The Stillwater Conspiracy (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 4) Page 9

  The surprise attack was far less dramatic than even Neville had expected. The schooner Unique had no guard posted – or at least no guard awake. Superieure’s men swarmed aboard from the four quarters of the quiescent vessel in under two minutes. Neville was amazed to find the Master already in his bed. The Mate and two others, who appeared to have some status above seaman, were caught playing at cards. Five seamen lying about the deck were trundled down into the frigate’s barge without struggle, and the remainder of the Unique’s thirty-man crew were trapped in their mess below.

  “Sergeant Denby. I think we’ll exchange twenty. Eight of yours will stay here with your corporal. March them up now. We need to get along.”

  On deck, the captured French were being urged into the boats at cutlass-point. Superieure’s barge was the first away, pulling hard for their ship. Then the jolly boat with only two prisoners in it.

  “Cut the cable as soon as you have a sail abroad, Mr. Foyle. I’m going down now.”

  Four marines guarded the largest number of prisoners in the frigate’s barge. Unique’s fore topsail was dropping even as it shoved off. The whole operation had taken only twenty minutes including the row across from Superieure.

  “Put your backs in it, men,” urged Neville. “We’ve no time to lose.”

  A musket fired ahead in the dark – somewhere near Superieure, and some sort of candle was lit. It glowed bright red.

  “The frigate has sent out another boat to look for the first one, I’ll wager,” said some seaman forward.

  “Aye,” said Neville, “and they’re making a signal to their ship. “You two marines in the bow keep a close watch for that other boat; and you two aft, watch these Frogs carefully. When we get to Superieure, we’ll leave the Frogs in here and shove ‘em off.” He told the French the same in their language.

  “Desiree’s coming alive, Commander,” said one of the rear-facing rowers. “You can hear her calling all hands. She’ll come chase us for sure.”

  “Marine – forward there. One of you shoot at that red light.

  The marine’s musket barked in the dark, shooting a long yellow flame toward the red light.

  “Someone screamed, Mr. Grimby,” his mate said. “A lucky shot, indeed.”

  “Here we are. Get aboard. Shove them off, Mr. Grimby. Have your mates shoot a couple holes in the bottom of that boat to keep them busy. We won’t have to deal with them, at least.”

  “Mr. Johnson, are we all back?”

  “Aye, Sir, all that’s coming.”

  “Get the anchor up, then, and fast! We’ll have Desiree after us. There goes Foyle ahead of us already.”

  “Two more men with muskets… take a couple more shots at that red light. Maybe we can delay Desiree’s search for her patrols. They won’t be happy to find a batch of slovenly pirates in their broken launch, either, ha, ha!”

  Two musket shots.

  “Anchor’s hove short, Sir.”

  “Ready Mr. Catchpole? Mr. Framingham?

  “Aye, Sir.”

  “Raise it.”

  Superieure heeled slightly to the breeze, now shifting toward her beam. The gurgling of water astern informed them that they were under way, and the little wavelets of the harbor began gossiping down Superieure’s hull.

  “One point west of south, If I remember right, Mr. Catchpole.”

  “I agree, Commander.

  “Helm up a bit, quartermaster.”

  The starlight was not yet enough for them to see what Desiree was doing nor enough to see Unique ahead.

  “Mr. Johnson, get four men with two good eyes apiece onto the bow. I would prefer no collision tonight. And then two gun crews at the stern chasers, if you please. Get these silly French colors down.”

  Six bells chimed.

  “Moon, Sir. There she peeks, at the horizon.”

  “Four knots,” called the log-thrower from the main chains.

  “I see Unique just there, Commander. She’s clear now in the moonlight. She’s got half a league on us. A cleaner bottom, maybe?”

  “Or Mr. Foyle’s cracking on to save his soul, more like. She’s getting clearer as the moon rises. I knew we’d be able to see, but we’ll not be able to hide at all, will we?”

  “No, Sir, and Desiree’s easy to see behind us as well, but I can’t tell if she’s even under way yet.”

  “Let’s pray she takes her time.”

