For Love of Country (24 page)

The cry came from high up on the mainmast crosstree. “Deck, there! Sails ho!”

“Where away?” Richard demanded, though he already had his glass trained to the southeast.

“Broad off the starboard quarter, Captain. Eleven, maybe twelve miles off. I see . . . two sets of sail, sir. Each has a square sail forward, a lateen on the main and mizzen. They're hull up.”

Yes, there, the tips of white, Richard said to himself. Looping the strap of the glass over his shoulder, he jumped up onto the bulwark by the mainmast chain-wale and climbed the starboard shrouds to get a better look. He laced his arm in and around the rigging and held the glass steady to his eye. With a sudden burst of clarity there they were, two xebecs, the largest and presumably the fastest vessels in the pirate fleet they had seen anchored off Penon Island. They were making good speed on a close haul: white water flew out from their cutwaters beneath taut bellies of white canvas. Richard did a quick calculation. His schooner was fast, certainly, but fast compared with a standardbuilt vessel such as a frigate or brig. In a race she'd be hard-pressed to stay ahead of these low-lying, narrow-beamed, sharp-prowed vessels built specifically for speed.

He collapsed the glass, slithered down a backstay to the deck. “Right on schedule,” he muttered to Agreen, just as Micah Lamont said, “Shall we change course to westward, Captain, and set the tops'ls?”

“No, Mr. Lamont,” Richard responded. “That's what they're expecting us to do. Bring her to the wind on a new course, north by east.”

“North by east, sir?” Lamont said in disbelief.

“You heard me, Mr. Lamont! North by east!”

“Aye, Captain. North by east it is, sir.”

He had pictured it all in his mind only a few hours ago, exactly as it was happening now: xebecs appearing like apparitions of the night, coming at them from the southeast, giving chase as
Falcon
fled toward . . . where? The charts showed no safe harbor within reach. The chase might take awhile, but its outcome was inevitable. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no one to turn to save the British squadron at Gibraltar, assuming that
Falcon
could get there before being overtaken, and assuming, if she did, that the Royal Navy was disposed to help them. Both assumptions, he realized, were long shots, especially the first. No, he had concluded, his stomach twisting at the mere thought of it, there was only one salvation for
Falcon
and her crew: fight or surrender. For him, the choice was clear. He had told Agreen his plan and Agreen had agreed.

He strode forward to the mainmast, the eyes of his crew upon him. “Men,” he shouted in as loud and steady a voice as he could manage, “out there”—he pointed to starboard—“are two pirate corsairs. You saw them in Algiers. They are coming for us. They are coming for our treasure. They are coming for our ship. They are coming to take us as slaves. They are coming for our Christian souls. I swear to you on all that is holy that they shall have none of these things!”

To a man, the crew roared out their agreement.

“We may be outmanned and outgunned,” Richard cried out the obvious, “but we are not undone. We can outmaneuver them. We can outshoot them. And we have surprise on our side: they are expecting us to flee, not fight.
And
we have with us a secret weapon courtesy of Blackbeard and
Queen Anne's Revenge.
I say we introduce these bastards to Mr. Edward Teach! I say we show them that Americans will no longer take their abominations lying down! I say we avenge
Eagle
's crew and pay them back with some of their own! Are you with me, lads?”

To a man, the crew cheered again.

Richard raised high his tricorne hat. “Then let us clear for action! Arm yourselves with pistol and musket, and take your battle stations. God be with you all!”

Men cheered anew as Richard turned on his heel. “Mr. Crabtree,” he called out. “Bring her up full and by and join me below. Mr. Lamont, please relieve Mr. Crabtree at the helm.”

As
Falcon
swung a point further into the wind, Richard hurried below to the after cabin. From his sea chest he removed a treasure: a finely wrought, well-honed sword with a gilded lion's head on the haft.
It had been a gift from a young Swiss woman of noble blood whose acquaintance he had made in Paris during the Revolutionary War. He secured the sheath to his belt and walked over to a side table where he flipped open a rectangular mahogany box. He withdrew two Kelvar flintlock pistols issued to him as a lieutenant in the Continental Navy and hooked one of them onto his waistband with a prong attached to the left side. The other pistol he handed to his second in command when, moments later, Agreen stepped into the cabin.

