THE NEXT MORNING SAW THE CREWS AT WORK ON BOTH LOIRE AND Rascal and, after burying his dead crewmen, Woodson’s crew was busy shipping a new boom for Ceres. There was a certain urgency in the air as an enemy ship could come upon them at any moment intending mischief and they were lying helpless, still bound as one, none prepared to fight.
Colquist had been awake all night doing all he could to ease pain and suffering or death, as the case might be. Fallon had spent much of the night with him, holding a crewman’s hand like a wife or lover, talking softly and with all the encouragement he could summon that stopped short of a lie. He’d even spoken French to the most grievously wounded privateersmen, summoning feeling for men he had ordered mutilated by cannon fire hours before.
So, it was a weary Nicholas Fallon who welcomed Lieutenant Micah Woodson aboard for breakfast beneath the sound of mauls and the scrambling of feet overhead. Woodson was a gregarious man, not puffed up or proud but appealing in an everyman sort of way, with one eye which seemed not to follow the other. Before the American Revolution he had been a simple shopkeeper who knew little about ships but he’d joined the erstwhile American navy anyway. There were virtually no ships in the navy at that time but he’d found a berth in a merchantman-cum-privateer and served with distinction, seeing several engagements off the coast of South Carolina and rising to second lieutenant before the war ended. Instead of mustering out, he was offered a commission as lieutenant on Ceres assigned to Commodore Truxton’s squadron who, within two years, would be on station in St. Kitts at Basseterre Roads.
“Captain,” said Woodson between sips of steaming coffee, “I cannot begin to thank you enough for your aid in fighting off that French bastard. His second broadside snapped our boom or we would have made a better account of ourselves. But without your timely intervention I and what’s left of my crew would be below decks on Loire at this moment, prisoners or worse, dying. As it is, my second lieutenant is mortally wounded and my master’s mate not much better, so we are fairly mauled.”
“It was indeed fortunate, Lieutenant Woodson,” said Fallon, “but war is often unlucky as not so I am very happy we could be of service. I am very sorry about your losses, however.”
“Yes, but at least we have a prize to share. I expect the closest prize court is Hamilton, is it not? I would think they would have some experience adjudicating prizes between our two countries? Or at least have seen it before? I confess I would just as soon give you the prize myself for all you have done but it is not within my power to do so.”
“That is very kind of you, sir, to even consider it,” answered Fallon. “I have enough men for a prize crew and could get Loire to Hamilton. Perhaps you would be so good as to write out a letter setting out the facts of the capture and I can see that the prize agent receives it along with my own account. Lord knows when any of us will see a farthing but it must be done correctly. My crew will do everything within their power to set the ship to rights before Hamilton, believe me.”
“I do believe you, sir; in fact, I have no doubt of it. I will write my account immediately and you may be sure it will give you and your ship all credit. And sir,” said Woodson, “unless you have plans for the prisoners which might bring you some reward for the trouble of transporting them wherever you are going, I would be happy to take them off your hands. The squadron at St. Kitts maintains contact with the French agent on Guadeloupe so that French prisoners may be exchanged for British seamen.”
“Excellent, lieutenant,” said Fallon. “I will have the prisoners sent over to you as soon as you are ready to lock them below decks. They would only be put in prison otherwise.”
That really was a most satisfactory answer for the prisoners as Fallon had been fretting about transporting them in the prize to Bermuda. Anything could happen carrying prisoners below decks, not least of which was an insurgency.
“But tell me, please,” said Fallon, “of any news of French activity that might be helpful, for I am bound for Grand Turk and thence escorting a salt convoy to New England.”
“Yes, of course,” said Woodson, his wandering eye flicking to the side. “In general, pirate activity in the Caribbean is widespread, with the greatest danger seeming to be from Guadeloupe to Cayenne, and around the Bahamas and southern ports of the U.S. The situation is quite confusing, for island governments are recruiting so-called privateers and issuing false papers to obtain prizes. These ships are little more than pirates and the Caribbean is littered with them, many carrying Letters of Marque from several countries.”
Fallon knew this was true, but he also knew that many American merchants sailed with false papers themselves so they could trade with British and French colonies—illegal for American merchants. He doubted if Woodson would bring the fact up, and Fallon certainly wasn’t about to, for British colonies depended on American goods.
“If you are sailing to the U.S.,” Woodson continued, “the greater danger is from the French navy I suppose, for they have a frigate near the Chesapeake Bay at last report. I sailed from Norfolk, Virginia, and did not see her but that is my latest intelligence. Ceres is bound for St. Kitts to bring dispatches to Commodore Truxton who will want this very intelligence. We are merely a dispatch vessel back and forth to St. Kitts, but my advice to you is to keep a sharp lookout once you are out of the Florida Straits.”
Fallon, indeed, promised he would heed the advice. Woodson was the second American Fallon had met in two weeks and, like Caleb Visser, he seemed a good enough sort. Fallon was forming a very good opinion of Americans.
Soon enough, breakfast was finished and Woodson was back aboard Ceres, supervising the loading of prisoners belowdecks. It was a desultory group, with quite a few mulattos and blacks, a few Danes and Swedes, and at least one big Dutchman, in addition to Frenchmen, of course. The capitaine was the last to go below, his head down, a beaten man on his way to an uncertain future. Soon Woodson ordered the grappling hooks to be thrown off and the fenders hauled aboard. The breeze was finally showing some life as Ceres raised her sails and moved off to the southeast with a salute from Woodson.
Fallon surveyed Rascal with Beauty and then, with Aja, they walked Loire’s decks as a group. Several repairs were being made on the French ship, which were enough to see her sail again.
“Aja, I want you to take Loire to Hamilton and the prize court,” said Fallon. “You can choose your own prize crew, and do what you can to set the ship to rights before she’s appraised. But Aja, I want to be sure you think you can handle command. What do you think?”
It was not a rhetorical question, for it would take several days to get to Bermuda and there was always the possibility of action whether the prize was fully manned or not. And while Aja had distinguished himself in battle and was a better than average navigator, he was still young for an independent command.
“Yes, captain, sir,” replied Aja beaming. “I will be very careful with such a prize.” And then he seemed to think better of it. “But I will miss sailing with you in the convoy to Boston.”
It was doubtful Aja knew exactly where Boston was, but the prospect of missing a long journey aboard Rascal gave him pause. The ship was his home and the crew were his friends and Beauty and Fallon were something like his parents, such was the affection he had for them.
“Yes, I know,” said Fallon sympathetically. “But it is your command if you’ll take it, and I know of no one I would trust more to take it. You may release the crew when you reach Bermuda, for we will be some time in coming home. And Aja, do all that you can for poor Caleb Visser. You two have become friends and he will need all the support he can get if there is no gold found, which is very likely, I would think.”
With that, Aja assumed command of the captured schooner, and within the hour he’d picked his crew and said his goodbyes and Loire was away to the north, Aja at the taffrail waving goodbye. Already the mauls were ringing out over the water.