THE SKIES WERE CLEAR AND THE AFTERNOON BREEZE MODERATE WHEN the two pirates slipped from behind Lucayo on Bahama Island and glided out into the Atlantic. The wind was from the northeast and the two sloops bore off northwards, close-hauled on starboard tack, looking for whatever the day would bring. The ships were C’est Bon and Jean Claude, which attested to their French build but not their present ownership, for captured ships were commonplace in the Caribbean.
Pirate activity in the Bahamas was robust and had been for a decade or more, with little appetite by Bahamian authorities to drive the pirates out. Well, in truth the government in Nassau had no ships to fight pirates and petty officials took bribes to let them wood and water there.
Pirates like C’est Bon and Jean Claude were typical, their ships crammed with the dregs of Bahama’s waterfronts like Nassau and Freetown, their captains elected by majority vote of the crew. They could be un-elected, as well, if they failed to bring their crews wealth. That could mean simple demotion or even hanging, or anything in between.
So it was that both captains were relieved when their lookouts reported that two fat packets were to the east, sailing northwest. They did not report the third ship, sailing to windward, for she was hidden by the bulk of the salt ships.
In moments, the lookout on Rascal yelled down to the deck.
“Deck there! Two sloops on larboard sailing northeast!”
It was the call Fallon had prepared himself for, because he knew well that pirates and privateers were thick in the Bahamas, in particular, and merchantmen were prime targets. He ordered Beauty to call the hands to stations and send a signal to Ashworthy and Pence to close up their positions.
Barclay and Beauty studied the oncoming sloops through their telescopes while shot and slow match were brought up from below decks, and Cully mustered his gun crews at their stations. Everything depended on how the sloops went about their business.
“The buggers are obviously working together,” said Barclay. “How do you think they will attack?”
“Well, if it was me I’d stay to leeward and fire into the convoy,” replied Beauty, “which they have the angle and speed to do. I’d try to draw Rascal down to leeward and then I’d cut through the line and try to separate the ships and get up to windward. That would put us at a disadvantage trying to claw to windward and engage them. Meanwhile the ships are all ahoo and sailing on their own. That’s what I’d do.”
Fallon had been listening to them as he studied the developing situation himself, judging the wind and shifts and calculating speed and distance.
“I think you’re right, Beauty,” he said, and as he looked at her he noticed the small wooden Sea Dog around her neck and he knew he’d done a good thing. “The question is whether they’re as smart as you are.”
Fallon watched as the sloops came for Eleuthera, firing from a distance of perhaps a half mile, not doing any damage but likely scaring Ashworthy to the soles of his feet. But Eleuthera was firing back gamely, her crew managing her larboard 6-pounders and doing their best. Both Barclay and Beauty eyed their captain, who did not take his eyes off the sloops. The ship was ready for action; gun crews waited anxiously for orders with the slow match coiled in a tub next to each cannon, little tendrils of smoke drifting upwards.
Rascal maintained her station to windward of the salt packets even as the sloops drew closer to Eleuthera and continued firing into her hull.
“Signal to both ships, Beauty,” ordered Fallon. “The letter ‘A’.”
The letter ‘A’ was the signal to follow a plan Fallon had laid down for just such a circumstance, and Beauty ordered the signal sent aloft. Everything depended on the packet captains’ courage.
Now the trailing sloop spilled her wind and dropped astern towards Lucille, firing her starboard guns as she came at the big packet, and Pence was firing back. Both packets had slowed imperceptibly, however, luffing their sails slightly as if the battle caused inattention to them.
“Beauty, I think the sloops will try to board as soon as they can,” said Fallon calmly. “No doubt they are wondering what the schooner to wind-ward is doing, or not going to do, perhaps thinking her captain a coward.”
Beauty and Barclay both smiled. That did not describe Nicholas Fallon.
“Let’s take way off as soon as they move to board,” continued Fallon. “Duck Lucille and harden up to sail up her larboard side and rake the first sloop. Then, on to the second sloop. Have Cully ready with the long nine and the starboard battery. And raise the colors, if you please.”
The sloops indeed appeared hesitant, perhaps confused that Rascal had not joined the fight. They edged closer to their prizes, feeling shielded from Rascal’s guns. Both Ashworthy and Pence depressed their 6-pounders as far as possible and fired as long as possible until the sloops were about to grapple on.
“Now Beauty!” Fallon said with barely contained excitement. “Duck Lucille’s stern. Cully, ready with the long nine!”
Now there were explosions of a different sort, smaller and irregular, and as Rascal sliced behind Lucille and quickly came up to the wind Fallon could see Pence’s crew lobbing grenados over the packet’s railing which were exploding on the deck of the sloop called C’est Bon, which was trying to board. Men were screaming in pain, likely not dying but wishing perhaps they could.
Plan ‘A’ was rolling out.
“Fire as you bear, Cully!” Fallon yelled, and the long nine roared its ball into C’est Bon’s stern, shattering her small gallery windows and causing untold damage to the insides of the ship. Quickly Cully ordered the gun reloaded and ran to the starboard battery to order those guns run out, with a wave to Fallon.
“Low into the hull, Cully!” called Fallon, for it would not due to fire into Lucille by mistake.
“Fire!” Fallon ordered.
One by one Cully went to each gun, sighted it himself and ordered the crew to fire. Every shot told and blasted the larboard side of the sloop at the waterline. There would be water pouring through some of those holes into the ship even as the men on deck flung themselves about, trying to avoid those horrible bombs raining down on them.
“Reload the starboard battery and back to the nine!” yelled Fallon without another glance to C’est Bon, which had now disengaged and was trying to limp away from Lucille. Not a single shot had come aboard Rascal.
“Fire when ready!” he yelled to Cully. And once again the 9-pounder sent its ball towards the lead sloop—Jean Claude— and into her gallery, blowing out the windows and playing hell inside that fragile ship and no doubt killing anyone in its path. Eleuthera’s crew were now throwing their grenados down on Jean Claude, as well, exploding nails and glass into the men preparing to board. Pirates were screaming like devils and some jumped below decks to escape. But there was no escape, and here was Rascal coming up beside them at less than half a cable and running out her reloaded starboard guns.
“Fire!” Fallon screamed, and one by one each 12-pounder thundered a ball into Jean Claude’s waterline as Rascal swept past. Again, so total was the surprise between the hail of grenados and Rascal’s sudden and swift appearance that the captain of Jean Claude managed to get only one shot off. Fallon was about to remark on it when he heard Beauty call Barclay’s name and he turned to see him on the deck, his face twisted in pain, his left arm mangled and bloody. The single shot had found him, likely the ball’s only damage, and even now men were bending to carry him below to Colquist. It was the kind of wound that could kill a man, as everyone aboard knew. At the least, he would lose his arm. But at the most…
Jean Claude appeared destroyed, with men lying about screaming and clutching their faces and bodies as the captain hacked at the grappling ropes with his sword in an effort to be away. At last the ship was free, sinking but free, and Jean Claude came before the wind to sail off to the southwest, back where she’d come from.
Now Eleuthera and Lucille hardened up their sails and began picking up speed on their old course, their crews cheering as they passed Rascal, which was standing by to leeward in case one of the sloops changed its mind and returned.
But Fallon couldn’t enjoy the cheers. His mind was below with Barclay, fighting for his life this very moment. His arm was likely already off, lying in a tub.