Peter Wicked by Broos Campbell

Author:Broos Campbell
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781590133064
Publisher: McBooks Press
Published: 2008-08-31T16:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

Even half a hundred miles west of the arc of the Leeward Islands there was any number of island traders, some of them probably even legal, that slapped on canvas and melted away from us like butter in August. We took the opportunity for a little gun drill, running out the three-pounders and using up some of the powder supplied by the goodness of Congress for the preservation of free trade and sailors’ rights. Two of the ships we managed to overhaul threw all aback and awaited our pleasure after a single shot, which disappointed Peebles tremendously; but I didn’t trouble myself to look too close at either of them, as it wasn’t in my orders, they spoke English, and we didn’t have any people to spare for prize crews even if they’d turned out to be sailing on the account—which if they were, they wouldn’t have heaved-to in the first place. That was my thinking on it, anyway. Three times in one forenoon watch we heaved shot into ships in earnest, or at least in their general direction, which all in all it was just as well they gave us the air, us being shorthanded as we were. We whiled away the afternoon watch by blasting the great blue empty with the carronade just to make some noise. It had a boom that got you deep down in the oysters and set your blood a-boiling in a way that a pop from a three-pounder never could.

At four bells the next morning, though, with the sun’s disk just clear of the eastern horizon and gleaming like gold on the untroubled sea, we found ourselves in chase of a large cutter. She was pierced for fourteen guns and flying British colors. Now Johnny Crappo had a few cutters, some very large ones in fact, but I’d never seen a French one in West Indian waters. But there was something odd about her that I couldn’t quite figure out.

I offered Horne my glass. He took a long squint and handed it back.

“Just your ordinary royal scout and dispatch boat, sir.”

“Gundy?”

He shrugged his shoulders and pulled a long face while he took his turn with the glass.

“Not sure, me cabbun. Cutter rig’s as English as chasse-marée is Vrench—but if English, why do ’ee run vrom us?”

“If he’s carrying dispatches he’ll be under orders not to sit around jawing with admirals nor anyone else.”

“But he’d fly a signal to say so, sir,” said Horne. “And he’s not exactly cracking on sail.”

“Odd place to find ’un,” said Gundy.

I glanced at the compass. “Nor’-nor’east on the sta’board tack. Could be coming up from Jamaica, bound for Spanish Town or even England.”

“He’ll be a while if he doesn’t jank ’ee along an’ zcoot away,” said Gundy.

I looked at Horne. “He means if he doesn’t hurry up,” he said.

“Is’t an echo, Mr. Horne?” said Gundy. “Didn’t I just zay—”

Peebles had wandered over. “Why doesn’t he stop and say hello?” he said to no one in particular.

“Maybe he just doesn’t believe our colors,” I said.

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