The Flag of Freedom by Seth Hunter

Author:Seth Hunter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: McBooks Press
Published: 2012-08-23T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

The Flight of the Swallow

The Swallow slipped out of Gibraltar a little before dawn on a murky morning in early April, with every scrap of sail she could carry to make the most of a grudging offshore breeze. She was a fine sailor with a decent crew. She had shown the Unicorn a clean pair of heels in the tramontana while sailing down to Naples, and the Unicorn was no slouch. Nathan could only hope she would see off the Spanish gunboats in the same brisk fashion if they poked their noses out of Algeciras, for the American flag would not save her after the length of time she had spent under the guns of Gibraltar; it would be taken as a ruse de guerre, and a poor one at that.

He stood at the quarterdeck rail, feet squarely planted, hands clasped behind him, mouth turned down and his hat pulled low over his frowning brow, the very image of the perfect hang ’em and flog ’em martinet. There was always a chance it might convince them: they were a new crew, they did not know him yet, nor he them.

He was not in the best of moods. They had made a hash of raising the anchor, and it was only Tully’s fierce and persistent reproaches that had prevented them from running upon the guard ship at the end of the mole. He thanked God they were not flying the blue ensign and under the Admiral’s orders, or he’d have been for the high jump himself. He had caught a jeering verse of ‘Yankee Doodle’ as they passed the guard ship, and someone on the forecastle had thrown them a biscuit. Which was a little unfair, for there could not have been more than a dozen Americans aboard the ship, for all their Stars and Stripes. The rest were Russian, Portuguese, Genoese and diverse subjects of King George – a term which, as anyone in the Navy knew, covered a multitude of sins.

The original ship’s complement – the men who had sailed down from Portugal with Tully – had been increased in quantity, if not in quality, by a trawl of the Governor’s prison and the bars along the Gibraltar waterfront; and the Admiral had sent them a draft of ‘volunteers’ from the fleet – which seemed to consist of every troublemaker and awkward cuss the fleet wished to be rid of. This had brought their number up to a little below 100, but they were of very mixed ability. Perhaps above half of them could be classed as seamen, in that they could hand, reef and steer. The rest were the usual flotsam swept out to sea on a tide of misfortune and misdemeanour. Nothing unusual about that – the King’s Navy could scarcely have mustered a squadron without them – but on a King’s ship their propensity for mischief was for the most part subdued by the Articles of War, the rope, the lash and a contingent of Marines.

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