Chapter Thirty-Two

“I told you this was a daft idea!” Duncan paused amid the frantic preparations to get the Lady Ghost out of Tarpaulin Cove. “By now those lads will have told their tale to the nearest militia men and a dozen armed vessels will be getting ready to give chase. Never mind the cost to Higgins.”

He turned to where their wives were ministering to a shoulder wound on the giant who sat with his back against the mainmast.

“He’ll live. Now, enough bellyaching and guilt laying! Get men on the sweeps. There’s not enough of a breeze to give us speed until we’re well out on the water. With luck, it will take any pursuers a fair length of time to get after us.”

****

“We’ve outrun them!” Duncan MacDougal lowered his glass and heaved a relieved sigh. “I never thought we would make it to open water, with three of them hot on our arse. I have to give it to you, Captain Cameron. You can make this lady fly like a witch and vanish like a ghost.”

“Were you doubting my ability, Mr. MacDougal?” He curled a corner of his lip as he looked over at his mate.

“Never your ability, Captain Cameron, but at times your devil-may-care attitude fair gives me pause.”

“You must be getting old. Once upon a time you would have reveled in a squeaking close escape like today.”

“Not old, just wiser. I have a young wife to think of now.”

“And may I hazard a guess that you think of her far too often?”

“Come on, Cal. Don’t tell me the beautiful Annie Cameron doesn’t haunt your dreams.”

“This is not the time to be discussing our personal lives. Because we’ve outrun our enemies this time doesn’t mean they won’t come after us again.”

****

On June 11, 1813, Caleb stood beside the mainmast and surveyed the horizon. The Lady Ghost lay with sails close furled, waiting to see what the day would bring. He’d have to be careful what ships he challenged, he knew. He had only twenty men aboard, the rest away with prizes.

“Sail, Captain, sail!” A man high in the rigging yelled down to him. “To port, standing out to sea.”

Caleb followed the direction of the man’s outstretched arm and saw it, a sail just where his man had indicated.

“Hold her steady! Best not to make a move until we know what’s coming at us. Mr. MacDougal, make ready.”

“Aye, Captain.”

The crew held the Lady Ghost nearly motionless until the course of the stranger brought her into clear view.

“Good God, Cal!” Duncan came to stand by his captain’s side. “They’re heading dead at us! What in hell…!”

“She’s a large schooner with square topsails.” Caleb squinted through the glass Duncan handed him. “Damn, but there’s something strange about the way she cuts down the distance. This is no merchantman bound for Havannah, Mr. MacDougal. She’s altogether too eager to make our acquaintance.”

Duncan took back the glass and raised it to his eye.

“Sweet Jesus! An American privateer! Captain, orders!” He turned to Caleb.

“All sheets to the wind!” Caleb made a quick decision. “We’ll give him a race if we can’t give him a fight. Mr. MacDougal, order all hands on deck!”

With a thunder of thrashing canvas, banging of blocks, and whine and purr of travelling gear, the Lady Ghost was off and running.

The stranger took up the chase. As she came near enough for a clear view, Caleb saw the Stars and Stripes blowing out from her topmast head and gaff end.

“It’s the Thomas out of Portsmouth, sir,” Doucet yelled to Caleb, his eyes wide. “I saw her on one of my trips ashore. She’s double the size of the Ghost and armed to the teeth. Ten big guns, five to a side, and four more swivels on the rail. May the good God have mercy on us!”

“I never thought to see you show fear, Doucet.” He turned to the man.

“And I don’t now, Monsieur le Captaine, but…the Tom!”

The first of the carriage-guns spoke. A cannonball ricocheted over the waves like a skipping stone to drop into the water within a quarter mile of the Lady Ghost’s bow.

“A twenty-four-pounder, sure,” Duncan yelled.

“Only a twelve,” Doucet estimated. “And if that’s the Tom of Portsmouth, that’s the heaviest she’s got.”

“Certain sure, it’s the Tom! Big and heavy, and no match for the Ghost in a good run,” Munro yelled, and Caleb knew the sailor’s optimistic tone was to hearten the crew after Doucet’s dire pronouncement. “Heave to it, men! We’ll leave those buggers a mile behind in our wake in no time. Let the old cat come, and we’ll trim his whiskers, lads!”

Caleb appreciated his crewman’s rallying cry. Munro was too experienced a seaman not to know their vessel was ill matched against such a mighty vessel, especially at one-third crew, but he wasn’t about to show apprehension.

“Aye!”

Good men. Not a single coward among this crew. I’ve got to do my best for them.

“Our short-range twelve-pounders are useless against this big bastard.” He turned to Duncan. “We can’t afford ballast in a race. Throw them overboard.”

“But Captain…”

“Just do as I say, Mr. MacDougal. And order every inch of canvas up.”

“Aye.” Forcing the doubtful frown from his face, the first mate turned away and began bellowing orders.

“Oh, and Mr. MacDougal.” Caleb followed him.

“Aye, what now?” Exasperation colored his words as he turned back to his captain.

“Those two four-pounders… Throw them overboard, as well. Have the men drag Shiny Sam to the stern and prepare the old devil to fire. He’s a long ranger, and he might just save us.”

“One six-pounder against the Tom’s big guns? We’ll have to pray we can outsail the buggers. You, there, lads!” Duncan swung back to yell at the crew. “Get to work! The captain says we’re to make a race of it!”

****

As the ship, racing before the gale, canted precariously, water surging over her bulwarks on the starboard side, Ginny and Annie scrambled onto deck.

