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  Later, when the processing came to a halt for the day, Sir Victor met with Chiswick, Gabe, and Dagan. “Well, Dagan, have you come upon any of the prisoners in which you question their legitimacy?”

  “Aye, one…a corporal who claims to have been taken when Lord Dunmore evacuated. He claims to have been part of the supply column that got cut off. He states he was knocked unconscious when his wagon overturned and when he came to, he was surrounded. His name is Pate and though he claims to never have known a fellow named Keith, I’ve watched them speak in passing far more frequently than any two strangers would normally do.”

  “Do you think they are…of a certain perversion?” Chiswick asked. “They usually recognize one another.”

  This made Dagan smile; some of the crew wondered if Chiswick was a sodomite. “No, I don’t think so. I believe they may have been planted to spy on us as Sir Victor thought.”

  “What do we do?” Chiswick asked.

  “I would hate to ruin a relationship with General Manning by rejecting them,” Sir Victor said, rubbing his brow.

  “Why not take them?” Dagan volunteered. “Once we get back to Barbados put the corporal on the first ship back to England to rejoin his regiment.”

  Now Sir Victor was smiling, “Damme, but that’s a bloody good idea. What about the other bloke? What does he claim to be?”

  “A minister.”

  “A minister?” both Sir Victor and Chiswick asked in unison, neither believing their ears.

  “Aye, that’s his claim. We could leave him in Saint Augustine if you don’t have any other ideas.”

  Sir Victor seemed to be in deep thought then asked, “He’s not ‘Church of England’ is he?”

  “I didn’t ask,” Dagan answered.

  “Let’s ask around before we decide on a course for…the Reverend Keith,” Sir Victor said.

  * * *

  Bart was sitting up when Sir Victor and Dagan arrived at General Manning’s. His colour was much better and he was talking. “What happened to Mr. Jewells?” he was asking Caleb.

  “He’s at home. He’s getting up in age and not as active as he used to be. I think the Virginia winters may be too cold for him.”

  “Yew could give ’im to ’is Lordship for little Macayla to play with. It’s warm year round on Antigua.”

  “Bart! I’m sure Caleb is too attached to the monkey,” Lord Anthony responded quickly.

  “Ape!” Bart interrupted. “Did yew forget it’s an ape? Just think of little Macayla with an ape for a pet.”

  Sir Victor leaned over and whispered to Dagan, “Bart’s on the mend.”

  Seeing the two men come in, Anthony greeted them. “Where’s Gabe?” he asked.

  “He and Chiswick went back to the ship,” Dagan replied.

  “Are we about finished?” Anthony asked.

  “I think one more day, perhaps two, will finish the process,” Sir Victor said.

  “Damn little help I’ve been,” Anthony said.

  “Nonsense, my Lord. You were present for those of nobility or of flag rank. No one would expect a vice admiral to involve himself in the mundane. Besides sir, it was in part your relationship with General Manning that brought this exchange together.”

  Jubal walked in and seeing Dagan called out, as a young man will do. “Dagan. I thought you was gonna take me and Kawliga to see a ship.”

  Before Dagan could answer, Anthony spoke. “I will be glad to take you on a tour of one of the Navy’s finest ships. Your whole family is invited.”

  The youth’s eyes lit up. “Everybody, even Kitty?”

  “Even Kitty.”

  “Hear that, Kawliga, we are going to go see the ship before they have another fight.”

  The others in the room laughed, except Dagan, who caught Andre’s eye. Dagan remembered his uncle’s words from years ago just like they were spoken yesterday: He has the gift; he can see things though he doesn’t know it yet.

  Chapter Twelve

  The prisoner exchange was completed the next morning. The people would soon be ferried out to the waiting ships for the first leg of their journey home. Jubal woke up excited. He’d never been on a ship the size of Peregrine. He did recall with excitement the trip from Beaufort, South Carolina to Norfolk when Gabe had been captured but that had been on small ships.

  Now he was going on a much bigger ship and he was going with a navy admiral. He had talked to Kitty, who had tried to explain that they were all in the same family: Father, Dagan, Gabe, and even the admiral.

