The Seahorse (5 page)

Chapter Seven

Anthony and Lord Ragland had attended the Royal Theater and were discussing the play they'd seen. “You never know when we'll get the chance to see such a play,” Ragland said, encouraging Anthony to go along.

Finally Anthony gave in and the two attended one of the best plays he could remember seeing. It had been put on by an Italian opera group. Not only was it good but it also was long. Lord Ragland had drunk so much wine that once the play ended and he was packed into the coach, he slumped over apparently out.

Bart climbed in a seat next to Anthony, passing him a pouch of tobacco. “Try this,” he said. “Man swore it would burn slow so your pipe wouldn't get hot and it won't bite yer tongue. It doesn't smell half bad either.”

Anthony had lit up his pipe and was amazed at how refreshing it was. “Not English tobacco,” he said to Bart.

“Nay. Better, much better.”

Then the two sat back against the seat pulling the coach blanket over them. The only light in the dark coach came from the tiny embers inside the bowls of their pipes. The coach moved along at a good clip down the largely deserted streets in the early a.m. hours. One or two other coaches rushed along trying to get home before the temperature dropped further. Small puffs of tobacco smoke escaped the coach's windows and horses hooves clapped on the cobblestone streets.

“Whoa! Whoa!” the driver shouted.

The wheels and horses were sliding on the dew-damp street. A carriage had darted out in front of the coach so the driver had to stop quickly or wreck. One of the lead horses lost its footing and fell. Bart tried to open his door but the coach in trying to stop so quickly had slid up against one of the street lamps. From up on the driver's box, you could hear curses and shouting, then a pistol shot. The shouting suddenly ceased. The three standing horses danced nervously in their harnesses.

The driver lay on the dark street groaning and gasping. The downed horse was finally able to right itself but stood wild-eyed not sure what was happening.

Several men appeared at the coach's door on Anthony's side. One of the men snatched open the door and jerked Anthony and Bart out onto the street. He had a mask over his face as did the rest of the men. However, he was the only one showing a pistol…a brace of pistols. One of them was still smoking from shooting the driver.

“Stand there,” the masked man ordered. “Stand and deliver.”

“Are you mad?” Anthony exclaimed. “I'm an officer in His Majesty's Navy.”

This brought laughter from the highwayman. “'E said you was a lofty bugger.”

“Who said that?” Anthony demanded.

“Ye jus never mind now,” one of the other villains chimed in. “Ye's got a 'andsome reward on yer 'ead. We gets yer valuables and a reward. Be on wid it mate so's we can get going.” This came from a man standing by the carriage.

Pulling Bart up close by his collar, the highwayman's hand went under his great cloak and whipped out a dagger and cut a fine red line across Bart's cheek.

“Now 'and it over or the next one will be 'is gullet. Quick now, your money purse, rings, and any other valuables or 'e dies.”

“We're dead already,” Bart spat.

“Right you are, matey,” the rogue said with a laugh. Then his head exploded.

Blood, brain, and bone sprayed Bart. However, being a man of action he snatched the pistol from the dead man's belt before he hit the ground. Turning, he fired and one of the rogues hit the street, blood oozing from a hole in his chest.

The other man jumped into the carriage that had blocked their way. The driver who had been silent laid the whip to the horses and they took off. By this time Lord Ragland had descended from their coach. He calmly tucked his left arm behind his back, took aim with the pistol in his right hand, and fired. The shot echoed in the still night air and a scream was heard. The man that jumped into the carriage to make his escape now lay on the hard, cold cobblestones. The carriage with the driver dashed on into the darkness.

Damme,
Anthony thought looking at Lord Ragland with renewed respect.
No wonder he's won so many duels. The man has ice water for nerves.

Lord Ragland shot the first rogue in the only place he could without fear of hitting Bart…the head. A head shot from ten paces, drunk and minimal lighting. He then shot another man at thirty paces from a racing carriage.

“Well, damme,” Anthony said aloud. “It was a poor showing I put on.”

