Peregrine Page 2

  “Thank you sir,” Parks replied as he took the offered chair. “We just got word from a lieutenant in the guard boat, sir; the French has had to anchor.” Seeing the captain raise his eyebrow over this news, he continued. “It seems the tide is low and the water over the sandbar at the channel entrance is only twenty-three feet whereas the French ships draw twenty-five feet. They can’t cross the bar to attack,” Parks said, excitement in his voice.

  Jepson leaned back with his arm behind his head as he listened to Parks’ news. He now rocked forward and slapped his legs with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “I knew there was a God in heaven, Mr. Parks.”

  Parks then produced a sealed document. “The guard lieutenant also brought this by, sir.”

  Taking the paper Jepson could see Lord Howe’s seal. It can’t be sailing orders, he thought and seemed to be a single page folded then sealed. “Have another glass, Mr. Parks, while I read this. Would you care for a cigar?”

  “Thank you, Captain, I don’t mind if I do.”

  Jepson pushed the box of cigars across the table and watched as Parks bit off the tip then opened the door to the lantern and expertly lit the cigar. Humph…boy has got promise, Jepson thought as he broke the seal and read the single page.

  When he finished reading he spoke, “It seems we are ordered to provide passage and render all required assistance to Sir Victor MacNeil from his Majesty’s Foreign Office.”

  “I’ve never met anyone from the foreign office, sir.”

  “I have,” Jepson replied. “In fact this very same gentleman. It seems Gabe…ere, Captain Anthony, he’s Admiral Anthony’s younger brother, was given an assignment much as ours and the two hit it off fairly well. Sir Victor even took part in battling some privateers as I recall. I’ve no concern with this foreign office gentleman.”

  Parks couldn’t help but ask, “I hear you have been ah…close to his Lordship for some time…off and on over the years.”

  Jepson replied, “If you live long enough and stay in the Navy, paths will usually cross here and there.”

  “Yes sir. Would it be imposing, sir, to ask if you would tell me a little about his Lordship; I’ve always heard he was a great man.”

  “Aye that he is, sir, in every way.” Jepson then began his narrative of the times and ships the two of them had served on together, leaving out his saving the admiral’s life.

  Standing on deck, Lieutenant Barry could feel the first drops of an early afternoon shower. Walking aft he could hear portions of the conversation coming through an open stern window. Lucky sod Parks is, he thought, down there rubbing elbows with the captain while I’m stuck on deck in this rain.

  “Mr. Bucklin,” he called to the midshipman on watch. “Run down to my cabin and get my tarpaulin.”

  “Aye sir,” Bucklin replied as he rushed off. If I take my time, he thought, he’ll already be soaked when I get back. The temptation to tarry was strong but the midshipman made it back on deck just seconds before the rain came in earnest.

  “I’ve got my eye on you, young sir,” Barry said, snapping his watch closed.

  A sheepish Bucklin could only reply, “Aye aye, sir.”

  * * *

  For the next eleven days the British and French stared at each other over the sandbar. Lord Howe had formed a second line of defense with four galleys while an old sixty-four and a few small frigates were held in reserve. British General Clifton mounted a five-gun shore battery at the end of the hook to help defend the harbour. Meanwhile Admiral Comte d’Estaing was said to be so frustrated with the inability to get his ships across the sandbar so that he could engage the British that he offered a reward of fifty thousand crowns to any pilot who could lead his ships across the sandbar.

  On the twenty-second day of July a fresh breeze blew from the northeast and a strong spring tide raised the water over the bar to thirty feet. Word was spread throughout Lord Howe’s command and the British prepared to make battle.

  Lieutenant Jepson stood with his glass and watched as the French weighed anchor and hoisted their sails. “Mr. Parks.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Have the weapons broken out and have the men stand by.”

  “Do we beat to quarters sir?”

  “No. The Frogs have to break through Lord Howe’s two lines of defense before we could bring our guns into action, though little good we could do with our pop guns. No, I want the men prepared in case we are needed to augment one of the lines of defense.”

  “I see, sir.”

  “Mr. Parks.”

