“That’s what you said about the soup.”
“Nay, I was wrong. Whatever happened belowdecks is far worse than the soup. I’d rather be reamed by Philip Winter’s pink pizzle than step foot down there again.”
“Truly?”
“I mean, explain it to me, Jack. Surely there’s a better solution to be had.”
“Well, it’s hot and humid, and the ship is old, and made of wood. That smell you’re referring to is a mixture.”
“A mixture of what?”
“It’s no secret to any seafaring man. It’s bilge water that’s gone bad over the course of time, mixed with the smell of unbathed bodies, rotten fish and meat, and livestock excrement.”
“What do you mean, livestock?”
“Well, of course we keep pigs and chickens and goats and other animals alive down there.”
“Alive?”
“Sometimes we’re at sea for months. You can salt your meat, but it goes rotten after a few weeks, so we keep the livestock to be butchered when needed.”
“And you and your men sleep among the pigs, do you?”
“Oh, no miss. They’re on the orlop, the lowest level. We sleep just above them. But their waste goes through the boards and down into the bottom to mix with the bilge water, so it don’t often smell so sweet. As to the livestock, believe me, after a couple weeks at sea, when the biscuits are hard and full of black-headed weevil maggots, you’ll be thankful for fresh meat.”
“Where do you keep your water?”
“In them barrels over there.”
Abby crossed the deck and lifted one of the lids and smelled.
“Ugh! Rancid! Disgusting!” she said.
“Well, it’s fresh now,” Jack said. “But it don’t take long for it to go stale on you.” Growing philosophical, he added, “and that’s a taste we never get used to.”
“You don’t.”
“No.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because it keeps gettin’ worse.”
Abby shook her head at the magnitude of it. “There’s bound to be rats running throughout the bottom deck.”
“Aye, miss, and everywhere else as well. And roaches and water snakes and thousand leggers and all sorts of night time crawly things.”
“Can’t you fumigate the ship?”
“Well, we do.”
“You do.”
“Yes, miss.”
“And how is that accomplished? I’m asking because whatever you’re doing, it’s not working.”
“Well, we pour burning pitch down there from time to time and make them that’s being punished mop it around. But that ain’t a permanent solution, and the chickens don’t like it.”
“They don’t? How do you know, do you speak chicken?”
“No miss, but their eggs come out black for a long time after. I think they peck at the pitch, but I can’t say for sure.”
Abby frowned. What’s going to happen now?”
“We’ll have some dinner and prepare for tomorrow’s battle.”
“Battle? With The Viceroy? Can’t we just leave harbor now and outrun them?”
“A course we could, but where’s the fun in that?”
“Fun?”
Chapter 21
Frightened lizards skittered across the deck as Captain Jack pushed open the cabin door and summoned his men to the main deck to review his battle strategy. It was an hour before dawn, and his crewmen, fortified by the rum they’d consumed the previous night, were itching for battle. The blanket of heavy fog that had hung about ten feet above the water most of the night was starting to dissipate, and those who looked directly above the ship were able to see stars littering the blue-black sky.
Captain Jack had his men fill two shore boats with pitch, and lower them into the water on the leeward side of the ship. He summoned his four best swimmers and instructed them to jump in the water and hold on to the sterns, two to a boat. Then he lowered two lit lanterns to the men, and had them carefully place the lanterns in the front and center of each boat.
The men kicked their legs and pushed the boats a hundred yards northeast and southeast of The Fortress. When they’d got into position, they held onto the sterns to wait for The Viceroy. These were brave men, since the waters off St. Alban’s were popular breeding grounds for sand sharks. Jack knew The Viceroy would attack at dawn, and almost certainly from the east, for two reasons: first, because that would put a giant ball of sun in the pirate’s eyes, and second, they’d be coming fast, with the wind at their backs, presenting a vertical target for Jack’s guns, which would make it almost impossible to score a direct hit. The good news was The Viceroy couldn’t attack from that attitude. She’d have to turn broadside to point her guns at The Fortress, and therein lay Jack’s window of advantage.
Jack walked to the prow to check on Abby. She’d made good on her refusal to step foot below decks, so Jack had gotten some men to overturn a shore boat for her to climb under, which gave her a less offensive shelter to sleep in. He would have loved to couple and cuddle with her in there last night, but doing so would have been a violation of his own rule against sexual relations aboard ship.
