THIRTY-ONE

THE ENTRANCE TO ENGLISH HARBOR OPENED BEFORE THEM AND RAScal and Céleste sailed in on an afternoon breeze that heeled both ships over on starboard ever so slightly. Elinore stood on the bow, a lovely, living figurehead, while Fallon and Beauty stood together by the binnacle as they passed the naval hospital where Dr. Garón had saved Beauty’s life. As they glided by, Beauty fingered the sea dog necklace around her neck but said nothing, and Fallon wisely left her to her thoughts. Now they were past and on to the anchorage, where Avenger and Loire were both revealed drifting this way and that to their rodes in the breeze which had quickly gone light and fickle so far up the harbor.

Tentatively, Fallon raised his telescope and held his breath, willing Caleb Visser to appear in it. He could see Aja and—thank God—Visser waving their hats and arms and he and Beauty and Elinore waved back enthusiastically with both arms, Barclay with one, of course, a story to be told later. Rascal rounded up with a flourish and let go between Loire and Avenger and Beauty ordered the topsails backwinded to let the ship drift back and set the anchor. By the time Rascal had settled and Céleste had come to her anchor, Aja and Visser had come aboard to general celebration. Of course, they expressed surprise to see Rascal, surprise to see Elinore was aboard and sad surprise that poor Barclay had lost an arm.

While the hands went to work to coil down the lines and make the ship secure, Fallon asked Beauty, Aja and Visser below to his cabin. Elinore wanted to go ashore to see her good friend Paloma Campos and Fallon promised to meet her later.

“We couldn’t let you have a great adventure to the Mediterranean without us,” said Fallon, trying to be humorous, as the group settled around his desk. But it was evident that only the truth would do by way of explaining Rascal’s presence in English Harbor, and he set himself to describe all that he knew and supposed about the Barbary coast. In particular, he shared what he had read in O’Brien’s diary and even produced it for all to see.

“Nicholas,” said Visser, “I am truly humbled at your offer to put yourself, your crew and your ship in danger for me. I don’t know what to say to you, except to thank you with all my heart, and decline. I will find a ship and go alone, for I now know the risk is great and I cannot conscience you sharing it.” He looked around the cabin in appreciation, but the faces that looked back at him seemed determined.

“Caleb, thank you for saying that,” said Fallon. “But I don’t think any of us could live with ourselves if we let you go alone. You’ve—”

“You see, Caleb,” interrupted Beauty, cutting to the chase. “This isn’t really a conversation about whether or not we’re going with you. We’re fucking going.”

Ah, Beauty.

Fallon was on deck preparing to go ashore when there was a signal from Avenger requesting the captain come aboard and, of course, he couldn’t refuse an admiral, even if he wasn’t in the Royal Navy. Fallon and Aja dropped into Rascal’s gig and were quickly rowed across to the flagship as the evening sky began its transformation from blue to pink to red.

“Ahoy the gig!” came the shout from Kinis, the flag captain. “Come aboard Captain Fallon! The admiral is anxious to see you!”

Kinis greeted both Fallon and Aja warmly, addressing Aja as second mate and shaking their hands heartily. Aja beamed, his eyes telling Kinis that his approbation meant the world to him, for Kinis was a by-the-book captain and would not countenance an officer who didn’t deserve to be one. Kinis led Fallon below decks to be met by Davies in the great cabin, himself beaming and smiling broadly at the sight of his good friend.

Davies was tall, with blond hair worn in a traditional club, a throw-back to an earlier custom in the navy. His face was tan and strong, and his blue eyes carried a mixture of cynicism and humor within them. His was a view of the world leavened by years in the Royal Navy, fighting enemies who were once friends, watching political boundaries change willy-nilly and learning to distrust what he couldn’t see for himself. He had become deeply skeptical of so-called news; there were the facts, and then there was the truth.

Davies’ friendship with Fallon had been tested by fire more than once as they had fought together in fair weather and foul, most foul, against France and Spain. Their random alliances were unusual but borne of necessity and opportunity. Davies lacked ships and manpower to fight all of Great Britain’s foes and take advantage of every opportunity to harass them. And Fallon was an intrepid privateer whose letter of marque enabled him to take prizes—which Davies willingly bought into the service.

“I have of course spoken with Aja about his prize,” exclaimed Davies, “and now I see that you have brought another one in! Do you never stop, Nicholas? I am all aback to hear of your derring-do but, first, how are things with Elinore? I hear she is aboard.”

“She is very well, thank you,” said Fallon. “She’s gone ashore to see Paloma, something to do with wedding planning, if you can believe it. And how is Paloma? As beautiful as ever, I collect?”

Davies smiled and said softly, “As beautiful as ever, yes. I believe I will be following in your footsteps before the year is out. We have lightly touched on the subject of getting married at some point.”

“That is wonderful, Harry,” said Fallon. “I will let you know how it feels!”

A few more handshakes and at last they were ready for business. Fallon described the taking of Loire, though that seemed a lifetime ago and he was sure that Aja had reported most of it already. He described Micah Woodson, as well, as being a good American officer who was kind enough to take Loire’s prisoners and suggest sending the ship to a British prize court to be appraised and sold into the service.