  “Aye sir,” the first lieutenant replied, turning back to his captain.

  “Have the man with the best pair of eyes sent aloft. I want to be kept abreast of things as they occur. Not told afterwards.”

  “Aye sir, Mr. Bucklin has a good set of peepers. I’ll send him, sir.”

  “Very well,” Jepson replied.

  The sound of boat ahoy stopped Jepson as he started down to his cabin to get his pistols and sword. He was close enough to the entry port to hear the reply from the sentry, Midshipman Robinson’s challenge, “Sir Victor MacNeil from his Majesty’s Foreign Office,” the boatman called up.

  Humph, Jepson grunted. He’d wondered when Sir Victor would make his appearance. Normally a guest of Sir Victor’s magnitude would require honours to be rendered but in the current state Jepson figured Sir Victor would understand the foregoing of pomp and ceremony.

  Lieutenant Parks made his way toward his captain and when Sir Victor made his way on board the two removed their hats and gave a slight bow. Jepson then replaced his hat on his head and stretched out his hand to shake with his guest.

  “Sir Victor, it’s so nice to see you again.”

  Taking Jepson’s hand, Sir Victor replied, “When I saw your name I wondered if it was the same ‘Jep’ Jepson who had served Lord Anthony so well. I’m glad to see you’ve been promoted and given a nice command to boot. Tell me, Captain,” Sir Victor said, using Jepson’s courtesy title, “how’s our friend Bart doing?”

  Jepson couldn’t help but smile, recalling how Bart once had dressed down Sir Victor and let him know in no uncertain terms what to expect if he caused harm to befall either Gabe or Lord Anthony. “He was doing well when we last spoke, sir. Called me a traitor to the men forward by taking this promotion yet he was the one who bought me a new glass.”

  “That sounds like Bart but he’s not one who should point a finger since he’s been aft with his Lordship for so long. He’d probably fall out of his hammock and break his neck if he had to move forward again.”

  In the Navy “forward” was where the common sailors lived and slept while “aft” was for the officers.

  “Mr. Robinson,” Jep called.

  “Sir,” the midshipman answered.

  “Please assist Sir Victor’s man and have his chest placed in my cabin.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Nonsense,” Sir Victor objected but hushed when Jepson quieted his objections by holding up his hand, cocking his head to the side.

  “Deck there,” Bucklin called down in an excited voice. “The French, sir…the French are hauling their wind.”

  Jepson couldn’t believe his ears. He’d fully expected to shortly be engaged in a bloody battle to the end. “Mr. Robinson, my glass, sir.”

  The young midshipman dropped his end of Sir Victor’s trunk as he rushed to do his captain’s bidding. The chest hit the deck with a thud causing Sir Victor’s servant to fall backward. He landed off balance against the bulwark then tumbled over the side, splashing into the harbour’s water below, just missing the longboat. Wincing, the midshipman was torn between fetching the captain’s glass and helping the poor servant below who was crying for help.

  “I can’t swim!” the servant yelled in a frantic voice while spitting out water.

  Finally Robinson grabbed a coil of rope and tossed it overboard, hitting the servant squarely in the face and causing a shout of pain.

  “Hold to the rope,” R
obinson called down, “I’ll be right back.”

  In his haste, the midshipman neglected to secure the other end of the rope before he rushed off. The servant kept pulling on the rope but all he did was unwind the coil. As he bobbed up and down still shouting for help he swallowed more water, causing him to choke.

  “Well damme,” Jepson shouted as he quickly grabbed the bitter end of the rope before it went over the side. Looking at Lieutenant Parks he barked, “Grab a hold. Are we to let Sir Victor’s man drown while lying to?”

  Parks took the rope and by the time Robinson returned they had the dripping servant on deck, a huge whelp on his face where the rope had struck him.

  “Here’s your glass sir,” the midshipman said with a quivering voice.

  Embarrassed, Jepson just glared at the trembling youth. “Mr. Parks,” Jepson growled taking the glass.