“Did you sleep well, miss?”
“No.”
“Well, it should have been comfortable, with them sails folded up for you like a feather bed.”
“I kept hearing frightening noises all night and feared I’d be bit by something horrid and die.”
She started to cry.
“And now there’s to be a battle and you’re likely to be killed and if me and our baby happen to survive, what would become of us? If your men win the battle, I’ll probably be ravished to death. If they lose, I’ll likely be hung, or returned to my step-father.”
“Aye, even the most comfortable bed means little with thoughts such as these to nag you. But I have a solution for your fears.”
“What’s that?”
“If I live, none of your worries will happen.”
“Then do so!”
Jack gave her hand a squeeze and went below decks to check on the guns. Ship cannons ranged from 500 to over 1,500 pounds, and required between four and eight men to handle them. Jack preferred 800 pound cannons, since they could be managed by four well-trained men. He didn’t have enough men to man all his cannons, but he would only be using one side of the ship today, since he was so close to shore.
“One rope should hold them,” Jack said.
His cannon crew agreed that the waters were calm enough to use one rope per gun. On stormy seas they used two, though it slowed down the process of pulling the cannons away from the gun ports, reloading them, and pushing them back in place to fire. But two ropes prevented one of the biggest dangers a cannon crew faced in battle: severing the rope that held the cannons in place. When that happened in a pitching sea, an 800 pound cannon rolling around at high speeds could mow down an entire crew.
Jack watched as the sea monkeys did their jobs, sea monkeys being the young boys who were assigned the worst jobs on ship, such as pumping out the bilge with a bellows. On battle days, they’d have to scamper down to the lower decks and retrieve cannon balls, which on Jack’s boat were light at eighteen pounds. Of course today they were using chain shot, which consisted of two cannon balls connected by a chain. When fired, these worked like a mace, cutting down masts to render the enemy ship helpless. But two balls and a chain in each cannon more than doubled the crew’s workload.
Jack wished his men good luck and thanked them for their duty. Then he went back up top and got his four musicians together and ordered them to scatter sand over the deck to soak up the blood that was expected to flow. Nothing worse than fighting a battle on a slick deck with the boat pitching at funny angles due to wind, steering, and incoming cannon fire. Once that had been accomplished, he had them stack ammunition in various areas of the deck. Finally, they soaked dozens of blankets in water in preparation for putting out fires.
“Look sharp!” Jack called to the helmsman, for once the battle started, the enemy would try to shoot the helmsman first, in order to nullify the steering.
“Sail ho!” cried Roberts from the crow’s nest.
Just as Jack predicted, The Viceroy was moving fast under full sail, heading directly toward them from the east. Roberts gave the signal to the swimmers, and they knocked their lamps over and lit the pitch. The sailors on The Viceroy would see the smoke, but it wouldn’t dissuade them from attacking, since they were under the impression they were attacking a boat manned by a skeleton crew.
As she approached, Jack had his men stand quiet. Roberts gave the signal and the swimmers began kicking their legs, propelling the flaming boats toward each other. By the time The Viceroy’s captain realized the burning boats were part of a plan, it was too late. He ordered the boat to come about sooner than the crew expected, and they got caught with their sails fluttering. That gave Jack’s men not only a broad target to shoot at, but also a slow-moving one. Four cannons fired on Jack’s command, and the other four crews watched to see the result. One chain shot hit the bottom of the ship, the other three fell short. As the four crews began reloading, the other four adjusted the height and fired.
Three direct hits, but no mast damage. The Viceroy had made the adjustment, and stood parallel to The Fortress, separated by some fifty yards of ocean. As she made ready to fire her cannons she was struck once, then a second time by Jack’s burning shore boats. The swimmers had built up enough speed that upon impact, the shore boats knocked yards of flaming pitch onto the fore and aft hulls: a death blow to a wooden ship like The Viceroy.
By then two of Jack’s cannon crew had reloaded. They fired. One of them found their target, the main mast. When the mast was cut, everyone on The Viceroy felt the impact, and it delayed their cannon crews a few seconds.
Which was all Jack needed.
