You needn’t say a thing, Neville. Just know that they are our reminder to come visit, that they carry the hopes of hundreds of Jamaicans for relief from the pirates, and that we wanted to be sure you had more than that little sword for your personal protection. By the way, I’ve always wondered why it had a fleur-de-lis on the pommel.”
“Thank you, sir,” was about all he could bring himself to say, and “The story of the sword is a long one, sir. I’ll tell you that another day.”
“This one’s from me,” said Maria, holding out a small bag of the same velvet in the pistol case. “It took me some time to find anything a naval officer is allowed to wear,” she said, making him all the more curious before opening the bag.
He untied the drawstrings and pulled open the small satchel, then dumped its contents into his right hand. A pocket watch gleamed in the morning sun.
“I am sorry to admit that I bought it here in Port Royal, so it was probably stolen from some gentleman somewhere, but we’ll never know. You take care not to have it stolen again,” she admonished, “and we’ll have it engraved when you return. Joseph Buckingham is a good maker.”
“There’s one more,” said Maria, lifting a potted plant from the bottom of the bag. “I brought the plant you requested – a specimen of Aloe Vera.”
“It’s lovely. I will treasure all three gifts, and I’ll use one every day but hope never to need the other two,” he laughed, and after another pleasant hour on the poopdeck, the Fuller’s departed. Neville stood at the ship’s rail watching the shore boat’s little sail until it disappeared into the jumble of Port Royal’s ratty little piers, his heart a confusion of joy and longing.
“Log of Experiment,
Thursday, 31st August, 1690”
Lieutenant-Captain Burton.
Weighed anchor Port Royal. 93 souls aboard;
Moderate breeze NE
Intend circumnavigation of Jamaica for training and observation.
Lieutenant-Captain Burton stood on the quarterdeck, feeling for all the world like an admiral. He had not been able to force himself to write “captain” without “lieutenant” before it, but promised himself that with early success, he would change that. Success might not come as quickly as he would like, either. He was surprised to record that it had taken most of the morning to get the ship comfortably before the wind, even though most of the men were experienced.
The usual breeze blew from the west-northwest, rather stiffly today, and warm.
“The difference between this place and the English Channel could not be greater, could it, sir?” queried First Lt. Verley. “There it’s cold enough to freeze the balls to an iron monkey, and here it’s hot enough to fry an egg on the deck!” They stood together at the weather rail as Experiment raised her stern over one of the small waves that marched endlessly westward along the leeward shore of Jamaica. “’Tis beautiful, really. No ice or snow… Yes, it’s hot, but beautiful. Well, at least when it’s not raining,” he added, raising his eye to the nor ’eastern sky. “But some’s coming.”
“Aye, lieutenant, best furl the courses or we’ll be halfway to the Spanish Main by morning.”
After yelling his orders forward, the lieutenant turned back to Captain Burton and asked his question, “If I may be so bold sir, might you tell us wither we go this cruise?”
“You needn’t worry to ask me questions, Lt. Verley, as long as there is time for me to answer, and as long as it is not to question an order. We are testing the ship’s abilities as well as her company this week, as you know, and I think to sail this day west, then north toward Cuba and finally tack to windward along the north coast. I am told that if we follow this course we shall know a lot about ourselves by the time we reach Port Royal again.”
“Aye, aye, Sir. I am entrusted by the gunroom to ask if you would honor us at supper.”
“You may tell them it is I who am honored.”
“Thank you, Sir,” said Verley, and he retreated from the quarterdeck, leaving Neville to watch the slow progress of the courses being furled while pacing his starboard rail deep in thought.
The wall of rain he had seen approaching arrived and washed over them, but Neville remained on the quarterdeck, watching his ship run down the waves. He was thoroughly wet now, and had been chilly for a half hour or so while the sun slid behind the clouds and the wind struck up a few knots, but his mood was too high to hide himself in the cabin below. He could sense the same feelings in his officers, and maybe even in some of the men, and Experiment was giving every indication that she was a truly remarkable little frigate, but he was not sure that his officers believed it.
He opened his pocket watch and took a quick look. There might be time for another test of the men before supper, but he thought not. There were only a few men still ill, and the whole company was not back to full strength, so they would appreciate taking their noon meal on a level deck. He also thought it might be good to avoid the wrath of the cook so early in their acquaintance. As the sun neared its zenith, he passed word for Lieutenant Ratshaw and Midshipman Dinman to lay aft with their backstaves.
6 - “Knockdown”
With Experiment running southwest with the wind, Captain Burton had the luxury of a few minutes with his own thoughts. Here on his quarterdeck in this vast blue desert he turned himself such that the bulk of Jamaica to starboard was out of his sight. Now without distraction he could ponder this adventure he was beginning. His ship was a thing of beauty to his eye, though he could see much work was still needed to bring her up to navy standards. The decks were not as white as they would be in a few more weeks, or the rigging tight enough. He knew that by the deep, low sound of the wind thrumming the plethora of standing lines –shrouds and stays and halyards and dozens of others, and by small hemp flags flying at the splices. This latter might be simply the quality of this seventeenth century rope, but he suspected a need for more attention. The men below had little to do while they waited for the boatswain to pipe supper. They were mostly standing in small groups or lounging at the rails or by the boats. To them would fall the endless work of fighting the attacks of time, of the sea and the sun, not to mention any human damage that might be done.
