The Stillwater Conspiracy (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 4) Read online

  “We are, Sir!”

  “She’s about a league off, now. Let’s get our speed back up close to hers. Beat to quarters, Mr. Johnson, and run our starboard.”

  Neville studied the enemy craft as the noise of clearing and running out rose to its normal crescendo.

  Superieure closed precisely as planned over the next half hour, bashing across the low mounding seas to place herself across the Frenchman’s bow. With his glass, Neville could see that her guns were out. She was no sham. There was a gun in every port.

  “Three cables, Sir.”

  “I can see, Mr. Foyle…

  “Fire a chaser across his bow, Mr. Johnson. We might as well be formally introduced.”

  “Ball’s bounced, Sir, did you see it,” Foyle asked.

  “No. Did we hit her, then?”

  “I think so. Look, she’s furling her courses.”

  “We’ve angered her captain, then. She begins her turn. Mr. Framingham, fire as she bears.”

  The corvette fired first.

  “A full broadside, gentlemen,” said Neville as the whine of it passed by. A hole appeared in the fore topsail and a piece of rail amidships flew to splinters, and a man screamed in pain.

  “Chain. And from this distance, if must be from cannon,” yelled Neville. “They have made their mistake and fired too early. We will be close enough to give them our first broadside before they reload…

  “Hold fire until you’re sure we are close enough!” he bellowed forward.

  The two ships charged onward.

  “She’s turning to avoid a collision!” yelled Foyle.

  “Fire as she bears!” Neville roared.

  Superieure’s guns spoke one at a time as they passed by the bow of the corvette. Her forward rigging came to pieces, causing her bowsprit to droop almost to the water. A cheer arose.

  Superieure sailed a graceful curve past her bow into the range of the corvette’s starboard guns, and there the chase ended. It seemed to Neville that his whole world was full of hissing, whining noise. Then crashing, as Superieure’s foremast went in half below the yoke of the fore-aft course, and the fore topmast fell down to hang limply.

  “Strike, Mr. Catchpole!” Neville yelled to the officer he saw closest to the flag halyard. “Haul our colours down before he bashes us to splinters!”

  Ten minutes later Superieure had lost her momentum and bobbed lazily in the lumpy water.

  “We were lucky, gentlemen. They are French and they fought as they were trained – to fire high into our rigging. The butcher’s bill is only three and some injuries.”

  “Here comes their boat, Captain. They don’t look French navy to me.”

  “So I see. I’ll be sorry to part with this sword. I will probably never see it again. We have done our duty, though. They could sail all about us and smash us to pieces, but with the damage we have done to their forward rigging they could not hope to catch Blessing.

  “Just call me Captain Murdock.” The French ship’s captain spoke English with a northern accent.

  “Captain Murdock, good afternoon. I’m Captain Burton.”

  “Thank you for the sword, Captain Burton. It’s a fine one. So how does a British captain find himself on such a wee boatie?”

  Not willing to provide all the details, Neville said only, “Transportation to Jamaica for a new command.”

  “So I might see you again, eh? I’m not sure I’d like that.”

  “You’re not French navy, are you?”

  “Do we look navy to you? Ha, ha, haaa! Privateers, Captain. Privateers. I’ll not bother you with where we sail from. But what to do with you, that’s the question? Your schooner is a nice one, for sure; American, and new, so we’ll keep her. She should bring a pretty penny, but it’s a shame you have no cargo. Some of your men might join us, I think, if they can act a bit more French or if we need their specialties. But you? I don’t need another captain aboard, so I think I’ll have to put you off. And your marine sergeant might be more trouble than I need, so he can join you. But we can keep the boys and the rest for now. We’ll not hurt a soul as long as they cooperate.”

  “Land, ho!” yelled the lookout in French.

  “That’s it, then. Your new home. We’ll set you off there. It should be Samana Cay. Since you’ve interrupted our chase, we might as well stop there for some water. Enough chit-chat, then.” Murdock concluded. He turned and walked away.