  “I’ll take care of it, sir,” the first lieutenant responded as he turned to Robinson. “Have one of the crew take Sir Victor’s servant to be examined by the surgeon, then have a couple of the crew carry Sir Victor’s chest to the captain’s cabin. After you’ve completed these tasks report back to me so that we may discuss setting one’s priorities.”

  Climbing into the shrouds for a better viewing advantage Jepson was able to see the remaining ships of the French fleet as it bore away. Not understanding why the French had not pressed its advantage at high water he was nevertheless grateful to have survived the day. As he made his way back to the deck Sir Victor waited for him.

  “So they’ve set sail?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Humph. Well, they didn’t press the advantage today but I doubt we’ve been spared a taste of their metal. Just postponed, I’d say.”

  “My thoughts as well, Sir Victor, my thoughts as well,” Jepson replied, wondering not when but where they would meet. “A glass, Sir Victor?”

  “By all means, Captain, and if my chest survived that crash on deck I have a couple of good bottles of some French wine. We’ll use it to toast the French admiral.”

  “The French admiral, sir?” Jepson asked.

  “Aye, Captain, to his hurried departure.”

  Then as an afterthought Sir Victor added, “And we’ll raise a glass to a smooth passage to Barbados.”

  Chapter Two

  The Caribbean sun beat down on the island of Barbados. A stiff land breeze did little to relieve the heat but made rowing the admiral’s barge more difficult than usual. Bart, the admiral’s cox’n, snarled at the crew.

  “Ye row like a bunch of laggards off a bumboat.”

  One of the crewmen, braver than his comrades, whispered under his breath, “We’s pulling into the wind.”

  Hearing this Bart retorted, “Ye should be thankful for the breeze what cools ye so on such a warmish day.”

  Admiral Lord Anthony sat in the stern sheets and listened as Bart growled at the barge crew. He must be feeling some malady today, Anthony thought. Bart had not eaten much that morning and he hadn’t been out having a wet or gambling the previous evening. Anthony decided he’d have to keep a weather eye out for his friend.

  “Lord Ragland’s men are already waiting, sir.”

  Deep in thought, Anthony had not seen the carriage arrive.

  “Bart.”

  “Aye sir.”

  “You come with me and send the barge back to the ship.”

  “Aye sir. Up oars,” Bart commanded, then pushed the tiller over as the barge sided up to the pier and a mooring line was expertly tossed over by one of the barge men both forward and aft.

  The slack was taken up and the line was quickly made secure after two or three turns. Lord Anthony stepped from the barge but turned just in time to see Bart hand the senior bargeman enough coins for a wet before rowing back to the flagship. Bart’s way of making up for being grumpy, Anthony thought. A lot of officers could learn from his cox’n, he thought, and then, just as quickly, realized several had.

  Waiting at the carriage, the coachman and footman stood patiently waiting in their fine livery. As Lord Anthony approached, the footman quickly opened the carriage door and placed a white wooden step in front of it to make the entrance easier. The ride to Government House was fairly short but by the time a person walked the distance their clothes would be wet and clingy from perspiration.

  “So, Sir Victor is back stirring up things is he?” Bart said.

  Anthony couldn’t help but smile. While Bart didn’t exactly dislike the foreign office fellow he didn’t go out of his way for him.

  “Now Bart, Sir Victor is a fine sort. Why, he even made sure you were invited to our meeting today.”

  “Wants to keep ’is eye on me ’e does. Scared I might bounce a belaying pin off ’is ’ead for all the trouble ’e brings us when ’e’s around.”

  “Well, I expect you to treat him as befitting a man of his office,” Anthony replied firmly.

  “Oh, I intends too.”

  “Bart!”

  Taking a deep breath Bart replied, “I know, the bugger’s a King’s officer.”

  “He’s not a bugger, Bart.”

  “How yews know?”

  “I know, Bart, we were at this party…”

  “Whoa! Whoa!” The driver stopping the horses interrupted Lord Anthony’s explanation.

  The footman was down and had the door open. Seeing Bart was all ears made Anthony chuckle.

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  “Damme,” Bart snorted. “Have me beat to quarters then tells me to stand down before I even catches a glimpse of the enemy.”