  “Then why are we on different sides of the war?” he asked.

  Before this could be answered, Dagan came in with a smile. “You ready for lunch on a king’s ship?”

  Jubal was out the door in a flash. As the family filed out, Dagan lingered then embraced Betsy. “You sure you don’t want to come?”

  “I would love to,” Betsy said as she drew Dagan to her. “However, it would not look good.”

  “I hope we have not caused problems for you and the general,” Dagan replied, concern in his voice.

  “No, everyone understands what has transpired has been diplomatic protocol. We’d be poor hosts not to extend the hospitality of our home, even more so with a sick man involved. I will be glad when this terrible war is over, Dagan. I worry so much. It tears my heart apart to think something may happen to you.”

  “I will survive and I’ll be back,” Dagan whispered.

  “You better,” she replied and they kissed…a deep loving kiss.

  “Dagan!”

  “That’s Jubal. He’s impatient.”

  Betsy smiled as the two broke away. “He’s excited,” she said.

  “I was getting that way myself,” Dagan replied, only to receive a slap to his arm.

  “You sailors, you’re all alike,” Betsy said, feigning anger.

  * * *

  The sides were manned and honours were rendered when the admiral’s hat broke the entry port. However, the person under the hat was a smiling youngster with the admiral in tow. Gabe greeted each as they came aboard. Captains Markham and Jepson had been invited and introductions were made, in addition to Peregrine’s officers.

  Francis Markham smiled at Caleb and whispered, “So this is the lady that tamed the terror of the taverns.”

  A frown creased Caleb’s brow and he replied in a whisper, “Open your mouth and I’ll amputate your wedding tackle.”

  Markham tried to keep a smile on his face as he gulped.

  “So, you are one of Caleb’s randy bunch are you?” Kitty asked.

  This time it was Caleb who gulped.

  “Oh yes! I’ve heard…overheard that is, stories of how the two of you, along with Gabe, were the biggest womanizers in the West Indies.”

  Markham bowed and tried to sound contrite. “I assure you, madam, those stories are over-exaggerated and unfounded for the most part.”

  “Humph,” Kitty snorted. “I wonder where the exaggeration started.” She then smiled and held her hand to Markham, who kissed it. “It’s Francis, is it not, or do you prefer Captain Markham?”

  “Francis is fine, madam, when at social functions.”

  “Do you consider this a social function, Captain?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “Then you may call me Kitty.”

  Nesbit had prepared a feast. The main courses had been cleared away and dessert was being served amid stories of Mr. Jewells running amuck through the riggings, screeching loud enough to raise the dead.

  “This was within a hundred yards of Admiral Graves’ flagship and it being the wee morning hours, mind you,” Anthony interjected.

  A knock at the door quieted the laughter as the sentry announced, “Midshipman of the watch, sir.”

  Gabe stood. He, as well as the other naval officers, knew something had to be wrong: dreadfully wrong to interrupt the admiral’s party.

  “What is it, Mr. Chase?”

  “Lieutenant Davy’s compliments, sir, and he feels that your presence is required
on deck.”

  When his captain didn’t immediately respond, Chase quickly added, “It’s one of our frigates, sir. It has been taken.”

  Gabe didn’t reply but bounded up the ladder and to the quarterdeck.

  “There sir,” Lieutenant Davy said, pointing toward two ships coming up the river.

  Gabe took the offered glass. The lead ship was a brigantine, a damn big brigantine to be sure. Much larger than SeaWolf had been and behind it the British frigate that had been patrolling just off the mouth of the bay.

  “What is it, Gabe?” Lord Anthony had come on deck.

  “It appears our frigate has been taken, sir. I don’t recognize the flag but there is one over our colors. I can’t be sure, sir, but I believe that’s the ship that fired on us.”

  Lord Anthony nodded. “How did it take the frigate? It’s…it’s unthinkable.”

  “Permission to take a boat to inquire about prisoners when they anchor?” Gabe asked.

