An Inception of Piracy Chapter 9

“Sail ho!”

Captain Roger Douglass gazed up at the lookout. “Where away?” he shouted over the wind.

“Right off the beam sir, to windward!”

“My glass Mr. Dickson.” The mate of the watch handed him the spyglass. He opened it and trained it on the sea. Scanning the horizon, he saw nothing. Douglass was a short man with a large belly, a round, bald head, fleshy lips and hooded blue eyes. His features gave him a perpetually bored expression. He had a nice cargo and was headed for Williamsburg, only a week out of Plymouth. He didn’t want to see any ships on his way. Privateers were everywhere and with only six guns, his ship wasn’t a match for most of them. He didn’t want to see an English ship either. They would force him to heave to, board and press his best men. Then he saw it, a flash of canvas rising on a swell and then it was gone.

“Mr. Parr!” he ordered. A tall young man in a maroon coat came to his side. He was the first mate, Douglass’ sister’s son. Not too bright but a good seaman.

“Yes sir?”

“Tell me what you see.” Soon both of them were looking through their glasses into the windblown spray. The speck of canvas appeared on a crest again. This time they could make out a man waving it in the wind.

“Ready the cutter!” ordered Douglass. “Strike the topsails!” He turned to Parr. “They’ll never survive the storm that’s coming if we don’t get them in.”

The law of the sea is the same everywhere. If there are sailors in trouble, you do what you can to help them, the next day it might be you. Four men were soon rowing hard against the wind to the stranded men. It took them nearly an hour to reach them. They threw a line to the raft and then fended it off to keep it from holing the cutter. A chubby, young sailor with a sallow complexion yelled over the wind.

“One at a time, once we’re off the crest!”

Giovanni and Matthews situated themselves in the center after securing the line. The sailors kept the raft at bay with their oars until they settled into a tough and then drifted next to the raft. Matthews scrambled in first.”

“Thank ye, thank ye....for saving us....thank ye,” he kept repeating, trying to shake each sailor’s hand as he sat down. Giovanni began moving to the cutter.

“Wait for the next wave!” yelled the sailor. The cutter pushed off to the length of the line and Giovanni waited impatiently. Soon they moved into the next trough, the cutter came alongside and they pulled Giovanni aboard.

“Thank you,” he said, looking into the deep-set gray eyes of the sailor who had his hand.

“Couldn’t leave you out in a blow, my friend,” he stated, slapping him on the shoulder. Giovanni winced in pain from his sore back. The sailor looked at him quizzically. “You all right?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you again.” Giovanni settled down into the middle of the cutter next to Matthews.

“Ok boys, back to the Sophie!” The men quickly bent their backs to the oars and with the wind behind them this time, the distance was covered much more quickly. Giovanni looked back at the raft, visible only occasionally on the crests.

“Quite lucky, finding you out here,” said one of the others, a short spare man whose strong arms seemed out of proportion to the rest of his body.

“Aye, didn’t think our chances of bein' spotted were too good,” offered Matthews.

“Captain had an extra lookout, privateers....royal navy....trying to keep away from ‘em all.”

“How long you been out on that board?” asked another.

“What, two days I think, wasn’t it Giovanni?” Giovanni nodded in agreement. “Two days too long, I’d say!” smiled Matthews. Giovanni noticed the men didn’t respond much to the joke.

“Cutter ahoy!” came a call from the Sophie. They could just hear it above the wind.

The chunky sailor stood and waved, then came back to his oar. Giovanni looked at the ship. It was a small vessel, perhaps one hundred and fifty tons. She looked fat and slow, low in the water with cargo, rolling awkwardly in the swell. She hadn’t had a new coat of paint for a while and her rigging was sloppy, nothing like the Vitol or Penbroke. Three guns were secured on the starboard side, and five crew looked down from the rail. The cutter moved to the leeward side and threw lines up to the waiting men. Matthews almost fell between the cutter and the Sophie in his enthusiasm to get up the side, not waiting for the rise of the cutter to help him. A quick thinking seamen in the small boat caught him and pushed him up and over, saving him a dunking. Giovanni timed it correctly, having done it many times before.

