H.M.S Valor Read online

  “I’ll not be having anything of this sort on my ship!” a voice shouted out from behind LeMeux as he pulled Omibwe up the last step onto the deck. He turned to see the Captain; head still bandaged with a trail of dried blood striping the side of his bearded face. He held Omibwe’s father in front of him, a pistol in hand pointed at the African man’s head. “You all drop your weapons. Doctor. Don’t even breathe a word to them. I know you speak their savage tongues, when I get them all back in their cells, you’re a dead man. This is your doing, I should have listened to Mr. Sprague, he wanted to open your throat in the first place.”

  Omibwe struggled against his board crutch leaning onto it for support in between the doctor and where is father was held by the Captain. A moment elapsed, Omibwe looked down at the blood streaked cutlass LeMeux had dropped onto the deck just moments ago. None aboard dared move, until the Captain’s rage boiled over.

  “So be it! Kill the lot of them!” he shouted, firing his pistol. Omibwe saw his father’s head jerk sideways from the impact of the ball. A shower of blood splattered the deck and his lifeless body crumpled, thudding onto the planks. The Captain turned his pistol in hand and swung it like a club at LeMeux, taking no notice of Omibwe as he dove for the cutlass on deck. The Captain’s pistol butt connected with LeMeux’s jaw causing him to stumble backwards, falling down the ladder well leading into the belly of the ship.

  The fall jarred LeMeux and he fought to grab the steps on his way down, failing he collided with the deck below. His vision doubled over, and his head spun, the doctor placed his hand on the crown of his scalp and felt warm, sticky blood oozing from a gash. Gathering his strength, he fought his way back up the steps, crawling hand over hand trying to gain traction with feet that wouldn’t fully obey his command. His ears rang with a deafening tone that all but drowned out the noise of the battle above. When his eyes crested back over the edge of the deck, LeMeux caught a glimpse of Omibwe. Sitting atop the bloodied body of the Captain, Omibwe hacked with the cutlass relentlessly. The Captain raised his arms to shield himself and a downward blow from Omibwe quickly separated his right arm from the elbow down. Then with a following slash into the man’s face and throat, and another followed by another. The Captain went limp, blood pouring out onto the deck of the Gazelle. LeMeux pulled himself up the last step and onto the deck, turning he could see the other side of the battle unfolding. The four sailors from the rigging had stubbornly remained perched high above the deck. Meanwhile only a scant few of the Gazelle men remained, outnumbered by the uprising twice over.

  On the horizon to the west, unnoticed by any soul on the deck of the Gazelle, sails appeared on the horizon with the eastern coast of Jamaica stretching out behind them. The sailors aloft in the rigging took notice and began to split their attention between the battle unfolding on deck and the sails moving against the backdrop of the island. When the two ships closest unfurled their black banners, the four men up in the rigging sounded down to the deck with alarm, “Pirates! Two of those ships out there are flying the black!”

  The three remaining sailors on deck took to the rail, cautiously watching for an attack from the Africans. LeMeux passed friend and foe alike to run to the bow of the ship, looking out over the expanse of sea separating them from the spotted ships. One look confirmed, the two ships closest to them were flying black banners. Though they were miles from the nearest one, the sound of echoing cannon fire floated in against the breeze at their backs. For a moment everyone on the Gazelle looked out of the water, seeing more sails appear from a cove in the island shore.

  “Whoever wins that fight, it won’t matter for us. If we get caught up by either side, we are doomed!” one of the sailors in the rigging shouted down. “We need to get this tub sailing somewhere else!”

  “If those are the Royal Navy...” LeMeux began to reply.

  “You’ll be hanged as a mutineer, use your head man!” the sailor cut him off. “Take the helm and get us turned, hard a larboard. We can sort out what to do with the ship away from here, with our heads still attached to our bodies and our necks not in a noose.”