His thoughts, however, were less about what his eye could see than about things they couldn’t.
Back in my own time, he pondered, confused on how he should think of it … someday ahead in my own time – in 1797, he corrected himself … when England rules the seas, we have the French under blockade and we can sail almost wherever we want. I must admit, however, that I don’t know whether that is true in the Caribbean, now or then. Here today, however, we are virtually alone, he worried. We are one of the smallest warships out here. The French or Spanish, or even the Dutch, may be just over the horizon, alone or in a fleet, and we could do naught but run away. Pi
rates, though; what of them? What sort of ships do they sail? Do they sail in fleets or alone? I must ask at supper.
His first lieutenant crossed the deck toward him. “Lt. Verley, I have an idea for some sailing practice. Would you please have the courses shaken out again?”
Lt. Vincent Verley went forward in search of Mr. Tilburne as Lt. Ratshaw’s hat appeared in the waist, blond hair bursting out the sides. The hat rose as he stepped up to the quarterdeck with his backstaff; Dinman following; they still had a few minutes before they judged the sun was atop the sky.
“Lt. Ratshaw,” Neville asked, “who among us do you think is most knowledgeable about the geography of the Greater Antilles?”
“That would be Mr. Greaves, Sir, for sure. He was here two years in the Mordaunt before he went back to England; then ‘e’s been turned ‘round and come back on this ship ‘ere.”
“What do you think of this instrument, Lt. Ratshaw?” Neville asked of him, pointing to his quadrant.
“It’s clumsy, Sir, but it’s the best there is, and there’s nothin’ else practical. Why do you ask, Sir?”
Neville retreated momentarily into his own thoughts. Nothing else? Of course, there’s something else. It hasn’t occurred to me before, though I have been in this century for months now. Perhaps because I have not been aboard ship or perhaps because I was thinking I needed to learn what is here; to do things as they do now… surely, it would not be so difficult to make something else – a sextant.
“Sir?”
“Oh, yes, I beg pardon for my inattention, Lieutenant. What do you think of it?”
“I just…. It’s excellent, Sir,” showing clearly that he was giving an answer he thought he was expected to give to his captain.
“You’ve never heard of an instrument called a sextant?”
“No, Sir, but I’ve heard of the octant. Is this sextant a new thing?”
“Similar to that device, but it is more accurate, and together with a time-piece…,” he continued, pulling out the watch he had just been given and suddenly realizing the extra value of it, “it can be used to determine not only latitude, but also the longitude, within reason.”
“Yes, Sir,” was all he got back from Ratshaw. “It’s noon almost. Shall I….?”
“Yes, yes. Go ahead, please.” Neville watched Ratshaw and Dinman lift their quadrants to take noon sights, and he gazed down again at his new watch. After a quick look, they both lowered their instruments and agreed they would have to wait a few more minutes.
“Sail Ho!’ was hollered down from the lookout’s post.
“Where away, Mr. Shield?” yelled Verley before Neville could even dig out of his own thoughts.
“Three points off larboard bow. Very small; a one-masted lugger, I think. She looks to be on a course for Port Royal.”
“From what I hear we should expect to see pirates – or privateers - as often as fishermen out here… That sail don’t signify. She’s not French, and if she’s bound to Port Royal she’s not out to pillage,” commented Ratshaw. He and Dinman lifted their quadrants again.
“I say the sun is at its zenith,” said Dinman to Lt. Ratshaw, adding, “seventeen degrees, thirty-six minutes north.”
Neville heard the report, and was waiting to hear the longitude, then realizing that he would not hear it. They really had only a crude idea of where they were, except that they could still see Jamaica. He would need to be good at dead reckoning.
Ratshaw, who was this day Officer of the Watch, stated his agreement, turned and reported their result to Lt. Verley. Verley in turn stepped the four paces between himself and Neville and removed his hat, reporting to Burton, “Noon, Sir.”
“Make it noon, Lieutenant” stated Captain Burton, who noted that his watch would need to be set forward four minutes and wondered if there was any accurate timepiece in Port Royal. Lieutenant Verley loudly commanded the quartermaster to “Turn the glass.” The quartermaster shouted, “Turn the glass and strike the bell,” to the marine sentry. On the bell, Lt. Ratshaw called into the waist below to Mr. Tilburne, “Pipe the men to supper, if you please.”
“Lt. Verley, I will join you in the gunroom at three bells. Pass word for Mr. Greaves to bring his charts for the west end of the island to my cabin, if you please.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
Although Neville was loathe to leave the quarterdeck on such a fine sailing day, he found it surprisingly cooler below in his cabin. When anchored and surrounded by the harbor, the breeze had not been sufficient to take the hot air out, but once under way breeze from the hatch had worked wonders. On top of that, there was shade and he could remove his hat.