“Welcome aboard the Sophie! I’m Captain Roger Douglass” said the captain, extending his chubby hand to Matthews as Giovanni came over the side.

“Thank ye,” replied Matthews, taking the hand in both of his. Giovanni came up and took his hand next. It was clammy. He bowed slightly. The other sailors were coming up behind them. Giovanni looked around. The decks were dirty and unkempt, and some of the lines had come off their pinrails and were laying on the deck. His eye then rested on a horrible sight near the foremast. On the starboard ratlins, about ten feet above the deck hung a man. His thin frame was stripped naked and he was strapped to the shrouds by leather thongs around his thumbs and ankles. His hands, wrists and ankles were swollen and discolored. Long, dark hair obscured his face.

“What unfortunate incident brings you to us?”

Matthews straightened up and glanced at Giovanni.

“Matthews sir, Thomas Matthews. We were formerly of Her Majesty’s Ship, the Vitol, taking a prize home when we were sunk by a French privateer three days ago. I was a seaman and Mr. Bartolli....was a passenger.” Giovanni looked at Matthews, he wasn’t sure that was a good idea. He saw the captain look at their unspoken communication suspiciously.

“Mr. Harte!” A frail looking old man shuffled to his side. “Enter these men in the books. I’m sorry gentlemen, but you will have to come with us to Virginia, there’s no turning back at this point. Mr. Boyle!”

“Sir?” Boyle was a sailor of medium height with straight sandy hair cut short. He had a large tattoo of a dragon that curled around his right arm and disappeared up his worn sleeve. He looked about ten years Giovanni’s senior.

“You will give Mr. Bartolli the comfort of your cabin.” Giovanni saw the man’s eyes widen in surprise and then disappointment, perhaps hiding a little anger.

“Cooper!” Another middle aged sailor with a barrel chest and short bowed legs ambled out of the knot of other sailors. “Take Mr. Matthews below and show him his space. Give him whatever refreshment we have on hand. Could always use an extra hand.” Their eyes inadvertently glanced at the motionless man hanging from the rigging. “Step to now men, storm’s a brewing.” Cooper quickly led Matthews to the fo’c’sle.

“This way.” Boyle was at his side, an edge in his voice. Giovanni followed quickly.

“I’m sorry, this really isn’t necessary,” Giovanni offered apologetically.

“Orders,” he replied flatly, stepping below.

At the bottom of the ladder, Giovanni’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light.

“This is it.”

Boyle’s ‘cabin’ was simply an area of the lower deck, without standing headroom, partitioned off with canvas. But Giovanni knew that it offered the illusion of privacy and that was hard to come by on a ship this size. He must be the quartermaster or carpenter. Boyle reached for his sea chest.

“No need to move anything, I’ve nothing to move in.” Boyle just grunted. A boy of about ten joined them in the cramped space and handed Giovanni a tin cup and a piece of hardtack.

“Cap’n says to join him in his cabin for dinner, if the storm don’t kick up too much by t’en.”

“Thank you,” replied Giovanni. Boyle grunted again, pushed past the boy and went up on deck. The boy followed him, leaving Giovanni alone. He sat down on the chest and took a sip of the grog. His fortunes hadn’t improved much. He was safe for the moment but he was being taken a lot farther from home, and if the man in the rigging was any indication, this ship wouldn’t be any better then the last. At least, thanks to Matthews’ quick thinking, he was a passenger instead of a deck hand. He moved to the hammock, climbed in and was asleep in moments.

________________________

“Mr., Mr.”

Giovanni opened his eyes to see the boy at his side, gently shaking him.

“Cap’n sent me with a spare coat and said to fetch ya’ for supper.”

“Thank you.” The boy scrambled up the ladder. There was a heavy rain pounding the deck and he noticed the motion of the boat had changed. They must have moved off the wind, under reefed sails for sure, he thought. He looked at the coat, a threadbare waistcoat that appeared to be green in the dim light. He put it on, it smelled musty. Probably hadn’t been out of it’s trunk in a while and was a few sizes too large. He opened the hatch and quickly moved across the deck, noticing that the man was still hanging in the rigging before he ducked down the hatch leading to the captain’s cabin.

