Hugh Kenrick (54 page)

There was no reason for Ramshaw to share this information with any of the passengers, and so Hugh did not learn of the
Charon
until one month into the voyage.

*  *  *

The rigors of the sea voyage were such that Hugh was temporarily cured of the melancholy of leaving far behind everyone and everything he ever cared for; his energies were channeled into surviving the boredom, monotony, and claustrophobia. He soon learned that, in such unrelenting close quarters, a balance must be struck between sociability and solitude; that is, to know when to seek the company of others, and when to leave them alone. He absorbed this lesson quickly, and it made the experience tolerable. Aiding him was his status as an aristocrat; no one but Ramshaw and his officers spoke to him, unless spoken to by him. He allowed no one else
to become familiar with him. For the first time in his life, Hugh was pleased with the deference paid his rank. It spared him the annoyance of contrived small talk with tiresome people.

The voyage was blessed with fair winds and little in the way of rough seas. “This very likely will be the last pleasant crossing of the year,” Ramshaw remarked to him one day on the main deck. “In the fall, the ocean prepares to make itself an obstructive harridan.” The convoy managed to retain its formation. Sails had been sighted on the horizon; whether they belonged to friendly or hostile ships, no one could say, for they were not seen again. The
Sparrowhawk
occupied a place near the rear, two vessels away from the formidable
Zeus
. Even so, Ramshaw ordered battle drills twice a week. Hugh was astounded with the efficiency of the crew and with how quickly the ship could be made battle-ready.

“Can you handle a musket, sir?” the captain inquired during one of the drills.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You will be given one, if the necessity arises.” Ramshaw pointed to a swivel gun on the quarterdeck above them. “See that, Mr. Kenrick? Jack Frake helped crew that very gun. He saved this ship when we were assaulted by a French privateer. Blew the captain’s head off with it.”

In late September, a brief easterly squall struck the convoy, scattering the ships widely in a torrential rain and with winds that tried to drive them back to England. It was a dangerous predicament. The thick gray curtain of rain reduced visibility to a few score yards on any side of the
Sparrowhawk
, which could ram the vessel ahead of her, or be rammed by it or the one behind. The squall moved on, and just as suddenly, the sea was calm and the skies blue.

The
Zeus
signaled her charges to reform, then flew special flags to the
Jason
to count the ships, a message that was in turn relayed to the
Helios
, once she was back in signaling range. Hours later, a lieutenant reported to the convoy commander that two merchantmen were casualties of the squall: the
Manx
, whose upturned keel could be seen bobbing in the water over a mile north of the
Jason
, with survivors clinging to her; and a sloop,
George’s Pleasure
, a mile south of the
Helios
, listing on her larboard side with damaged masts. The
Charon
, too, was driven far away from the convoy. Though she appeared undamaged and was in a position to assist
George’s Pleasure
, the
Helios
reported that the
Charon
seemed inclined neither to give aid to the sloop nor to rejoin the formation with any haste,
though she was paralleling the convoy and edging back in its direction. The convoy commander instructed his lieutenant to repeat the formation order, and to add the caution that any vessel breaking formation to aid one of the disabled ships or rescue its crew would do so at its own risk.

Ramshaw was on deck, observing the progress of the crew as it repaired some minor tears in the spanker and staysail. The bursar, a decommissioned midshipman from the last war, was able to read the
Zeus
’s signals. He handed the captain a transcription of the communications to the other warships. “The
Manx
and
George’s Pleasure
?” remarked Ramshaw. “Caught with their topsails down, I’ll wager.” He sighed. “Well, at least those black devils on the
Manx
have been spared a worse death. Heard they were being taken to the Carolinas to work rice.” He paused, then strode across the deck to larboard and raised his spyglass. “There’s
George
,” he said, “and that must be the
Charon
. Yes, that’s her. Can just make out her name.”

“What an odd name,” said the bursar.

“It was once the
Pelican
,” said Ramshaw. “But Musto takes so many souls to the colonies that he renamed her after the fellow who rows the dead across the Styx to Hades—for a fee, of course. Queer sense of humor, I’d say.”

