breakfasts but didn't stay below long and came back up still chewing, to stow their hammocks and resume their waiting among the artillery. ’Mister Railsford, I'll have chain slings rigged aloft on the yards,' Treghues ordered, finding work for them to do in the meantime. 'Bosun, layout the boarding nettings and prepare for hoisting.’
Lewrie had been on the quarterdeck earlier and had gotten a good look at Mr. Monk's chart, much marked and doodled on from his years of experience in these waters. He could recognize Norman Island off their larboard bow, could spot the hump that was Pelican Island.
The locations of those two shoals, of which Monk was so leery, were shadowy guesses in dark pencil markings, and Alan tried to triangulate a possible way to avoid them.
About five cables ahead of them, half a mile, fuen tiptoed her way a little closer inshore, and Desperate leaned slightly as she wore to follow her around. The leadsmen were alternating tossing the lead from either foremast chain platform, calling out their soundings, which had remained stable at twenty-four or twenty-five fathoms. Desperate drew nearly three, so she was still safe if the charts were right, though that was a big if. Farther ahead and off to starboard a little, Amphion and Roebuck were threading the gap between Flanagan Island and Privateer Point and would soon be able to look into the deep bay which might shelter enemy merchantmen or a privateer ship or two. ’God Almighty, he's found a shoal!' Monk shouted, and Alan took a peek over the bows. VIXen was wearing almost due south, coming about hard and beginning to heel to the stiff breeze.
There was collective relief as VIXen continued on her new course and a signal flag went up to her mizzen truck, a numeral8. ’Safe, by God,' Monk said loudly, leaning over his chart and pencilling in another bit of arcana for the Admiralty to peruse some day in future when he handed in all his charts upon paying off.
VIXen hoisted another numeral group: 25. She had found their deep-water passage to the south of Flanagan Island, and from what Alan could remember, would encounter nothing shallower than twelve or thirteen fathoms from then on. Desperate wore early, cutting the corner slightly on VIXen's course until they wore due south right in her wake. ’Hands aloft!' the Bosun sang out. 'Hands aloft an' make sail! Layout an'let go tops'ls!' They threaded the Flanagan Passage-the Indian Rocks to their east, Pelican Island off their larboard quarter, waves breaking over Ringdove Rock and shoal water shading off from dark blue to turquoise and aqua and pale green. That they did it at nearly seven knots and gaining added a certain piquancy to it all, even though they had found deep water. By the time the preventer backstays and jiggers had been freed and triced up, and the tops'ls hauled down and puffed full of wind, they were on their best point of sail with the Trades on their larboard quarter making over nine knots, heading sou-sou'west half-west, the leadsmen steadily calling out twenty fathoms or better. It was a bumpy ride, as Monk had predicted, but most pleasant all the same. ’Sail ho!' the lookout called almost immediately. 'Two points off the larboard bow!' She was VLXen's pigeon, and obviously a belligerent from the way she hauled her wind and turned to run. But there was no escaping the fleeter sloop of war, and before half an hour had passed they could see puffs of smoke as VLXen opened fire. Treghues had his little band strike up a tune. The young drummers and fifers countermarched back and forth by the quarterdeck nettings over the waist, and a couple of landsmanfiddlers joined them to entertain the crew.
The seas between S1. Thomas and St. Croix were working alive with shipping that fine, sparkling moming, and the crew danced their hornpipes exuberantly at the thought of action to come.
They were bearing down on the nearest chase, a full-rigged ship painted like an Indiaman and showing two rows of gun ports. She hoisted Danish colors but continued to flee, which made her most suspicious for a neutral.
Desperate cut inshore of her as she fled to the west, gybed to the opposite tack and began to close her rapidly. She was deeply laden, so the lower row of gunports was most likely false. ’Still,' Railsford bellowed through his speaking trumpet, stopping the people capering and dancing. 'Gun crews, stand to, to starboard!' Once within two cables, Mr. Gwynn was sent forward to the carronade on the forecastle and Lewrie drifted up in that direction to take his stance halfway up the ladder to spot the fall of shot. They had not used the carronades much, since 'The Smashers' would have made kindling of most of their earlier prizes, but here was a suitable target for the heavy and destructive ball they fired.