  “No! We’ll let Manning do that,” Anthony replied.

  The ships were now almost directly off the stern when Lieutenant Davy exclaimed, “Damn! Sir, they’ve thrown a man over the side.”

  “Where’s the sentry boat, Mr. Davy?”

  “Off to larboard, sir.”

  Gabe snatched up a speaking trumpet and shouted his orders. “Go get that man.” He didn’t hear the reply but the boat was being rowed to intercept the swimmer.

  As the ship passed by, Gabe peered at the stern, Tidewater Witch. He’d not forget that name.

  * * *

  The shivering boy stood dripping on the deck as Midshipman Lacy handed him a blanket to wrap around him.

  “Who are you, young sir?” Anthony asked.

  The youth had never even seen an admiral up close and had never been spoken to by one. He was already scared, wet, and cold. He tried to speak but only stammered. It was Bart, who had come aboard earlier that morning, who came to the boy’s aid.

  “Here lad, have a wet. It will warm your innards. Yew look like a drowned rat, you do. Now let’s get you settled down so yew can tell ’is Lordship what happened.”

  The boy calmed down quickly and after downing the glass of brandy, he cleared his throat and spoke. “I’m Cooper White, sir, midshipman on HMS Drake, Captain Cunningham, sir.”

  “Yes, I’ve met your captain. Now what happened so that the ship was taken?” Anthony asked impatiently.

  “I’m not completely sure, sir. I was asleep and when I woke up we’d been taken.”

  Jepson, who was standing close, couldn’t believe his ears. “Gawd boy.”

  “Didn’t you talk to anyone?” Anthony asked.

  “Yes sir,” the boy whimpered. “A bosun’s mate said the ship approached at dawn and had a flag of truce like you did when we met up. Then, suddenly when they were alongside, they sent boarders over. The captain and first lieutenant were shot right off. That’s all I know except to tell you Captain Witzenfeld wanted you to know that it was he that sent you his respects during the squall.”

  “Captain Witzenfeld,” Anthony and Gabe said in disbelief.

  “Aye sir, that’s what he said.”

  * * *

  Lord Anthony called a meeting with his captains and requested Sir Victor’s presence at the meeting. Prior to the meeting, Gabe and Dagan had a chance to speak.

  “It’s not the same man,” Dagan assured Gabe. “I can promise you that.”

  A Lieutenant Witzenfeld had been the third lieutenant on Drakkar. He had been a very sadistic person and had been constantly thinking of ways to make the ship’s midshipman’s lives hell. He was particularly cruel to now Lieutenant Davy and Gabe. Part of his cruelty to Gabe had been due to an embarrassing moment when a smuggler held a knife to Witzenfeld’s neck, threatening to slit his gullet and causing the scared man to lose control of his bladder and piss in his pants. Gabe had come to Witzenfeld’s rescue and allowed the smuggler a choice: die or let Witzenfeld go. If he did the latter, he could go free. The man released his victim who immediately wanted to kill him for embarrassing him so. Gabe refused to allow Witzenfeld to retaliate, stating he’d given the smuggler his word. Witzenfeld was soon transferred and the two did not meet again until they were both assigned to Drakkar. Gabe had suffered much under the man until he went crazy and jumped overboard. Some thought it was because of Dagan. It was known he was the last to speak to the man but several had heard his words: “Careful where thy step, sir. Accidents happen, a misstep could haunt you a lifetime.” Witnesses said the lieutenant turned ghost white pale, screamed at the top of his lungs, and then jumped over the side.

  That had been years ago and no one had thought of the devilish man since. Now here was someone with the same last name raising havoc. How eerie it seemed.

  The officers were all gathered in the captain’s cabin and Nesbit had poured each a glass of brandy. Bart, who was recovering well, was sitting on the leather cushions beneath the stern window while Dagan stood behind Gabe’s chair.