  “Not a very big island, is it, Sergeant Denby?” queried Neville. They had been sitting on the beach under a palm tree waiting for the two ships to leave. It seemed the thing to do. Now they watched the sails grow steadily smaller.

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Denby. “Are we dead men, then, do you think?”

  “Not for some time,” answered Neville. “There is obviously water, and there are at least coconuts. They were good enough to leave me my dirk, so we can cut things – maybe catch a fish – or, with luck, a turtle. It’s getting close on dark now, so that coconut there will be dinner, I think, and anything more we’ll have to find in the morning. Excuse me, but I have a letter I’m going to read over. If you must be active, find a rock to beat that nut open with.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  Neville opened his jacket and extracted the last letter he had received before setting sail from Spithead. It was Marion’s letter of ten January. There was not much news in it, but he was greatly cheered to know that she continued to write. She complained of the winter cold and the snow in Washington. It was not something a lady from Jamaica would be familiar with. Then she added that she would be leaving ‘soon’. He assumed that meant she would be in Kingston waiting for him when he arrived. That was a thought that could carry him through even this ordeal.

  “Let’s have a look ‘round, shall we, Sgt. Denby?” Neville asked at first light. They had eaten coconut flesh for their supper and drunk of its water, and then slept on beds of sculpted sand. Even in the tropics, however, the cold had sunk into their bones by morning, and they were both anxious to get on.

  “Where were they getting the water; up this way?” asked Neville.

  “Aye. I was too angry to follow them then, but they’ve left the trail of a thousand cows.”

  They found a pond with a stream leading to it from high ground. “Up there on the hill we might see where we are,” said Neville. “Let’s go.” They both drank heartily before beginning the climb.

  “I haven’t seen anything else human, Sir, except a few really old campsites. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s old indian pottery bits and a few mounds of shells. That should mean there are clams or oysters here.”

  Neville had time to think as they trudged upward for something like an hour. They removed their jackets about half way up and hung them on tall poles so they could be found on the way down – one red and one blue.

  I have for so long thought of Maria; that I could not go on or be with another after her passing, but I may finally be able to let her go. She is gone, as are Thomas, Vincent and Anne. They cannot come back to life, and I am ‘stuck in it’, am I not? There are no women here to confuse me, just sand and a few trees surrounded by the sea, and all of it bombarded by the sun. If I come through this I shall be a better man for Marion. Mary is certainly a great temptation when she is near, but she seems so far away now. I have the feeling that Marion would be by my side even here, as Maria would have, if she could.

  “This is it, then,” said Denby, suddenly breaking his revelation of thought. “Nothing on the island but us.” He stood on a rock that was the absolute highest point on the island.

  Neville looked fully around and saw very little that was promising other than a few clumps of trees that might be good shelter. “The sea, then,” he said at last. “We must look to the sea for fish and shells. We have water. If Indians could live here, so can we. Today we should gather wood for a fire, find a few more coconuts, and make ourselves some thatch mats to sleep on. Tomorrow we fish. Agreed?”

  “Aye, Captain. Let�
��s go down for another drink. I’m going to miss my grog.”

  Neville took one last look, scanning the horizon for sails.

  “I see no sails, Sgt. Denby, but we must be ready to make a large, smoky signal fire if we do.”

  They spent the afternoon making palm thatch mats and gathering coconuts and dry coconut palm fronds for a fire. They woke in the morning with far less discomfort than the preceding night.

  Neville sat up first, thinking he would take a more objective review of his immediate surroundings. They were beneath a grove of coconut trees that was perhaps a quarter mile long on the shore of a truly beautiful little semi-circular bay of turquoise water. The arms of the bay protruded far enough to break the large swell, at least when it came from the northeast, resulting in small wavelets that lapped gently at the sand. This is not hurricane season, he reminded himself. Things might be very different then.

