That night Gabe spent time talking with his friend and business partner. Since the incident with Lancaster, the tavern had become something of a 'hangout' for the warrants and officers in Anthony's squadron. Business was better than it had ever been and Domingo for once
had realized a substantial profit. Gabe had earned a tidy sum himself and though he hadn't told Domingo as yet he intended to turn sole ownership of the tavern back over to the man when orders came for his ship. Tonight over a glass of sangria they talked of Don Luis de Lavago.
'Si, my compadre, I know of him. He was a very rich aristocrat from Madrid. Only he was the second son. He had accumulated much though. He owned… how you say it, mucho land along the Saint Johns River all the way to Cowford. Much time and expense had been made and when he's at the point to make mucho dinero England suddenly owns all his land and holdings with nothing for all his expense and labors.
Havana had nothing to offer that would equal his loss I am told. Now he is a violent, sick man with much hatred.
He hates all gringos. No offense, senor.'
'None taken,' Gabe assured Domingo.
'Don Luis hates all whites but because his cause and needs are the same as the rebels to the north he has, on occasion, formed a loose allegiance. If they win the war it is said his former holding will be returned by the rebels.
Who knows? It is too much for Domingo to consider.' This, Gabe believed. Like thousands of people at home who believed the war was Lord North's doings and the only people who would benefit from the war would be the rich, not the common man.
Chapter Eighteen
The sun was blood red and high in the sky. Neptune, Swan and Pigeon sailed southward under a lazy wind and unwavering glare. To look upon the shining water made your eyes hurt. Deck seams were so sticky that they gripped to a man's foot.
Knight had just seen a sailor jump as barefooted he stepped on a bubble of tar. Leaning against the bulwark he could feel the heat off the adjacent cannon. The barrels were as hot as if they had been in battle.
Lord Anthony was acting upon information he'd recently received that the privateer ship Barracuda was seen operating off the southern tip of Florida and the Keys. There seemed to be some idea as to who the cutthroat was that commanded the Barracuda but when the patrol had sailed nothing more definite had been found out.
Feeling sticky and clammy Knight called to his first lieutenant, 'Mr. Brooks, I'm going to my cabin to sign some papers. The master has promised a shower this afternoon and I don't think a little cooling off would be amiss. However, keep a close eye out for squalls as well as sails and call me if you need me.'
Before the 'aye, captain' was out of Brooks mouth Knight's head disappeared down the companion ladder.
After an hour or so of working at his desk Knight felt the motion of the ship become a bit livelier and at the same time realized the cabin had become dimmer and the sun didn't seem to penetrate the stained glass in the stern windows as it had an hour ago. Returning on deck he could instantly feel a sharp stinging rain.
'I was just sending the midshipman for you, sir,' Lieutenant Brooks volunteered, 'although our good master says this will only last an hour or so.'
'Well,' Knight answered as the rain pelted away at his thin shirt, 'if it cools things down it will be worth a little dampness.'
As is the usual for his breed the master was right on the mark. 'Fifty-five minutes by me watch,' he exclaimed as suddenly the rain ceased.
'Land ho, off the starboard bow,' the lookout called down.
There was an island just making itself visible as the clouds cleared from the sky. Sunlight beat across the deck on the damp planking and large drops from the recent squall dripped down from the rigging leaving dark circles on the deck that dried quickly.
'Deck there,' the lookout called down, 'sails just off yonder island.'
Before Knight could digest this information Lieutenant Brooks was at his side, 'Signal from Pigeon, sir, requests permission to investigate.'
'Permission granted,' Knight replied. Pigeon had been on station to starboard and therefore was between Neptune and the Keys. Meanwhile Markham had Swan on station to larboard of Neptune.
The sail turned out to be a small lugger and the captain had ignored the signal to heave to, so Pigeon was trying to overhaul the small ship. Watching as the lugger made its Barracuda
way through a channel heading into the Keys, Lieutenant Kerry of Pigeon was daydreaming. He loved his little ketch but he longed for something bigger, something like SeaWolf. Now that was a command to have. Damned if he wouldn't be able to put away a bit of prize money if he commanded a ship so fine.
Suddenly, Kerry was awakened from his daydreams.
Why hadn't he been paying attention… now he'd put his ship in danger. Things were happening… something awful. He found himself flying through the air in a torrent of flames and splinter that stung like a thousand needles all at once then as he hit the waters, just before everything went black he heard the explosion that ruined his dream.
Standing on deck, Neptune 's officers watched unbelieving at the ruthless barrage of cannon fire pouring into the tiny ship. The flashing orange tongues seem to leap out from the seemingly peaceful mangrove trees. The Barracuda had been lying in wait and the lugger had been the bait. Knight could see the waterspouts bursting all around the Pigeon as the cannon's flames spit forth from the hidden ship.
'Mr. Brooks?'
'Aye, aye captain.'
'Beat to quarters and signal Swan, though damme I hope Markham is faster responding than I've been.' Markham on board Swan had heard and seen the onslaught of cannon fire that tore into the helpless ketch.
Using his glass as Swan closed with the Keys, Markham could see men running frantically about with gesturing arms.
Some were hacking away at the downed mast and spar, while others were gallantly firing Pigeon's popguns at the ghost ship that was so entwined with the trees and vegetation she was not even clearly visible. Meanwhile, Neptune was closely approaching the scene. Knight had
ordered the bow chasers to open fire as soon as they were in range. The boom of the bow chaser was quickly answered by a cry from the lookout.
'Last shot was over Pigeon but the enemy ship is showing 'er heels.'
The forward guns continued to fire and the lookout called down again, 'A 'it by gawd. The last ball sent splinters a flying as we pounded one up 'er arse.' The master was now in front of Knight, 'We're to close, captain. We need to anchor now and send in boats. I can see weeds off to larboard.'
'Very well,' Knight replied. 'Heave to. There has to be a channel, possibly one that continues to the other side, where the cutthroat is escaping.'
'However, we'll heave to and render what help we can,' Knight said with defeat in his voice.
Before they could get the boats in the water Swan was alongside, Markham joined Knight in his gig as they rowed toward the helpless ship. As they got close the cries of pain and anguish could be heard.
Mr. Davy who was standing in the bow of a longboat that was alongside Knight's gig spoke out, 'She's on a sandbar. That's why she hasn't sunk.'
Davy was right. Pigeon had come to rest on a sandbar having been leered into position where the Barracuda had been silently waiting. Markham 's knuckles turned white as he grasped the side of the gig. Knight sat across from Markham trying to shut out the human agony that confronted him. His recent bout with the privateer's attack at Saint Augustine all too fresh in his memory not to feel the hell the crew on Pigeon must be feeling.
Men's bodies were so badly mutilated it was hard to realize they had once been human. A sailor grabbed a rope that was heaved by the bowman. As he stood the sight of his breeches spattered with blood and gore made the bowman retch.'Don't worry,' cried the sailor. 'I t ain't mine!' The chorus of cries and groans on board as men