“At least you and Bart had your wits.”

Bart was tending to the driver of their carriage. He'd been shot in the shoulder and a handkerchief was used to staunch the flow of blood. Several lights were appearing in windows along the street and a few of the more curious ventured out. A couple of watchmen were now on the scene and someone had sent for the constable. A doctor had also been sent for.

Sitting back in the coach waiting on the constable, Ragland spoke quietly to Anthony. “Do you recall the remark about a reward on your head?”

“Aye. I haven't forgotten. I wish we'd been able to learn more. Whoever it is went out of their way to make it look like robbery rather than murder.”

“Well, it's glad I am to be putting to sea again,” Bart chimed in.

“I agree with that,” Ragland replied. “It'll do no harm to get out of the country for a while.”

“I wonder,” Anthony replied, deep in thought. “I wonder.”

Chapter Eight

Lord Anthony looked at Bart all decked out in his new Admiral's cox'n uniform. His others had faded from being continuously washed at sea in salt water. Regardless of the new blue jacket with gilt buttons, nankeen trousers, and brass buckled shoes, Bart still looked like a rugged old salt. His hair was starting to show a little salt and pepper but that did little to disguise the fearsome appearance of the man.

“Well, Bart, you ready to go down and greet our captain?”

“Aye,” the cox'n replied, “I'm ready to see yews flag flying again. It should be at the fore I'm thinking and will be before long iffen them block'eads at the Admiralty can put down their wine glasses and get out of some wenches' beds.”

“Bart…you're talking about his Majesty's officers.”

“More like 'is Majesty's bumpkins and that's no error.”

Turning to look in the mirror, Anthony straightened the new epaulettes on his shoulders.
Would he ever see the single star replaced by two stars? Was the thought of Vice Admiral only a dream?

“Time to go,” Bart said, breaking Anthony's train of thought.

He was dining with his officers here at the George Inn. It was a chance to meet each of the captains in a neutral environment. That was a trick his father had taught him and one he'd passed on to Gabe. Tomorrow he would go aboard his new flagship for the first time. Then it would be only a matter of days before they set sail.

A knock on the door caught Anthony off guard and made him jump as he'd been reaching for the knob when the knock occurred.

“Jittery, ain't yew,” Bart said.

“Hush, damn you.”

“There ye go again taking out yews nerves on a poor jack tar.”

Bart then opened the door to find Gabe standing there. He thumped at Gabe's shiny epaulette.

“How long you reckon that swab'll stay shiny?”

“About as long as those new buttons I say,” Gabe replied. “Damn if they wouldn't make a fine target.”

“We's already been a target,” Bart said.

“So I've heard.” Then turning to Anthony, Gabe said, “Any thoughts on who may be behind this?”

“No,” Anthony answered. “I wish I did. Then we'd be on an equal footing.”

Reaching into his coat pocket, Gabe took out a letter. “This arrived this morning from Dagan. Look at the date.”

The letter had been written over two months ago. Dagan was fine, he'd enjoyed his visit with Uncle Andrea, and Caleb was going to marry Catherine. Then the last paragraph…the interesting part: “I feel dark days ahead. Days filled with danger for all of us.” He went on to say he'd arranged passage with a merchantman and would meet the squadron in Barbados. Gabe could see the surprise on Anthony's face.

“How did he know?”

Gabe only shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

“How does he always know?” Bart said, more a statement than a question. “He does and that's all that matters, I'm thinkin.”

“You're right,” Anthony replied, then reached for the door. “Let's not keep our guests waiting.

***

The evening meal progressed nicely. Lord Ragland, as the guest of honour, sat on Anthony's right with Captain Buck on the left. The rest were seated not by seniority but according to the first available chair. This was as planned.

Thomas Fletcher was in command of the sixty-four gun,
Intrepid
, which had just completed a three month overhaul. He had been in command of the ship for three years and had until recently been stationed at Gibraltar.