  “Don’t spare a trick to keep her moving, Mr. Catchpole. I’m going below for a few hours’ sleep. I’ll be up with Mr. Framingham.”

  When Neville returned to the deck at two in the morning, Unique was slightly further ahead, and Desiree was undoubtedly under way, but at least three leagues distant. She was hull down, as best they could tell in the night.

  “Six knots, Sir. Breeze has freshened. Everything we have is up, but that frigate can hold as close to the wind as we can along this coast.”

  “How long to the islands, Mr. Catchpole? I’m beginning to think this was ill-planned.”

  “Six to seven hours, if the wind holds. It will be daylight when we get there.”

  “Well, that’s good. We can go between the islands to save some time. Unless he’s very experienced in these waters, I doubt he would try it. Now we just need to get Foyle to slow down so we can lead him through.”

  “Between the islands, Sir. Do you really think to…”

  “Yes, Mr. Catchpole. I have done it before. Here’s Mr. Framingham. You should get some sleep.”

  The moon, still hanging in the western sky, turned a dim white as the sun rose to larboard.

  “All night she’s come on, with us plain to see as the fingers on the end of your hand.”

  “And she’s catching us up, I think,” said Catchpole.

  “Fire a gun and signal Unique. Try, ‘speak’ I suppose.”

  “She’s got it, Sir,” Mr. Johnson said ten minutes later after a forward chaser was fired and the signal flag flew. Unique’s sails were fluttering as she spilled wind to slow for Superieure. Two hours later she was alongside. Both ships were back at speed, and Foyle had found a speaking trumpet.

  “…going between the islands… follow us through…”

  “There’s the point there, Commander,” said Catchpole.

  “We cannot turn at the point and go inside Isla Beata. We must go ‘round it, and then within Isla Alto Velo. From here that looks to be three leagues. I’ll have my breakfast, then,” said Neville. He went below.

  HMS Superieure, at Sea

  Southe of Hispaniola

  January 27, 1804

  My Dear Marion,

  I hope to send this the moment I am returned to Jamaica, and I now see a chance of it being soon. We have had some luck in finding a few French ships at anchor on the Southe Shore of Hispaniola and last night we ‘cut one out’, as they say. We are at sea now bringing her home to Port Royal.

  I must report being pleased with the performance of my little ship, and with that of young Mr. Foyle, whom I have set aboard the prize as commander for her return. I’ll have to introduce the boy to you. I am sure you will enjoy his enthusiasm.

  I also wish to repeat my sincere Desire to meet with you again. I will ask at the Pig’s Tale for a note from you as soon as I am in.

  Affectionately,

  Cmdr. Nev. Burton

  “Come ahead,” Neville called to his sentry when he heard the rapping at his door.

  “Mr. Catchpole’s compliments, Sir, and can you please step up to the helm?” asked the messenger.

  Neville squinted north as he made his way to the binnacle, trying to better gauge the distance to Desiree.

  “Somewhere between two and three leagues, still, is my guess, Commander,” said Mr. Framingham, “and that’s closer than she was.

  “Look forward there, though. Here’s your Beata Island. And I think I see that other ‘un low on the horizon a couple points to starboard.”

  “You’re right on both. It’s almost time to turn. Signal Unique and have the
men stand by on the sheets.”

  Five minutes later Neville stood by the helm to give his own personal directions to the quartermaster. “Now, Quartermaster. Helm down. Come up two point to starboard…

  “Another two now.

  “Is Unique following closely, Mr. Framingham?”

  “Aye, Sir, she is.”

  “Stay this course, Quartermaster. Oh!” Neville’s stomach knotted, but he decided to say nothing more. He watched a huge rock slide by beneath the ship. This water is so clear that I can’t tell if that rock is down one fathom or five, he thought.

  “What is it, Sir?”

  “I was… I just thought… We’ll pray that frigate doesn’t dare cut through here just because he sees us do it. As I see it, one of three things may happen. He may follow us through with no trouble at all, he may try to follow and find some rocks, or he may decide on the safe course around Isla Alto Velo. We must pray for one of the latter two.”

