An Inception of Piracy Chapter 4
4
Giovanni was on his stomach, attempting to get into a comfortable position on the hard floor of the foc’s’le when his attention was diverted to a lot of shouting on deck. He had learned to ignore most of the normal sounds associated with the running of the ship, but this was different. It sounded like some kind of scuffle. Then he heard Rooke’s booming voice call for order and it was quiet for a few moments followed by the words that still rang in his ears, ‘all hands to witness punishment!’ The next voice was Littlewort’s.
“Men,” he began in that shrill, grating voice. “Discipline and cooperation are paramount on a fighting ship and the bos’un exists to assist me in maintaining that discipline. Any move, verbal or physical, that questions that discipline will be dealt with swiftly and harshly.” There was a short pause before he resumed. “Samuel Higgens did not heed the example we made the other day and will now suffer the consequences. Mr. Rooke.”
There was a pause and then Rooks' strong voice read the appropriate article of war. “Article 18. If any person in or belonging to the fleet shall make or endeavor to make any mutinous assembly upon any pretense whatsoever, every person offending herein, and being convicted thereof by the sentence of the court martial, shall suffer death: and if any person in or belonging to the fleet shall utter any words of sedition or mutiny, he shall suffer death, or such other punishment as a court martial shall deem him to deserve: and if any officer, mariner, or soldier on or belonging to the fleet, shall behave himself with contempt to his superior officer, being in the execution of his office, he shall be punished according to the nature of his offense by the judgment of a court martial.”
“For insubordination,” yelled Littlewort. “Thirty-five lashes. Mr. Quinn, you may begin.”
There was a pause and Giovanni winced involuntarily as he heard the cat snap on the deck and then fall on Sam’s back. Sam was defiant, though, cursing Quinn after each of the first five. Again and again the cat fell. Sam began screaming after the ninth. There was a pause after the tenth when another man took up the cat. There was another break after the sixteenth and he heard water being thrown on Sam’s back, eliciting another scream and curse. They did the same after the twenty-fifth and thirty-second. Giovanni counted every one, empathizing with his unfortunate compatriot. Finally it was over. Moments later they were at the hatch, passing Sam’s bloody body down the companionway. They rudely threw down some canvas and dropped him on it. He grunted as he hit the floor and then lay still. Then they were alone. Giovanni wondered if he looked that bad when he came down after his beating. Blood and bits of flesh were matted in his hair. Blood soaked his pants and was splattered on his upper arms. His wrists were rubbed raw from straining at his bonds and his back looked like something from the butcher shop. He lifted his head slightly and looked at Giovanni.
“Quite a pair of mutineers we are, eh Bartolli?” he whispered.
“Yes, quite a pair,” Giovanni smiled. He was not surprised Sam had ended up here. He had spirit and it wasn’t going to be easily broken by Quinn and his compatriots. While he didn’t see Sam much, he was on the larboard watch, he knew Sam was not one to submit to discipline easily and hated being ordered around. Before this, he was his own boss, answering to no one. He was still resentful about being pressed and he missed his wife and son terribly. “What did you do?”
Sam chuckled weakly and then winced in pain. “Bucket of...captain’s chamberpot...tripped, spilled it...on Quinn,” he chucked again. “All over..Quinn.”
Giovanni almost laughed out loud, and the action hurt terribly. “Accident, certainly.”
“Aye, accident,” he winked. Then he laid his head down with a groan and was quiet, his breathing short and shallow.
Giovanni wished he could have been there to see that. He probably would have gotten another beating for laughing at Quinn though. But the man deserved it, and more. He rested his head on his arms and thought of some more ways to get back at Quinn and Dugal and Clay for all the misery they caused. He was soon asleep again.
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“Starboard watch!” came the call, rousing the men from their slumber. The thumping of their feet wakened him.
“Bartolli, you too, holiday’s over.” It was Ingram’s voice cutting through the gloom of the fo'c'sle. He slowly rose to his knees. His back hurt terribly, he could feel the scabs breaking open as he flexed his muscles.
“Come on, let me ‘elp you.” Will gently grabbed his arm.
“Thank you Will.” He winced as he rose to his feet. He looked over at Sam. How is he?”
“Cotgrave’s been ‘elping him out, jus’ needs to ‘eal. Tough bird, ‘e is, not too smart, pullin’ pranks though.”
Giovanni thought he saw a slight smile cross Sam’s lips as Will helped him gingerly put on a new shirt from the slop chest. He slowly made his way up the ladder to the deck. It was still dark, but the very first hint of light in the east heralded a new day.
“You, and you, start there,” Sayer ordered, pointing to a spot near the foredeck. He handed a bucket and rope to Matthews and two rectangular stones to Giovanni. On another part of the deck, men were already scrubbing the deck with the holystones. They walked to the spot Sayer had indicated.
“I’ll get the water,” said Matthews, walking over to the rail. The breeze was still light so he tossed the bucket over the side and hauled it up. He spilled some out on the deck, spread a handful of sand and soon they were both pushing the stones on the deck. His back hurt every time he moved and soon rivulets of sweat added to his discomfort. Back and forth, water and sand. Soon they met up with Will and another sailor.