“I doubt we'll need these, Agee,” he said, willing his voice calm. “If we're close enough for small arms, we're done for. But at least we can take one or two of them with us.”

Agreen checked the frizzen for powder. “I'm with you, Richard,” he said grimly. He tucked the muzzle of the pistol behind the waistband of his trousers. “We all are. If we're goin' down, let's go down fightin'. America needs t' make a stand somewhere. We'll make it here and now.” He grinned as a thought came to him. “I'd give a lot t' have seen the look on those pretty Arab faces when they saw us turnin'
toward
'em. I'd wager they haven't seen
that
for a spell.”

Richard smiled back, the smile of a wolf. “One thing is certain: they won't try to sink us. Not with the treasure we have on board. They'll aim for our rigging to disable us, and then take us by boarding. Should it come to that, Agee, should they succeed in grappling us, we cease fire and lay down our arms. If I'm unable to give the order, you give it. I know what I said up there. But I won't see these good men die for nothing.”

“It wouldn't be for nothing,” Agreen said softly. He put a hand on Richard's shoulder. “But don't worry, Captain. If need be, I'll carry out your order.”

Up on the weather deck, Americans were preparing for a fight that, judging from the rapidly decreasing span of blue water separating
Falcon
from the two xebecs, was less than thirty minutes away. Gun crews had removed tompions from the muzzles of the guns and stood by with sponges, rammers, and worms. Butt ends of linstocks were secured in tubs of water; their upper ends glowed with hot slow-match twisting like snakes around the three-foot-long forked sticks. Gun captains had removed quoins from their beds under the breeches to elevate the muzzles as much as possible. Wet sand was strewn about the deck to provide better footing in the slurry of spilt blood, and the canvas wrap covering the three fire-arrows had been removed to expose their sharply honed, polished arrowheads glistening in the early morning sun.

Richard had every confidence that Gardner and Pratt and Blakely would tend to the guns. Save for actually launching the fire-arrows, these men had experienced, many times, the evolutions of naval gunnery. Richard's primary concern at the moment was
Falcon
's position relative to the two xebecs.

He and Agreen walked to the starboard railing amidships and scanned the sea to windward. So far, at least, his expectations were on target. The first xebec, the one closest to the schooner, had responded to his jog to the northeast by setting a new course to the west-northwest. The one following behind maintained a northerly course with a little easterly to it. So they were splitting apart from each other, Richard observed. In ten minutes
Falcon
would pass the first xebec. Good, but not good enough. He needed more power.

“Set the fores'ls?” Agreen asked, as if reading Richard's mind.

“Yes, do, Agee.”

Agreen waved to Tremaine at the tiller, who at the signal nudged
Falcon
into the wind. As the schooner's sails luffed and she momentarily lost way, Agreen signaled to the three foredeckmen stationed by the jib sheets and halyards. Up shot the jib, followed by the flying jib—two sets of triangular white canvas that reinforced the best efforts of the fore topmast staysail to such an extent that when Tremaine brought her back on her course full and by,
Falcon
sprang forward like a frisky colt given free rein at last.

They were making ten, eleven, perhaps twelve knots. Richard put the glass to his eye and noted with satisfaction that the xebec to windward had lost some of the driving power in her massive square foresail. It still drew, braced hard over, but with less authority than when the wind was on her quarter.

“We might outrun 'em on this tack,” Agreen speculated, referring specifically to the xebec to windward. Her consort was now positioned to the south and west of them.

“Perhaps,” Richard said, having considered that possibility, “though I doubt it. Those lateens are of no small consequence, Agee. And even if we could outrun them, what then? Where would we go? We have no more friends to the east than we do to the west.”

Just then, the xebec doused her great square sail and trimmed in her lateens, settling closer to the wind on a course that seemed to parallel
Falcon
's, but on closer inspection had more east to it. It was a course of interception.

