“Stop just there, please, Sir. We must attend to the ship before much longer. Where are the officers?”
“I’ve no idea,” the man said. “You are my saviors,” he added, blinking rapidly in the bright sunlight and extending his hand. “I give God praise for sending you. We would surely have all perished soon. Edmund Greenthorpe, at your service.”
“Is there anyone else in there?”
“No, Sir. I am alone.”
“Mr. Greenthorpe, I am Captain Burton of Their Britannic Majesties’ Ship Experiment, which you see there.” He pointed off to larboard where his ship lay. “Whose ship is Soufflé, and what happened to her officers? I see the men have gotten into the spirits locker.”
“Soufflé is a French privateer, as best I understand it, operating out of Petit Goâve. I do not understand it well, however, as I do not speak a word of French. We came into a great storm. You know that, of course; you have been in the same one.” Greenthorpe was talking more quickly and nervously, apparently unraveling now as some of his stress was being released. “At some point in the first part of it,” he continued, “There was a great crashing…..”
“We can tell the story later, Sir. The officers?”
“I was getting to that. After the great crashing there was much running about despite the horrid weather, and more crashing of a different kind; this second kind more like men breaking something, and then much excited yelling and confusion. I was locked in this cabin, though I think they consider me harmless. I can only surmise that somehow the master and his mate both went over the side and that whoever is next in command was more interested in drink than anything else, and so the men have broken into the spirits.
“When the calm came, they found it very easy to lie about and get drunk, and since the storm came back there has been naught but disarray. The ship’s motion was violent. I found a few bits of food in the master’s pantry to sustain me, but I was sure we would all perish without some miracle. Just now when I heard the muskets firing and English voices, I knew it had come. Thank you again!”
“Lead me inside, if you please, Mr. Greenthorpe,”
“Yes, yes. This way. You’ll find the mess they made before locking me in. They were looking for anything valuable, I suppose.”
Neville did find the master’s desk in good condition, though. He was curious to see if it contained a French Letter of Marque.
There was a knock at the door and the sentry – the marine Neville had kept with him – announced, “Sgt. Daweson, Sir.”
“Come in Sergeant. What did you find below?”
“A lot of water, Sir, but it don’t seem to me it’s rising. It might mostly be rain if they didn’t have those hatches closed. It’s not too salty; I tasted it. And then some sea water from the big waves, if the ship wasn’t under control.
“Pumps?”
“Somewhere under water, if they work.”
Neville rummaged through the papers in the desk and picked out an envelope. It had with an official-looking seal, much like a British Admiralty seal, and it had been jammed to the far back of the drawer. This will be it.
“It’s a letter of Marque for Soufflé to act as a privateer for France, Sgt. Daweson, signed by the Governor of Martinique. She’s ours, then. We have full authority to claim her as a prize – if she’ll swim, that is.
“Send the launch back for pumps and ten able seamen. Tell Lt. Ratshaw to please send Mr. Stokes and Mr. Greaves, as well.”
He folded the paper and stuck it inside his jacket, which movement seemed to cause a grimace to pass across Greenthorpe’s face.
“Have a seat, Mr. Greenthorpe. We’ll be a minute while my men sort the pumps and see if we have a well-found ship. Let’s see if we can pour a glass of rum or wine, and you can tell me about yourself, starting with why you’re here.”
“That would be wonderful, but I am afraid I am not a drinker.”
Neville found a cabinet that contained a half-empty bottle of rum and two un-opened bottles of French wine. The crew hadn’t spent time looking for it in here when the spirits room was open. He poured himself a short glass of rum, and they found seats.
“I went aboard the Jeremy in Boston for a passage to Antigua,” began Mr. Greenthorpe, “where I have interests to look into for my employer. We had sailed several days down the coast when a ship appeared on the horizon. Our captain got most alarmed and tried very hard to run away from it, but it was faster and did finally overtake us. The most ferocious of men – these men from here – came aboard, made quite a mess of the ship, and took much cargo. I don’t know what was taken. Then they took me. I have no idea why me, but here I am.”
