Young Dick

by John Jarvis

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Richard first assured himself that Andrew had back-plotted Mario’s course to the Straits of Gibraltar and that Rebecca had settled into her cabin, then he finally found time to open his gift from Senor Beretta. The box was very heavy and did not rattle. Opening it revealed his pistol set in a lining of green velvet, a brand new matching piece along with cleaning gear, shot-molds and a powder flask. It was a magnificent set and Richard marveled that it had all been assembled in a matter of days. ‘Thank you, Senor Beretta.’

  A brisk easterly wind provided a welcome goodbye present from the Mediterranean Sea. It pushed Juliet past the hostile coast of North Africa at a speed that no galley could match and swept her out into the Atlantic Ocean unmolested. Unmolested until a sail was spotted on the starboard beam: it was a British frigate closing fast.

  “We could outrun her, Sir – it will be dark in an hour and without lights she would never find us,” suggested Andrew.

  “No, First Officer, that would mark us as a vessel of suspect; run up the French flag, carry on our course and have the men play dumb. We shall be the arch-typical and outraged Froggie,” replied Richard and retired to his cabin. Andrew watched the frigate close to within hailing distance, and an officer called in English for Juliet to heave to. He was ignored. A second call in the schoolboy French Richard had once used was also ignored. A shot across the bows was not.

  “Furl all sail,” Andrew ordered to keep the men off the deck and up in the rigging. Juliet lost way and wallowed in the slight swell. A jolly boat with a junior officer was rowed much more efficiently than the Genoese custom boat to Juliet’s side and the Officer, a Bosun and two-crewmembers came aboard in that order.

  At that moment the companion way-door from the Captain’s cabin crashed open and Richard, dressed in all the finery of an Italian Captain, strode onto the deck. Nobody looked up, but the crew in the rigging certainly looked down in amazement.

  “What is the meaning of this piracy?” screamed Richard in French. “We are a French-flagged ship carrying a French cargo to the French Territory of Martinique: explain this outrage!”

  “Be that it may, Sir, but we have orders to intercept and search any vessel within twenty nautical miles of the Crown Colony of Gibraltar,” stumbled a much taken aback officer.

  “Then we are at your mercy, Lieutenant, but be warned: we shall log this as an act of war!” Richard trembled in rage.

  “Carry out your search quickly, Bosun’s mate, and let us be rid of this buffoon,” ordered the officer. The three men disappeared below and the officer had to suffer Richard’s withering gaze. The Bosun and one crewmember returned a quarter of an hourglass later.

  “Everything below deck is above board, if you take my meaning, Sir,” began the Bosun.

  “Damn your meaning man, give your report in a forthright manner,” barked the Officer.

  “Cargo is gunpowder, French markings, sporting arms, not military, all listed correctly in the manifest, Sir. I could not understand the certificates of authorization, Sir: they were all in Italian, I think.”

  A woman’s high-pitched scream rent the air, and the second British crewmember ran red-faced onto the quarter-deck followed by an outraged Rebecca. She stamped her foot and poured forth a torrent of abusive French; it was all too much for the English officer. Then Rebecca became silent: William had come up on deck.

  Richard looked at him: if William explained his situation and the dubious authority of Rebecca’s decision to holiday, then the Officer would have no hesitation in taking them off Juliet. Returning an errant daughter to a wealthy father would ensure his name was mentioned in the right quarters and the subsequent promotion.

  William remained silent, and the Officer had no intention of further damaging Anglo-French relations and the subsequent career stagnation. He ordered his crew back to his frigate Eagle with Richard and Rebecca’s released laughter ringing across the water.

  “Put on all previous sail,” ordered Andrew in atrocious French.

  The voyage across the Atlantic provided everything but a lack of wind, storms, high seas, periods of sunshine, and even a fog. Rebecca was a poor sailor and spent much of her time in the confines of her cabin. Richard attended to her whenever time permitted and had one of the crewmen clean her cabin and empty the commode whenever Rebecca ventured on deck. This last duty earned him the derision of his crewmates until Rebecca made him a present of soap that could lather.

  William excelled in his tasks assisting Simpson: he had skills learned from his master tradesman in formulating varnishes that dried into a deep patina that caused the mahogany stocks to shine like mirrors. He purloined oils from the cook and carpenter that when mixed with the standard varnish made every stock individually stained and colored. Andrew went further, and with the timber available made cases for the more expensive pieces. Simpson was impressed.

  The weather, as Juliet approached New York proved, to be changeable. Richard was unaware of it as yet, but his reception in the Colony would be similar.

  Richard and Rebecca stood at the ship’s rail as they approached the coastline.

  “You should have married us yourself, Richard and saved some money,” suggested Rebecca.

  “I do not think Captains are allowed to marry themselves,” replied Richard before he realized Rebecca was teasing.