The pace up the hill had been quick, the march back was relentless. Leading the way, Elliot lost himself in his thoughts and took long hurried strides. The evidence clearly indicated someone was trafficking slaves, whether it had anything to do with the Governor and his curious association with the American man was another matter. When they reached the bottom of the hill by the shoreline of the inner cove, Elliot paused their progress only long enough for his men to disable the cannons. They were newer, American made guns, so there was no bronze breech to unscrew. Instead they had to settle for temporarily disabling the pieces by snapping off their flint firing mechanisms.
Back aboard the Endurance, Admiral Sharpe went below into his cabin in a fury. He drafted written orders for both the Bayonet and the Hunter. He then sealed each set of orders along with a letter, immediately returning on deck to a single waiting marine from the detachment of each ship.
“You are to proceed back aboard your ships and hand these orders directly to your Captains. Not the officer on watch and not his steward, directly to each Captain do you understand?” Elliot said, each word in a cutting tone that left nothing to misinterpret.
“Aye Sir,” came their response, almost in unison.
“Very well then. Off with you, snap to it men.” Elliot said clapping his hands. He turned to his officer of the watch, “Fly sails young man, bring us out of the bay and make course for Kingston at once.”
“Sir, there’s something…” the midshipman began, before being interrupted by the Admiral.
“Honestly man, make sail. We need to be making way for Kingston with all haste.”
“Sir! Two ships arrived outside the bay with the dawn. They both fly black flags Admiral.” The midshipman said with a tremor in his voice. He snatched a looking glass from out of the young officer’s grasp and stepped over to the rail. Extending the glass, he could see two ships beyond the rocky finger sheltering the bay.
“Officer of the watch see to it the ship’s log is updated, ‘encountered and engaged two pirate vessels immediately outside anchorage used as port for slave smugglers’, that is a direct quote, write it word for word.” Elliot snapped. Through his scope he could see that both vessels were frigates, their gun ports were open, and they appeared ready for action. Elliot looked at the banner flying from the stern of each ship. Pirates flew their own colors, sometimes when they sailed in concert, they would match the lead ships banner. No pirate on the Caribbean currently had that sort of notoriety, it was nearly a century ago when Edward Teach sailed under his skeleton and goblet banner. He’d had a squadron of ships trailing behind the Queen Ann’s Revenge all matching his banner. It was a curious and bone chilling sight to behold, two ships bearing down their guns on the mouth of the bay both sailing in concert with one another. They were beholden to no nation, bound by no law and Elliot assumed, would give no quarter.
“That’s fine you bloody buggers. I won’t be asking for any today.” He said to himself. Then he turned back to his officer of the watch, “Well. Make sail and beat to quarters, look lively man. If we wait much longer, they’ll think us cowards.”
“Admiral, a third!” the Midshipman pointed across the mouth of the bay to the southeast. Elliot snapped his looking glass back open and examined the third ship carefully. Union Jack was flying crisply above her stern as she made a tight larboard turn to face southward. The Admiral focused closely on the fantail as it came into view and smiled broadly when he read the ship name. “Captain Grimes and the ‘Valor’, Johnathan, it will be good to see you old friend,” Elliot said aloud to himself. As he collapsed his looking glass, the exchange of cannon fire began.
Gazelle
15 Sept 1808
17 Degrees 53’ N, 76 Degrees 01’ W
Dawn approached, unknown to the captive slaves holding guard against the weather hatch. The seas had calmed over the last several hours, but no sailors had made their way below deck yet. Tension hung in the thick air of the hold and Dr. LeMeux tried to reassure everyone, including himself, that their fight would not be in vain. He reasoned that there could be no more than twenty above deck. The party they had gathered numbered no more than two dozen and of that only half would have the strength to fight. LeMeux tried to reason with himself that this entire endeavor wasn’t folly, that he hadn’t signed the death warrant for everyone aboard by inciting this rebellion. Then a thought occurred to him, with the weather calming, now could be their best chance. Now with the crew weary from the night and the storm, if they stormed the deck and took the Captain’s quarters, perhaps they could kill Mr. Sprague perhaps then they stood a chance. He turned to Omibwe, who was being fretted over by his mother and sister, both lamenting over the young man’s loss of his leg.
“Omi, we have to get everyone up. If we are going to be successful, I think the time is now.” LeMeux said over the young African’s shoulder. “We have to take them by surprise.” Omibwe translated to the gathered captives, his father the first to move to the weather hatch. The doctor’s throat tightened when he saw this, unsure if the Africans realized some of them would not survive this fight and most likely the first on deck would be the first to die.
Omibwe’s father lifted the heavy weather hatch slightly, sword in hand. Daylight poured into the opening as he lifted. Voices from the sailors could be