  The doctor made his way to the helm and began making a hard turn. The Gazelle lurched with the turning of the wheel. Off in the distance the reports of cannon fire continued while a front of dark clouds crept slowly across the southern skies. For the moment an uneasy truce seemed to settle in on the Gazelle, each of the African captives weary to let down their guard and the sailors cautiously returned to the business of handling the ship.

  Chapter 7

  H.M.S Valor

  15 Sept 1808

  18 Degrees 2’ N, 76 Degrees 16’ W

  The H.M.S Valor had turned hard southward just off the baby opening, her guns run out, men all at their battle quarters awaiting further orders. Below deck Lieutenant Shelton’s voice could be heard, “Steady now men, hold fire, no wasted shots.” Grimes took a small moment of joy, his father would have been proud of the lad, he thought to himself. Looking out over the larboard rail, Captain Grimes could see the approaching ships, their black flags billowing in the wind. Off the stern of the Valor, Admiral Sharpe’s fleet lay at anchor within the bay. At first sighting, Johnathan had been relieved to see friendly ships who could aid him in an engagement. After reconciling charts and the size of the bay opening, with the direction the wind was blowing, he soon realized there was no way for the ships to exit the bay. At low tide they could only traverse the center of the bay opening without risking running even one of the frigates aground. With the wind coming stiff from the east an attempt to do so would put the ship ‘In Irons’, headlong into the wind with no way to propel themselves forward. The tide was on its way in, but by the time there was enough depth to traverse the mouth of the bay at angle the engagement would likely be over, for better or worse. They could offer fire support from their cannons, but with no maneuver capability they weren’t much better than helpless bystanders, especially if the enemy vessels kept out of their fields of fire. To complicate matter further, the damage the Valor had sustained in the previous nights’ storm rendered her at a significant disadvantage in maneuverability. Something Johnathan would sorely need trying to engage two ships who had the advantage of the wind. Their options were limited and narrowing with every passing moment. Glancing over at Lieutenant Pike by his side, Grimes steeled himself for the coming engagement.

  “William, the rest of the fleet is wind locked in that bay at least until high tide. Even then they will present a nice target until they have full wind out in open water. I suspect Admiral Sharpe will attempt to provide us some aiding cannon fire, but we should presume nothing. If they bear southward, as I believe they will, we will need the fastest broadsides our gun crews have ever put out.” Grimes rattled his orders.

  “Aye Sir. We are in sight of the Endurance, shall I have any signal flags run up?” Lieutenant Pike asked.

  “Yes, signal the flagship to inquire after tea lad.” Grimes said flatly.

  “I’m sorry Sir. Did you say tea?” Will asked, twisting his face in confusion.

  “Yes lad. Tea, and let me know the response. That will be all Lieutenant.” Grimes answered. His tone belied no further illumination on the issue, nor did it leave the impression he would elaborate any further if pressed. But Johnathan Grimes had served at length with Admiral Elliot Sharpe, aboard the same vessels and within the same fleet. The two men were of like mind and though every single sailor may question the meaning of the signals being passed, Johnathan knew Elliot would understand exactly what he meant. It was not tea he was asking about; tea had not been on his mind since he left port in England and tea was not the burning question he desired to ask.

  As the two frigates approached Admiral Sharpe let off a single cannon shot sending a massive twenty-two-pound projectile hurling through the air. The cannon shot struck the sea ahead of the northern ship sending a plume of water skyward. Nimbly, the pirates in the ship closest to the impact adjusted their course. Bow chasers of both approaching vessels answer
ed his fire, but their shots were concentrated toward the Valor and accurately fired as Johnathan observed.

  “Long nines on their bows. William, we will be in their range before they are in ours.” Grimes said flatly, then silently to himself he wondered if he should sheet his sails and run south to try and gain advantage through maneuver. The Captain shared a tense and grave look with his second in command.

  “Sir. We could run up max elevation and range them on their way in. Perhaps even score hits before they can bring a full broadside to bear.” William offered.

