Ripples in the Sand (The Sea Witch Voyages) (32 page)

Seventeen

They were ready to weigh anchor a few days later than initially intended because Jesamiah had not been happy with some of the repair work. Shoddy, slapdash carpentry was not what he expected on board his ship. He made the Spanish workers remove their less than acceptable offerings and redo it all under his own critical eye. Although the delay irritated, part of his belligerence was to show the Spanish that it was a costly business for them to attack him and his ship.

Nor was he too happy when his passengers came aboard a mere half an hour before they were ready to sail. This was cutting it fine; the tide did not wait for latecomers. He had no qualms about sailing without them, except the several cannons trained on the harbour from the fort might have disagreed with his decision.

Francesca he gladly welcomed but he was determined she should have her serving maid as a chaperone at all times. There were to be no misunderstandings filtering back to Tiola. He was fond of ‘Cesca, but his feelings when she had denied that the child was not his had been a mixture of relief and disappointment. The male passenger, however, was a different matter. Even as he was nervously ascending the hull cleats he was vociferously grumbling and whining. The lace handkerchief pressed against his nose, and the fastidious wrinkled expression of distaste as he stepped down onto the deck through the entry port did nothing to endear him to captain or crew.

“Why is there no salute for me?” he said to Calderón a step or two behind him.

Calderón judiciously pretended not to hear. “
Señor
, may I present
Capitán
Jesamiah Acorne…
Capitán
, your passenger wishes to be addressed, known and regarded, by the name Sir James le Roy.”

Jesamiah flicked his incredulous gaze between the passenger, Francesca, Calderón and back to the passenger. An expensively dressed, rather thin man of about thirty years, with a straight nose, high cheekbones and an austere, haughty expression. All somewhat marred by a pasty-fleshed face and bad breath.

“Sir,” Jesamiah responded offering a slight bow and hiding the extreme annoyance that was coursing through him. This was the fokken exiled King! James Francis Edward bloody Stuart! Jesus! He was expected to transport the Catholic King of England to Devon? Keep him – and
Sea Witch
– in one piece? Sodding hell!

“This is a somewhat small and inefficient boat, is it not?” ‘le Roy’ said.

Smiling graciously, Calderón hoped to dampen the insult. “The
Sea Witch
is a merchant ship,
señor
, but she is seaworthy and fast. She has also guns, which makes her as adequate as any naval vessel.”

The man sniffed fastidiously and looked Jesamiah up and down. “But there is no experienced Navy crew aboard to work these guns?”

Jesamiah kept his temper. “I was a privateer, sir, my crew and I can outstrip any Spanish Navy frigate, any day.”

Calderón had the good grace not to mention that a Spanish vessel had almost blasted the
Sea Witch
to pieces, and that it would be English ships attacking him if they knew who was aboard.

Nor was le Roy impressed. “Privateer? Pirates more like!”

Jesamiah clenched his teeth. King or no king, in actuality or in disguise, he would not stand for insults aboard his own ship. If this bastard didn’t like it he could shove off back to shore. “Pirates, aye, but we have all signed our name in the crowned King’s Book of Amnesty. You are safer with ex-pirates than aboard any Navy craft, I assure you. We are not restricted by senseless rules.” He stared at the man eye to eye. “Or maybe you would prefer to sail with men such as Admiral Byng?” That was a direct insult, and he had intended it so. In 1708, when the Jacobites had risen in Scotland; James had intended landing in the Firth of Forth but was thwarted by Byng of the Royal Navy. The French fleet had been pursued around the north of Scotland, the rebels losing ships and most of their men in shipwrecks. James had fled, not even setting foot ashore.

The second Rising of the ‘Fifteen’ seven years later, had fared little better. The Earl of Mar had summoned out the clans and captured Perth without opposition in the September of 1715, but Jacobite forces were defeated at Preston by George of Hanover’s army, and were pressed back into Scotland. James himself did not arrive in Scotland until a few days before Christmas. He was ill with melancholy and fever, as often he was, but managed to set up a court at Scone. The Highlanders were cheered by the prospect of another battle, but the English were advancing and James decided to abandon the enterprise. He retreated to Montrose and his ship; the pretext being that he was in favour of finding a more suitable advantage point. He fled to France, leaving a message for his supporters to fend for themselves until he returned.

“You know your history then,
Capitán
?” Calderón said, impressed that Acorne knew about the role Byng had played.