“There's your answer, Agee,” Richard said, pointing. He lunged to grab hold of the starboard railing as
Falcon
heeled sharply to larboard in a gust of wind. The early morning breezes had hardened to a steady fifteen knots, strong enough to raise whitecaps on the waves and splatter spume across the schooner's foredeck. “See that xebec there? Even without her squares'l she's able to keep pace with us. She has two sails to our five, and our relative positions haven't changed much.” He spoke with genuine admiration.

“So their plan is t' circle around us an' trap us between them in a vise.”

“That's how I see it. And I'm happy to oblige. It's imperative we keep the xebecs apart. Any hope we have depends on it. But with this wind kicking up, we need our larboard side up, not down. I aim to take that xebec first,” pointing to the one ahead, to windward. “We'll need to change tack before we engage.”

Agreen nodded. “That thought had occurred to me.”

“We're two peas in a pod, Agee.” Richard faced forward with a hand cupped at his mouth. “Gardner!”

Tom Gardner stepped aft, gripping the larboard railing for balance. “Captain?” he called when he was within hailing distance.

“Man the larboard guns and remove the aprons,” referring to the metal covering placed over a gun's touchhole to protect powder inside from rain or sea spray. “Await my order. After the first round, reload the two forward guns with grape at full charge, the after gun with a fire-arrow at half charge. Got it?”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

As Gardner ordered the gun crews from the starboard side over to larboard, Agreen said to Lamont by the tiller, “At my command, bring her on a new course due south.”

“Due south, aye, sir,” Lamont acknowledged.

The xebec to leeward remained south and west of them, and was now making her turn to north-northeastward. To windward, the other xebec was closing in rapidly, intending, apparently, to sweep in ahead of
Falcon
and rake her bow with the starboard guns. She was close enough for the Americans to see her every detail with the naked eye: her white bowsprit; the ship's boat lashed upside-down between the foremast and mainmast; the ornately carved, extreme overhangs on her stem and stern; individual seamen and marines on deck, others secured high in the rigging like so many bugs caught in a giant spiderweb, the polished steel of their muskets and scimitars glittering in the bright sunshine.
Falcon
's crew could also see the black muzzles of guns, ten of
them—6-pounders, Richard surmised, much like his own—protruding through the bulwarks on both sides.

No one aboard
Falcon
had difficulty with the calculations. The Americans were outgunned forty to six, and perilously outmanned. The mathematics of defeat, Richard thought bitterly. But at least
Falcon
had a fighting chance.
Eagle
had sailed into these waters unarmed.

Agreen looked hard at Richard. The xebec to windward was closing fast. The xebec to leeward was farther away but closing nonetheless. The vise was beginning to close.

Richard nodded once in reply to the unspoken question.

“Ready about! Stations for stays!” Agreen shouted through a speaking trumpet. “Ready! Ready! Hard a-lee!” he barked a moment later.
Falcon
turned into the wind and through it as sailors in her bow eased off the larboard jib sheets while others amidships gradually hauled in the booms on the great fore-and-aft sails, keeping the sails drawing as long as possible to maintain her speed.

Richard kept his glass on the xebec to windward. His view swept across her deck to the helm, where, more to his disgust than his surprise, he brought into focus the
rais
who had stood beside the dey's throne in the royal palace. He was shouting something forward through a cupped hand, but stopped short and shifted his gaze toward the schooner as if sensing the eyes of his enemy upon him.

“Helm's a-lee!” Agreen shouted. It was the signal to release the headsheets to larboard and haul them hard in to starboard. As
Falcon
veered through the wind, her crew adjusted jib and mainsheets until all sails were drawing full on a beam reach, on a course due south.

Falcon
and the windward xebec were now almost upon each other, sailing on opposite tacks, the heel to starboard in the strengthening breeze elevating the schooner's larboard guns. As the xebec approached, her larboard guns were pointing down toward the water.

The
rais,
caught off guard by the schooner's sudden surge southward, let fly the sheets on both lateen sails, causing them to shiver and thunder in protest and their great booms to jounce and swing wildly back and forth across the deck. But that single action brought the heel abruptly off her; she was gliding forward on an even keel now, her bow nosing slowly, instinctively, into the wind as her gun crews struggled to make ready the larboard guns.