“Ah, Mr. Bartolli, so glad to have you join us.” Douglass rose as far as he was able in the cramped space, his broad smile revealing two missing teeth. Parr was at his right and rose slightly as well. The old man who functioned as the purser was at his left and another sailor with a military bearing in a plain blue coat was at his left. He bowed slightly and didn’t smile. His light eyes took in Giovanni’s clothing and demeanor with suspicion, or was it contempt?

“Thank you sir,” said Giovanni, bowing himself. He took his seat next to Parr and looked at the food on the table. Warm bread, wine, pork and potatoes. They were still using fresh stores and his mouth began to water.

“I believe you’ve met my nephew Mr. Parr, and Mr Harte. This distinguished gentleman,” he gestured to the man in the blue coat, “is Mr. Bloom. He’s a lieutenant in the navy but hasn’t had a commission in over two years. Poor man can’t stay away from the sea so I took him on.”

Bloom nodded, a slight annoyance clouding his face. “All the good action happened years ago. Now it’s just chasing privateers and the blockade. And I’ve heard rumors that even that will dry up soon, since King Joseph died. Our part will soon be over, I believe.”

“Aye, we’ll look forward to that!” stated Parr.

“Glad when we don’t have to look over our shoulder so much,” added Douglass, raising his glass. “To a quick end to the war and the health of the Queen!”

“Aye,” “Here, here,” came the responses and the wine was quickly downed. It was good Madeira, noted Giovanni. Two young sailors squeezed in behind the men at the table and began serving the meal.

“Mr. Bartolli, How did you end up on the Vitol?” asked Douglass, mouth full of pork.

Giovanni swallowed the delicious bread. “I was on a trading mission for my father from Genoa...”

“Ah, a merchant like myself!” blurted Douglass. “What were you trading?”

“Cordage mostly,” he replied.

“Navy can always use good cordage,” stated Bloom, washing his pork down with a second glass of wine.

“So could we,” added Parr, winking at his uncle.

“Aye,” replied Douglass, ripping a piece of bread off and washing it down. “Capital wine, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” replied Giovanni. Next to him Harte grunted. He looked like he had already had quite a bit.

“Never been to the Med,” began Douglass.

“Beautiful, though the storms sometimes rival the North Sea,” stated Bloom. “And the women..”

“Aye!” Harte suddenly perked up. “I ‘member a whore in Corsica, whew...” he slurred. Then he turned to Giovanni. “And Naples, the Italian women are something else....long black hair...bosoms.....bet you’ve had yer share eh Mr. Bartolli?” and he slapped Giovanni hard on the back. He winced and it was all he could do to keep from crying out.

“Are you all right Mr. Bartolli?” asked Bloom. Giovanni waved a hand and drank some wine.

“Perhaps you should have a look, Mr. Harte. Mr. Harte is also acting as our surgeon,” said Douglass, an edge creeping into his voice.

“That won’t be necessary,” he replied, trying to smile.

“I insist!” Douglass nodded to Parr and Bloom who grabbed him and pulled off the coat, ripping it. Harte lifted his shirt, revealing the still healing scars of his beating.

“I thought as much!” bellowed Douglass. “I will not be made a fool of! No merchant or passenger suffers the cat like this, you’re probably a damn mutineer, you and that fellow you came with...deserter at least.” Bloom and Parr had him face down on the table by now and Douglass placed his hands on the edge and leaned close. “If you think life in the navy was hell, you haven’t seen anything,” he hissed. “You will serve this ship all the way to Virginia when I will turn you over to the governor where you will be tried and hanged for mutiny!” He sat back down. “Mr. Boyle!” he screamed. A few moments later a thumping on the stairs revealed Mr. Boyle, his oilskin shedding water in the cabin entrance. “Mr. Boyle, remove this man to the fo’c’sle and put him to work. And keep an eye on him, and the one he came with, mutineers and deserters, both of them!” Boyle grabbed Giovanni roughly, growling at him. Just when Giovanni thought things were getting better...