Ocean Pride
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“We will not be leaving until we have the rest of them aboard,” I said to Mr. Farrant, who was waiting beside me with his own crewmen and the men from the two merchant vessels that had been captured in the night. I glanced at the sky where the first rays were now peeking over the horizon. “And even then there is no guarantee of a good day.”
He grunted in agreement as we watched three more ships appear on the distant horizon. One was the same ship, and I guessed she must be one of those he’d sent out to bring back the other survivors. The second one I didn’t recognize.
But it looked very different from her sister—she carried only four masts and a small sail area. It was clear that her design was for long-range rather than high speed, which meant I could see why she had been unable to reach us before our wind had changed direction and brought us home.
The third ship was smaller still, but she was also sailing under an ensign of some sort. She bore the black eagle of Portugal, its wings spread across a field of red. Her figurehead showed a woman with a bow, and she wore armor like the men around her.
“She’s Portuguese,” Mr. Farrant observed after a while. “I wonder if this means Captain de Marchenoir has returned?” He sounded relieved. “That would mean we might be able to escape when we’re free of these ships.”
His words reminded me of how much I wanted to get away from the others and into hiding again. It was true that Captain de Marchenoir had taken my crewmen captive and made slaves, but they hadn’t been harmed by him—and I hoped he wouldn’t have killed or tortured any of the prisoners he’d already caught.
“Captain de Marchenoir won’t give up his prizes without getting something in return,” I assured him. “There’ll be fighting before we reach land, mark my words.”
“Well, then I hope you’ve got plenty of powder left,” he muttered as he walked off toward the other ships. “If we can just keep ahead of him until we make landfall…”
But what about Mr. Farrant? We had lost so many sailors in the night; surely there weren’t enough to man all his ships…
The last thing I saw before leaving him to it was him raising a hand to one of his crewmen, signaling for a round shot to be fired. Then he climbed the rigging and stood watching the approaching fleet for a time before returning to Ocean Pride, where he began shouting orders.
For a while I stood looking over the side at the distant warships, trying to work out how much trouble Mr. Farrant would face if he tried to escape. If he sailed past the pursuing galleons, it seemed likely that they would take the opportunity to board him.
There was nothing to stop them from doing so now that he was outnumbered, and their captain could expect a large ransom for taking him, prisoner.
On the other hand, if he turned and fled northward along the coast, perhaps to the mouth of the river, then it was possible that the Portuguese galley and its escort could catch up with him. In this case, they would try to cut him off from his pursuers and capture him as well.
But the galleys were unlikely to pursue Mr. Farrant too far south since they would want to keep within sight of their convoy of merchant ships. It was more likely that they’d wait at Cape St Vincent to intercept the next ship carrying supplies to the English settlements.
And it wasn’t beyond possibility that they would send one of their own caravels to investigate any strange vessels coming from Europe to this part of the Caribbean Sea…
In the end, I decided to wait and watch for another few hours before giving my decision. As long as I thought that Mr. Farrant’s best hope lay in staying close to the shore, then I had little choice but to stay with him until I had a better idea of where the other ships were heading. If we could just avoid any fighting until we reached shore, we might be able to sneak away unnoticed.
At least, that was the theory.
It was hard to tell how much longer it took Mr. Farrant to finish preparing his ships for action. I was beginning to think he wasn’t going to attempt a break for freedom at all when I saw him raise a telescope to his eye and begin signaling with it, pointing out to sea.
At first, I assumed that he was simply letting his captains know what was happening, but after several minutes I realized he was calling his ships to come alongside each other and prepare for battle.
As I watched, I became aware of the change in the breeze, and the sound of oars dipping against the water. The galleon had been moving closer ever since it spotted Mr. Farrant, and now her sails filled almost perfectly, catching the wind and sending her surging ahead.
Her crew began to beat faster, pushing their oars down through the water with great vigor and skill, and soon it seemed as though she was gaining on us. She came about slowly, bringing her stern to bear, and her gunports were open now, ready to unleash her broadside against us.
Then I noticed that the third ship was following behind, keeping as close as it could to the galleon without losing contact with it. I could hardly see it now, but I knew it had to be there.
Mr. Farrant was still signaling his captains to prepare their guns, but now he seemed to have forgotten all about me. I was tempted to slip away into the jungle once more, but I didn’t know if the galleon would spot me and fire on the ship I was hiding on.
Even if not, it might be a long time before they passed again, and even longer before I found another suitable hiding place. So for the moment, I stayed where I was, crouching low and hoping to avoid detection as the two ships closed in upon each other.
The galleon was a good six or seven hundred yards away now, and I could hear the rattle of the heavy chains and ropes that bound her hull together, and the thud of hammers striking metal as her men prepared themselves to defend their prize.
They must have been expecting an attack from the three ships of the line, for they had already made the deck as smooth as possible, and had rigged a series of platforms along the sides of their vessel to enable them to fight from different places.
Now I could see that they had built a platform between the foremast and the mainmast, as well as a number of wooden catapults that could be thrown by the ship’s crew to attack the enemy.