“How ye doin’ Bartolli?” asked Will.
“A little better,” he growled.
“Twern’t right, I seen the whole thing,” intoned the other man in a whisper, his thin arms pushing the book sized stone across the deck. “But it ain’t the worst I seen. I seen a man giv’n a hundred lashes for less. Back on the Ormonde saw ‘ol Jones strapped o’re a gun an given two score jus’ for workin’ a fiddle....dice ya’ know. An poor George Peters was whipped around the fleet for jawin’ to the capt’n.”
“Aye,” agreed Will. “Dugal’s a scallywag and the bos’un’s the devil but I’ve seen worse too. Did a spell about four years back on the Chester. Seen pressed men beat, starved an abused for the first couple ‘o weeks so they toed the line.”
“So I can expect no better, is that what I am to understand?” asked Giovanni sarcastically.
“Well....uh.” Will was at a loss for words. The others were quiet as well. They continued pushing the stones across the deck in silence.
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Once they had finished, it was off to other duties, stowing sails, taking turns at watch, picking oakum. The food at breakfast was the same; moldy pork and hardtack. Dugal eyed him warily in the gun room but gave him no trouble this morning. He crawled into his hammock after breakfast and tried to rest. He tossed fitfully in the canvas, his back still raw.
“All hands on deck!!”
Giovanni stirred in his hammock, starting as the pain shot across his back.
The motion of the boat was quite different that it had been when he had lain down. The wind had risen and he could smell the difference in the air. There was the sound of heavy steps on the ladder and he squinted in the darkness to see who it was.
“Get your finger out you lazy swab!” Dugal yelled, kicking him hard in the back. Giovanni screamed involuntarily. “Get to the pumps...NOW!” He didn’t wait for him to get out of the bunk. He simply grabbed the canvas and dumped Giovanni on the floor. “Move!” Dugal kicked him once more and then bounded up the steps. Giovanni rose slowly to his feet, every move sending pain ripping through his torn back. He could hear shouting on deck and as he went to grab the ladder, a cascade of cold salt water doused him, sending a wave of agony across his back like thousands of red hot needles. He clenched his teeth and went up the ladder.
On deck, men were running back and forth, grabbing lines, shouting orders. There was an edge of panic to their voices. He stumbled toward the pumps. The deck was pitching wildly in the lumpy seas, spray whipped off the tops of the waves, mingling with the rain, and stung his eyes and back. He grabbed the handle of the pump as it went up and pulled down hard, easily falling into the rhythm. He looked around again. The sky was dark with heavy black clouds racing from horizon to horizon. Occasionally lightning flashed in the distance. As he continued to pump he could feel the motion of the ship change, she was beginning to wallow. He understood the panic, the hold was becoming heavy with water. He looked aloft at the men in the rigging, trying to bring in the wildly flogging flax of the topsails. Way too much sail for this weather, he thought. Then the shriek of the wind rose another octave and he felt the deck moving under his feet, the slope rapidly increasing. Men began to scream and he stopped pumping and held on for his life, he knew what was coming. The ends of the yards pierced the water like long daggers and kept plunging into the heart of the sea. He could no longer keep his footing and he found himself hanging from the handle. Below him, men fell into the ocean as the masts hit the water. The ship was on it’s beam ends. The sounds were deafening, the screaming of the wind competing with the screams of men in the water. He tightened his grip on the wet handle. The man who had been next to him was now below him, screaming for help. Their gaze met for a moment and before Giovanni could adjust his position and try to reach out to him, his eyes went wide and he lost his grip, plunging into the turbulent gray water. Then a new sound began competing with the rest, the sound of wood cracking under stress and that sound was coming from above him. He looked up to see one of the cannon breechings pull it’s ring bolt out of the bulwark and plunge toward him. This was the end, his father would never know what happened to him. The other ring bolt held for a second longer, however, swinging the carriage just enough that it fell behind him, crashing through the opposite bulwark and taking two foundering men with it to the bottom.
Giovanni swung his leg up over the handle to get into a more secure position. He could feel the ship beginning to move again and the deck reappeared under him. Water rushed over the bulwark and through the scuppers as the ballast did it’s job and the ship rolled to a more upright position. The yards cleared the water and he could see men still clinging to the rigging, drenched from their dunking, their lips blue from the frigid water. Both topsails were in tatters and the men began laboring to cut the remnants away. Giovanni unlocked his leg from the handle and his feet found the deck again. She did not come fully upright however, the wind on her beam and the shifted ballast giving her a larboard list. Giovanni noticed his arms were trembling from the strain of holding on. He looked back toward the quarterdeck where the helmsman was fighting to get back into position. He didn’t see the captain.
“Get back to pumping!” It was Dugal again, throwing two other wretches to the empty handles. Giovanni mindlessly began moving the bar up and down again. Most of the men had come down from the rigging and the helmsman had turned the ship so she was running before the wind. The rain was now coming down in sheets, adding to the spray and soaking everything. Over the shoulder of the man in front of him he saw the carpenter come out of the hatch and grab the second officer.