Francis Markham, who was a good friend and old shipmate, had just been given command of the squadron's other frigate,
Dasher
. Markham's father was a vice admiral so Anthony was sure his appointment had a lot to do with that. Not that he wasn't a good officer…he was. He and Gabe had been friends since they were mids together on
Drakkar
. He'd once been Anthony's flag lieutenant. He was a reliable man and Anthony was glad to have him.

Ambrose Taylor and Hayward Hallett, as was Jem Jackson, were lieutenants with their first commands. All three had good records as first lieutenants and had sterling recommendations. Jem Jackson was another proven commodity. Anthony was sure the ketch,
Viper
, would be well commanded. The
Alert
and
Ferret
were as new as the lieutenants who commanded them.
We'll see how they measure up
.

As the meal was finished and cigars and pipes were lit, Lord Ragland stood up. “Gentlemen, it has been a pleasant evening, but the morrow promises to be filled with government bureaucracy, so I bid you goodnight with a final toast.
To wives and
sweethearts...may they never meet
.”

This brought whoops and laughter, as Ragland knew it would. Soon the captains thanked their host and made their way back to their ships. Bart had ducked out earlier and made sure each of the boat crews had a wet to keep them warm. As he returned he overheard Gabe's offer for Anthony and Bart to stay at his mother's home.

“When Deborah arrives we will, but for now I'll stay here. I think I'll be safe. Bart will be here.”

That's no error
, Bart thought.
He'll be as safe as I can make him
.

***

The Admiral's barge was now in sight of
HMS SeaHorse
…Lord Anthony's new flagship. Anthony could already see men moving about. They were dressed in navy blue and the scarlet red of the marines. Soon he'd be back in his world. Then eyeing Bart he changed his thought…
our world
.

The barge's bow hit a small rogue wave and it caused the barge to veer to larboard momentarily.

“Careful,” Bart whispered, his hand on Anthony's arm for balance. “They're watching.”

That's Bart, always at my side, always looking out for me. What would he do without Bart? What would England do without all the Barts in the Navy? They were the real backbone of the fleet.

“She flies pretty today,” Bart said, pointing to Lord Anthony's flag flapping away at the mizzenmast.

The bowman stood as they were now almost alongside
SeaHorse,
his boats hook at the ready.

Tom Blood, Buck's cox'n, was at the tiller and he eased it over slightly. “Ready bowman,” he bellowed. The oars were tossed and Blood removed his hat.

Anthony looked at the cox'n with a quick smile on his face. “Thank you, Blood. That was done handsomely.”

Blood caught a glimpse of Bart, who nodded his approval. “Smart turnout,” Bart said.

Tucking his sword behind his leg so he wouldn't trip, Anthony then waited for the swell to lift the bow of the barge. He leaped as Buck looked down anxiously waiting until he saw his admiral climbing up the side. Anthony made his way into the entry port as the marines came to attention. With a slap and click of muskets they presented arms.

Bayonets glinted in the morning sun. The morning stillness was broken with the sound of “Heart of Oak” by the drums and fifes. Buck was there smiling from ear to ear. Anthony noticed the smells first—friendly smells to a sailor—tar, oakum, paint, new canvas…the smells of a ship.

Glancing about the deck Anthony was impressed. The crew was nicely turned out. The cannons with all their tackles and gear were in perfect alignment. The decks were immaculate. The sails were tightly furled with snug gaskets. He expected nothing less and apparently neither did Buck.

“I'm impressed, Rupert,” Anthony said, using Buck's given name. “It's a fine ship.”

Then as they walked toward his cabin, Anthony paused here and there speaking to familiar faces. Lieutenant Lamb, now Buck's first lieutenant, the bosun, May, Marine Captain Dunlap and his second in command of the Marines, Lieutenant Bevis. Then as Anthony walked aft he stopped and turned. He recognized that face, older and more filled out and weather-beaten.

“George Jepson,” he said. “Is that you?”

“Aye, My Lord.”

