A Sacrifice of Pawns by Malcolm Archibald

Author:Malcolm Archibald [Archibald, Malcolm]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Next Chapter
Published: 2021-09-18T22:00:00+00:00

16

The weather was hot and clear as the fleet gathered at Point St Nicholas at the extreme west of Hispaniola. Some vessels sailed from Jamaica, others from the Windward Islands, North America, and Great Britain. As the fleet gathered, Captain Maxwell grew increasingly restless.

“We must be off,” he said, looking at the clear sky. “We must start to mark the channel. The longer we linger here, the more time the Spanish have to organise their defences. We’ll have to capture Havana and have the fleet safely in the harbour before the hurricane season begins.”1

MacKim had heard that the hurricanes were savage in the Caribbean, although the weather had been kind so far.

“We’re working with Captain Elphinstone in HMS Richmond,” Kennedy said. “Do you expect any opposition?”

“It’s not the Spanish that concerns me,” Maxwell said. “It’s the shoals and hidden reefs, the sudden currents off the points and the passage of time.”

As the British fleet slowly gathered off Point St Nicholas, HMS Richmond signalled Dolphin to head west.

“About time,” Maxwell gave a string of orders to take Dolphin to the west. “Put a man in the bows with a lead, and take over, Lieutenant Holmes. I’m going aloft.”

Dolphin eased ahead of Richmond, with Maxwell changing the man in the bows every two hours. MacKim grew used to the monotonous sound of the leadsman as he called the depth.

“No bottom with this line. No bottom with this line. Ten fathoms, sandy bottom. Ten fathoms, sand and shells. Eight fathoms.”

Whenever the leadsmen shouted that the ground beneath Dolphin was shoaling, Kennedy called for a slight alteration in their course and shortened sail to prevent the sloop from running onto a sandbank or other navigational hazard.

“Richmond is dropping back,” Lieutenant Holmes reported.

“Good,” Maxwell said. “I don’t like anybody watching me work.” He raised his voice. “Keep marking these soundings, Snotty!”

Midshipman Crabb looked up. “Aye, aye, sir!”

“Why call the poor lad Snotty?” MacKim asked.

“He’s no pockets in his bum-freezer jacket,” Suzanne explained. “So no handkerchief.”

“I see,” MacKim said. “You have strange practices in the Navy.”

Surveying was tedious, although necessary, as Dolphin crept slowly along the north coast of Cuba. After the first day, Richmond was the only ship in sight. The frigate followed a few miles astern, checking the breadth of the channel that Dolphin pioneered.

“Signal from Richmond, sir!” the midshipman reported. “Go ahead. Report back tomorrow.”

“Acknowledge!” Maxwell ordered, and rubbed his hands together. “Captain Elphinstone knows he’s slowing us down. He’s an Orkney Islander, of course, and understands nautical matters.”

Freed from the restrictions of hourly signals to Richmond, Dolphin made better time, finding and charting shoals and offshore rocks as she sailed westward toward Havana.

“Admiral Pocock is a daring man, taking the fleet along this passage,” Maxwell said. “I’d be happier if we could physically mark these shoals rather than place them on a chart.”2

“By the deep, ten!” the leadsman chanted.

The report of a cannon took them by surprise, although nobody saw the fall of the shot.

“Where the devil did that come from?” Maxwell asked.

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