“Sir, I believe that rotten garboard plank has sprung! She’s got six feet in the well and it’s rising faster than we can pump it!”
“Can we fother a sail?!”
“Never tried it in this kind of sea, I think it would be near impossible, can’t swim it under!”
“Get up the old course, I’m going to try to find the captain!”
“Aye sir!”
The carpenter went below again after grabbing two other men and the second mate headed to the quarterdeck. The captain was now beside the helmsman and Giovanni watched an animated discussion between the two. The second mate returned to the waist as the carpenter and his two men were coming up from the hold with their large canvas bundle. The mate looked directly at Giovanni.
“You two, come here!” He grabbed another man and one of the ship’s boys and directed them to the pump as Giovanni and the man next to him came over.
“Spread this out!” Then he turned to the other men with him. “Cut the main's'l sheet, take it forward and slide it under the bow, bringing it back here!” The three men ran off as fast as the pitching deck would allow, drawing their knives as they did. Giovanni began pulling at the flax with the carpenter's mate and his pumping companion, the howling wind sometimes helping and sometimes hindering their efforts. Giovanni occasionally stole glances forward at the men trying to feed the line under the bow. Two of them were positioned on either side of the bowsprit, holding onto the rigging as the ship plowed into wave after wave, sometimes submerging them completely. Loose lines entangled them, the spiritsail mast and jibboom having been carried away some time ago. By the time they had wrestled the heavy, wet material across the waist, the men had brought the line back to their position. One look at them and he could tell they were exhausted from their efforts.
“We need one more!” yelled the carpenter as he grabbed the line from one of the men. He then pointed to Giovanni’s pump mate. “Bind that line to the clew! And you..” he turned to Giovanni. “Get back to the pumps, we may float her yet!” Giovanni took a position opposite the ships boy who had reached the end of his endurance some time ago. His arms were just going up and down with the handle but his eyes were wide with fear. Giovanni himself was too tired to give any consolation to him. Facing the bow, he watched the men climb out onto the bowsprit again to pass another line under the stem. The stump that was once the bowsprit pointed skyward as she rose up the back of a wave, he felt the motion stop as she hesitated on the crest while the full fury of the wind ripped at her and her men and then the acceleration as she surfed down the face of the wave. In the trough, the bowsprit plunged into the back of the next wave, the helmsman having failed to turn her so she presented her quarter. The two men went under completely and only one came up. The remaining man screamed into the waves but everyone knew there was nothing to be done. The carpenter’s mate went forward to take his place. After what seemed like an eternity, they had the second line back and secured it to the other clew. The carpenter motioned for Giovanni and the others at the pump to come over.
“You five, feed the sail over the side, the rest will pull the lines and bring it under. Manby and Kayton, secure the bitter ends and adjust them on my orders!” Giovanni took his place on one of the lines. “Start to feed it over, slowly, we don’t want to lose it!” The carpenter’s voice was getting hoarse from the salt spray and screaming. “Pull the lines!” They quickly took up the slack and then began pulling in earnest as the men opposite them fed the sail over the side. “Good boys, keep it going!” The boat began surfing down a wave and the sail caught the onrushing water, yanking the rope through their hands, ripping the skin from their palms. On the starboard side, one of the men held on too long and was pulled overboard by the sail.
“Hold on boys! Hold on!” Over his shoulder he could see that the man had not gone completely over but had held on long enough to be brought back aboard. He fell to the deck in a heap and another man took his place at the rail. As the ship began it’s slower ascent up the back of the next wave, they all pulled with bleeding hands to tighten the sail to the bottom and then as the ship plunged toward the next trough, they strained to hold on.
“Sail’s over!” yelled one of the feeders from the other side.
“Let it over a little more...hold on!” They plunged again, burying the bow into the back of another wave, the ship shuddering from the sudden deceleration. Giovanni could tell her recovery was a little slower each time as the hold continued to fill with water.
“Tighten her up men, this should be it! Then back to the pumps!” With that he disappeared below. They heaved until the line no longer moved and secured it to the pinrail. Slowly, they moved back to the pumps and pulled on the handle. The ship shuddered again as she plowed into the next wave. Overhead, there was the terrible sound of breaking wood and the towering foretopmast snapped and went over the side. The ship turned wildly as the rigging holding it to the ship tightened and pulled. The captain’s order to cut it away was barely heard but several men took to the rigging with their axes, knowing what had to be done. Before the ship could be brought back on course, a wave broke over the side, sending her over on her beam again. All the men on the pump handles held on as others slid down the deck into the water. Giovanni was beginning to adjust his grip again when he heard a snap as the handle parted from the pump shaft, sending them all into the water. Giovanni struggled in the freezing ocean, the frigid water and the salt on his back making him want to scream. He fought the urge as he strove to get to the surface. After what seemed like an eternity, he broke the grip of the ocean and gasped for air. The cold salt water was agony on his back. Before he could get his bearings, he felt a yank on his leg and found himself pulled back under. He kicked free and again struggled to the surface. He grabbed a line and held on as he felt the deck come up under his feet again. The ship was even slower in it’s recovery this time. He felt a grabbing at his foot again and reached down into the water and grasped some clothing. He heaved and pulled the ship’s boy from the water. He coughed and spit and then held on to Giovanni with a grip that surprised him. Soon they were sprawled out on the deck. He looked around. The lines that held the sail to the bottom were on the deck, nothing left of the sail but strips of flax from the clew.