“Well,” chuckled the bursar, “at least he’s read a book or two.”

“What name did you say?”

Ramshaw and the bursar turned to the questioner. Hugh stood there. After the squall passed, he had reappeared on deck. He had removed his frock coat and waistcoat, and offered to help clean up the deck. Ramshaw had refused him the request. “Thank you for the interest, sir, and no offense intended, but you wouldn’t know where to put things.” Now he answered, “The
Charon.
”

“Where?”

Ramshaw handed him the spyglass and pointed.

Hugh raised the glass and after a moment found the vessel. He gave the glass back to Ramshaw, who noted the look of joy on his passenger’s face.

“Why do you ask, sir?” asked the captain.

“My three friends are on her.” Hugh’s face brightened a little. “Think of it! Four Pippins have been banished to…
Hyperborea
!”

“How do you know they are on her?”

“Their attorney wrote me that their indentures were purchased by a Captain Musto, of the
Charon
, almost a month before you came to Weymouth
.”

Ramshaw grinned ironically. “Well, they had better be praying that Musto falls back into line with this convoy, sir, else the
Charon
may be picked off by a privateer and towed to the Barbary. The folks in that part of the world never tire of slaves. There would be no working off their indentures then.”

*  *  *

An hour later the lookout shouted down, “Sails ahoy! To the southwest, bearing down on a stray!”

Ramshaw rushed up the steps of the quarterdeck and raised his glass.
George’s Pleasure
had been left far behind. Through the glass he could see, a little less than a mile to the southwest, two sets of sails, both belonging to two-masted brig-sized ships. One flew the red ensign, the other the gold and white of France, whose yellow border and fleurs-de-lis glinted occasionally in the sunlight.

“Why such predators should sail under so pretty a flag is something I will never understand,” Ramshaw said to himself. To his ship’s master, he said, “Ready the larboard guns, Mr. Dietz, but don’t load just yet.”

A cabin boy soon appeared with a drum and beat the alert. The crew of the
Sparrowhawk
jumped to life and the deck swarmed with men who cleared the deck for action and prepared the guns to be loaded.

Hugh had remained on deck to watch the
Charon
. Now he rushed below to his berth and fetched the long-glass Roger Tallmadge had given him. He joined Ramshaw and the others on the quarterdeck to be out of the way of the gun crews. Through his glass he could see the French privateer close in on the English brig.

The convoy was sailing in a southwestern direction, bringing the vessels in the rear of it closer to the tableau. The gun crews on the larboard side stood braced to act the moment Ramshaw gave the word. All the other passengers had gathered in mid-deck to watch what was about to happen.

“It’s begun,” said Ramshaw.

Through his glass Hugh saw white puffs of smoke rise from between the two distant vessels, then drift across the water. The privateer was firing from its starboard side into the
Charon
’s larboard, and not much else could be seen. A moment later the reports of the two ships’ guns reached the
Sparrowhawk
.

Haynie, the bursar, said, “Musto’s not going to surrender without a fight. Maybe he thinks the
Zeus
will rescue him. But I do believe the
Charon
is vastly outclassed.”

Iverson, the surgeon, also had a spyglass. “Mr. Ramshaw, did you happen to see the Frenchman’s name?”

“No,” said the captain. “He was too far away.”

“Bad choice for a prize,” commented Haynie. “A cargo of redemptioners won’t fetch a sou in France. They’ll have to sail the
Charon
clear to Tunis, or let her go after they take all the money on board and their pick of the women.”

Ramshaw gasped. “The Frenchman’s leaving off! What the deuce—?”

The two vessels traded second broadsides. Other guns on the privateer must also have fired grape and chain at the
Charon
’s masts. Canvas fore and aft shredded, and lines and shrouds on both its masts fell to the deck.

And then they all saw the reason why the privateer was quitting. On their left the
Zeus,
under full sail, had broken formation and was speeding in the direction of the fight.

“Wonder if the Frenchman could read signals from such a distance,” speculated Iverson. “That would explain why he thought the
Charon
was easy prey.”

“Whatever he thought,” remarked Ramshaw, “it was wrong.”

