A Journal of The Experiment at Jamaica (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 2)

by Georges Carrack

  Captains Burton and Verley looked at each other. “That explains why we saw no great force at Tortuga. They were here!”

  Looking to the governor, Neville blurted, “I am most sorry, Sir, We….”

  “Do not vex yourself of it,” he interrupted. “How could you have known where Laurens would go?”

  “Should we not chase after him?” asked Verley.

  “Do not consider it,” interjected the governor. “If you go then we are undefended entirely, and we may find it is what they had hoped for. They could have a large force in wait for you to go. I believe we must change our plans, however, from chasing the pirates to patrolling our coast for defense.”

  With many months of blockade duty in his experience, Neville’s heart sank a notch. He remembered day upon day of sailing back and forth in front of the Toulon harbor in the Mediterranean and the same off Holland. No matter that it was in his former life in the 1790’s. However or whenever you described it, it was the same. Always at sea in all weathers with little rest for anyone and provisions growing older every day.

  Could this be what the governor intended? Neville wondered. To the positive, the weather here in Jamaica was far more consistent, and always warmer than the Med. or the Channel. To the negative, they would not be holding a fleet in a harbor with knowledge of exactly where they were. Here the enemy could come from any direction, and if they wished to fight, would come with the weather gage to their advantage. Worse, they could learn the game of decoy, drawing off the defenders while their cronies attacked and plundered, leaving the defenders with no effect after their days of effort.

  “May we think on it, Governor?” asked Neville. “Maybe we can make a plan that uses our armed sloops as well as the frigates for better defense.”

  The governor though for a minute, then stood and announced, “Very well, then. Bring your plan back in a week and I will decide.”

  At that signal, the two navy men rose to leave. A knock came at the door. Governor Inchiquin motioned his assistant to enter. The man walked to the governor’s desk and leaned over, placing a letter on the desk and whispering in the governor’s ear.

  “Wait a minute, gentlemen,” said Inchiquin to his captains. “Please sit.” The assistant departed and Burton and Verley reseated themselves. It took the governor several minutes to read the multi-page letter and when he finished he did not look at all pleased.

  “That blackguard Wright,” Inchiquin began, “is indeed calling you in – both of you.”

  Out of the frying pan into the fire, thought Neville. There may be no dreadful blockade duty, but I can imagine what Wright will do with two young lieutenants acting as frigate captains. He might very well give our ships to his senior lieutenants the moment we drop anchor and put us in irons for desertion. This is the day I hoped would never come.

  His glance at Verley led him to believe his fellow officer shared the same thoughts.

  “This may not be entirely shameless, however,” the governor was continuing. “His plan is not to order you to the Lesser Antilles, but to use your assistance in an assault on the French at Cap Francois on the northern coast of Hispaniola. When all is done, that may not be a poor use of your ships as I see it. Governor deCussy of that place has issued far too many letters of marque for my liking. If he were undone, it would be to the great benefit of Jamaica. You would take our troops who have just returned from the southern coast of that island to join the forces of Colonel – or I see it is General - Codrington to smash the French and their allies, the pirates – the freebooters. Our soldiers may claim a greater victory this time. It is only too bad that Laurens may not return in time to be squashed as well. This letter says Wright will sail directly from Barbados to Cap Francois and not pass here. You are to meet him at Cap Francois on fourteenth January, which leaves us only three weeks. You will take your two frigates with Wasp, Beagle, and Lord Aaron to carry soldiers. I will write the orders for it tomorrow and send them down to Fort Charles.”

  “Sir,” interjected Neville nervously. “If I might request?”

  “You may,” allowed the governor with what Neville detected as some small annoyance. The Earl of Inchiquin was not used to being questioned or even having suggestions offered to him.