“Get the boats off!” It was Rooke. He looked odd without his hat and wig. Several men cut the lines while others clapped on the block and tackle. Giovanni got up and took a place on the line.
“Heave men!” The longboat came off the deck, knocking down several men who tried to steady it as it swung wildly in the shrieking wind. Across the deck, the pinnace was being loosed as well. As Giovanni pulled, he noticed they didn’t have to drop it far over he side, the Vitol was foundering. They lowered the boat to the water and it crashed against the side of the ship. “All hands to the boats!” roared Rooke as several landsmen scurried into the longboat, not waiting for the order. In their haste they didn’t wait for the roll of the ship to bring the boat in and they ended up in he water. Two were lost before anyone could get to them. The rest were more orderly. Soon all the men from the starboard side of the ship were aboard, the rest of the ship’s company getting into the pinnance. They shoved off as the water rose to the bulwark.
“Mount oars men or the ship will come down on us!” The oars thumped into the thwarts and men began pulling erratically at first, and then in rhythm. They cleared the ship as the yards hit the water. And then the Vitol was gone. Half a cable away, they could see the pinnace as they crested a wave. Rooke put the tiller over and they headed in that direction. After several minutes of straining and some near swampings, they were within hailing distance.
“Try to stay together!” yelled the captain from the pinnace.
“Aye sir!” replied Rooke.
“Have you a pistol and powder?!”
“I’ve my pistol but I’m afraid my powder’s soaked through!”
“I’ll shoot off every glass at night, try to say with us!”
“Aye, aye sir!” Rooke settled into the sternsheets and sighed heavily. “You heard the captain men, we’re to stay together. Men now on the oars will complete their watch and then the rest of you will take the next one.”
Giovanni looked around at his shipmates. He was happy to see Will in the bow and they exchanged weak smiles. Dugal and the bos'un had positions in the stern near Rooke. He didn’t see Matthews or Sam and hoped they were in the pinnace. He counted twenty-two men in the longboat and estimated about fifteen in the pinnace. They had lost more than half their complement...so far. He hoped they were as close to the squadron as they thought because in an open boat with no provisions they wouldn’t last long.
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“Sail ho!”
Giovanni awoke with a start, hands still on the oar he had been pulling for two days. His mouth was sticky, his lips cracked, his face burnt. Pain shot through his slowly healing back as he struggled to sit up and turn to see what the man was pointing to.
“Where away?” asked Rooke, his powerful voice now hoarse from thirst.
“Off the stern quarter sir, You can see her when we rise on the swell....there!”
Giovanni squinted in the early morning sun and as the small boat rose he could see a ship hull down on the horizon. It was heading in their general direction.
“Looks like a ship o’ the line sir,” stated the bos'un.
“Aye, by the cut of her t’gall’nts I would say she is the Pembroke,” replied Rooke as he peered through his glass.
“At least she’s one of ours,” added Dugal. Several men grunted in agreement. No one wanted to rot in a Spanish prison ship for the duration of the war. Even Giovanni was familiar with the horrors of such a sentence. Rooke fired his gun twice as a signal to the pinnace that they had seen a ship.
“Cap’n Fairbain,” the man next to Giovanni elbowed him and whispered. “He got the Pembroke now, got a cousin that shipped out with him in ‘04, he’s cut of a different cloth that ‘ol Wort, he’s a real gentleman, an’ a real fightin’ cap’n too.”
“Aye, should have seen ‘im takin’ Gibraltar,” stated a gruff man behind him. “ ‘erd he took on three galleons at once, sunk one and took two prizes. Every man on ‘er rich as a prince!” Several men grunted approval at that statement.
“Where away Mr. Rooke?” Giovanni turned to see the Captain standing in the pinnace a cable away. He was happy to see Matthews manning an oar amidships. He tried in vain to find Sam.
“Sou’east by east sir, heading west by south. I believe it’s the Penbroke sir.”
“Aye, I believe Augustus Fairbain has her now. Very good. Then we better get to the oars, men, if we are going to intercept her. Course southwest Mr. Rooke. Pull you lazy sons of whores!” he squealed, turning to the men in his own boat.
“Aye aye sir,” Rooke added half-heartedly. Giovanni felt a glimmer of hope that his bad luck would soon be at an end. Perhaps Littlewort and his bos’uns were the exception and things would be different on another ship. Maybe the captain would be reasonable and listen to him, put him ashore to begin heading home. He shook his head, That was too much. He only hoped it would be easier to endure his sentence on the Pembroke and away from his tormentors. “Let’s go men, put your backs into it and lets all be drinking and feasting by nightfall!”
“Huzzah!” A ragged cheer went up as oars banged into the tholes. Soon the boat began cutting through the waves, arcing around to take them to what they all hoped would be their salvation.