A knock came at his door, and the obligatory sentry announced, “Master Greaves to see you sir.”
“Enter,” he called out.
Neville watched Greaves a bit more studiously for a moment than he had before. The fellow was of medium height and muscular, and a bit older than most, but not one of the oldest aboard. Himself not old enough to be a good judge of age, Neville guessed the man to be two score and five. His Long graying hair, pulled back sailor-style with a blue ribbon, told of considerable experience, and he wore a short beard, but no mustache. Neville had learned by now that officers’ uniforms were not a particular indication of anything, except possibly the man’s wealth or something of his personal taste. Greaves’ was a relatively simple mid-length blue jacket over mid-calf blue trousers of the same material and a white collared shirt. His bright green eyes reminded Neville of a highwayman he had encountered back in Colchester, England when he first left home for the navy.
Greaves was carrying a set of charts rolled in sailcloth. He paused a minute, apparently trying to decide what to do with them before sitting.
“We have some time before supper, Mr. Greaves. Please let us discuss your knowledge of sailing these islands. Put those here on the desk. Let us review them in whatever order you think best. I don’t think I need all the details at the moment; just to know what charts we have – and then a look at Jamaica. I understand you visited the Caribbean in the Mordaunt?”
Greaves rolled the charts out flat, placing Neville’s salt cellar on one end and his ink pot on the other.
“Aye, Sir, I did. More than a visit - two years. This first is a French chart of the whole Caribbean Sea. The Mordaunt came in from England at Barbados, here, as most do, and then was sent straight on for Jamaica. That was in eighty-seven, when Henry Morgan was still alive. They sent us a few times north to Hispaniola after pirates.”
“The famous pirate Captain Morgan?” Neville asked.
“Aye, Sir. I suppose he was, years ago, but he turned a new leaf, I guess, and became a respectable citizen. He was on the Council of Jamaica. By the year I was here, Jamaica passed anti-piracy laws, and this place was better known for Gallows Point than for being a hideout for pirates.”
“Well, I’ll be… Do we have a large Hispaniola chart?”
“Aye, Sir. This ‘un here. French, again. The detail is fairly good, particularly in the cul-de-sac, and ‘round the islands of Tortuga and the Isle of Ash where the pirates spend their time. I can vouch for that, as I have been to all three places.”
“That’s good to know. What about Cuba?”
“Aye, again, Sir. Strange enough, the chart’s Dutch, not Spanish, but quite good. Down in here, this is where we anchored against the hurricane, but I don’t know much more of Cuba, Sir. That island is as Spanish as Jamaica is English, and they weren’t keen to have us near it.”
“Why do you think we have no other Spanish charts, Mr. Greaves? I would have expected most of them to be either Spanish or English, yet you’ve shown me neither, have you?”
“No, Sir, none. We used to call this the ‘Spanish Lake’, Sir. They held the whole thing the last ‘undred years because they were the only ones knew their way ‘round, you see. After a while, the rest of us – Dutch, French and English – we came in as pirates and privateers and got to know some of it. The Spanish considered it
treason to share any information about the Caribbean with other countries. That included letters giving positions or rutters or ships’ logs and especially charts. If they even lost ‘em they’d hang. We British are sort of late comers, y’know, and we ain’t sent any survey ships in here, have we?”
“I’ve no idea on that, Mr. Greaves, but I’m sure they wouldn’t tell me if they did. Let’s page through the rest, shall we, and I’ve another question to ask you after that,” said Neville.
Captain Burton walked quite self-consciously down the companion to the gun-deck and turned aft toward the gunroom. The change he was experiencing was both pleasant and, he discovered, relatively easy to manage. He had been acting lieutenant for some years, and had been present at several meals when the captain had been invited. Often as not, they were stilted affairs when the officers waited to be called upon before speaking, and even then “yes, sir,” or “no, sir” were the most common answers to a captain’s questions. Such a situation was not to his liking, although he realized that his situation as ‘the man alone’ would not allow him a truly close friendship with his officers. His strange path had made him a very young captain, although not the youngest captain in the navy. He had not had years of serving beneath some pompous, overbearing dictator who had taught him to look down on the ship’s company and treat them accordingly. He was somewhat idealistic, perhaps, as the young can be, but he understood that while the life of a sailor could be a hard one, it was not necessarily harder than that of a landsman. And as ‘his ship’ sailed northwest into the open Caribbean, he knew they would all need to depend on each other, for there was no one else, and he reasoned that there were essentially two ways he could proceed. One was the navy way, wherein he would act like a traditional British captain, first after god, and rule the ship with an iron hand and a ready lash. He preferred the alternative he had constructed in his mind during years of serving under reasonable captains and week upon week of lying in hospital. He would lead his men to an understanding of their duty and mission and construct an environment where severe punishment was reserved for severe offenses. In the sailors’ parlance, he wished to create a ‘happy barky’ through reasonable discipline.
A Journal of The Experiment at Jamaica (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 2) Page 8