  “We have concerns, Sir, about what Commodore Wright might do with us. We have complied happily with your orders here in Jamaica, and we will continue to do so. Your letters to the commodore have obviously had no effect. He has not ordered us back to his fleet before this, probably because neither of these ships were originally part of his squadron and because he has no need of additional ships to provision. He knows nothing of Lt. – Captain - Verley, and since I spent no more than a couple months aboard one of his ships and then was lost at St. Christopher, he had undoubtedly forgotten me. Once we are back within his grasp, I fear he will take possession of our – your - two frigates, arrest us for some charge, captain the ships with two of his senior lieutenants, and send them north with some convoy he is required to protect without losing any of his existing fleet. We will be in irons and you will be without frigates.”

  “It does sound like something he would do, yes,” admitted the governor. “You have a suggestion, then?”

  “A simple one, Sir. If, when you write orders for us to join Commodore Wright at Cap Francois, include in them the proviso that we, and not some others, are required to return your frigates to Jamaica after the invasion. If you are pleased with our service, that is, Sir. If you are not, you could request replacements, as is your pleasure.”

  “And what would I tell Maria Fuller then, Captain Burton?” Inchiquin said with a sly grin.

  The fleet sailed on the fifth of January, proceeded into the prevailing northeasterlies tack upon tack and day upon day. More than a few ships with flags having crossed bones and swords on fields of black or red retreated into the mist after they scrutinized the English with their long glasses and came to the sudden conclusion that attacking a squadron of ships filled to the gunwales with armed soldiers was unwise. The Jamaican squadron at last reached the northwestern tip of Hispaniola, weathered Cap Saint-Nicholas and began to beat east toward the island of Tortuga. Salt was thick on everything above the deck that wasn’t cleaned every day. Though the waves were not huge, they relentlessly bore down with the wind, bashing the bows and scattering high and wide to windward and leeward alike. The windward spray was carried back aboard, where the tiny droplets deposited their miniscule cargoes of salt on everything – standing rigging, spare spars, boats, anchors, and tubs of halyards. Warm sun and the breeze evaporated the water quickly after the droplets landed, cementing the salt in place. The salt crust ensured a slippery film of invasive salt on almost everything up to the fighting tops. It became more dangerous to climb and men were sent aloft with buckets to sluice it off.

  Neville’s estimate proving good, the Bay off Cap Francois opened to starboard on the appointed day – the fourteenth. His order, “Let go the Anchor, Lt. Ratshaw,” was relayed to Tilburne and to Walshe, the newest midshipman forward, signaling the end of a very tiring passage.

  “See there, Captain,” pointed out Midshipman Stokes, “The Mary has fired a gun and Wright’s banner of council has broken out at the mizzen.” He had seen the smoke of a small signaling gun waft out from Mary’s stern; now they heard the distant ‘pop’ of it.

  “I’d best get on with it. Have my gig swayed out. I’ll be back up in a moment.”

  With a fanfare he had not gotten used to, Experiment’s company piped him over the side. The ceremony had only happened about ten times so far in his life, and it reminded him every time that he was, in reality, a junior lieutenant who had been standing – no lying – in the right place at the right time when a captain was needed. He could hear the pipes on the Comtesse du Provence and see ‘Captain’ Verley dropping down into his gig as well. He must be thinking the same as me. We’ll hope Commodore Wright is in a good mood.

  The two gigs arrived at the side of Mary at the same time, Verl
ey’s gig being polite enough to stand off and allow Neville up first. A captain’s gig from some other ship was drifting patiently under Mary’s lee, awaiting a call to retrieve her officer. He heard no drums or pipes, and he saw no sideboys above at the sally port.

  This was not a good sign. All captains would expect to be piped aboard. This probably means Wright has given specific orders that we are lieutenants and will not be treated as captains.

  Neville was surprised at the height of Mary’s hull. Or rather, he had forgotten; the last large ship he had been aboard was the Venerable, of 74 guns, and Mary was only a 42-gun ship. The ladder proved no problem, however. Once healed, his leg had not prevented climbing. It took him but a few minutes to climb the side, and he could feel the tug on the ladder below him as Verley began his ascent right behind. At the top, he stepped across the brow, turned aft to salute the colours, and then placed a bent finger on his hat to a lieutenant who had come to greet him. The clean shaven, blue-eyed, light brown haired lieutenant, of average height presented a picture of British naval elegance with his uniform of deep blue, white waistcoat and gleaming brass buttons.