“Some of it, aye,” Jesamiah confirmed. The addendum of,
I also know a lost cause when I see it
went unspoken.

Finch was seeing to ordering the men to take the luggage below; several bulky chests and trunks. Where they were going to put it all, Jesamiah had no idea.

Le Roy dabbed at his nose again as showing the way with an outstretched right hand. Jesamiah escorted his passengers below, managing a few hushed words with Francesca as he assisted her down the dimly-lit corridor leading to his own great cabin.

“You could have warned me,” he complained.

“I could not, secrecy is our priority. No one is to know that King James is on his way to England in advance of his armada fleet. The entirety of the Rising depends on him being there to rally troops ready for when reinforcements arrive.”

“If we are caught we will be hanged, drawn and quartered for treason. Or burnt at the stake. Or both.”

‘Cesca regarded Jesamiah as she ducked beneath the low beams and out from the narrow corridor into the light of his cabin. “Then you are well in your element, Jesamiah. For is that not almost a daily risk for you? And perhaps, then, you had best use all your skills to ensure we do not get caught?” She stopped short and clapped her hands in delight, exclaiming, “This is beautiful! What exquisite panelling!” She walked around one of the two cannons to look closer at the carved panels of light oak on the bulkheads. “Oak leaves and acorns! This is a charming room, Jesamiah, not at all what I expected.” She went to the stern windows, peered out the middle of the five. The glass was salt-stained around the edges but had been cleaned.

“You thought I lived in a pigpen then?” Jesamiah said. “I like my comfort.”

‘Cesca inspected the seat of ease situated in one of the small side quarter cabins – that too had recently been cleaned – then crossed to the opposite side and peeped into the sleeping cabin with its double box-bed that was hanging by four ropes from the overhead beams. The coverlet was a bright patchwork of colour, clean sheets and pillows. “Your wife, I take it, is responsible for most of this?”

“Some of it,” Jesamiah conceded. “Finch tends to take the credit. He’s an old basket, but…”

A loud protest of indignation cut him short as James le Roy burst into the cabin, his face florid, his arms waving with annoyance. “I cannot tolerate being shut into that, that,
closet
! There is no room to breathe – no room! I will have this cabin!”

Jesamiah stepped neatly in front of him. “The lady shall have my cabin and my bed, for her condition dictates it. You, sir, have come aboard as an ordinary civilian passenger, and will therefore be treated as one.”

On the verge of making a retort, le Roy realised the futility of arguing, spun on his heel and retreated, his two servants scuttling after him. The poor buggers would probably bear the brunt of his temper.

“You push your luck, Jesamiah,” Francesca said, resting her hand on his shoulder. “He is the rightful King of England.”

Jesamiah grinned. “I fancy Fat George would dispute that, and I see now why they call James ‘The Pretender’. He ain’t very good at pretending, though, is he?”

“No, life seems to have developed a habit of sniggering behind his back,” ‘Cesca agreed.

“And you Jacobites want to give him a crown? You’re all mad.”

“Would you prefer to keep German George then?”

Jesamiah chuckled. “Good point. Settle yourself and your maid in, ma’am, I’ve a ship to get under way.”

Eighteen

Calderón was waiting on deck, ready to disembark. He offered a tentative, apologetic smile. “I trust you,
Capitán
to escort His Majesty to England. Sir Ailie Doone is expecting him – all you needs do is get him ashore to Crow Point. Sir Ailie will meet you there. Observers will be on watch along the coast; Sir Ailie will know you are entering harbour before you do.”

“I have to get across Biscay first. I hope this exiled King is not a weak sailor.”

The Spaniard spread his hands; shrugged. “Alas, all of the King is weak. His bladder, his stomach, his head and his courage, but Spain must have a King of the Catholic faith on the English throne, and my King, and the King of France, do, how you say? Wish to be riddance of him.”

“I don’t like it, Calderón, this is high treason – and you know you have a traitor in Devon don’t you? Someone is aware of your plans and has been betraying you.”

The Spaniard again spread his hands. “
Si
,
Capitán
Jennings and Sir Ailie have been trying to flushings him out. Perhaps while you have been gone, they have done so.”

Jesamiah snorted. “By making pretence of a list of names?”

“Among other rouses,
si
.”

“Ruse. The word is ruses.”