Stepping back he eyed the man. It had been a lot of years. Jepson had just made master's mate and Anthony was a young lieutenant. He and Bart had been mates. Now here Jepson was wearing the uniform of a warrant. Not just a warrant but also the master of
HMS SeaHorse
.

“Well, damme. Where's Bart? Off loafing, no doubt.” Looking toward the entry port Anthony could see Bart helping his flag lieutenant. Instantly he regretted his words.

Everett Hazard had turned into an excellent flag lieutenant, in spite of having only one arm. The other arm was lost in combat. Turning back to Jepson he shook his hand.

“Captain Buck, you have a life saver as your master. A squall would have taken me over the side but for the strong arm of your master. Yes sir, without Jepson's quick action it would have been another admiral hoisting his flag here today, for I'd be keeping company with ole Davy Jones.”

“It was nothing, sir,” Jepson said, uncomfortable with the attention he was being given by the admiral.

Seeing Jepson flush, Anthony changed tacks. “Now let me warn you in advance, Captain Buck. He and Bart were as close as mates could be once so I know the trouble they can get into. It's your ship mind you,” Anthony continued, “but were it up to me I'd have Captain Dunlap post an extra sentry at the spirit locker.”

This caused all those in hearing distance to laugh.

“Jep, you old salt.” Bart had finally made his way aft and recognized his old mate. “Ye still smoking those stinking cigars?”

By way of answering, Jep just tapped his coat.

“Good…good. Let me get 'is Lordship settled in and we'll have a smoke and a wet.”

Hearing this Anthony looked at Buck. “Did I not warn you?”

“Aye, My Lord, you did. It's trouble we have in the making. Maybe we should send ashore for a new master.”

“Look for a good cox'n while you're at it.”

Turning, Anthony ducked beneath the deck head beams. A marine sentry had already been posted. Anthony nodded to the sentry and entered the stern cabin.

“Silas and his assistant are already on board,” Buck volunteered. “As is your secretary, LeMatt.”

Anthony nodded as he looked about.
SeaHorse
was larger than
Warrior
had been. He had a spacious dining table. His desk and wine cabinet had been transferred as had a side cabinet.

Seeing Anthony and Buck enter the cabin, Silas waited until Anthony caught his gaze. “A glass of hock, My Lord, or maybe a cup of coffee?”

Seeing Buck smile, Anthony said, “Our flag captain would prefer a cup of your coffee, I believe.”

A knock and the stamp of the marine sentry's musket made Anthony jump. He'd have Bart inform the sentry of his requirements directly.

“Flag lieutenant, suh,” the marine announced.

“Yes, yes,” Anthony grumbled.

Once in the cabin, Hazard said enthusiastically, “Bloke if ever there was one.”

“Come on in and have a cup of coffee. I'll have Bart talk to the sergeant.”

Sitting down Hazard handed several papers over to Anthony. There was also a sealed dispatch bag and several individual letters. “It appears, sir, a convoy is being put together at Plymouth and we've been given the task of escorting them to the Indies.”

“Damme,” Buck swore. “I was going to put
Seahorse
through her courses and see what kind of sailor she is.”

The three talked on over coffee and finally the subject of the master came up.

“He and Bart were still standing under the poop deck when I came in,” Hazard said. “Catching up on old times.”

“I tried to find Jep when I made captain but he was away at sea,” Anthony said.

“He has blue eyes.”

“What was that?” Buck asked.

“His eyes,” Hazard repeated. “Did you ever see such blue eyes?”

“I've seen them when they were cold blue,” Anthony said. “Not a man I'd cross when he's mad. Jet black hair and blue eyes, a ladies' man till you rile him.”

“I'll bet he and Bart were a handful,” Buck said.

“Aye, I could tell you a few stories about them but there is not another two I'd rather have beside me when the metal is flying.”

“'Cept maybe Dagan.”

“Aye,” Anthony agreed. “'Cept maybe Dagan.”

“Well, it'll do Bart good to have an old mate around to swap sea stories with,” Buck said.

“That it will, Captain, that it will,” Anthony replied.