  “Aye, do that and check if we have a response from the flagship.” Grimes replied.

  “We do Sir. The Admiral signals back in the affirmative.” William answered his voice betraying his confusion.

  “Very well, don’t concern yourself with it lad. I’ll explain it all later,” said Grimes, “Focus on our situation for now. We may take a few here, but once they’re in range we need to get repeating fire out and quickly. They’ll lose their taste for it. These buggers don’t often have a stomach for a real fight.”

  “Yes Sir, I’ll be below then, assisting Mr. Shelton with the gun crews.” William replied as he turned to head below deck.

  Elliot has answers, Johnathan thought after hearing the reply to his signal flags. At the conclusion of this engagement he would surely get some answers to the questions that had been nagging him for weeks.

  The impact of a cannon shot sent the crew of the Drowned Maiden reeling, Captain James was on the bow and looked in toward the shore through his looking glass. “Bear us off away from those guns,” he called to the helm. The ship they were approaching had turned southward and looked to be making a stand against the coast, guns run out and ready for action. No smoke reported a shot from any of its guns though. James scanned north toward the mouth of the cove they had run by the night before. There were three ships inside the bay. Two frigates and a massive line ship,

  “Look at this Chib, likely some lofty Admiral type is sitting on that, powdered wig and all that.” James mused, handing his glass over to his first mate.

  “Aye, she’s a big one. Likely fourth rate, maybe a third. Two gun decks. She’s the one who fired, she’ll have big guns. Twenty pounders, maybe even twenty fours. Captain, we’d best steer long clear of that beast and give her wide berth if she makes her way out of the mouth of that bay there. We get caught by one of those broadsides and we are all dead.” Chibs said over James’ shoulder as he was looking through the glass.

  “They’re wind locked in that bay Chib, you ought to have figured that before me.” James replied quizzically.

  “Yes Captain. But if we get into it with that frigate and they manage to slip out, we’re fit to be tied, by the neck.” Chibs answered, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. He knew his captain and James was not likely to shy away from an engagement. Unless it was spelled out very plainly and even then, it would be difficult to dissuade him.

  “We’ll make a pass at the frigate then, Chib. Lay what fire we can on her and see if we can draw her out.” James offered.

  “Aye Captain. We’ll make a pass then.” Chibs stroked his white whiskers as if it somehow would soothe his anxieties.

  “Chib. Let’s open up with the bow guns on our way in.” James added.

  “Aye Captain. That’ll be a good start for it,” Chibs replied. Chibs had the bow gun crews on the Maiden begin firing and soon after the Unholy Shepherd began firing her bow guns as well. Through sporadic smoke clouds from the forward cannons, the frigate ahead grew larger and larger as the distance closed. Each round from the approaching pirates honed in on their target and it wasn’t long before splintering wood signaled their accuracy.

  James stood onto the larboard rail and shouted over to the Unholy, “Bear off south and give them a broadside! We’ll follow you up with another!” His shouts were met with acknowledgment and cheers aboard both vessels, cut short by an impact on the Maiden from one of the defending frigate’s guns. Wood splinters flew from the impact on the bow, narrowly missing Chibs but wounding several who were standing near him. The next shot impacted on the Shepherd’s larboard rail and screams from the wounded could be heard floating between both ships. Captain James was bloodied by a large splinter lodged in his right upper arm and another low on the side of his left hip.