  “Captain Burton reporting,” he said.

  The lieutenant responded quietly, almost under his breath, “We’ll see. Commodore Wright bids you lay aft as soon as you’re aboard,” and after a short pause, he added, “Sir.” Despite the order to lay aft immediately, he waited long enough to see Lt. Verley come aboard and receive an identical welcome. The two found their way aft to the great commodore’s cabin and announced themselves to the sentry, who did likewise inside. Neville understood Wright’s response to be, “Have them wait there,” and he could hear a conversation within.

  Although urgently summoned, they waited several minutes - a time that Neville expected Wright was using to teach them their place. They were subsequently called in.

  “Captains Burton and Verley reporting as ordered, Sir,” announced the sentry. The two respectfully tucked their hats under their arms as they entered, knuckled their foreheads and waited to be addressed. This cabin was far larger than the less-than-modest cabins aboard Experiment and the Comtesse. Verley and Burton both found themselves glancing about in wonder at the expanse of it, even though Neville had seen far larger. There was a slight smell of cigar smoke and brandy. Cigar butts littered a small silver tray on the desk. I know nothing of Verley’s naval career, thought Neville. Has he ever served on a ship of the line? I should know him better than the few stories he has told me. I must remedy that.

  They took in the frosty appearance of Commodore Wright, seated at his desk, and that of another portly captain standing beside him. They had never seen the commodore before, and his appearance was not at all comforting. He was a large man who obviously did not miss his meals, as attested by his triple chin and ample girth. His high forehead was capped by a large wig of brown hair that fell in heavy curls beyond the embroidered shoulders of his ornate blue-purple uniform. A white lace neck cloth hung at his throat. Neville understood the wig to be the style of the day, but had rarely seen it in his lesser circumstances at Jamaica. Only the governor had worn something similar. Above Wright’s slimy smile, his beady, ferret-like alert black eyes gave no expectation that this man should be trusted, and his cold gaze seemed practiced to discourage lying and extinguish false hope.

  “Lieutenants, you mean,” said Wright. “You will be returned to your proper ranks momentarily, if we do not decide you are guilty of desertion. I have senior lieutenants who should be in command of those ships, not you boys.” He emphasized the last word – a very demeaning statement from a naval officer. The portly officer smirked. “Captain Radford, I’ve never laid eyes on our miscreant. You do recognize him, yes?”

  The smile on the portly commander of HMS Antelope, from which Neville had come, disappeared and he stood looking at the two young captains. He finally pointed at Lt. Verley, and said, “I think that’s him on the left, Sir, but we only had him a month, and that almost a year ago. Then he was lost at St. Christopher and we logged him dead.”

  Both lieutenant-captains said nothing as they waited to be addressed. Despite the stated danger, they were now suppressing smirks of their own.

  “Well, Lt. Barton, what have you to say for yourself?” asked Wright, speaking gruffly to Verley. “It seems you are not dead, although we might soon hang you.”

  “I am Lieutenant Verley, Sir. I crossed here from England aboard Experiment this last June under Captain Jennings, Sir. He died of the flux in July. Captain Burton here was ordered to take charge by Governor Inchiquin in August, Sir, and I served with him until September when we took the Comtesse du Provence behind Pine Island. Captain Burton placed me in her as prize captain to take her back to Port Royal, and once there the Governor ordered me to take command.”

  The portly Captain Radford’s appearance was of growing anger for having been ignorant of his own officer and having to admit it in front of his commander, and Wright was beginning to steam for similar reasons, although he had created the conundrum himself.

  Wright looked Neville in the eye and asked, “You, then. Where have you been and why have you not returned to Antelope, from whither you came and should have returned?”