“What’s happening?” Annie slipped and skidded to join Duncan where he stood amidships yelling orders to the crew. “Are we after another prize?”

“Get below, woman!” he barked. “We’re in a run for our lives, don’t you see?” He swung his arm to indicate the pursuing ship. “You women will only be a hindrance on deck.”

“Do you think they’ll catch us?”

“Not with any luck and smart sailing. Now get below!”

Annie turned back to where Ginny stood at the hatch, drenched by the spray.

“Well?” she asked.

“We’d best do as your man says,” Annie surprised her by responding. “We’ll be of little use on deck.”

“We’re to obey…without question?”

“Yes.”

Once below in the companionway, she whirled on Ginny.

“We’ve little chance of escape, I can tell from the expression on your man’s face, but I have a plan…a plan that may save this ship and its crew. Come on. We’ve no time to lose.”

****

“Sweet Jesus, Cal,” Duncan joined the captain, who’d taken over the helm himself in the last of seven weary hours of racing before the Tom. “We can’t keep this up. Unless the breeze freshens something fierce, we’re in for it. Doucet says the Tom is Baltimore built, just out of port, her copper bottom smooth as an eel. We’re furry and foul from months at sea. I respect your ability, but still…”

“I’m not ready to give up yet, Mr. MacDougal.” He looked at his mate, hoping his expression showed bright challenge, not the apprehension of possible defeat. “Every time that stern chaser fires a shot, the force of the ball hitting the water behind us drives us ahead and them back. If the breeze doesn’t freshen within the hour, we’ll put the men to the sweeps. Make certain every man is armed to the teeth.”

“You’re expecting hand-to-hand combat.” Duncan indicated the pistol stuck in Caleb’s belt and the sword hanging from a belt in a sheath at his side.

“Aren’t you?” Caleb returned his attention to the helm.

****

Throwing up a geyser of water, a cannonball splashed down only a few yards in front of the Lady Ghost.

“Bloody hell, will you look at that!” Caleb followed his mate’s upward gaze and saw a great hole ripped through the fore topsail. “It went right over our heads.”

The Lady Ghost jolted as a second cannonball hit the water yards from her stern.

“Good God, Cal! They’re going to blow us out of the water!”

“Stop sounding like a nervous old woman and get back to your station!” he bellowed. “Order the men to fire when she gets within a quarter mile.”

“Load her with six-pound shot!” Duncan yelled to the men manning their last cannon thrust through the break in the stern bulwarks.

“We’ve none left, Mr. MacDougal.” Higgins, his broad face red and wet, turned to him.

“Then wrap four-pound balls in canvas and fire!” Caleb bellowed the command. He’d left his post at the helm to Munro and come to stand beside his mate.

The men hesitated.

“Well, get to it!” he roared.

“Captain, sir, beggin’ your pardon but…” Higgins tried to protest.

“Just do as I say.”

Shortly the weapon was loaded as Caleb had described.

“Light the fuse and stand back!” he yelled.

There was the acrid smell of burning as his command was carried out. The gun struggled with its unusual load, choked, shuddered, and exploded.

The men ducked as pieces of gun and its unorthodox load flew through the air.

“Mother of God, there goes our last hope!” he heard a sailor mutter.

Looking out from beside the ruined gun, Caleb saw the pursuing schooner so near he could distinguish the carving of a tomcat’s snarling countenance on her bow. His men were crouched, muskets ready. They knew what was coming. Good men, brave men. The Tom was fast drawing abreast of them.

If they’d been officially in the king’s service, it would have been their duty to fight to the death. Supposing he followed this tradition, fought while there was a cartridge to fire and not a man left standing and then blew the Lady Ghost out of the water? Brave but inhumane. He couldn’t do that to his men, Duncan, and the two women below deck.

A volley of musket fire ripped across his deck as the Tom came fully abreast. One of his men screamed as he was hit, another staggered and cursed, holding his shoulder. Captain Caleb Cameron made a decision. Surrender. Give them what they really only wanted…Captain Caleb Cameron, the evil genius of the coasting trade. His men would be imprisoned for a short time until they were traded for American prisoners in Nova Scotia. The women, he had to hope and pray, would be treated honorably. What happened to him wasn’t important. He couldn’t allow Ann, her friend, and his men to be slaughtered.

“Haul down the colors!” With excruciating inward pain, the order ripped from his throat. He seized the ensign halyards himself as another shower of shot flew across his deck.

Shortening sail as both vessels slowed, the enemy’s cry of, “No quarter, no quarter. Kill the pirates!” rang loud and clear across the water.

Within minutes the Lady Ghost was overrun with American sailors leaping aboard under cover of blazing muskets.

Sweet Jesus, they’re not accepting surrender!

A grunt and a dull thud made him turn. Duncan MacDougal lay flat on the deck behind him, blood flowing from a wound in his chest.

“Dunc!” He made to kneel beside him, but another volley of gunfire ripped between him and the first mate. Whirling, incensed, he faced the invaders. He yanked the pistol from his belt and fired point blank at the marine. The man roared and jerked backward.

“No surrender! Give them hell, men!” he roared pulling his sword from its sheath. “For Mr. MacDougal!”

Out to avenge their officer and fellow crew members although outnumbered three to one, the men of the Lady Ghost returned musket blasts, then, as the enemy flooded aboard, attacked with gun butts, boarding pikes, swords, and belaying pins. Roaring like savages, they charged, their captain leading them.