“I hear them coming aboard with the pumps, already. Come up with me, please, and we’ll see about transferring you to Experiment where you can get a proper meal and I can finish sorting this ship.”
“Prisoners are all below, Sir,” reported Sgt. Daweson at the cabin door.
“Thank you, Sergeant. Well done.”
Neville surveyed the ship again. Maybe the First Mate had taken a crew to re-house the loose cannon and it carried him through the opposite side of the ship. Seeing that may have led the men to believe they would not survive, and so they went after the spirits. If the captain or the first mate had tried to stop them, they might have thrown him over the side. Maybe. The confused lines and torn sails might mean that the drunken men gave up trying to control the ship when the storm came back. Without control, her motion would have been violent and waves would have washed over her, explaining the water. It was undoubtedly very good luck that she survived. Greenthorpe’s story seemed to fit, but Neville couldn’t shake his suspicion.
“Mr. Greenthorpe, how many men were aboard when they captured you?”
“Oh, I should think there were twenty or so.”
“That’s enough to sail, but not to fight her. Do you know where you were being taken?”
“Petit Goâve, where she was based, I would guess.”
“Makes sense; that would be where she could find more men, I suppose. Thank you.”
“Mr. Stokes, you’re going to take this prize with us to Port Royal. You’ll have Mr. Greaves, so even if we are separated, you’ll have our best navigator with you. I’ll send enough men over that you’ll be barely able to sail and fight. We’ll take some of these back as landsmen, but that will still leave us very thin on Experiment. I’ll ask for a few more for you from Saracen, too.”
“The ship’s own pumps are getting ahead of the water, Captain,” reported Stokes an hour later, and the galley is lit.”
“Sails?”
“Serviceable, Sir - and provisions enough as well. Sufficient rum, too, I am surprised to report.”
“We’ve checked what charts you have, and Mr. Greaves says they’ll do. Prepare to get under way at noon. Keep a light on for us to follow at night, and sail fast when you can. All my best.”
After consulting their charts and Colonel Fuller’s book, Neville and Mr. Greaves agreed on a course.
“We should see the island of Mayaguena before dark, I’d say, and that will confirm our location. Then through the gap north-west of Great Inagua in the night, and we should see the north shore of Spanish Cuba in two days,” said Greaves.”
“Agreed. After Punta de Maisi, we’ll stay on the far western side of the Windward Passage to insure we can’t be seen from Hispaniola. The only danger for the remainder of the run to Jamaica will be unexpected ships – like on the passage north.”
The coast of distant Cuba did indeed present itself on the second day following, rising slowly from a low strip of white cloud that looked more like a meringue on top of some pie than an island. Eventually, a mountain peak pierced it from below. They tacked south-east as the sun let the mountain go dark.
“It feels like home, now, doesn’t it, Lt. Ratshaw?” commented Neville. The two stood on the poop deck enjoying an unusually beautiful view of Cuba in the moonlight.
“Aye, and I am glad of the moon. With this
clear view of the east point of Cuba, we are able to round it quite closely and shorten our course by several leagues. And we can see our charges.”
“We should have the moon for another six hours, at least. All’s well for sure: a clear night with a fresh fair wind and a following sea pushing us home. The motion is comfortable, certainly.”
“Seven knots, Sir,” reported the log-thrower to Lt. Ratshaw.
“The air carries the tropical smell we have learned to love these past few years, eh? I am afraid it makes me begin to wonder if we’ll be ordered home to England soon.”
“I have some concerns on that as well, because I don’t want to go. Given the relationship we have with Captain Wright, I expect he is more likely to ignore Experiment than want us back with the fleet, so if he is ordered home he may leave us behind. I can’t imagine which you might think the better occurrence.”
“Hmmm...” said Ratshaw. The conversation trailed off into the darkness.
Ratshaw and Burton both headed below, leaving the ship to Mr. Tilburne as Officer of the Watch.
Neville was soon in his bed trying to get some sleep, his mind dwelling on Maria’s kiss while being reminded of the heat of Caribbean nights.