“Yes, that is remarkable,” said Davies. “A good man, indeed.”

“Yes, but I must save his fate for later, for it does not end well for him, I’m afraid.”

Fallon then went on to describe the pirates’ attack off the Bahamas and Cully’s grenados that sent them scurrying back to their hole. Next, the snow squalls and the attack on the French frigate and Beauty’s brilliant—for that was the only word for it—seamanship in bringing Rascal so close to Josephine’s stern and Cully’s enthusiastic bombardment of her rudder and tiller ropes.

Davies laughed in astonishment and clapped his hands.

“You are certainly the most intrepid captain I know, Nicholas! A frigate, by God!”

And then Fallon told him of his plan to sail with Visser to the Barbary Coast.

“You have met Caleb Visser, I collect?” asked Fallon.

“Yes, and I know about his father held in Algiers, as well. We’ll talk more about that later, Nicholas. I have someone in mind who may be of importance, in that regard. But pray continue.”

There was only the scene of Woodson’s body in the boat now, his brave clue and finding the pirates at Mona Island, just where Woodson had said they’d be. Fallon described the battle briefly, touching on the laundry and bunting, and the taking of Ceres and Céleste at some cost to Rascal.

“But there was specie aboard, so that was a salve to the wounds we suffered,” said Fallon. “And now I have a schooner to sell into the service, if you will have her.”

“Yes, of course, for I am woefully lacking in schooners and will welcome her into the service, along with Loire, which I am sure will be appraised handsomely. The prize agent has been away to England and only returned yesterday or Loire would already have been appraised. Aja did a brilliant job getting her set to rights.”

Fallon was not surprised at Davies’ enthusiasm for more ships. He could imagine the great difficulty of communicating with Royal Navy ships throughout the Caribbean, there being some ninety or so, and knew that small vessels were much prized to convey critical orders and news to them. But the dispatch vessels had to be able to defend themselves, as well, which both Céleste and Loire had the guns to do if handled well.

“But tell me, Nicholas,” said Davies, “will you have breakfast with me tomorrow so that we may continue our conversation? I fear I have kept you from your ship just as you’ve arrived. That will give me time to review my dispatches on the situation in Algeria and speak with someone who’s recently returned from there. I might invite him to breakfast, as well, for he will have information that is only a few months old.”

There was a knock at the cabin door.

“Come,” said Davies, and his steward entered with the news that Samuel Jones 2^nd, Captain of Renegade, 36, was about to be piped aboard. Renegade had been on the ways for weeks getting her copper bottom cleaned and was just coming back into service.

“You remember Jones, of course,” said Davies. More a statement than a question, for who could forget the man’s bravery in fighting Coeur de France in ’98, a French ship-of-the-line many times Renegade’s size in men and metal. Coeur was anchored in an unassailable position in the harbor at Port-a-Prince when Jones took Renegade in disguised as a Spanish ship and opened fire, luring Coeur out to do battle—and into a trap. Coeur was on the bottom now, burned to the waterline, and that single battle may have saved the slave rebellion on Saint-Domingue from failure. Coeur’s sinking was famous throughout the Royal Navy, although the whole plan was Fallon’s.

“I remember him well,” said Fallon. “It will be wonderful to see him again.”

In very little time Jones was piped aboard and shown to the great cabin to present himself to his admiral and rejoice at seeing his old friend and, truth be told, his idol, Nicholas Fallon.

“May I congratulate you on being made captain, Samuel,” said Fallon. “Well deserved, I say.”

“Oh, thank you sir, thank you,” replied Jones, blushing in spite of himself. He was tall and gangly and fair-haired and blushing came easily. “But it would never have happened but for your planning, sir. Begging your pardon, Admiral Davies.”

“No, no, Jones,” responded Davies, seeing Jones’ embarrassment at giving credit elsewhere. “No, you are quite right. All credit to Captain Fallon for confounding the French.”

Jones gazed about the room a bit starstruck. He had left home at 12 to join the Royal Navy as a ship’s boy and never could have imagined that one day he would hold that most exalted of ranks, captain. His was a birthright of inferiority with humble beginnings, and now he was standing in an admiral’s cabin with the two men he admired most in the world.

“Sir,” he gathered himself to make his report to Davies. “Renegade has sent up the last of her yards and another five days should see us put back together and ready for sea.” Of course, frigate captains would want to be at sea as quickly as possible. New frigate captains, in particular.

“Very good, Jones,” replied Davies. “I will see to your orders shortly. Meanwhile, perhaps you will do me the honor of dinner aboard Renegade at your convenience. I would like to visit with your officers, some of whom I know are new.”

“Oh, sir, that would be wonderful,” said Jones. “The men will be excited and I will order the cook to lay on his best.”

They chatted amiably a few more minutes and then Jones left to return to his ship and Fallon took his leave, as well. As he was rowed to shore to meet Elinore, he thought of the stranger Davies was inviting to breakfast the next morning. He hoped he would put his mind at ease but, even as that hopeful thought came to him, he knew it was false.