Giovanni was on his stomach, attempting to get into a comfortable position on the hard floor of the foc’s’le when his attention was diverted to a lot of shouting on deck. He had learned to ignore most of the normal sounds associated with the running of the ship, but this was different. It sounded like some kind of scuffle. Then he heard Rooke’s booming voice call for order and it was quiet for a few moments followed by the words that still rang in his ears, ‘all hands to witness punishment!’ The next voice was Littlewort’s.
“Men,” he began in that shrill, grating voice. “Discipline and cooperation are paramount on a fighting ship and the bos’un exists to assist me in maintaining that discipline. Any move, verbal or physical, that questions that discipline will be dealt with swiftly and harshly.” There was a short pause before he resumed. “Samuel Higgens did not heed the example we made the other day and will now suffer the consequences. Mr. Rooke.”
There was a pause and then Rooks' strong voice read the appropriate article of war. “Article 18. If any person in or belonging to the fleet shall make or endeavor to make any mutinous assembly upon any pretense whatsoever, every person offending herein, and being convicted thereof by the sentence of the court martial, shall suffer death: and if any person in or belonging to the fleet shall utter any words of sedition or mutiny, he shall suffer death, or such other punishment as a court martial shall deem him to deserve: and if any officer, mariner, or soldier on or belonging to the fleet, shall behave himself with contempt to his superior officer, being in the execution of his office, he shall be punished according to the nature of his offense by the judgment of a court martial.”
“For insubordination,” yelled Littlewort. “Thirty-five lashes. Mr. Quinn, you may begin.”
There was a pause and Giovanni winced involuntarily as he heard the cat snap on the deck and then fall on Sam’s back. Sam was defiant, though, cursing Quinn after each of the first five. Again and again the cat fell. Sam began screaming after the ninth. There was a pause after the tenth when another man took up the cat. There was another break after the sixteenth and he heard water being thrown on Sam’s back, eliciting another scream and curse. They did the same after the twenty-fifth and thirty-second. Giovanni counted every one, empathizing with his unfortunate compatriot. Finally it was over. Moments later they were at the hatch, passing Sam’s bloody body down the companionway. They rudely threw down some canvas and dropped him on it. He grunted as he hit the floor and then lay still. Then they were alone. Giovanni wondered if he looked that bad when he came down after his beating. Blood and bits of flesh were matted in his hair. Blood soaked his pants and was splattered on his upper arms. His wrists were rubbed raw from straining at his bonds and his back looked like something from the butcher shop. He lifted his head slightly and looked at Giovanni.
“Quite a pair of mutineers we are, eh Bartolli?” he whispered.
“Yes, quite a pair,” Giovanni smiled. He was not surprised Sam had ended up here. He had spirit and it wasn’t going to be easily broken by Quinn and his compatriots. While he didn’t see Sam much, he was on the larboard watch, he knew Sam was not one to submit to discipline easily and hated being ordered around. Before this, he was his own boss, answering to no one. He was still resentful about being pressed and he missed his wife and son terribly. “What did you do?”
Sam chuckled weakly and then winced in pain. “Bucket of...captain’s chamberpot...tripped, spilled it...on Quinn,” he chucked again. “All over..Quinn.”
Giovanni almost laughed out loud, and the action hurt terribly. “Accident, certainly.”
“Aye, accident,” he winked. Then he laid his head down with a groan and was quiet, his breathing short and shallow.
Giovanni wished he could have been there to see that. He probably would have gotten another beating for laughing at Quinn though. But the man deserved it, and more. He rested his head on his arms and thought of some more ways to get back at Quinn and Dugal and Clay for all the misery they caused. He was soon asleep again.
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“Starboard watch!” came the call, rousing the men from their slumber. The thumping of their feet wakened him.
“Bartolli, you too, holiday’s over.” It was Ingram’s voice cutting through the gloom of the fo'c'sle. He slowly rose to his knees. His back hurt terribly, he could feel the scabs breaking open as he flexed his muscles.
“Come on, let me ‘elp you.” Will gently grabbed his arm.
“Thank you Will.” He winced as he rose to his feet. He looked over at Sam. How is he?”
“Cotgrave’s been ‘elping him out, jus’ needs to ‘eal. Tough bird, ‘e is, not too smart, pullin’ pranks though.”
Giovanni thought he saw a slight smile cross Sam’s lips as Will helped him gingerly put on a new shirt from the slop chest. He slowly made his way up the ladder to the deck. It was still dark, but the very first hint of light in the east heralded a new day.
“You, and you, start there,” Sayer ordered, pointing to a spot near the foredeck. He handed a bucket and rope to Matthews and two rectangular stones to Giovanni. On another part of the deck, men were already scrubbing the deck with the holystones. They walked to the spot Sayer had indicated.
“I’ll get the water,” said Matthews, walking over to the rail. The breeze was still light so he tossed the bucket over the side and hauled it up. He spilled some out on the deck, spread a handful of sand and soon they were both pushing the stones on the deck. His back hurt every time he moved and soon rivulets of sweat added to his discomfort. Back and forth, water and sand. Soon they met up with Will and another sailor.