As the privateer disengaged in order to escape being trapped between the
Charon
and the
Zeus
, it fired one last broadside into the brig, as though out of spite.

Defiantly, the
Charon
answered with another.

The reports from this last exchange had just reached the spectator’s ears when there was another explosion. Abruptly, the bowsprit and part of the
Charon
’s bow were neatly severed from the rest of the vessel, and the foremast, partly secured by lines to the bow and bowsprit, bent, cracked, and fell with them.

“Good God!” exclaimed Ramshaw. “The damned fool must have stored powder above the water line!”

“you’re right, sir!” answered Haynie. “That’s the only thing that could do that! A French ball from that last broadside must have found a gun port and shot straight through to it!”

The
Sparrowhawk
was little more than half a mile away now. Her observers could see men swarming over the deck of the
Charon
, and other figures emerging with the billowing smoke from her hatches. Some of these
were women and children. As they watched, the bow sank and the truck and masthead of the foremast dipped into the choppy waves. Flames shot up through the shattered foredeck, but were quickly extinguished as water flooded into the vessel. The
Charon
’s stern rose out of the water as the vessel began a swift descent. Rigging, guns, crew, and passengers slid or tumbled down the deck and splashed into the waves. In less than a minute, only the aft cabin was visible. Then the water broke and gushed through its paneled glass. The red ensign, wrapped around the lanyard, was the last thing to be swallowed by the waves. Then the
Charon
was gone, leaving behind bodies and debris.

The sea was quiet. Even the privateer seemed to pause in horror of what its crew had just witnessed. Ramshaw and his officers swept the site with their glasses for signs of survivors. None were to be seen.

“There were over a hundred people on the
Charon
,” remarked the surgeon in a near-whisper. “Counting convicts and crews.”

Ramshaw glanced at Hugh. Hugh stood with an expression frozen in disbelief, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

The captain stepped over to him and said, “If they were lucky or God was merciful, Mr. Kenrick, they were fettered somewhere below the powder, or close to it, and they died quickly. Most of the others had to settle for drowning.”

“I can see the name now!” said Iverson. “
Le Voleur
! ‘The Thief!’”

The
Zeus
swiftly approached
Le Voleur
’s stern. All of her starboard gun ports were open and that side of the warship bristled with the black noses of guns. The
Sparrowhawk
was now directly opposite the
Zeus
and the privateer.

Ramshaw glanced at Hugh again, and saw him sitting on a pile of coiled rope near the tiller. “Mr. Kenrick,” he said, “you may want to see this.” Hugh looked up, then rose and rejoined the men at the railing.

“She’s going to rake the stern!” said Iverson.

The
Zeus
fired. Two decks of guns blazed in consecutive pairs at the rear of
Le Voleur
as the warship glided past. Debris flew out from the disintegrating aft cabin.

“That is hellish gunnery!” exclaimed Haynie. “If only a third of those balls go through, they’ll rip her to pieces inside clear up to the bow!”

“Who is the captain of the
Zeus
?” asked Iverson.

“Our convoy commander, Post-Captain Farbrace,” answered Ramshaw, still peering through his glass. “Timothy Farbrace. Though there is nothing
timid about that gentleman.”

“There goes the rudder! The Frenchman is done for!”

They saw two crewmen on the privateer scramble to haul down the white and gold banner. “She’s striking her colors! Bravo!” cried Haynie.

The crew and passengers of the
Sparrowhawk
cheered.

The
Zeus
tacked sharply starboard and maneuvered alongside the privateer. “By God, he is good!” said Ramshaw in admiration.

Then they heard the thunder of a broadside as the
Zeus
proceeded to pound the larboard side of
Le Voleur
. They could even discern the crackle of small arms.

“He’s going to finish her off!” cried Haynie.

Again, the spectators watched in amazement. The warship fired five broadsides into the privateer, then tacked starboard again to rake the bow. The top half of
Le Voleur
’s mizzenmast collapsed and fell to the deck. Grape and chain shot pierced the canvasses of her foremast. Brown smoke began to creep in wisps from the gun ports on the starboard side. The privateer began to list on her larboard side.