I could make no sense of what Mr. Farrant was saying now; his orders had stopped being spoken aloud a while back and had begun to be carried out by officers who shouted back instructions instead. I was sure they were planning some sort of maneuver, and it wouldn’t be long before they were ready to try it out. For now, all that remained was a tense, silent vigil.
I could see that the galleon was turning to port, and as she did so she opened up her gunports and brought her broadside to bear against the ships that had pursued her for so long. There was a deafening roar of gunfire as she let loose her whole broadside in a single salvo, aimed directly at the nearest of the three ships.
There was an answering barrage from both our ships, and I could feel the shudder of the deck beneath my feet as our guns fired again. Then I realized that we were aiming our guns not at the galleon but rather at the other two.
It was a smart move – it allowed us to keep firing and not risk getting hit ourselves, while still allowing us to hit the other vessels as well. And I couldn’t help but think how fortunate it was for Mr. Farrant that he’d picked such skilled crews.
I felt certain that this was the last opportunity I’d get to talk to the captain of the third ship. He must have seen me watching him through his telescope because now he raised it slightly to get a better look at me.
His expression changed, becoming more concerned than hostile. I tried to smile reassuringly, and then I made myself as small as I could, curling myself up into as narrow a ball as I could manage. If I had to die here it would be at least a little easier knowing that I’d saved someone else’s life.
I heard one of the crew shout something over the noise of the cannons. “They’re reloading!” he called.
I held my breath, trying to keep the trembling in my legs from shaking me out of my hiding place. The cannonballs from the galleon’s broadside fell far short of where I was crouched, and as I watched I saw the balls fall harmlessly onto the beach below. Then the crewmen began to climb back down, leaving only Mr. Farrant’s officers at the top of their vessel.
The cannonballs were reloaded and fired again, just as they had been before, but this time it seemed like they struck true. The third ship was badly damaged. It began to slowly sink as the water rushed in, and I wondered whether the other two ships were going to follow suit. But they seemed to be holding their own, so perhaps they didn’t need to finish them off quite yet.
Now that the three ships were all firing at each other, Mr. Farrant ordered the sails set. We were going to give chase!
I waited until I was sure the ship was moving forward at full sail before peering around the edge of my hiding place. As soon as I looked out I saw the galleon’s crew scrambling aboard their own ship.
There was no sign of the captain; he must have abandoned it, although I couldn’t imagine why he would do so when he knew there were British warships close by. At any rate, he wasn’t with us, and if I wanted to speak to him I’d have to wait until we arrived in Port Mahon, which might still take another week.
We rounded the headland to starboard and began sailing north. My stomach began to tighten as we approached the harbor; the town itself appeared tiny and insignificant, nestled snugly beside a large natural bay. From what I could see through the morning haze I could see the white cliffs of the coast and a few low rocky hills, but nothing more.
And yet we must have been closer than I thought for we were making much better progress here than we had farther south, despite the fact that the wind was coming mostly from the west, and was less powerful than it had been on our outward voyage. The sails filled easily and the captain kept the ship heading due east towards the open sea.
I could see a small fleet of fishing boats tied up on the docks and a number of large ships already moored to them. The harbor wasn’t very big and there weren’t many people about it, but even so, I was surprised at the lack of activity. There were several sailors standing around in groups, smoking pipes and chatting quietly, but none of them appeared particularly concerned.
A couple of small craft came alongside our own ship, carrying the crewmembers who had been stationed along the beach, while others continued to come aboard in smaller boats. I could tell by the way they were dressed that these were the officers – they wore black coats and red cravats – while most of those still coming aboard were armed and looked to be sailors.
There was only one group of men whose clothing was different from the rest: these were wearing long white linen cloaks and they bore strange metal boxes under their arms. They stood aside from everyone else, apart from a man who seemed to be leading them – he had grey hair, a long nose, and a pointed beard.
I guessed he must be the commander, judging from his uniform; a silver crown was pinned to his chest.
It took only a few minutes for our boat to pull alongside the wharf and for the crew to haul the gangplank over. Once again I found myself struggling up the steep, slippery steps, and once again I had to struggle not to look at the ground.
I made myself walk quickly, keeping my eyes fixed firmly ahead, and I hurried across the deck and down onto the wharf, where a small crowd of people was gathered.
“Ahoy! Ahoy!” cried one of the men. He had a red coat and carried an oilskin bag slung over his shoulder. “Welcome to Port Mahon! What can I do for you?”
I looked around, wondering who he was talking to. Everyone else appeared to be locals; no foreigners were visible. But then I caught sight of the grey-haired man. He stood near the rear of the crowd, his gaze directed downward, as though he was looking directly at me. I felt a shiver pass up my spine and I stepped forward, feeling very nervous as I approached him.
“Good day,” I said politely. “What is your name?”
He blinked his eyes rapidly, then turned away from me without speaking. I hesitated, unsure of what I should say next. But just then the crowd parted and I saw that we were surrounded by soldiers. Two men were carrying a stretcher between them, which contained some sort of heavy wooden contraption. A pair of hands reached out from behind me and touched mine.
“Captain Aubrey!” said Mr. Bowles, smiling broadly. “You’re looking well!”
The End