“How ye doin’ Bartolli?” asked Will.
“A little better,” he growled.
“Twern’t right, I seen the whole thing,” intoned the other man in a whisper, his thin arms pushing the book sized stone across the deck. “But it ain’t the worst I seen. I seen a man giv’n a hundred lashes for less. Back on the Ormonde saw ‘ol Jones strapped o’re a gun an given two score jus’ for workin’ a fiddle....dice ya’ know. An poor George Peters was whipped around the fleet for jawin’ to the capt’n.”
“Aye,” agreed Will. “Dugal’s a scallywag and the bos’un’s the devil but I’ve seen worse too. Did a spell about four years back on the Chester. Seen pressed men beat, starved an abused for the first couple ‘o weeks so they toed the line.”
“So I can expect no better, is that what I am to understand?” asked Giovanni sarcastically.
“Well....uh.” Will was at a loss for words. The others were quiet as well. They continued pushing the stones across the deck in silence.
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Once they had finished, it was off to other duties, stowing sails, taking turns at watch, picking oakum. The food at breakfast was the same; moldy pork and hardtack. Dugal eyed him warily in the gun room but gave him no trouble this morning. He crawled into his hammock after breakfast and tried to rest. He tossed fitfully in the canvas, his back still raw.
“All hands on deck!!”
Giovanni stirred in his hammock, starting as the pain shot across his back.
The motion of the boat was quite different that it had been when he had lain down. The wind had risen and he could smell the difference in the air. There was the sound of heavy steps on the ladder and he squinted in the darkness to see who it was.
“Get your finger out you lazy swab!” Dugal yelled, kicking him hard in the back. Giovanni screamed involuntarily. “Get to the pumps...NOW!” He didn’t wait for him to get out of the bunk. He simply grabbed the canvas and dumped Giovanni on the floor. “Move!” Dugal kicked him once more and then bounded up the steps. Giovanni rose slowly to his feet, every move sending pain ripping through his torn back. He could hear shouting on deck and as he went to grab the ladder, a cascade of cold salt water doused him, sending a wave of agony across his back like thousands of red hot needles. He clenched his teeth and went up the ladder.
On deck, men were running back and forth, grabbing lines, shouting orders. There was an edge of panic to their voices. He stumbled toward the pumps. The deck was pitching wildly in the lumpy seas, spray whipped off the tops of the waves, mingling with the rain, and stung his eyes and back. He grabbed the handle of the pump as it went up and pulled down hard, easily falling into the rhythm. He looked around again. The sky was dark with heavy black clouds racing from horizon to horizon. Occasionally lightning flashed in the distance. As he continued to pump he could feel the motion of the ship change, she was beginning to wallow. He understood the panic, the hold was becoming heavy with water. He looked aloft at the men in the rigging, trying to bring in the wildly flogging flax of the topsails. Way too much sail for this weather, he thought. Then the shriek of the wind rose another octave and he felt the deck moving under his feet, the slope rapidly increasing. Men began to scream and he stopped pumping and held on for his life, he knew what was coming. The ends of the yards pierced the water like long daggers and kept plunging into the heart of the sea. He could no longer keep his footing and he found himself hanging from the handle. Below him, men fell into the ocean as the masts hit the water. The ship was on it’s beam ends. The sounds were deafening, the screaming of the wind competing with the screams of men in the water. He tightened his grip on the wet handle. The man who had been next to him was now below him, screaming for help. Their gaze met for a moment and before Giovanni could adjust his position and try to reach out to him, his eyes went wide and he lost his grip, plunging into the turbulent gray water. Then a new sound began competing with the rest, the sound of wood cracking under stress and that sound was coming from above him. He looked up to see one of the cannon breechings pull it’s ring bolt out of the bulwark and plunge toward him. This was the end, his father would never know what happened to him. The other ring bolt held for a second longer, however, swinging the carriage just enough that it fell behind him, crashing through the opposite bulwark and taking two foundering men with it to the bottom.
Giovanni swung his leg up over the handle to get into a more secure position. He could feel the ship beginning to move again and the deck reappeared under him. Water rushed over the bulwark and through the scuppers as the ballast did it’s job and the ship rolled to a more upright position. The yards cleared the water and he could see men still clinging to the rigging, drenched from their dunking, their lips blue from the frigid water. Both topsails were in tatters and the men began laboring to cut the remnants away. Giovanni unlocked his leg from the handle and his feet found the deck again. She did not come fully upright however, the wind on her beam and the shifted ballast giving her a larboard list. Giovanni noticed his arms were trembling from the strain of holding on. He looked back toward the quarterdeck where the helmsman was fighting to get back into position. He didn’t see the captain.
“Get back to pumping!” It was Dugal again, throwing two other wretches to the empty handles. Giovanni mindlessly began moving the bar up and down again. Most of the men had come down from the rigging and the helmsman had turned the ship so she was running before the wind. The rain was now coming down in sheets, adding to the spray and soaking everything. Over the shoulder of the man in front of him he saw the carpenter come out of the hatch and grab the second officer.