  “Rocks, Sir!” exclaimed Sgt. Denby, who was leaning at the rail.

  “Hush, Mr. Denby!” cried Neville, “And the rest of you as well. Keep it calm. I tell you I have been through here before. Our draught is less than ten feet. That frigate will draw over twelve and will strike much harder than we ever might… if it happens.”

  As if to underline Neville’s point, the ship shuddered ever so gently. His men looked to Neville, and he returned a strange thin grin, “Let that frigate try than one,” he said, knowing they had just scraped the top of a rock. “We are committed. Keep on.

  “Mr. Johnson, get a man in the chains with a lead. I think we’ve come through it now. Does Unique still follow?”

  “She does.”

  “Seven fathoms, Sir.”

  “Keep him calling out.”

  “Aye, Sir. He says three now.”

  “I heard.”

  “Four and a half.”

  “Three.” They watched another rock pass beneath, wondering how they had missed it.

  “Six.”

  “Seven and a half.”

  “Five.”

  “Eight.” There was more sand than rocks visible below now.

  “Seven.”

  “Ten and a half… twelve.”

  “Unless we have really bad luck, that’s it. We are through. Put us on our new course, Mr. Catchpole: two points north of west.

  “Haul our wind, Mr. Johnson, Mr. Framingham. Let’s see if old Desiree can come anywhere near so close on the wind as what we’re about to do.”

  Superieure leaned well over to larboard and began shouldering small waves aside.

  “Full and bye, Sir,” reported Framingham.

  Neville looked behind to where Unique was doing the same. Desiree would not be visible again until she came into the opening between the point and Isla Beata, and then later again the opening between the two little islands. An hour passed, and then two.

  “Sail, Ho!” cried the lookout at three hours. “Frigate at the islands.”

  They could all see from the deck as the frigate passed across the gap between the point and Beata. Her topsails could be seen as she sailed behind the low island, and then she appeared at the next opening. They watched.

  “She’s turning in, Sir,” said Framingham, “to follow our wake.”

  Desiree did not turn to point directly at them. She could not go that close to the wind, and so presented an oblique picture of her rig. After fifteen minutes on that tack her sails began to change color in the late morning sun.

  “Lookout, what do you see of the frigate?” Neville hollered up.

  “Sails a-flutter sir. No. They’re aback. She’s turned chicken, Sir; turning back!”

  A hesitant cheer rippled through the ship’s company. The men had been aware of their peril, and they heard the lookout as well as Neville did.

  “She’ll go around Alto Velo,” Neville said. “We’ve bought ourselves some time. Now we crack on for the Ile a Vache or Port Royal.”

  All day they pounded west northwest. Unique slowly came up again and took the lead. Desiree was now barely visible to the southeast, but she hadn’t given up. When night fell, Unique burned a light. There was no chance Desiree could see it at that distance.

  “Wind’s veering, Commander. Come up some?”

  “No change. Hispaniola is still to our north. It’s good for Desiree, though. She’ll come up towards us. Nothing more to do this night but keep on, I suppose.”

  “Good morning, Commander,” said Catchpole. Neville knew it was Catchpole by his voice – not because he could see the man in the dark. “Sun will be up soon. You can see the glow to the east. It’s coming purple already.”

  “Get the lookout up, if you please.” He slurped at his coffee cup.

  “Deck, there! Sails!” the lookout yelled down a half hour later. The sun wasn’t up, but the light was enough to identify Unique half a league ahead and Desiree four to the southeast.

  “A new plan, gentlemen,” said Neville after gathering his officers. “We fall off some to gain a little speed and head due west to clear the southwest point of Hispaniola. Because Desiree is south of us we can’t fall off for Port Royal without crossing her path. As long as we stay ahead and gain sea room, we will be able to sail closer to the wind into the Windward Passage for our escape. If something goes wrong with that, we’ll have to try doubling back behind the frigate and count on our nimbleness to evade them.”

  All day they charged ahead. By six bells of the afternoon watch it was apparent the new plan wasn’t working.

