Authors: Janelle Taylor
The infuriated English captain watched the
Black Mist
as she played the waves and currents with natural ability. The way she maneuvered from port to starboard with each smooth plunge, there was no way he could hit her with cannon fire. The battle had been forfeited the moment her black sails appeared! Previously alerted to the wrath of Steele if attacked, the disgruntled English crew cursed as the captain issued his orders to come about and peacefully await Steele’s boarding. Intimidated and cowed, the crew obeyed. The
Wind Rover
lowered her flag to signal surrender.
“She’s yielding, Capt’n. Guess she don’t want to tangle with us,” Danny yelled over the roar of the ocean and wind.
“That’s the reward of having a fierce reputation,” Spencer laughingly retorted, relieved the English ship wouldn’t force a bloody and futile battle with him.
Before the moon could gain any height, the crew of the
Black Mist
was in full control of the English frigate and Spencer was searching the cabin of its captain. Finding nothing of importance, Spencer turned to face
the scarlet-faced captain who was standing at rigid attention behind him and curiously watching his every move. Spencer strolled over to the irate man, halting within two feet of him.
“You seem to be travelling heavy, Captain Stovall,” he noted. “Is it true you British plan to take over my territory? I don’t think I’d take kindly to your intrusion,” he remarked, goading the helpless man, hoping his inevitable anger would reveal some clue Spencer needed.
Stovall whitened, then flushed a guilty red. He stuttered as he replied, “Don’t…be absurd! I’m… taking supplies to…our men up Canada way,” he lied.
Deep, rumbling, mocking laughter filled the dim room. “This is June, not Christmas, Captain Stovall,” he teased the vexed man before him. Stovall glued his wide eyes to the steel blue ones of glacial intensity before him as Spencer sneered contemptuously, “Don’t play me for a fool. Just what does your king have in mind for my territory?” he demanded. “This is an expensive cargo to rest upon the ocean floor,” he subtly warned.
With false bravado, Stovall scoffed, “You can hardly call the entire ocean your territory, Captain Steele. As to the King’s plans, I am not privy to such knowledge,” he huffily declared.
Spencer strolled around the stiff frame of his foe as he ventured, “You mean he doesn’t intend to attack America or blockade her ports? Ports which my trade needs easy entrance to?”
A sudden inhalation of air and startled look told Spencer he had struck a nerve. He halted before the stubborn man and glared at him. “Tell me, Captain Stovall; would you care to see your ship scuttled, your spotless record demolished, and your crew executed before your eyes? I’m not asking for permission to see those hidden dispatches, I’m demanding them. Now be a good fellow and give them over,” he casually handed the anxious man his ultimatum. “The papers in exchange for your honor, your ship, and your crew,” he reiterated his unflinching terms.
Suspicious lights danced in Stovall’s eyes. “Why would a pirate be interested in political matters?” he asked.
“Why indeed would a privateer be interested in a war which might damage his most profitable business?” Spencer sarcastically questioned. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to go against the entire Royal Navy. Since I have an interest at stake here, it just might profit me and the Crown if I were to side with the inevitable winner,” he calmly hinted, seating himself at the captain’s desk and negligently propping his booted feet upon the cluttered piece of furniture which was securely attached to the wall. At Stovall’s hesitation, Spencer snarled, “Well? What’s it to be, my good man: an alliance with the Crown or my own declaration of war against it? As you know, I’m not a man who bluffs. I can give your fleet a Royal pain in the flank of its regal pants,” he ominously warned with an aura of self-assurance.
“The Royal Navy doesn’t need the likes of pirates
like you to help her defeat those foolish colonists!” he stormed in rising indignation and haughty pride. “Once the fleet sets sail, they’ll squirm like the snakes they are! They’ll regret the day they turned against the Mother Country.”
“And just when does the Mother plan to take her errant fledgling back into her nest?” Steele inquired casually as he studied the neatly trimmed nails on his left hand.
“I’ll not commit treason just so an arrogant pirate can line his pockets with gold! I gave quarter, but I will not forfeit my honor and loyalty!” he snapped angrily, his round face flushed with rage and humiliation.
“Pride can be a costly possession, Stovall. I’m a smart man; I fully intend to side with the obvious victor in this approaching conflict. Who’s the commander of your fleet? I’ll offer my services directly to him,” he cunningly attempted another path to prevent being forced to settle this matter in an unpleasant way.
