Lords of the Ocean by James L. Nelson

Author:James L. Nelson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: McBooks Press
Published: 2022-04-20T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

17

Here comes Courage! that seiz'd the lion absent,

And run away from the present mouse.

—POOR RICHARD'S ALMANACK, 1736

JOE HYNSON COULD FEEL EYES ON HIS BACK. HE TURNED SLOWLY,looking up and down the dark waterfront street, looking for whoever it was who was watching him.

A few people were moving about, the usual smattering of whores and drunk sailors and respectable people out for a stroll. But no one that he could see was paying the least attention to him or any of the activity aboard the cutter. None of Smith and Vardell's hired criminals glaring at him, taking note of his apparent treachery. But that did not mean that they were not there, just that they were well hidden.

"'Ey, Mr. Hynson, you gonna want this 'ere anchor cock-billed or is it alright 'ow it is?" called one of the hands from forward. They had hired on three men, blue-water sailors between ships, to help them sail the cutter to France.

Of course, they might get no farther than halfway across the river, to where the Goliath rode at anchor. Nicholson had suggested that they hire a boat to take them out to the merchantman, free the American prisoners, and then return to the cutter and get under way, but Hynson had rejected the idea outright. That would take too long by half.

If Sam was committed to this stupid idea, which apparently he was, then the best thing was to grab the bastards and get out of Bristol fast. And the best way to do that was to lay the cutter alongside the Goliath and tie up to the larger ship. It would be awkward-the cutter had a sparred length of seventy feet-but not overly so.

And more to the point, the cutter would be right there, ready to go, no rowing back and forth after the alarm was sounded.

"Sir?" the sailor said again, patiently reminding Hynson of his question.

"Ah, that's fine as it is." Hynson glared at the sailor, who was coiling down the cat fall and obviously trying to look innocent. Who do you work for, really? he thought.

And then he realized he had made a mistake, preoccupied as he was with finding spies. "No, wait a moment, you're right. Cock-bill it."

Think, think, he urged himself. He ran his eyes aloft, up and down the cutter's single mast and along the long boom that jutted out over the taffrail. The mainsail was neatly furled along the length of the boom, and the gaff was resting on top of that. Everything seemed in order.

From somewhere in the town of Bristol a bell rang out nine o'clock. Hynson pulled his watch from his waistcoat . and squinted at the face, just visible in the moonlight and the various lanterns burning along the waterfront. Eight fifty-eight. He'd reset the piece of rubbish two hours before and already it had lost two minutes. He considered flinging it into the river and would have, to ease his nerves, if Nicholson had not appeared through the hatch at that moment.

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