Chapter 45: Old Haunts

Once again, HMS Clyde was gliding through the waters of the Caribbean Sea. It was as if the ship felt free of unlucky spirits again the way she danced over the low waves under the press of her sails. Cartagena with Don Alonso and Doña Maria was behind them. That was both good and bad for Tony. Good, because Maria and Harriet had been able to keep their rivalry in check; bad, because Tony had hoped for the two most important women in his life to become friends. They never progressed to that.

It was with a mixed feeling of loss and relief that Tony had given orders to make ready for sea. Three weeks spent in the port of Cartagena had been the most he could justify, and now his orders specified that he touched Kingston on the return journey to pick up a convoy if possible. Thus, Clyde was sailing on a northbound course under full sail. The hurricane season was not too far away, and Tony was anxious to leave the dangerous waters before they ran any risk of encountering a cyclone. It was the second day of their leg to Kingston and at their current speed of seven to eight knots, Tony anticipated four days of sailing.

It was early morning and to his knowledge, Harriet was still asleep. Hohenstein was on deck of course, going over the blackboard with the sailing master. Tony therefore had the windward side of the quarterdeck to himself. Pacing up and down, he tried to get his plans ready for the day and beyond. In Kingston they would have to attend dinners and receptions again. That could not be helped given whom Clyde carried. Everybody would be delighted to have His Serene Highness and his new wife for dinner, and the Carters would just have to go along.

The clatter of silverware and china could now be heard through the skylight and Tony surmised that he would be called for breakfast soon. Harriet insisted on table times being kept if possible and the thought of the delicacies that they had acquired whilst in Cartagena sufficed to let his momentary annoyance evaporate. There was no reason anyway. Breakfast and in fact all meals were now taken in excellent mood. Being rid of the conde had much to do with it, but Harriet’s mood was lighter, too. She was obviously over her worries.

The thought of good food had awakened Tony’s appetite, and now he was growing annoyed over the wait until the steward appeared on deck.

“Lady Carter’s compliments, Sir Anthony, and breakfast is served!”

“My compliments, and I shall be there presently,” he answered, forcing himself to pace for a few more minutes to avoid the impression that the commodore jumped when his wife called.

Harriet looked up with a smile. “Oh, there you are, darling! We have pineapples and the rest of the baked ham.”

That was indeed a delicacy, and Tony could also smell the strong coffee that had been brewed. A smile spread over his face.

“A breakfast fit for kings,” he smiled, but then he became aware of his captain. “For princes, too, I should hope.”

Hohenstein smiled. “I assure you, Sir, that it beats rat roast.” His young wife looked at him quite aghast, and he explained with a rueful smile. “Oh, when sailing in the Atropos we would sometimes catch rats. Midshipmen are always hungry. I tried them a few times, and whilst I prefer baked ham any time, I found them tastier than salted pork from old casks.”

“Oh, dear!” the princess exclaimed. “Do you mean to say that the young gentlemen in this ship... ?”

“Very likely,” Tony nodded. “Although chances are that they are still well provisioned from our stay in Cartagena.”

“Did you, too... ?” Harriet asked, her eyebrows raised.

“Oh, once or twice. Captain Fanning kept the Medusa well provisioned, and we returned to port frequently, so there was no dire need for fresh meat. Yet, on one or two occasions the midshipmen had rat for dinner.”

Harriet shook her head at first but then she shrugged. “I suppose it is one of the things one cannot understand without having gone hungry oneself.”

The bacon indeed tasted better than spitted rat, and the pineapple slices complimented the flavour. Nobody had lost appetite either, and the breakfast proceeded in friendly conversation. Whilst the women retired together, Tony and the prince returned to the quarter deck, if only to enjoy the morning. The sky was of an immaculate, azure colour and the sea also showed a deep blue which contrasted beautifully with the white wake of the three ships. In the light breeze the two sloops had no problems keeping up with the fast frigate, and Tony had to admit that the command of this small squadron was a pleasant duty.

He sighed then, thinking that this pleasantry would come to an end after their return to England. The Spanish courtiers in London would cry murder as soon as they learned about the mesalliance between a Spanish royal princess and a heretic German prince. Hohenstein would easily weather the uproar, being of Hanover blood. Tony, however, would be made the scape goat.