  The doorman was waiting and as Anthony and Bart entered Government House he made a noise. “Ahem! Perhaps your man could follow me, your Lordship.”

  Not liking the little man’s snooty attitude, Anthony replied, “And perhaps he’d rather not.”

  Realizing he’d committed an error in judgment, the doorman cocked his head and gazed at Bart. “As you say, my Lord; Lord Ragland and Sir Victor are waiting.”

  As the man attempted to lead them down the hall Anthony spoke, “We know our way. I’m sure you have other duties that need your attention.”

  The man did an about face that would have made any sergeant happy. Once he was past earshot Bart looked at Anthony and said, “Now tell me that one ain’t no bugger.”

  * * *

  Lord Ragland and Sir Victor were sitting casually in the library. As Lord Anthony and Bart entered, the men rose to greet them. After a round of handshakes, Lord Ragland spoke.

  “Sir Victor has presented me with a case of fine hock. We’ve just opened a bottle. Shall I pour each of you a glass?” Without waiting for an answer, the glasses were filled.

  Taking a sip, Bart thought, I’d rather have rum, as he walked over by the window and looked down toward the harbour. He was amazed at the amount of activity on such a sweltering day.

  Lord Ragland started the meeting. “Sir Victor has returned to us requesting assistance from you, Lord Anthony.”

  This caused Bart’s ears to perk up and he turned his full attention to the conversation. Waiting, Anthony did not speak.

  “My reason for requesting your assistance, Lord Anthony, is I understand you have firsthand knowledge of Saint Augustine and at one point knew several of the prisoners held there.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Good,” Sir Victor replied. “We are at a point where negotiations have been agreed upon to have a large prisoner exchange. However, the agreement was reached before the French entered the war. Now we have several…shall we say…key officers and officials that we would like to have back in our fold before the French have time to influence the exchange.”

  Spies he means, Anthony thought.

  “However, we can’t make our desires for these certain people known. We will, therefore, be exchanging a number of prisoners in all aspects. Officers, government officials, enlisted men, sailors, and so on. We want a man of sufficient rank to represent his Majesty. That is to be you, Lord Anthony. How
ever, we want someone with, say, a more common knowledge of the average soldier or sailor so they won’t be able to slip in an agent or two. Bart, that’s where you come in. From our previous conversations I feel you can spot or flush out a government agent as well as anyone.”

  Bart couldn’t help but recall his not too friendly conversation with Sir Victor in a tavern one afternoon. Without replying, Bart just nodded.

  Lord Anthony had heard of the Colonial General George Washington’s cadre of spies. Many of them were able to fit into various walks of life and had a variety of social skills. Bart would be as good a choice as anyone to flush them out, with the possible exception of Dagan.

  “When we do depart?” Anthony asked.

  “Soon, my Lord. The exchange is scheduled to take place in Norfolk, Virginia, in September. This place was chosen as sort of a halfway point for us to meet. A Colonel Manning will be the Colonial officer in charge of the exchange.”

  Anthony nodded again. It has to be the same Manning I met some time ago in Saint Augustine, he thought, a man of substance and honour.

  “You will, of course, stop in Saint Augustine and pick up the Colonial prisoners to be exchanged,” Sir Victor was saying.

  “When I was there before, a lot of families were being held along with their servants.”

  “Yes, that’s my understanding as well,” Sir Victor replied.

  “How many prisoners are we talking about?” Anthony asked.

  “Approximately three hundred all together, but of course we don’t as of yet have the exact total as family members and servants haven’t been counted yet.”

  “Damme, sir, but that is a large exchange.”

  A knock on the door interrupted the conversation. It was one of Lord Ragland’s clerks who entered, leaned forward, and whispered to the governor. Once the clerk had departed, Lord Ragland rose.

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen. Other matters require my attention.” Seeing he still had a swallow of hock he lifted his glass. “A toast, gentlemen, to a swift and successful exchange.”

  After the toast was drunk, Ragland spoke again, “We will, of course, prepare a formal reception for Sir Victor. I will see your invitations are sent forthwith, Admiral. Now, gentlemen, I must take my leave.”