“Lieutenant Harper.” Sharpe called over his shoulder.
“Yes Sir?” the Lieutenant answered hurrying up to the Admiral’s side.
“I want a detachment of marines armed and ready into longboats as soon as we drop anchor. From every ship. They are to man their watch and send me every other available marine and an officer from each vessel. Is that understood?” Elliot ordered.
“Yes Sir, straight away Sir,” the young officer replied.
“And have the gun lines man their pieces. Don’t run them out, they are to stand by. But I want them manned, something isn’t right in Kingston.”
“Aye Sir,” the Lieutenant rendered a salute and hastily withdrew.
Over his shoulder Elliot looked back at the Valor following his flagship. His heart sank for Captain Grimes and he wondered if the stubborn rogue had parted from the world during their sail. No signal had yet been given from the Valor’s acting commander, but Grimes’ condition had seemed too severe for recovery. The Admiral could feel a burning tingling sensation in his nose, radiating up behind his eyes threatening to send tears forth. He cleared his throat and looked about the deck of his flagship quickly, he dared not show this emotion freely in front of his command. But the memories begrudgingly kept holding his mind. Shared drink and merriment with Johnathan as a young Lieutenant, hardships borne together and losses, a great many of them. Johnathan had been a Lieutenant under Elliot’s command aboard the H.M.S Raven a frigate much like the Valor. He had mentored Johnathan where he could and even though the man was stubborn and prideful almost to a fault, he had developed into a masterful commander. Elliot gritted his teeth a bit thinking about his early struggles with Johnathan. He had a mind for tactics and he was devilishly clever but his sheer aggression often overshadowed his finer traits in his youth. True to form until the very end, he flatly refused to be beaten. The engagement long over and decisive as it was there was no contesting, the Valor had been defeated. Elliot chuckled a bit thinking, no, not for Captain Grimes. Not until the Valor was pulled to the cold depths would Grimes admit a defeat.
“Heave to boys! Prepare cables and anchor, haul up those halyards and make ready for longboats!” cried out a petty officer near the quarterdeck. Admiral Sharpe snapped his mind to the present, shaking off nostalgia. The present required his full attention and his command required nothing less than absolute focus. Johnathan would have scoffed at him just for the time he’d already dithered away reminiscing. Marines were already forming up on deck, preparing for the landing party the Admiral had ordered. As Elliot strode back to his cabin with the morning sun glorious in his eyes, he took note of the impressive appearance of the formation. Each marine was being picked over by a pair of sergeants ensuring they were ready for action, that bold look of determination flashing in each man’s eye. Yes, Elliot thought, Grimes would have made a fine marine had he not been a sailor. The thought made him grin a bit as he passed the last of the formation and descended to his cabin. He donned his formal uniform coat and his hat, then strapped on his sword. It had been years since he had worn his sword for anything other than ceremony and tradition. Not even for the incursion of the cove had he armed himself, that’s what he had marines for, but this interaction, this confrontation rather, was an entirely different matter.
“If that bloody American is there. God only knows how this will go.” Elliot grumbled aloud.
“Pardon Sir?” Lieutenant Harper asked.
“Never mind lad.” Elliot replied, silently chastising himself for breaking his reserve. “Actually. Lieutenant, get yourself squared away. You will be joining me, us, ashore.” The young Lieutenant’s face hinted a slighter shade of white.
“M-m-me Sir?” Harper bumbled.
“Yes. Strap on your sword and leave that damn sheepish look stowed away. You wouldn’t want the marines to think you a coward son,” said the Admiral. His disappointment was veiled behind his bearing, but nonetheless still there. Perhaps he would find another officer of Grimes’ caliber, but Harper would not be it.
The line of longboats steadily made way under oar to the pier. In the lead Admiral Sharpe appeared to be doing his damn best impression of Washington crossing the Delaware, William thought. He did look formidable and that thought struck William suddenly. Was the comparison of Sharpe to Washington a sign? Was it some subconscious force at work warning him of their endeavor? William’s mind was tangled, and his guts seemed to be following suit. They cramped and ached under his uniform coat as the longboats approached the pier. The sunshine was quickly warming the thick Jamaican morning to a stifling muggy, yet William’s fingers ached with chill. His heart fluttered in his chest the way it had when the Valor first opened a broadside in the Atlantic all those weeks ago. The Admiral had business to deal with Governor Alton, but this was no routine calling. Their landing party was comprised from every ship at Sharpe’s disposal, sixty marines and twelve officers and midshipmen.
The wooden thunk of the longboat bumping against the pier brought a flurry of action from each boat and William debarked in a scurry of activity. In short order the marines had formed into two columns to move out to the Admiral’s objective, Governor Alton’s mansion. They stepped off the wooden pier and onto dirt road marching their way past shops and taverns, every man well aware of the odd calm surrounding them. Windows were being shuddered along their path as the column crew up the road toward the Governor’s residence and every so often a mother would be seen scurrying her children back inside. Along the left flank of the column a marketplace that typically teemed with activity was barren. This sight seemed to strike a