“Sir, I believe that rotten garboard plank has sprung! She’s got six feet in the well and it’s rising faster than we can pump it!”
“Can we fother a sail?!”
“Never tried it in this kind of sea, I think it would be near impossible, can’t swim it under!”
“Get up the old course, I’m going to try to find the captain!”
“Aye sir!”
The carpenter went below again after grabbing two other men and the second mate headed to the quarterdeck. The captain was now beside the helmsman and Giovanni watched an animated discussion between the two. The second mate returned to the waist as the carpenter and his two men were coming up from the hold with their large canvas bundle. The mate looked directly at Giovanni.
“You two, come here!” He grabbed another man and one of the ship’s boys and directed them to the pump as Giovanni and the man next to him came over.
“Spread this out!” Then he turned to the other men with him. “Cut the main's'l sheet, take it forward and slide it under the bow, bringing it back here!” The three men ran off as fast as the pitching deck would allow, drawing their knives as they did. Giovanni began pulling at the flax with the carpenter's mate and his pumping companion, the howling wind sometimes helping and sometimes hindering their efforts. Giovanni occasionally stole glances forward at the men trying to feed the line under the bow. Two of them were positioned on either side of the bowsprit, holding onto the rigging as the ship plowed into wave after wave, sometimes submerging them completely. Loose lines entangled them, the spiritsail mast and jibboom having been carried away some time ago. By the time they had wrestled the heavy, wet material across the waist, the men had brought the line back to their position. One look at them and he could tell they were exhausted from their efforts.
“We need one more!” yelled the carpenter as he grabbed the line from one of the men. He then pointed to Giovanni’s pump mate. “Bind that line to the clew! And you..” he turned to Giovanni. “Get back to the pumps, we may float her yet!” Giovanni took a position opposite the ships boy who had reached the end of his endurance some time ago. His arms were just going up and down with the handle but his eyes were wide with fear. Giovanni himself was too tired to give any consolation to him. Facing the bow, he watched the men climb out onto the bowsprit again to pass another line under the stem. The stump that was once the bowsprit pointed skyward as she rose up the back of a wave, he felt the motion stop as she hesitated on the crest while the full fury of the wind ripped at her and her men and then the acceleration as she surfed down the face of the wave. In the trough, the bowsprit plunged into the back of the next wave, the helmsman having failed to turn her so she presented her quarter. The two men went under completely and only one came up. The remaining man screamed into the waves but everyone knew there was nothing to be done. The carpenter’s mate went forward to take his place. After what seemed like an eternity, they had the second line back and secured it to the other clew. The carpenter motioned for Giovanni and the others at the pump to come over.
“You five, feed the sail over the side, the rest will pull the lines and bring it under. Manby and Kayton, secure the bitter ends and adjust them on my orders!” Giovanni took his place on one of the lines. “Start to feed it over, slowly, we don’t want to lose it!” The carpenter’s voice was getting hoarse from the salt spray and screaming. “Pull the lines!” They quickly took up the slack and then began pulling in earnest as the men opposite them fed the sail over the side. “Good boys, keep it going!” The boat began surfing down a wave and the sail caught the onrushing water, yanking the rope through their hands, ripping the skin from their palms. On the starboard side, one of the men held on too long and was pulled overboard by the sail.
“Hold on boys! Hold on!” Over his shoulder he could see that the man had not gone completely over but had held on long enough to be brought back aboard. He fell to the deck in a heap and another man took his place at the rail. As the ship began it’s slower ascent up the back of the next wave, they all pulled with bleeding hands to tighten the sail to the bottom and then as the ship plunged toward the next trough, they strained to hold on.
“Sail’s over!” yelled one of the feeders from the other side.
“Let it over a little more...hold on!” They plunged again, burying the bow into the back of another wave, the ship shuddering from the sudden deceleration. Giovanni could tell her recovery was a little slower each time as the hold continued to fill with water.
“Tighten her up men, this should be it! Then back to the pumps!” With that he disappeared below. They heaved until the line no longer moved and secured it to the pinrail. Slowly, they moved back to the pumps and pulled on the handle. The ship shuddered again as she plowed into the next wave. Overhead, there was the terrible sound of breaking wood and the towering foretopmast snapped and went over the side. The ship turned wildly as the rigging holding it to the ship tightened and pulled. The captain’s order to cut it away was barely heard but several men took to the rigging with their axes, knowing what had to be done. Before the ship could be brought back on course, a wave broke over the side, sending her over on her beam again. All the men on the pump handles held on as others slid down the deck into the water. Giovanni was beginning to adjust his grip again when he heard a snap as the handle parted from the pump shaft, sending them all into the water. Giovanni struggled in the freezing ocean, the frigid water and the salt on his back making him want to scream. He fought the urge as he strove to get to the surface. After what seemed like an eternity, he broke the grip of the ocean and gasped for air. The cold salt water was agony on his back. Before he could get his bearings, he felt a yank on his leg and found himself pulled back under. He kicked free and again struggled to the surface. He grabbed a line and held on as he felt the deck come up under his feet again. The ship was even slower in it’s recovery this time. He felt a grabbing at his foot again and reached down into the water and grasped some clothing. He heaved and pulled the ship’s boy from the water. He coughed and spit and then held on to Giovanni with a grip that surprised him. Soon they were sprawled out on the deck. He looked around. The lines that held the sail to the bottom were on the deck, nothing left of the sail but strips of flax from the clew.