In went a powder cartridge, four and a half pounds of powder. Then a thirty-two-pound shot, hollow-cast and filled with powder and a mixture of grape-shot and musket-shot. Gwynn fiddled with the lay of the gun, and the hands tugged on the swivel platform to adjust it. Gwynn hummed along with the musicians as he slid the quoin out slightly. A carronade had little range due to the light powder charge. ’Ready!' he called, stepping clear and raising his fist. 'Fire as you bear!' The gun captain touched the vent hole. The quill took light and sparked down into the charge. The gun barked and recoiled on its wooden slide. The ball struck their chase squarely. The massive ball hit the foe just at the break of the larboard gangway and the quarterdeck, a little ahead of the mizzen chains, and burst with a terrific energy and a satisfying puff of smoke, shrapnel, dust and splintered wood. The chains shivered and the heavy shrouds parted. Her mizzen t' gallant and topmast snapped and heeled over to starboard, yards crashing to the deck and smothering her wheel.
The masquerade of being Danish ended. French colors appeared for a moment, then fluttered down to the deck as people waved tablecloths in surrender. Both ships hauled their wind and rounded up. Forrester clumped his way down into a cutter and was off to take his prize. Even as the rowing boat was cast off, Desperate was paying off the wind and gathering way once more to pursue a second ship closer inshore that the Vixen could not reach.
This vessel, they did not even have to fire into. Her crew abandoned her quickly and began to pull hard for shore, hoping the current did not set them so far west they missed St. Croix altogether. Their chances in the nasty coral reefs on the north shore were iffy enough. Before Desperate could think of taking her, a heat wave shimmered over her and smoke began to flag downwind. ’I'd drop this'n, sir,' Monk warned. 'They want off her awful bad. Might be loaded to the deck-heads with powder.. ‘. ’Still, they won't have her, lads,' Treghues shouted with false cheer at being cheated of a prize. 'Let's go get another.' _ It was fortunate they did, for once they were about a mile downwind of the abandoned ship, and she had become a raging inferno, she suddenly blew up, tossing timbers hundreds of feet into the air.
The next prize came within an hour, but she was only a lugger, run by a mulatto and crewed by blacks. She was local but carried barrels of salt-meat with French markings. Being too small to bother with, she was burned, to the distress of her owner.
An hour later they came within range of a brigantine, and after two broadsides she lowered her Spanish colors and surrendered. This time, Avery and Feather had success and took eight hands and four Marines over to her happily. Like most merchant ships she had a crew barely sufficient to work her, so Avery would have no trouble from them. They left her far behind as they chased after still another prize as four vessels came north from Fredericksted and tried to run.
By lunch they were up to the first, a racy-looking brig with raked masts, obviously American-built. She hoisted rebel colors and wore to open her gun battery, about four cables off, on their starboard side. The other three vessels continued to flee, and this American acted as if he would trade his ship for their safety, or attempt to delay the British frigate as long as possible.
The brig opened fire first, damned accurate fire! Desperate drummed to the shock of iron hitting her hull from the brig's six side guns. ’Mr. Gwynn. fire as you bear,' Treghues ordered. Desperate's six-pounders began to speak; with a sternwind taking the sound and powder cloud away, it sounded like the slamming of heavy iron doors. One at a time the guns rolled back inboard to snub against the breeching ropes, and the crews sprang to serve them while shot began to moan overhead or strike their ship once more.
The brig was not built to take such heavy punishment. When she was struck by round-shot her scantlings were punched clear through, and clouds of splinters erupted from her. ’Hands to the braces, Bosun. Close her!' Treghues ordered. The frigate swung until the wind was dead astern, went a point farther and swung her yards about to gybe gently. The brig wore at the same time, so that their courses were aimed for a convergence.
At three cables the rebel brig fired again, and this time she fired high. Desperate's foret' gallant mast came crashing down, ripping down her outer flying jib, tangling her running and standing rigging in the foremast tops'l and course yards.