  He squinted out to sea, where some white bird floated low to the water. A flight of pelicans? He wondered. When they did not rise again to swoop as they usually do, he paid more close attention. The birds did not rise and swoop. They stood steadily on.

  “Denby. Sgt. Denby. Please wake,” he said to the lump beside him.

  “Wha…?”

  “Out and down, Sargent. Out and down. Come see what we have here. I have been watching a flight of white birds that seem to have converged into a sail. I need your eyes. Am I just imagining?”

  They both stood and ran to the western end of the beach where it culminated in a rock of about ten feet in height. “Up, there! Go on up. I’m right behind you.”

  Before Neville had clambered up beside Denby, Denby was already looking to jump down.

  “The fire,’ he said. “We must make the fire. It is indeed a ship!”

  The two ran back to where they had piled dry palm fronds in preparation for building a fire and began pulling the pile out onto the beach.

  “How do we light it, Captain?”

  “A bow. We must make a bow and find a string. Some of this fine coconut stuff will do as kindling.” He looked again to the sea, but stopped his motion. He dropped his arms to his side. “Never mind, Sgt. Denby.”

  “What is it? Are we too late? Will she sail by?” His voice sounded more desperate with each question.

  “None of it, Sergeant. I think we do nothing. I think she is coming here. See, her fore and main remain one ahead of the other, though she is not yet hull up.”

  “She might change course. Why would she come here?”

  “Our privateer friends may not be the only ones who know there is water here.”

  “You are right, of course, but can we not light the fire anyway? You may teach me how, and I will have something to do other than worry that she will sail by without seeing us.”

  “You are right, of course. Let us get to it.”

  Closer the ship came, first the sails rising from the sea and then the hull. A black hull with yellow squares along her side.

  “English navy, she is,”

  “No question. She should be at anchor in an hour.”

  “Her boat’s in the water now, pulling for here.”

  They remained in the shade some twenty feet from the water and waited until the ship’s launch scrubbed ashore. After two seamen jumped out into the water and steadied the bow, they called out: “Haloo!” and began walking closer.

  Immediately they found themselves looking at the small end of a pair of marine muskets.

  “Come no closer!” some marine yelled from the boat. They were in truth only thirty feet apart, and it was undoubtedly that surprise that alarmed the boat. After a moment a tall, thin, blond-headed British navy lieutenant stepped to the strand and approached a few feet. He and Neville stood staring at each other, unspeaking for a moment.

  The lieutenant motioned for his marines to lower their muskets, and then, seeing a captain standing before him, he said, “Uniform’s a bit scruffy, Neville, and you could do with a shave. How’s the water here?”

  “You’re late, Daniel,” replied Neville. “Could’ve been here yesterday. That’s not a proper greeting for a captain… and the water’s fine.”

  The two stomped forward through the fluffy sand and embraced, and to the amazement of the boat crew, their officers wept tears of joy and gave each other great thumps on the back.

  Neville’s duty upon arriving at Kingston was to report to Admiral Duckworth the loss of his ship – for which he could expect nothing less than a court-martial. He also needed to report his arrival for duty aboard La Désirée.

  “This combination of reports will vex him greatly, I am afraid,” said Daniel.

  “I am sure it will, but there is nothing I can do to change it.” The two old friends had enjoyed more time to catch up on everything from family and home to naval exploits and careers.

  “How did you come by this ship, Daniel?”

  “Thundered paid off in Portsmouth when she came in. When I got back from Bury St Edmunds, the Blancife here was in need and about to sail. She snatched me so fast I had no time to disagree. Why would I? She’s a frigate, and I’m first lieutenant. I should finally have enough action to move myself up the Navy List, as you have done so well.”

  “Jolly well said! Here’s a toast to your success.”