It was a very quiet night, the loudest sound being the water coursing along the hull. Burton and Ratshaw both heard the bell chime twice and a Master-at-Arms’ mate call “Two bells of the evening watch. All’s well!” before a scream. They were both out of their beds immediately and began running, but had not reached the deck before a shot rang out, followed by an outbreak of confused yelling. Neville had grabbed both his sword and one of the pistols that he kept near his cabin door. His sentry fired his musket only three feet from Neville’s face as he swung the door open and the acrid smell of burnt powder assaulted his nose. Another shot was fired, and another man screamed. A third shot sent a ball into the door frame next to Neville’s right ear, followed by the blast of a swivel gun above his head – the gun on the quarterdeck rail. This time he instinctively ducked, and again the acrid smoke washed over him. Could this possibly be a mutiny? Who is the enemy, then? were his first fleeting thoughts. I can’t believe my men would go against me.
“We’ve stopped ‘em Captain,” Walshe yelled from amidships, “They’re back in the hold!”
There arose a sporadic cheer that grew into a full rousing, “Hip, Hip! Huzzah!”
Not mutiny! Breakout! How could I think that of my men? It was the French prisoners. He tucked his pistol into the sash of his nightshirt and walked as confidently as he could muster toward the main hatch. His heart was still drumming in his chest, and his ears were ringing again.
“What happened, Mr. Walshe?”
“Him, Sir. He happened,” he answered, pointing his sword at Mr. Greenthorpe, who was lying on his side by the hatch with a bloody hole in his leg. “I was off duty, Sir, and I was enjoying a nap out here under a boat because it was such a beauteous night when I hears this jabbering, Sir, and it were French, it were. Then Fitch hears the bells and calls out…”
“Yes, I heard that,” interrupted Neville, “Then a scream.”
“Aye, Sir, Fitch surprised that ‘un,” he said, pointing at Greenthorpe, this time spitting on him, “and he ups and sticks him right through with his little French sword. ‘T’was Fitch who screamed. Well the stupid bastard picked the wrong time to let out his friends, didn’t he, just when your sentries were changing over. Private Smyth there shoots that hole in him, but by then his mates were comin’ up the steps. Mr. Greenbugger there must’ve had a pistol with him, and the first Frog picked it up and shot at you. Your sentry dropped that bugger flat. Now there was about four of ‘em out and Smyth had himself up to the swivel gun in the wag of a sheep’s tail and ‘eggs is eggs’, ain’t they.”
“Fitch looks to be dead, Sir,” pronounced MacRead, hunched over the body. “If Greenthorpe didn’t kill ‘im he caught a few bits from the swivel.”
“Let’s hang ‘em all,” some seaman in the back yelled, and that raised an affirmative cheer.
“Greenthorpe spoke French, you say, Mr. Walshe?”
“Aye, Sir, I’m sure of it.”
Neville squatted down close to Greenthorpe’s face. He could see in the moonlight that the man was conscious despite his wound.
“Vous étiez le capitaine de ce navire (Were you the master of this vessel)?” Neville asked, looking him straight in the eye.
‘Bien sûr, vous trompe! (Of course, you fool)”
“Pourquoi vous enfermés dans votre cabine? (Why were you locked in your cabin?)”
“I told you. I don’t drink,” he answered in his perfect English. “The men wanted me out of their way.”
“We hang this ‘un then?” asked Walshe, still understandably in a very excited state.
A cruel smile came across Neville’s face, which appeared even more fearsome in the moonlight. “I think hanging’s too quick for the likes of him. We’ll throw him over the side like the garbage he is. With all that blood the sharks will find him soon enough and bite off his legs before they eat him.”
“You wouldn’t!” yelled Greenthorpe, “I can’t swim.”
The last entreaty caused a round of laughter, and someone yelled, “All the better, Frenchie. You splash around a lot and them sharks’ll come quicker. You won’t have to worry long, ha, ha, ha!”
“No,” said Neville, “I won’t. Mr. Temis can do the honors. It was his mate you stuck your sword in.”
“Thank you, Sir,” said Temis from a few ranks back. He pushed his way forward and, grabbing Greenthorpe by the collar, dragged him to the gunwale.
“Wait a minute, Mr. Temis.”
“Greenthorpe, is that really your name?”