Stovall gave those words careful consideration. Steele wasn’t a man to tangle with. Choosing to compromise, he smiled maliciously and replied, “You’re no threat to his majesty’s fleet, so what harm could it do to tell you? Captain Philip Broke commands the fleet,” he proudly announced, then smugly anticipated Steele’s cowering reaction.
Spencer grinned roguishly as he nodded his head in acceptance of that interesting fact. “That means the
Shannon
is the flagship. Well, well…So Broke finally made it to the top,” he mysteriously commented,
sounding as if he knew the man personally. “What other ships are heading this way?” he asked, undaunted.
“If you think you can out-sail the fleet, you’re sadly mistaken, Steele. You’re no match for the combined forces of the
Guerriere, African, Aeolus, Belvidera,
and the
Nautiler!
They’ll blast your
Black Mist
back into the hell she came from!”
“Do tell,” Spencer mocked his false courage and eagerness. “Why not ask Broke how many of his ships have won battles against mine? If your British courage matched your British boasting, you’d never have given quarter. Give Broke and Byron my regards when you see them. Tell ‘em to keep an eagle eye to their sterns. I’ll be seeing them real soon.”
Spencer stood up and lazily stretched his agile frame. He withdrew his poniard from the carved leather sheath hanging next to his deadly cutlass. He leisurely strolled over to Stovall and glared into his brown gaze with eyes as cold and awesome as his steel blade. Kicking the door open, Andy and Migget rushed in, seizing Stovall’s hands and securing them behind his flabby waist. With the flat side of the cold, sharp blade, Spencer tapped Stovall’s bulbous nose as he spoke.
“Time’s a’wasting, Captain. I know you have some papers on board which interest me greatly. Since your honor, ship, and crew are of little value to you, just how much is the safety and survival of this?” he asked in a glacial tone which caused the Englishman to tremble as Spencer lightly tapped his groin with his
sword. “One skilled flick of this blade and you’ll be talking like a woman for the rest of your life—if you don’t bleed to death first.”
“You wouldn’t dare mutilate one of the King’s subjects! Have you no honor?” he asked in a shaky voice.
“As you so aptly put it earlier, pirates have no honor or loyalty to any man or power but their own crews and ships. The papers. Now!” he fired the last word like a pistol shot in the midst of a deadly duel. “My patience has grown thin, Captain. I’ll give you to the count of ten to make your decision.”
As Spencer began to count aloud, Stovall struggled to pull free of the powerful hold by Andy and Migget and cursed Steele mightily.
Thundering laughter filled the room, mocking Stovall and his wild rantings. “Nine…Ten…Well, Captain? Your decision?” he prompted.
“You wouldn’t dare!” he squeaked.
Within inches of Stovall’s perspiring face, Steele vowed through white teeth, “I dare anything, Stovall, as you well know. When I leave this cabin, I’ll either carry those papers in my hand or your manhood upon this knife.” Before Stovall could speak or think clearly, several deft swipes of Spencer’s dagger had severed his belt and had opened his dark blue pants from his flaccid waist to his quivering groin. Steele’s art matchless, Stovall didn’t even receive a scratch.
Stovall inhaled in stunned disbelief. Another swipe and his baggy drawers were slashed aside, divesting him of his pride and protective clothing as his limp
manhood toppled out before the taunting gaze of Captain Joshua Steele. Outraged and shamed, Stovall shouted, “You black-hearted devil! You’ll pay for this offense! The fleet will chase you across the face of the entire ocean!”
“Too bad you won’t be around to see it,” Steele retorted. “From the way I hear tell, few men survive castration. Those who do never show their faces in public again. Your time’s up, Stovall. What’s it to be?”
Repulsed by the idea of touching another man, but knowing this was Stovall’s one weak point, Spencer gritted his teeth and reached for the stubby organ. Petrified by the seriousness of Steele’s threat, Stovall shrieked, “No! You can’t!”
Steele’s cold laughter was his answer. Holding his blade securely and reaching for the terrified man’s privates, Stovall yielded before his hand could make contact with that sensitive area.
“All right! There’s a sealed dispatch hidden in the wall over my desk!”
Spencer replaced his knife and headed that way after warning, “If you’re lying, Captain, you’ll rue this day.”