  “The wind has veered too far for us, Sir. And we must have less wind in here than Desiree out there, as well. She catches us steadily.”

  “Aye. Time to change to our plan of sailing behind the frigate in the dark. Signal Unique to come close by.”

  Neville passed word of his new plan to Foyle. Using the same night conditions that permitted their cutting-out of Unique, the two ships turned about at dusk and sailed southwest into the night.

  “This captain is getting on my nerves, Commander Burton,” said Framingham several hours later when the moon rose. “He has seen us, I’m sure. You see her rig straight on, not from the side. She may have us by morning.”

  “Same all night, Mr. Catchpole?”

  “Aye, Sir. She’s quite close now, as you see. But we have sea room aplenty now. We can haul up close on the wind whenever you order.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Catchpole. We’ll have breakfast first, I think.”

  “Sail, ho! Deck, there; three sail to the west... no, Sir; four.”

  “Whose, can you tell?” Catchpole yelled.

  A minute passed. Two.

  “Ours, Sir. Now five. 74, two frigates and two smaller.”

  Desiree fired. Neville saw the ball skip and then hit a wave just half a cable away. Then they saw the smoke blow off Desiree’s bow and heard the bang of the gun.

  “My word!” Exclaimed Neville. “That’s a long gun indeed, and a good gunner.”

  Just before they saw another puff of smoke and heard the bang of a second gun, a length of chain whistled across the deck. The mainsail flung wide on the wind, causing Superieure to lurch drastically to larboard and expose her side to Desiree as she shot off at right angles to the oncoming frigate. The distance between the two closed rapidly before Mr. Johnson’s men had a new sheet on the main.

  “Hard to larboard!” yelled Neville, counting on Superieure’s nimbleness for her safety.

  The big frigate charged past. She was well within range of her guns, but having expected no such opportunity in that time, her ports had just been flung open and her guns only half run out. Two fired in haste. A hole appeared in the mainsail and a great shuddering was felt throughout the ship as a ball stuck hard somewhere.

  “Now we’re in for it, Commander,” said Framingham.

  “I don’t think so,” replied Neville. “There she goes. I’ll wager she’ll not even slow down. Our frigates will chase.” He breathed an obvious sigh of release. “Splice the main brace, M
r. Johnson. That’s an order.”

  “A floating bomb, she was. That’s what you had me bring back. Forty barrels of powder, Commander Burton!” blurted Midshipman Foyle when he reached the deck of Superieure at Port Royal Harbor. “Forty! And the rest of the hold full of lignum vitae. So if we didn’t all blow up when that frigate shot us, we’d have surely burned away to charcoal.”

  “Oh, Mr. Foyle,” cooed Catchpole, “Don’t be so dramatic. Look at you standing there richer than you was before we left and complaining about it. Anyways, you think that frigate didn’t know what you were carrying?”

  “He’s right on that, Mr. Foyle. That might be why they chased us so far. The powder might have been for them, and their carpenter would certainly have been pleased with some of that wood. At any rate, Mr. Foley,” said Neville, thumping him on the back, “I’ll overlook your disrespectful outburst and praise your damned fine sailing. Jolly good show!”

  “Sorry, Sir, and thank you. And I have something for you. Some sod from the Rum Company ashore what can’t tell one schooner from another left this off with me.” He held out an envelope. “Can’t read Unique from Superieure either, I suppose.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Post-boy,” Neville joked. I’ll look into this below. “But now we must discuss the disposition of your ship and crew. Come below…”

  After their discussion and the departure of Foyle, Neville pulled the envelope from his pocket. He had been hard pressed to think of anything else during his meeting with Foyle.

  To: Commander Burton

  HMS Superieure

  Feb. 1, 1804

  Dear Sir,

  We at the Stillwater Rum Trading Company take seriously the State of Affairs of our Clients. When last your ship was in Harbour you purchased no rum. Now you have been away at least two weeks longer, so we must assume you are close to the end of your Allowance.

  Please drop by at your earliest convenience to discuss how we might help assure your ship of an uninterrupted supply of rum.