“That’s horse piss Will. I’ve no clue what you should do, nor what I would do. But, I have some advice for you.” Grimes rasped out, his voice a mere whisper.
“What is it Sir?” Will pleaded, desperate for guidance.
“Do what you know to be right lad. Whatever this Governor is doing, he must be stopped,” he answered.
“I’ve been wondering Sir. What if, well, what if this Governor isn’t acting alone?” Will pressed.
“I’ve thought that too Will. How deep does it go? No matter, King and Country, all that, to hell with it. Piss on them. If the crown is somehow in league with this, I don’t have an answer for that. Do what you know to be right, that’s all the advice I can give you.” Grimes said, grimacing as he finished.
“Rum Sir? For the pain?” Will asked looking around the cabin for the bottle he had seen earlier.
“No, don’t waste it on me. I won’t be much longer, and I know it.” Grimes said with a slight wave of his hand. “Make sure you run that Cobb through when you get to him Will. A pistol shot is too dignified for a mutineer, run him right through his belly with your sword. You tell him I’ll see him in hell for the rest of his penance.”
“I’ll do that Sir. Get some rest.” Will replied. His bearing failed him as he turned to leave the cabin, fearing this would be his last talk with his commander. He departed the cabin to return on deck, hoping the wind would carry away the tears from his eyes before anyone could see them fall. The blurry outline of Valor’s sails was pushing ahead of them on the horizon. The distance between them was slowly increasing, even under full sail the Valor would run out of their line of sight before evening fell.
‘Georgia Spirit’
24 Sept 1808
17 Degrees 25’ N, 75 Degrees 57’ W
Tim Sladen scanned the eastern horizon through his telescope, scouring for any sign of a sail or mast. Since his first introduction with Admiral Sharpe at the Governor’s residence, he had watched as his carefully constructed system came undone. The satisfaction he had felt in killing the Admiral had been an immense release of frustration, only to be replaced with yet another disappointment as he watched two ships slip his trap and exit the harbor. The ships at his command were privateers, originally hired to transport slaves from his holding camp in Jamaica to the American south and a few select destinations in Europe. He had chosen what he deemed as the finest as his impromptu flagship the ‘Georgia Spirit’. At the head of a fleet of three ships he sailed in reckless, desperate pursuit to prevent his undoing.
The hunt for those remaining vessels consumed his every thought, making even the most basic of tasks seem heart wrenchingly urgent. If news of the true nature of his operations were revealed, he would be finished. It would be embarrassment at the highest levels, treason, heresy. The economy of the American agricultural machine in the south would grind to a crawl, costing him and countless others untold amounts of money. He had been tasked with assembling a covert network to continue the slave trade. France and Great Britain had both outlawed the acquisition and transportation of slaves from their native lands, it was only a matter of time until the slaves currently held would be ineffective for profitable operation in agriculture settings. So, his benefactors had retained him, at great expense, to ensure that their interests were safeguarded. A fortune had been spent soliciting cooperation from likely detractors, to little effect, Tim thought to himself while gritting his teeth.
Below deck in the hold of the Spirit, Governor Alton sat in a cell, naked and shackled. Tim had decided the pompous Governor could only be counted on to act in his own self-interest. Given the nature of his knowledge, that made him yet another liability. Yet he could still prove useful, unlike the Admiral, Governor Alton could be manipulated to do whatever Tim needed of him. That so far, had held as reason enough to keep him alive. If all else fails, he thought with a morbid grin, I could ransom the pig to the Crown and make an escape. As Tim lowered his glass from a weary eye, the Captain of the Spirit approached.
“Mr. Sladen, I fear they may have too far a start for us to catch them. Is there a destination you believe they could be headed for? Perhaps we could out navigate them,” the Captain offered.
“British ports most likely. Nassau, Barbados, somewhere they could reinforce and refit. I’m afraid that my knowledge of these matters is limited, I’m not a sailor by trade.” Tim answered in his gentle drawl.
“Barbados has the largest garrison, although St. Kitts is closer. We can hold this easting for a while, but if they lit out for Nassau, they’re as good as lost to us Sir,” said the Captain, hesitating slightly as he broke the last bit. Tim turned and looked the Captain dead in the eyes with an unbreaking stare.
“Failure here is not an option Captain. We will absolutely find those two ships and leave both of them at the bottom when we are done. That is the only outcome that is acceptable and that will be the only outcome where we survive. But I promise you, Sir. If we do fail, you will be going before I do. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Yes Sir,” the Captain replied with a stammer.
“I’m going below to pay our