  Daniel, who had been home to Bury St. Edmunds more recently than Neville, if only by a month or two, was able to report the health of everyone there and what he called ‘the grand improvement of Mary.’ “She is a lovely girl and deserves no such trauma as she has been through,” he said. “I am pleased to see more spark in her than last visit, and particularly so to know the spark is from you.”

  Neville decided to hold his tongue on that, though he was glad of it. “I have received her letters,” he said, “and she sounds well. Your Angelica has grown to be quite the beauty, Daniel. I hadn’t seen her in at least two years; and little Alice is smashing!”

  Despite the good cheer aboard Blancife, the day came when they arrived at Port Royal Harbor. Fearing the worst, Neville dressed as well as he could in his only uniform and went ashore. The command center was easily found.

  Inside he found an unexpected reception from the clerk. “Sit just there,” the man said when he heard Neville’s name. He stood up immediately and disappeared through a large door to his left. He returned in moments, coming out the door and holding it for a senior officer who followed him; an admiral.

  Neville could feel his heart rate jump instantly.

  “Captain Burton?” the admiral asked.

  “Aye, Sir,” he said, aware of his instant nervousness.

  “Welcome to Jamaica. Governor Nugent was most impressed with your action to defend the Blessing on his way in, and asked that I greet you personally.” He extended a hand to be shaken, and Neville took it.

  “What of your ship, Captain? Damage?”

  “Aye, Sir, both masts damaged. I was forced to strike to insure Blessing’s escape. She was taken by French privateers. My marine sergeant and I were marooned on a small island.”

  “Bloody bad news, that is. It means a court-martial for sure, we can’t avoid it, but I expect the Governor will put a good word in. Well, carry on, Captain. Good to meet you.” The clerk held the door for him to return to his chamber.

  I may be in hot water, but nobody here has to know that yet, thought Neville. Before I take the next step here in Jamaica I am going to see Marion. For all I know they will carry me off in irons before I take command.

  His decision was to visit first at the Stillwater Rum Trading Company. It was as yet only 9:30 in the morning. He enjoyed the walk down Water Lane at this time of day; relatively quiet with the cool air and longish shadows of morning. Perhaps this is the calm before the storm. With some trepidation, he entered the Stillwater Rum Company through its large doors and found himself looking at three empty office windows. There was no Marion, no Stearns, and no Chester, but there was the old ‘information clerk’.

  “Good morning, Sir,” he
said to Neville. He looked up to see who was there, but then went back to his writing. Probably because he saw so many people come and go, in or out of uniform, and because Neville had been gone for ten months, there seemed to be no spark of recognition at all.

  “Is Marion Stillwater in?” he asked. It was also apparent that asking for Miss Stillwater was not unusual.

  “No, Sir.” Not the most hospitable greeter, this time he spoke to the desk. “Gone abroad.”

  “Abroad?” asked Neville. He had expected her to be home by now. “Abroad where? Still in Washington?”

  That caused the clerk to look up at him. Not many knew where she went. “You’ll have to ask her father, Sir.”

  “Is he in, then?”

  “Yes,” He turned and looked at Chester’s window. Chester, as Neville already knew, wasn’t there. “Stepped away for a bit. You may wait.” He swept his arm out to indicate the chairs in the lobby.

  “Thank you, I will.”

  Ten minutes passed, then fifteen and twenty. Neville was considering returning later in the day when he saw movement in the window. Chester was returning from wherever he went; the warehouse, most likely. He probably had Marion’s duties to perform as well as his own. As is a proprietor’s manner, his eyes scanned the waiting room for customers before he sat. They stopped at the only person there: Neville.

  Neville saw him staring for a minute. He’s probably trying to decide if he should have me thrown out, or if his curiosity requires a meeting. He sat with his back to Neville.

  A few minutes later the clerk rose and walked over to Neville. “Mr. Stillwater will see you now.” He never did determine how the clerk was signaled.

  Neville followed the clerk to the office hallway door, and the man held it open for him. He knocked on Chester’s door frame, and Chester said, “Come in, Commander.”