“Sounds good enough, doesn’t it? I’ll not give you the satisfaction of knowing who you’ve murdered.”
Mr. Temis tossed him overboard by himself, and a few of the men with good eyes could see a small spot of splashing in the water until he disappeared in the ship’s wake.
“I don’t like hangings,” said Neville. “It makes a mess of the deck, and you men should not have more work on his part.”
He turned and walked to his cabin, suspecting that he would not sleep much more this night.
Morning found Burton and Ratshaw both back on the quarterdeck drinking their tankards of hot coffee.
“It’s the expectation of seeing home that brings us both up before breakfast, I suspect, eh Captain?” hypothesized Ratshaw.
“It’s the expectation of seeing Maria that brings me up, even though we both know that we will not see Jamaica today. The day after, maybe, if this wind holds.”
“We have made it nicely through the night after that sad incident, I see. There are Soufflé and Saracen close by,” said Ratshaw looking around. “It certainly helps to have a strong moon most of the night. Oi! What’s this? Look there.” He pointed south, and raised his head to see the lookout.
“Lookout! You up there! Are you awake?”
“Aye, Sir. What is it?”
“Stay alert, man, or I’ll have you at the gratings. Who is that?”
“’Tis Saracen and Soufflé, Sir.”
“Not them. The other two!” he yelled, referring to two ships crossing their path from west to east at some distance forward. From the deck, they were still hull down
“Wha…” Ratshaw could see the lookout jerk around looking for another pair of ships and his telescope go up to forward.
“Dunno, Sir, but it might be Calypso in the lead. Sorry, Sir. Really sorry!”
Ratshaw turned to report properly, even though his captain was only five feet away.
“I heard, Lieutenant,” said Neville. “So Wasp don’t have them all, do they? Calypso looks to have been captured. We will have to do something about that, won’t we? How far off are we, do you think?”
“Three leagues, at least.”
“They must be trying to get their easting before they fall off and run for Petit Goâve, and they must either think
we’re French, or French privateers or that they can outrun us, all of which I know are wrong. Call all hands, Lt. Ratshaw, and get stuns’ls on her. Fire a signal gun for Saracen and Soufflé and raise our ‘chase’ pennant.”
“Report, Mr. Silas!” Neville shouted to the lookout.
“They’re falling off I think, Sir,” Neville heard him shout down over the sound of Mr. Tilburne’s pipes and slapping of running feet on the decks.
“It will still be after supper before we catch them, and we’ll be in the cul-de-sac when we do,” commented Neville to Mr. Greaves’ mate.
“True enough, Mr. Soares, but we’ll not let them have Calypso without a fight.”
Bells chimed and supper came and went, and the rum ration as well, before Neville ordered, “Clear for action, Lt. Ratshaw, and beat to quarters.” He passed word for Mr. Russell.
“Prepare the foredeck chasers and begin firing when you think it reasonable, Mr. Russell,” commanded Neville once the gunner arrived at the quarterdeck. Neville was willing to let his experienced gunner do his job without looking over his shoulder. “We are gaining on this little barky, Éclair, and I am surprised to see them staying together. She is probably faster than Calypso and must at least suspect that we would not chase her once we recover Calypso.”
As if they could hear his words from Éclair, the smaller vessel began hanging up every sail she had. She began to forereach on Calypso, so that it would be the latter that Experiment would encounter first. She would not be friendly, as she would now be manned with pirates frightened for their lives.
“That will change things, Mr. Russell. I wish to do as little damage to our own ship as we can. Wait until you believe we can put holes in her sails. Pass word to the gun crews on your way forward that we will not fire upon her unless it is absolutely necessary. I plan to go alongside, grapple on and board, even if they fire at us.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
A particularly unexciting capture action ensued, and by dinner, it was done. Russell put three shots though Calypso’s mizzen and main courses. Both sails ripped badly. Experiment gathered in her studdingsails as they came within a cable and still easily caught her prey. Calypso carried only four guns, and the tiny prize crew of French pirates fired the two on Experiment’s side. One missed entirely. The other only made a hole in the spritsail.
A Journal of The Experiment at Jamaica (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 2) Page 34