After a few moments of testing the wall for a hollow ring, Spencer smiled in satisfaction. Withdrawing his knife, he pried the board free to reveal the dispatch. Without a care to the royal seal upon it, he severed the binding and withdrew several papers of ivory parchment. He quickly scanned the contents, then smiled in pleasure. He turned to Andy and remarked, “You
know what to do.”
Before the
Black Mist
crew departed the frigate, the entire English crew was sleeping peacefully with the aid of the liquid secured from certain plants from a faraway island paradise. Amidst hearty chuckles, Spencer’s confident gaze eased over the group of slumbrous Englishmen. “That should prevent any heroic idea of following us. Let’s head home, men. You did your usual excellent job: success without any casualties. Put me off near Washington, then get the ship ready to head out again. From the looks of these papers, we’ll be very busy before the new moon.”
Safely aboard the
Black Mist
once more, the black sails were drawn and secured out of sight behind the virgin white ones; the Jolly Roger and name board were returned to their storage place. The crew laughed and joked as they altered the notorious
Black Mist
to the neutral privateer
Wandering Siren.
In the slight evening breeze, the white sails gently fluttered as if content to return to port from a stimulating holiday. Never one to berate the elements or his beloved ship, Spencer reluctantly accepted this sluggish pace which would slow his progress and vital mission to see Madison.
His keen eyes scanned the empty and moonlit horizon in each direction as he made his way to his cabin to study those critical papers. So, Perceval had been assassinated by a lunatic on May eleventh… General Issac Brock, that wily old sea-dog, was in Canada…How much power and influence did those Tory ministers have? How would Jenkinson, Canning,
Liverpool, and Casterlaugh vote? Too damn many variations and factions to consider! It was June fourteenth; surely he could make port by the sixteenth, two days prior to Madison’s deadline of the eighteenth…
Spencer entered his cabin which boasted of his mercurial, strong personality. It was an artistic and intriguing mixture of American, nautical, and English decor. One thing he demanded even at sea was comfort in luxurious style. He poured himself a stiff brandy and lay down upon his large bed, propping himself up with several feather pillows. He rested his head against them and closed his eyes. Things didn’t look good at all, he mused.
He placed his arm behind his head and downed the entire contents of his glass. He set the glass on the wooden table beside his bed and relaxed. It wouldn’t change matters if he read those documents a third time, so he tossed them aside. He picked up the oblong wooden box near his bed and opened it. He pushed aside the velvet covering to reveal a striking painting he had foolishly purchased in Washington months ago. He could still distinctly recall that curious day.
He had been heading toward a shop where secret meetings took place when a painting in the shop window captured his eye. He had stopped immediately and backed up a few steps to take another look at it. He wondered why it had seemed to call out to him to obtain it. He absently moved his nimble fingers over the dried oils upon the surface of the exquisite painting, suddenly annoyed to find himself tracing the
delicate and graceful lines of a lovely and wild sea creature who was seductively poised upon gray rocks at the edge of an ocean. As the colorful waves crashed against those rocks and sent white spray over her lithe frame, she was smiling provocatively as if utterly intoxicated by her freedom and beauty while luring some unseen lover to join her revelry. His eyes sought out her enticing, yet sensually innocent, expression.
Had this mysterious painting had any bearing upon his actions in England by that serene pond? Had Angelique’s resemblance to this dreamy creature provoked him into cunningly seducing her? Was it this mythical creature he had imagined come to life? As if mesmerized by the allure of this fanciful mermaid, he had irresistibly bought the painting that very moment. As if viewing this absurd -act of indulgence as some sign of foolishness and weakness, he had later refused to hang the sensuous wandering siren in his cabin.
With a muttered curse, he flung the box across his bed. If he didn’t know any better, he would swear Angelique had posed for it! To buy a picture of a beautiful dream and then to meet it in the flesh was a little too eerie to suit Spencer Farrington. Damn her for taking away his peace of mind! Damn her mystery and unforgettable aura!
He rubbed his temple as if her dauntless attack still sent forth pain. If ever their paths crossed again, Miss Angelique Whatever would discover what it was to cross Captain Joshua Steele! He grinned roguishly at that delightful speculation, then frowned at its
impossibility. Angelique was just as elusive as that luscious mermaid!