“Well put Sir.” A sailor replied, startling the Lieutenant.
Will turned to make his way toward the aft castle, he desperately needed something to eat and some rest. As he passed the foremast, he overheard a conversation among the deckhands, a salty old hand was spinning some yarn about seeing the mythical kraken right here in the Caribbean. Even in pursuit, even through adversity and combat and loss, sailors will be sailors, Will thought with a smirk. He remembered a similar tale he’d heard Cobb reciting to hands aboard the Valor, a ghost ship, he remembered. He’d had gullible young landsmen just taken on from the press watching for their lives and jumping at their own shadows all through the long middle watch that night. Will stopped in his tracks, that was the night they had come across the squadron of French ships. Until this point, Will had attributed them locating the French that morning to blind luck, or even divine intervention. It had been Cobb’s clever tactics and an alert watchman that saved them from being caught at the mercy of a squadron, outgunned and outclassed. It felt as though he held a thought by a thread and pulling it could somehow unravel the gauntlet before him. Lieutenant Harper was overseeing the change of watch near the helm and Will made for the quarterdeck as fast as his legs would muster.
“Lieutenant, no bells.” Will said just as a sailor was about to strike the hour. “Douse all the lanterns, no bells and no whistles.”
“Aye Sir” the sailor replied.
“Sir?” Lieutenant Harper asked, looking confused.
“Cobb is a clever man Lieutenant. We outclass the Valor in gun count, weight and manpower. But an ambush in darkness could negate all that advantage and leave us exposed and at the mercy of a crew of mutineers. Double the watch and maintain course, I will be below in the chartroom, please inform me of any sightings.” Will replied. His exhaustion hit as he had spoken, causing him to repeat several words.
“On in darkness then Sir, as you say.” Harper answered hesitantly. Will knew the young officer’s fears, they had once been fears he shared.
“Trust the watch lad, trust the watch and trust the charts. If I am not on deck at dawn, wake me.” Will reassured.
“Aye Sir.” Harper answered as Will descended below decks. He had intended to spend some time reviewing charts to decipher the course Cobb would likely take. But passing the door of the cabin he had made his proved impossible, his eyes were bleary and tired. The charts would have to wait, he thought, no use for them if I can’t even think straight. He entered the cabin and shucked his jacket, then sat on a stool to remove his boots, the gentle rocking of the ship only increased his sleepiness. Finally, after removing his trousers and blouse he crawled into the hammock slung through the middle of the cabin. The gentle motion of the ship was tempered by his hammock, but still gave him a slight sway and stretched out in the hammock, Will finally closed his eyes to welcome sleep.
Even through his exhaustion, the wheels and gears of Will’s mind ground away. It was a furious thing to him, so utterly exhausted and yet even as he lay in his comfy hammock, his brain would not allow sleep to grace him. He kept wondering on what course Cobb would sail, what his destination was. What had he told the crew? Those sailors threw their wounded Captain overboard, Will thought, it makes no difference what Cobb had told them, nor how he had persuaded them to do it. They would all die a mutineer’s death, by sword, by cannon shot or hangman’s noose. Their destination wouldn’t be a British port, even if Cobb were so bold to attempt a masquerade in the effort of resupplying the ship, the rest of the crew would have none of it. No. They would steer well clear of any British port. Possibly he would take the Valor into a French or Spanish harbor, there was a chance with this though of being engaged on sight. Britain and France were locked in war in Europe, Spain being one of France’s staunchest allies made the possibility quite real in their ports as well.
Will drifted off into sleep, the gears grinding out his plans lulling him into fitful dreams of sea engagements. The image of Admiral Sharpe’s posture withering after the American fired his pistol replayed in his mind. Will knew it was coming, he had seen it before it played out in real life. Yet he was unable to alter the course of events, like a patron in a theater watching a play. The marines fell from the roof, impacting onto the ground with a dreadful thud sending a splatter of blood into the air. The American drawing his pistol, almost in slow motion. Will’s entire body felt to be made of lead, impossibly slow no matter how much he tried. His voice made no sound as though it didn’t even exist. Bits and pieces would replay, out of order but vividly clear. The smells were present, the same taste in his mouth, even the sounds he had heard. But every sequence of dream related to that day was followed abruptly by the American shooting Admiral Sharpe.
Chapter 10
‘Georgia Spirit’
24 Sept 1808
17 Degrees 14 minutes N, 76 Degrees 8’ W
The instant Tim had looked over the fantail of the Gazelle and seen her name painted in golden lettering, his heart soared. He looked again, making sure his eyes were not playing some trick on him and through the fading glow of the evening he confirmed to himself, it was indeed the missing ship, containing a massive payment for which he would be held responsible.
“Follow that vessel!”