  The direct approach seemed to Neville to be easier to deal with than the innuendo and threats, and was in fact improving his composure. “Colonel Codrington might be able to remind you, Sir, that he chose me to hoist the guns up Brimstone Hill above Fort Charles on St. Christopher, which I did to the success of the offensive,” he began. “But a gun exploded and I was injured and rendered unconscious. When I awoke, I was at the home of Colonel Thomas Fuller in Jamaica. I was several months recovering, Sir, and I was assured…”

  “Colonel Fuller, you say?” asked Wright. He looked thrown off. “I’ve heard of him…” He looked over his shoulder at Radford. “One of Inchiquin’s Council…one of the champions of the Jamaican conquest or some such… Go on.”

  “Colonel Fuller assured me that he and the governor had written to you of my status, even before I had recovered, and then again later ...” he paused there, realizing that he was potentially in dangerous territory. He decided that he’d already been threatened and had no reason to cushion his response, and so continued with, “…and we had no response from you that I was informed of. At long last, Sir, I was almost fully recovered when the governor visited the Fuller plantation. The Experiment had been in port for a few weeks, with her company in terrible condition. Captain Jennings had died, as Lt. Verley has just said, and then-lieutenant Verley was himself quite emaciated. The Governor wanted relief from pirates attacking the north shore and when he heard of me at Col. Fuller’s, he wrote me orders to command the ship…”

  “He has no authority to command Their Majesties’ Ships. Only the Lords of Admiralty can do that!” puffed Wright in incipient anger.

  “Yes, Sir,” said Neville. He stopped talking, lest the Admiral think him insubordinate.

  “Well, go on,” commanded Wright huffily.

  “Aye, Sir. I went to the ship and, seeing the condition of her company, knew we had our work cut out to get her ready. Colonel Fuller, being something of a medico, wanted to do what he could for the ship’s men. He had Lt. Verley up for a few days, and some of the others. The governor had the ships outfitted, and when we were ready, we went off to find Laurens de Graaf or any other pirate we might find at Cuba or Hispaniola.”

  “After Laurens? How absurd,” Wright snorted. “In a little frigate? Have you a death wish, Lieutenant?”

  “No, Sir. We weren’t alone. Jamaica armed several sloops. We found the Comtesse at the Isle of Pines, and five others, and we managed to take Comtesse and another pirated sloop and sent them home to Port Royal.” He stopped there, leaving off the part about Ferret. Wright’s demeanor did not appear to have changed, and Captain Radford was still fuming behind him.

  Commodore Wright now looked to Verley, “How, then, do you claim command of the Comtesse, Lieutenant?”

  Lt-Cap
tain Verley was holding up well under the stress of a Commodore’s questions as well; “I was made prize-captain, Sir, and sailed her back to Port Royal where….”

  “Why Port Royal? Why not Barbados, where she should go if she is a legitimate prize?”

  “I was not ordered there, Sir. The hurricane threatened, as well.”

  “Yes, the hurricane! What makes you think you have the right to risk Their Majesties’ vessels by taking them out in hurricane season? Reckless. Preposterous.” This outburst at least explained why he kept himself and his fleet safely in port for months.

  He’s not interested in the King’s duty, thought Neville. He’s a coward.

  “So why did you not send this prize to Barbados, Lt. Burton? Why not?” Commodore Wright was working himself up; becoming more self-important with every question.

  “It was not Governor Inchiquin’s wish, Sir, and we could not defy Their Majesties’ Governor. He read me a letter from Colonel Codrington that explained that you were ordered to send him a fourth rate ship or a fifth and a sixth rate, Sir, and that…” he paused again knowing fully that he was in hot water if he were to finish this sentence. He had, been asked for the reason, though, so…. “He said he did not believe you would send them Sir, and so he would keep what he had for the defense…”

  “The cad!” Wright belched. “He can think what he likes, but to divulge Admiralty business – or his opinions - to the likes of you is…. is…. ungentlemanly!” he expostulated. “And I must certainly speak with that disingenuous Codrington,” he mumbled. “Orders,” he snapped.