He had prepared himself as best he could. He carried letters both from Don Alonso and from the viceroy — a courier had arrived from Panama two days before their departure — both stating that the appointment of the conde to the governorship in Cartagena was null and void. Don Alonso had added another letter stating that he fully approved of the marriage between his wife’s cousin and His Serene Highness. It was fortunate, too, that the uncle who had been intended to serve as guardian for the princess had succumbed to one of the rampant fevers, and His Excellency The Governor could claim the guardianship and thus could give his post factum blessing to the marriage. Still, Tony expected a reprimand at the least.

With an effort he suppressed those thoughts. Right now he was still in command of the three ships. He was entitled to wear a rear admiral’s uniform, and if they beached him he would maintain his current rank, albeit on half pay. He was wealthy enough to live in dignity with Harriet and their children, and truth be told, he would not mind a decade or two spent with his family and eating fresh produce.

Whilst he mulled these thoughts his unconscious registered the casting of the log, the deck wash detail, and all the other work being performed around him, work that kept the Clyde a seaworthy ship. Even fresh out of the dry dock there were a thousand things to be repaired every month, and in the heat of the equatorial sun the seams of the deck were suffering and had to be patched constantly.

Tony looked up at the new masts. He liked the new rigging with the raked masts. They felt stiffer in a breeze, more responsive, and Tony had to admit that they added a touch of speed to Clyde‘s already impressive sailing. Oh, to be rid of those sloops and to run out the stunsails just once! On this calm water and with the steady breeze abeam Clyde surely would fly! Tony caught himself grinning like a school boy. Indeed, why not? He turned to the wheel.

“Midshipman of the watch!”

“Aye-aye, Sir!” the boy squeaked, terrified at being addressed by the Great Man himself.

“Send signal. Clyde to squadron: Set more sail!”

“Aye-aye, Sir!” the midshipman answered, already going over the necessary flag signal.

“Sir August, may I trouble you to have the stuns’ls run out? Let us see how she can run!”

From Hohenstein’s broad grin Tony could see that his captain appreciated the opportunity. The pipes shrilled throughout the ship and seconds later the crew entered up. It took ten minutes, but then the stunsails were set and Clyde lay over under the additional press of sail. Her movements became more lively even on the smooth water, but did she fly! With all sail set to the last spanker and stays’l, the large frigate turned into a racehorse. Through his telescope, Tony could see that the two sloops had also brought up all their canvas, but Clyde was clearly outrunning both of them by a knot or more.

“Mr. Uxbridge, have the log cast if you please!” Hohenstein ordered, and freshly appointed Acting Lieutenant Alexander Uxbridge gave the necessary orders. Once back in England, he would take the examination, Tony planned, and then his own obligation was fulfilled to give the young nephew of Pierce Fallon a good start in the service.

“Thirteen and a half, Sir!” Uxbridge almost yelled in his excitement.

Tony and Hohenstein grinned at each other like school boys after a successful prank. Was there anything better than having a perfect ship?

After the four days of racing over the calm waters of the Caribbean Sea, the oppressive heat of Kingston was doubly unpleasant. There was no joy in standing on the quarter deck with Clyde anchored, and there was no joy in planning the next day, another day spent wearing his Nº2 uniform to a sequence of teas held in the town houses of Kingston’s elite.

Tony had anticipated the attraction of King George’s grandnephew visiting Jamaica, even more so as he was also presenting his beautiful young wife for the first time in society. What Tony had not envisioned was the desire by everybody to meet Commodore Sir Anthony Carter, KCB, a son of Jamaica and a hero of Trafalgar fame. There were even people who remembered Harriet from the time Sir Richard Lambert had been commander-in-chief of the Kingston station, and that added to the blatant adoration Tony received.

With all the teas, dinners and soirees they had to attend Tony and Harriet had decided to skip their meals on board the Clyde entirely, drinking coffee and tea instead to fight the dull tiredness. With a sigh, Tony looked at the coach that had drawn up on the quay. Breakfast at Government House. He would see Harriet there who had been coerced to stay as guest of His Excellency The Governor, W^m Montagu, Duke of Manchester, along with the Princess Isabella. Sighing one more time, Tony had his gig called.

To his surprise the ladies were not present. His Excellency explained that they were breaking their fast with the Duchess Montagu. The Duke had been appointed a year ago and Tony held him for an able man. With him was the commander in chief of the North American Station, Vice-Admiral Sir John Borlase Warren. Tony had never met him before arriving in Kingston, but he knew the reputation of the man. Though never part of a large fleet engagement, his exploits on the French coast in the 1790s were legendary. Tony could not help being tongue-tied around him. Nevertheless, Borlase Warren was all kindness.