Two more crews were reloaded, and Jack ordered them to fire, which they did, aiming at The Viceroy’s gun ports. The impact was sufficient to delay their shot again, and now, with no main mast, burning from both ends, she was a sitting duck. Jack’s first four crews began reloading while the second four cannon crews fired and destroyed four more gun ports.
Jack ordered two shore boats lowered to pick up his swimmers. While that was going on, The Viceroy finally managed to get off three cannon shots, but two missed and the third caused only minor damage. Jack had his crew come about and they circled the wounded ship until they were at a right angle to it. From there, Jack’s guns could shoot but The Viceroy’s could not. Jack waited until all eight guns were ready, then he gave the signal, and all eight sent chain shot directly into the bow. The Viceroy lurched downward. In one last act of determination, her crew attempted to hurl grenades, but The Fortress was out of range. Realizing the battle was lost, The Viceroy’s captain ran up the white flag, but by then she was in flames to the point that Jack’s men could do nothing but watch her burn. Enemy sailors screamed and jumped into the water, hoping to swim their way to shore, but Jack doubted any would make it.
Martin, who in Pim’s absence had been promoted to Quarter-Master, said, “Want me to lower some boats? We can follow and shoot them as they swim.”
Jack said, “No, let them be.”
“But what if they make it to shore?”
“In my mind, any sailor who can swim that far in these conditions deserves to live.”
Chapter 22
Jack trained his spyglass on the town of St. Alban’s. Having heard the cannon fire a scant half mile from shore, hundreds of residents had gathered to witness the naval battle. Now they began dispersing, fearing the worst. Jack ordered his men to bring the ship into port at downtown St. Alban’s. Once there, a boat was lowered, and ten men rowed to the main pier under a flag of truce. Forty men, Mayor Shrewsbury, and half as many women and children came out to the pier to see what might happen next.
The men in the boat tied her off and stepped onto the pier. Nine held pistols in each hand. The tenth came to the front and began to speak.
“My surname is Martin, and I’m Quarter-Master of The Fortress. We’re here under flag of truce to explain why we feel wronged by your city, and how we intend to respond. Our men were enjoying shore leave at Sinner’s Row as we’ve done many times these past four years. This time, with the direct knowledge and cooperation of your Mayor (Martin pointed to Mayor Shrewsbury), a number of our crew were drugged, and without warning or explanation, captured and held against their will at the Blue Lagoon, where soldiers from the garrison at Amelia Island began summarily executing them.
We defeated the soldiers, only to be attacked moments ago by The Viceroy, sailing under the colors of Florida Colony, with the full knowledge and cooperation of Mayor Shrewsbury. For these reasons, Jack Hawley, Captain of The Fortress, has ordered the town of St. Alban’s decimated.”
The townspeople gasped and began murmuring to each other.
“I’ve come to tell you that if you have any weapons, you’re to lower them to the ground.”
“What do you mean, ‘decimated?’” the Mayor said, in as haughty a voice as he could muster.
Martin pointed to The Fortress. “As you can see, our ship has anchored broadside, exposing her guns.”
He pulled the white flag out of its holder in the stern, waved it high over his head, then replaced it.
“I just signaled Captain Hawley, which means you have exactly one hour to evacuate the downtown area before it begins raining cannonballs. Captain Jack is already lowering shore boats filled with angry pirates bent on revenge. They’ll wait a hundred yards from shore until the firing stops. At that point, should you stay, God help you all.”
Mayor Shrewsbury cleared his throat and said, “Now listen here, you can’t just destroy the whole town. These are innocent citizens and I’m an appointed official, acting under direct orders from the governor. It would be treason not to do as I’m told, just as you would not go against orders from your Captain, Jack Hawley.”
Martin said, “You’ve got about fifty-eight minutes. If I were you, I’d start moving things along.”
The Mayor said, “Surely there is a way to come to an understanding with Captain Hawley. I’m sure we could gather up a substantial amount of money, food and medicine we could pay you in return for sparing our town.”
Martin said, “You’re suggesting the town pay a ransom?”
“A ransom, yes. That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” Mayor Shrewsbury said, worriedly. “We’ve lost your trust, but we’re willing to sacrifice, if need be, to regain it. How say you that?”