“Ruses. Francesca and I met with Jennings in the Azores a few weeks ago to finalise our plans. Henry was delighted when he discovered you were but a few hours ahead of him.”

“I bet he bloody was,” Jesamiah muttered.

“And so was the
señora
, although neither of us expected you to appear like a rabbit from his holes, here in España.”

“No, I don’t suppose you did.”

“Tide’s turned, Cap’n!” Isiah Roberts called from the quarterdeck. Jesamiah touched his hat in acknowledgement, then gestured at the entry port. “I’m sorry but you either leave now, or sail with us.”

“As much as I would likes it, I fear the English will not welcome me.” Calderón held out his hand. “I would like to meets with you again,
Capitán
Acorne. You are a fine man; your mother, she would be proud in you.”

With only a slight hesitation Jesamiah took the offered handshake. “My name is Jesamiah to my friends.” He paused, added, “And family.”

“
Si
. Jesamiah. Good sailing,
señor
, take care of the lady, she is special to us.”

Calderón clearly had no idea that in another guise, ‘Cesca was Francis Chesham, an English spy. Jesamiah watched him settle into the gig, and raised his hand as the boatmen pushed off. He looked up at the sky, a clear blue with a freshening wind. In Biscay that could change to torrential rain and a howling gale within hours.

He waited a few moments. He could hear le Roy bellyaching, his thin, scratchy voice already irritating. Jesamiah laughed and thought,
I could do England a great service by making sure the blighter accidentally falls overboard. Regicide added to my list of hanging offences might sound impressive
. He chuckled, went up to the quarterdeck and took one last look at his ship and the men waiting, expectant, for orders.

“Stand by the capstan.”

The weight of the anchor and cable would need brawn and rhythm to bring aboard. The men took the strain and as the first pawl clinked home the sound of a fiddle and a tapped foot broke out. Jesamiah looked up expecting to see old Toby Turner sitting in his familiar place beside the mainmast, expecting his old quavering voice to sing out. Instead, young Jasper was there, with Toby’s fiddle. His voice clear and sweet.

“Heave away, ho away, sail away m’lads. Ho away, home t’day, home I say, m’lads!”

Jesamiah brushed his left hand over his face. He had known Toby a long time and was pleased that young Jasper had stepped into his shoes. He glimpsed his fingers, realised for the first time that he had not noticed the absence of one and a half of them, though the skin was still puckered, sore and bruised. He was lucky; he could have lost the whole hand.

“Hands aloft! Look lively there!”

Topmen ran nimbly up the ratlines to larboard and starboard. Jesamiah watching with approval as they spread out along the yards like black dots against the blue sky.

The capstan clanked, the shanty became more bawdy, the stamp, stamp, stamp of feet as the men tramped around and around, the groan of the cable as it was brought in and fed down into the cable tier where men were receiving it and laying it correctly. Pirates rarely bothered. They often as not cut the cable and abandoned the anchor – easy to get another from their next prize – and rarer to bother drying the cable, for that area below deck stank with filth and stagnant water. A vile, dark hell, but as Jesamiah often reminded them, and himself, they were not a pirate pit of drunken piss-men.

“Anchor’s hove short, Cap’n!” Crawford’s voice from for’ard. Damn! Was he still aboard? Too late to send him ashore now.

“Let fall tops’ls!”

The foremast great sail flapped in the wind, a few moments behind, the main tops’l canvas clattered loose, the men who had beaten their friends to it jeering and calling to be quicker next time.

Isiah Roberts was at the wheel. Jesamiah stepped up to him and took his place, his hands caressing the spokes as he felt his ship stirring into life. His left hand felt odd gripping with only three fingers, but he guessed he would get used to it.

“Anchor’s aweigh, Cap’n!”

“Sheet home the tops’ls! Man the braces!”

As if she were a live creature released from binding ropes,
Sea Witch
swung sharply and plunged astride the wind, a wild creature set free to run where she would.

“Lee braces there!” Jesamiah shouted, followed immediately by Isiah’s voice as he slid down the ladder to the main deck, “Heave away! Put your backs to it, lads, we don’t want t’ look like whores’ cunnies to them Spanish now do we?”

With a rumble like thunder the great canvas sails filled and submitted to the heavy thrust of the wind, the deck canting over to starboard as Jesamiah strained to grip the spokes and hold his ship in check.

They were away! They were free, he was as one with his beloved
Sea Witch
, and heading homeward.