“Ah, Commodore, there you are! We have been waiting anxiously for you,” Borlase Warren spoke up.

“Your Excellency, Sir John,” Tony spoke stiffly, bowing in turn to his superiors.

“Tut-tut! No need for such formality, my dear Carter,” the Duke smiled. “Kindly be seated. Pommeroy, take the Commodore’s orders!”

A servant appeared and Tony asked for a cup of coffee and a buttered toast, the most his stomach could stand after a week of dinners.

“Have a look at this, Carter,” Sir John said once the servant was gone, handing Tony a report.

Tony quickly read it; it was written by the captain of a post packet. Apparently, she had been chased by a privateer or pirate when entering the Windward Passage a week ago, and only due to the fresh coppering of her bottom had the small ship evaded capture. The privateer ship in question was a small full-rigged ship, a corvette as the French would call it, and she was fast according to the packet’s captain. She had chased him for two days, appearing right after they passed Tortuga Island, and she only gave up when another sail came in sight ahead.

“That was the third reported sighting of that ship,” Borlase Warren said. “She seems to hail from the former Hispaniola, the Spanish part. I had my frigates patrolling around Tortuga and west to Cape Francais, but no trace. The fellow Christophe who took over after Dessaline has given us assurances that they do not allow privateers in the north of Hispaniola, but what can he do?”

The governor spoke up now. “The point is, Commodore, that you have been to Hispaniola in ‘04. You know the island. Can you think of any hideout, away from those larger settlements where Christophe has authority?”

“Fort Liberté is too big, then,” Tony mused in response. Then the idea struck him, and it must have been evident.

“You seem to have an idea, Commodore?” Borlase Warren prodded.

“There is this old convent, at a bay a hundred leagues to the east of Cape Francais, the Bahia de Gracias. It is mentioned in my old report. It is where we freed the English prisoners. I remember that Black general telling me that the bay was an old hideout of the buccaneers.”

“Indeed?” Borlase Warren snapped his fingers. “Flags, a map of Hispaniola!”

A flag lieutenant rushed from the room to return only a minute later carrying a map. Bending over it, Tony followed the coast line with his finger.

“I am not entirely sure, Sir. I know I took the position but I cannot quite...” Tony shook his head. “I can look it up. I was sailing in the Clyde then; it should still be in her logbook.”

“Splendid, Commodore!” the governor exclaimed.

Tony was still examining the chart. “It must be this cove, Sir, the Bahia de Gracias. The coast line is a bit different from this chart, but I’m reasonably certain. I can confirm it using my logbook. There are other coves to the east, but this one is well protected and there is a hidden anchorage in the western arm of the cove. Yes, I am indeed certain, Sir. The convent would be just a bit inland. We left it intact then, and there are underground gaols. Good water, too.”

The governor and the admiral looked at each other, and then they both nodded. Borlase Warren squinted at Tony.

“Commodore, can we ask you to take your ships and have a good look there? I understand that your orders are to wait for the next convoy, but I am willing to take the responsibility of changing those orders. I can spare another small frigate, the Humber, and some marines.”

Tony thought quickly. Any time spent looking for the privateer hideout would prolong his time in command, would also put the affair around the princess further into the past. To violate his orders was a risk. Still, if the commander-in-chief backed him up he would be covered. And then he realised that there was only one path for him.

“I should feel honoured to be given that task, Sir John,” he replied, even fighting a grin.

“I trust that you will allow me to extend my hospitality to Lady Carter for the duration of your mission?” the governor asked.

That was something Tony had not thought about. It was sensible. They would likely encounter fighting if they found the privateers. To expose Harriet to such danger would be foolhardy. Yet, to send her back to England in a post packet when a privateer roamed the Windward Passage would be equally risky. It was best to leave her in Kingston with the princess and to pick her up again once the mission was concluded, which ever way it turned out. It would mean to stay in the Caribbean with the hurricane season looming, but that could not be helped. At least Harriet would be safe staying with the Governor.

“That would be exceedingly kind of you, Your Excellency,” Tony responded. “I am sure that my wife will be delighted to spend the time with her ladyship.”

