“Astute Will. Good man, good form. Both reasonable solutions to the dilemma. That answers why there is a general standoff order, but the orders specifically list remaining four cables at a minimum even if there is distress at sea. I’m just vexed by the matter.” Johnathan said, furrowing his brow and continuing, “But, I am honestly supposed to watch a countryman in distress at sea and not approach closer than four cables? If she’s afire? Or engaged by the enemy? What in God’s name?”
“Yes, Sir. But, if the Crown is overly concerned about an outbreak in a port of origin, wouldn’t that still ring true. We can’t have half the navy dying and the other half quarantined or heaven forbid we bring some awful malady back to jolly old England. I mean, the channel fleet is engaged blockading Brest, all through the Atlantic ships stand to engage the French. On top of that Sir, there’s trade enforcement and dealing with smugglers and the like. I shared a pint with an officer I’d known since boyhood in London, Sir. He was on the H.M.S Dawn Fire, they had just returned from a cruise enforcing and interdicting Parliament’s ban on the slave trade. Some of the stories he had, Sir, they’ll turn a stomach.” William said, his voice trailing off as he felt he was starting to carry on too long. Johnathan stared blankly at the charts, lost in his own thoughts on the matter when Will concluded. Johnathan looked up at Will.
“I won’t let a ship of my countrymen flounder in distress, Will. I have my honor, I have my decency. Whatever the inspiration is for these absurd orders, if circumstances call for such, I will not stand off a ship in distress and watch sailors perish. So. Young man, we never had this conversation. We never had our conversation off port and you know nothing of these orders. Do you understand?” Johnathan said. His voice carried grave implications, an edge that hadn’t been there before. Not even when he was calling down discipline to Cobb from the quarterdeck had Captain Grimes held a tone like he was with William.
“Yes, Captain.” William replied.
“That will be all in that regard Lieutenant. Be sure that you keep a close watch on Cobb, de-rating an officer and flogging him like that surely wounded the man’s pride. But I won’t carry on with an officer who has dishonored himself in such a manner, not on my ship, not on my watch.”
“Aye Sir,” said William. He promptly exited the cabin and went about making his rounds before turning in for the night.
Alone in his cabin, Captain Grimes had turned from his charts and logs, consumed in his mind over the matter of the standoff orders. William had touched on his deep suspicion, just not in direct terms. It was common knowledge through the fleet that parliament had abolished the slave trade, levying fines against any ship flying the union jack caught for every slave aboard. Is it too far a stretch that the company would take advantage of the near monopoly this would create? How high would they have to collaborate with the admiralty to favor the standoff order? If that was the case, did the admiralty even know? Or was it disguised under likely cover of an outbreak somewhere in Africa? Turning back to the charts laid out across the table, Captain Grimes put his mind back onto his current situation. Temporary repairs to the damage Valor had sustained engaging the squadron of French ships would hold them until Nassau, but the disabled cannon would need to be replaced and permanent repair would be necessary before beginning their tour in the Caribbean. He poured over the charts, analyzing the approaches, shoals, small islands and reefs. The Bahamas and the Caribbean overall were notorious for making ruin of seasoned Captains who had become complacent or overconfident. The oil lamp and charts were the Captain’s companions long into the night as he balanced studying charts and making strategic plans with his turmoil over secret orders he still could not make sense of.
18 August 1808
Jamaica, east of Kingston
The evening sun painted the western sky into a breathtaking spectrum of oranges and violets as a column of red coated infantrymen marched from the edge of Kingston into the surrounding hillsides. At the head of the fifty-man double column rode a squadron of twenty dragoons led by Tim Sladen. By his side were two more Americans, both rough looking bearded men who were heavily armed. The column had wound its way from the barracks in Kingston to its outskirts and began ascending into the hills as the sun dipped low. Passing farm and field on its way east from Kingston the column continued their slow steady march upward along the road that wound its way between sugar cane fields. Torches were lit to illuminate the way as the blaze of sunset gave way to dusk and eventually faded into twilight. Despite the absence of the sun, the air hung heavy in the night, hot and muggy with little breeze to relieve the marching soldiers.
The road snaked between hill and field, climbing and falling with the land skirting the shores of the Caribbean. The pace they kept, while leisurely for those mounted, was grueling for the infantry. Every ascent uphill became a challenge to the soldiers’ weary legs and soon their uniform coats were soaked in sweat and caked in dust from the road. Darkness only added to their frustrations