“Get the boats off!” It was Rooke. He looked odd without his hat and wig. Several men cut the lines while others clapped on the block and tackle. Giovanni got up and took a place on the line.
“Heave men!” The longboat came off the deck, knocking down several men who tried to steady it as it swung wildly in the shrieking wind. Across the deck, the pinnace was being loosed as well. As Giovanni pulled, he noticed they didn’t have to drop it far over he side, the Vitol was foundering. They lowered the boat to the water and it crashed against the side of the ship. “All hands to the boats!” roared Rooke as several landsmen scurried into the longboat, not waiting for the order. In their haste they didn’t wait for the roll of the ship to bring the boat in and they ended up in he water. Two were lost before anyone could get to them. The rest were more orderly. Soon all the men from the starboard side of the ship were aboard, the rest of the ship’s company getting into the pinnance. They shoved off as the water rose to the bulwark.
“Mount oars men or the ship will come down on us!” The oars thumped into the thwarts and men began pulling erratically at first, and then in rhythm. They cleared the ship as the yards hit the water. And then the Vitol was gone. Half a cable away, they could see the pinnace as they crested a wave. Rooke put the tiller over and they headed in that direction. After several minutes of straining and some near swampings, they were within hailing distance.
“Try to stay together!” yelled the captain from the pinnace.
“Aye sir!” replied Rooke.
“Have you a pistol and powder?!”
“I’ve my pistol but I’m afraid my powder’s soaked through!”
“I’ll shoot off every glass at night, try to say with us!”
“Aye, aye sir!” Rooke settled into the sternsheets and sighed heavily. “You heard the captain men, we’re to stay together. Men now on the oars will complete their watch and then the rest of you will take the next one.”
Giovanni looked around at his shipmates. He was happy to see Will in the bow and they exchanged weak smiles. Dugal and the bos'un had positions in the stern near Rooke. He didn’t see Matthews or Sam and hoped they were in the pinnace. He counted twenty-two men in the longboat and estimated about fifteen in the pinnace. They had lost more than half their complement...so far. He hoped they were as close to the squadron as they thought because in an open boat with no provisions they wouldn’t last long.
________________________
“Sail ho!”
Giovanni awoke with a start, hands still on the oar he had been pulling for two days. His mouth was sticky, his lips cracked, his face burnt. Pain shot through his slowly healing back as he struggled to sit up and turn to see what the man was pointing to.
“Where away?” asked Rooke, his powerful voice now hoarse from thirst.
“Off the stern quarter sir, You can see her when we rise on the swell....there!”
Giovanni squinted in the early morning sun and as the small boat rose he could see a ship hull down on the horizon. It was heading in their general direction.
“Looks like a ship o’ the line sir,” stated the bos'un.
“Aye, by the cut of her t’gall’nts I would say she is the Pembroke,” replied Rooke as he peered through his glass.
“At least she’s one of ours,” added Dugal. Several men grunted in agreement. No one wanted to rot in a Spanish prison ship for the duration of the war. Even Giovanni was familiar with the horrors of such a sentence. Rooke fired his gun twice as a signal to the pinnace that they had seen a ship.
“Cap’n Fairbain,” the man next to Giovanni elbowed him and whispered. “He got the Pembroke now, got a cousin that shipped out with him in ‘04, he’s cut of a different cloth that ‘ol Wort, he’s a real gentleman, an’ a real fightin’ cap’n too.”
“Aye, should have seen ‘im takin’ Gibraltar,” stated a gruff man behind him. “ ‘erd he took on three galleons at once, sunk one and took two prizes. Every man on ‘er rich as a prince!” Several men grunted approval at that statement.
“Where away Mr. Rooke?” Giovanni turned to see the Captain standing in the pinnace a cable away. He was happy to see Matthews manning an oar amidships. He tried in vain to find Sam.
“Sou’east by east sir, heading west by south. I believe it’s the Penbroke sir.”
“Aye, I believe Augustus Fairbain has her now. Very good. Then we better get to the oars, men, if we are going to intercept her. Course southwest Mr. Rooke. Pull you lazy sons of whores!” he squealed, turning to the men in his own boat.
“Aye aye sir,” Rooke added half-heartedly. Giovanni felt a glimmer of hope that his bad luck would soon be at an end. Perhaps Littlewort and his bos’uns were the exception and things would be different on another ship. Maybe the captain would be reasonable and listen to him, put him ashore to begin heading home. He shook his head, That was too much. He only hoped it would be easier to endure his sentence on the Pembroke and away from his tormentors. “Let’s go men, put your backs into it and lets all be drinking and feasting by nightfall!”
“Huzzah!” A ragged cheer went up as oars banged into the tholes. Soon the boat began cutting through the waves, arcing around to take them to what they all hoped would be their salvation.
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