“Oh, the pleasure is mostly ours. It is rare for my dear wife to have compatible companions, and your charming wife has made a very good impression on everybody.”

Harriet already knew about the plans when Tony met her during a small noon meal at the governor’s mansion. She adopted a philosophical view of the matter. Tony was in command of a squadron and his squadron was needed. There was nothing he or she could do short of Tony resigning his command, and even that required a good reason.

Sir John had already given orders for the Humber to make ready for sea, giving Tony a force that was well suited for the task. Given what the packet captain had reported, the suspected privateer would be a rather large bite to chew and swallow for either of Tony’s two sloops, but with two frigates — one of them mounting long 24-pounders and being exceptionally fast — they stood a reasonable chance to catch even a fast privateer on the open sea.

That evening Tony invited his captains to dinner on board the Clyde. The women stayed ashore, for this was a council of war and indeed the captains went over the charts and made plans for the expected scenarios. It would be ideal to catch the privateer in its lair, but for that, luck had to be on their side. Nevertheless, they could destroy the old convent and thus make the sheltering bay useless for the privateer’s use.

It all depended on whether the privateer had succeeded in capturing a prey. If not, it would still be prowling. Maybe not around the Windward Passage, but the Mona Passage to the east of Hispaniola was also rich in shipping, mostly under Spanish colours now that Spain was an ally of the British. After some deliberations they decided on a scissors tactic: whilst the slower Humber together with Pickleberry’s Thetis would sweep the Windward passage from south-west to north-east and then continue along the norther coastline of Hispaniola, Clyde with Kite as the faster ships would completely circumnavigate Hispaniola by sailing the Mona Passage. Coming upon the privateer from either direction the four ships would box her in somewhere north of Hispaniola where the prevailing north-eastern trade winds would hinder any escape to the north.

Captain Merriweather of Humber was a man of fifty years, having risen into his position from before the mast, and Tony paired him up with Pickleberry on purpose. The young commander had to learn to accept authority, even when authority was personified by a grizzled veteran officer.

Merriweather understood their scheme to catch the privateer immediately. He was easily the most experienced navigator in the small squadron, and he could be trusted not to let the corvette slip through. They agreed to have Clyde and Kite sail first, followed two days later by Humber and Thetis. The two day head start would see Clyde and her consort close to the Mona Passage at about the same time the other two ships would enter the Windward Passage. Of course, nothing could be planned exactly for the timing depended on a myriad of things that could influence the progress of a sailing ship.

No information was given to the crew or to outsiders. Only Harriet knew about the destination and she hid her worry well when they dined in the governor’s mansion the next evening. Her farewell kiss did not betray the fact that they would not see each other for weeks, and when Tony and Hohenstein returned to the Clyde they only gave orders to ready the ship for sailing. After a short night and with the earliest land breeze the big frigate and the small ship-rigged sloop left Kingston Harbour.

They had to beat close-hauled against the north-easterly trade wind, but with two weatherly ships they still made good progress on their east-southeast course, sailing the length of Hispaniola’s south side. As anticipated, the third morning saw them south of Mona Island. They went about then, splitting up, with Clyde taking the eastern route close to Puerto Rico where Spanish shipping was abundant, whilst Kite sailed to the west of Mona Island where a privateer was less likely to prowl.

Reuniting east of Punta Caña, they made their way to northwest, still without sighting any suspicious sail. Next they inspected the anchorage at Samaña Bay, but they only found small fishing vessels and nothing like a full-rigged ship. After rounding Samaña Point the two ships sailed at ten miles distance abeam of each other, with Kite patrolling close to the coast and Clyde taking the seaward position. Thus they could watch a thirty-mile radius whilst sailing westward. Again, they did not see anything larger than fishing boats.

On the evening of the fourth day the two ships sighted Puerto Plata and Tony made the decision to enter the Bahia de Gracias before the land breeze woke up. He had gone over the old entries in the Clyde‘s log book, and he was confident that he could handle the navigation even at night. The bay was deep enough to be sailed without dangers, and if they found no shipping they could leave again with the land breeze.

Tony and Hohenstein went over the preparations that evening, detailing boarding crews and boat crews, but also instructing Captain Marsh of the Marines as to the location of the old monastery. In a fit of superstition, Tony had John Little prepare his old, Jamaican sword. It had served him well during his first visit. He spend time to load his pistols carefully and had the boots pulled from the storage which he had used during the landing operations on the Peninsula.