  The musket fire came next, it started with a volley that swept the decks of both ships but was largely inaccurate. Then a trickle of individual shots followed, intermittent and accurate. On the decks of the Maiden and Shepherd sailors all took cover wherever they could and returned the musket fire with their own. Then the Shepherd made her turn south. In a series of successive cannon shots, she dealt a deadly hand of accurate fire. The returning fire blew away the deck rail in two spots and then ceased as calamity broke out aboard the navy ship. The impacts of the Shepherd’s shot tore into their target, blasting into their gun deck, maiming crew aboard and severely damaging their larboard rail. A single cannon shot found its mark on the foresail mast, boring out a gaping wound and splintering shards all across her bow. Moments passed, the sweeping turn of the Maiden brought her battery to bear on the Navy frigate and she unleashed her broadside almost in unison. Shot tore into the gun ports, blasting wood and metal, maiming sailors all across the gun deck. What was left of the larboard side of the vessel was shattered in the volley. As the Maiden slipped away moans and cries of the wounded on the battered ship were drowned in furious shouts and cheers and taunts from the victorious pirate crews.

  William opened his eyes, sunlight filtered through clouds and rigging lines shone into his eyes and he winced. He was laying flat on his back and all around him sailors cried out. Wailing cries of the wounded floated over shouted commands and responses from sailors trying to recover from the attack. His head spun and pounded, he tried to get to his feet but found his strength failed him. He rolled to his side, coughing and retching he pressed himself up onto his hands and knees. A sailor seeing his Lieutenant on the deck stopped and abruptly pulled William to his feet,

  “Sir! We all thought you dead.”

  “Where is the Captain?” William asked.

  “He was on his way forward when they let fly with their broadside. I haven’t seen him since,” the sailor replied, “Do you have orders for us Sir?”

  “A damage report and have any Officers you see meet me forward. I’m going up to see to the Captain.” William said, still gasping through his speech.

  “Aye, Sir,” the sailor answered as William stumbled his way forward to the bow. Much of the larboard rail was blown away and the deck was in tatters in several places. After a few moments of stumbling, William found his steps coming easier. A warm oozing alerted Will to a wound on his side. His jacket was torn and reaching his hand into the tear to check his wound brought a wave of pain that almost dropped him back to the deck of the ship. He pressed on toward the bow of the ship, searching through sailors dead and wounded scattered across the deck.

  “Will!” cried out a man hunched over the starboard rail. His shirt was covered in blood and his hair undone and obscuring much of his face, but William could see it was his Captain.

  “Captain Grimes! Are you alright Sir? Let me see to your wounds.” Will said, reaching in to help Johnathan stand.

  “I’ll be fine. A few cuts and a chunk of the Valor in my shoulder. Most of this blood belongs to the lad who was next to me. Where are they Will? Are they coming about?” Grimes asked in a growl. The ships, Will hadn’t even given thought of the possibility of them coming around for a second exchange. He stood, looking out over the bow he could see the sterns of both pirates. Their black banners billowing through the westerly winds. Both were full rigged and making sail south, no sign of turning to finish the engagement. Off in the distance, a third ship was making her way south as well, though no banner flew from her stern lines.

  “No Captain. They’re full tilt southward. There’s another ship out there also.” Lieutenant Pike answered, pointing out over the w
ater as Grimes looked.

  “Damn them Will. I erred and they did not let it slip. We shall not give them the same chance again. What of our dead and wounded?” Grimes grumbled as he looked out at the ships beating hastily away.

  “I’ve asked for a damage report, I’ll go see to it Sir and be back to you.” Will said stepping off to begin getting the ship back in sorts.

  “Lieutenant Pike.” Grimes called after him.

  “Yes Sir?” Will said turning back quickly. Grimes collapsed onto the deck before he could get out his next command. Will rushed over to the Captain whose wound had been bleeding far more severely than he had let on, he was unconscious, pale as death. Will could barely contain his distress, screaming for the ship’s doctor. Several sailors came and assisted carrying the Captain to his cabin with Doctor Crowsner following behind them. On their way to the cabin Lieutenant Shelton came alongside Will and pulled him away.

  “The foremast has been damaged Sir; we can’t make sail until it has been repaired or replaced. Larboard rail is all but destroyed and there are several holes through the side on the gun deck level. Nineteen souls lost right now, another twelve wounded not including the Captain,” the young man looked at Will’s side oozing blood, “Or you Sir.”