  After hearing Lord Anthony’s narrative of Drakkar’s third lieutenant, Sir Victor cleared his throat and spoke. “Well, obviously there’s a personal vendetta in all of this but let’s look at the other aspects. The man is obviously a traitor to his country and must undoubtedly be a Colonial privateer. I can talk to General Manning about the frigate’s prisoners and even complain about this man Witzenfeld’s tactics. Both when he attacked us when we were under a flag of truce and using the flag of truce as a ruse de guerre. That clearly violates any honourable condition of war. But I know of no instances where a person who was not in the Army, Navy, or Marines was to be punished for such acts. We’ll have to leave it up to General Manning. He’s an honourable man and I’m confident he will do as much as a man in his position is able.”

  Dagan listened to the conversation. He’d let the admiral and Sir Victor talk to General Manning. Protocol demanded it from where they stood. However, Dagan knew it would do little good, if any. When they had finished playing diplomats he’d take action. Not a public action, not one that would bring recrimination on the peaceful exchange of prisoners or to Betsy and the general. But a very private action. For a dishonourable rogue like Witzenfeld, who hurt a woman, it would be no more than shooting a snake. Should he discover his and Betsy’s relationship, Dagan was sure her life would be in danger. No, he’d act…maybe before the general got involved.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Rathskeller had, at one time, tried to cater to the wealthy merchants and sea officers who did their business in and around the Portsmouth Shipyard. It was a respectful rooming house upstairs and a tavern in the cellar. However, when the business day concluded, men of wealth seemed to distance themselves from the waterfront.

  Now the rooming house was a brothel filled with whores from all over the world. Many had been bought and brought to the Skeller, as sailors called the place, by Captain Witzenfeld. Here they would ply their wares until they were so old or so poxed that they couldn’t perform. A few were killed in quarrels with other whores, sickness, or they just happened to be in the wrong spot when men were fighting. More than one had been shot down when they couldn’t move fast enough. This would usually cost the men anywhere from a month to a year’s wages, depending on how young, how pretty, or how well versed the woman was in plying her trade. Nobody was ever arrested or tried for killing a whore. If you ruined the merchandise, you paid for it.

  The sun had barely set when Dagan walked down the crumbling steps to the Skeller. The only fresh air to the place came from the open doorway at street level. At one time there had been several small windows at street level as well, but these had long since been boarded up. The place was dimly lit in spite of a wagon wheel tied to a beam that was circled with candles. Oil lamps were fixed at each of the four corners and behind a well used bar. A narrow staircase in one corner led upstairs but it was roped off and a man with an old-fashioned broad sword sat next to it. The size of the man alone was enough to discourage most who would attempt to
climb the stairs.

  Dagan, dressed as a sailor off any of the merchant ships, made his way to the bar, ordered a wet and made small talk with the man behind the bar until others required the man’s attention. Several wenches sashayed, showing more of their wares than covering them up. The man behind the bar proved talkative after Dagan bought him a mug of ale. When Dagan hinted interest in a particular wench, the man shook his head and whispered, “Poxed wench.”

  Nodding his appreciation, Dagan slid a couple of shillings across the bar, which the man deftly scooped up and into his pocket. After a while, a beautiful black-haired vixen walked down the staircase and spoke to the big man, who motioned Dagan’s newfound friend over. The man returned behind the bar, washed a glass and poured it half full from a private bottle. He carried the drink back to the man, who handed it to the girl. When the man came back to the bar he was sweating.

  “Who is she?” Dagan asked.

  “She is death,” the man whispered.

  Dagan had seen death many times and this girl was not death. She was a beauty, dressed in an outfit that did little to hide her nakedness beneath. She had ample breasts that stretched the material, black hair, dark eyes, and full lips. She was enough to excite any man. She looked, Dagan realized, much as his sister, Maria, had in her younger years. However, Maria had never dressed so…so provocatively.

  Dagan asked again. “Who is she?”

  “She is the captain’s very own. In five years she has never left this building without her bodyguard,” the man said, his eyes pointing to the giant in the corner.

  “Five years,” Dagan whispered. “She must have been a child.”

  “She was not a child for long. The captain had her trained by his best girls in the ways to please a man. When he tires of her, he will sell her to some Chinaman or trade her for opium.”