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"What do we do with Gore?"
"Put him over the side," Cunningham answered promptly, "he can get somewhere on his own."
The four senior officers, the two Allens, Cunningham and Packard; were holding a conference aboard Venus. They had a lot of decisions to make.
"We can throw him out in Port au Prince," Packard answered, "if he doesn't like the French I'm sure their are some pirates still around."
"I'm still not sure that is the best destination," John Allen said.
"I told you," his father answered, "I know a man there, we can sell the ships, the cargo, settle accounts. It's perfect."
"You know a man, yes that's perfect."
"What's wrong with it?"
Cunningham and Packard exchanged looks, they had already learned not to interfere when father and son started arguing.
"What's wrong with it? Pirates, scoundrels, thieves, it's run by the French; isn't that enough?"
"Where would you go?" Josephus Allen demanded.
"Back to Boston."
"We just got here."
John Allen waved toward the windows.
"And we've taken two ships, well loaded with cargo. Is that not enough?"
"I think," said his father, "that we can settle accounts in Port au Prince and keep hunting, we've barely touched our provisions."
Father smiled at son.
"But I placed you in charge, it is your decision."
There was a long silence.
"You know I hate it when you are right."
Josephus smiled, "Someday you will discover what a thankless task being a father is. Annoying your children with your wisdom is one of its few rewards."
"We could return to New England," John Allen said with a smile, "and fertilize the farms with your wisdom."
Josephus slammed his hand on the table.
"See," he said in mock anger, "you see what I have had to tolerate all these years?"
"I've sailed with him for a little over a year," Cunningham said, "I have a small understanding of your trials."
"When we get to Port au Prince I shall sell the lot of you to pirates!"
###
The four ships lay outside the harbor, just beyond cannon range from the forts. All four had only their headsails set, keeping them balanced between wind and wave.
Allen paced Venus deck nervously. His father had taken Mary Jane’s whale boat into the harbor the day before. For a time they had kept busy, none of the four officers had thought it necessary to transfer the captured ships together with ALL of their cargo, when they were sold. They had worked like mules for the entire day. The eight guns from the captured ships were transferred to Mary Jane, giving her a total of fourteen. The two ships had not carried large amounts of ammunition, what they had was also confiscated.
After a brief conference, the senior officers had also made a decision regarding the vessel’s crews. But that had not yet been announced to anyone, “we should delay final settlements until I’ve met my friend,” Josephus had said.
Now there was nothing to do but wait and watch. Allen smoked his pipe and watched a seaman on the deck carving a piece of whale bone.
“You seem to have some talent for that.”
The man looked up and smiled.
“Thank you, Cap’n.”
“He looks the way I picture Methuselah,” Allen thought, “I wonder how long he’s been doing this.”
“You spend a lifetime at sea, you learn some tricks to stay occupied.”
“How long have you been at sea?”
“Since I was a wee lad.”
“I see.”
“And I should have seen that answer coming.”
There was nothing else to do, but kill time, which is why sailors taught themselves to carve, or gambled, or got in fights. At least Venus had avoided those problems.
“What’s your name?”
“Johnstone, sir.”
“Where are you from Mr. Johnstone?”
“Born on Nantucket.”
“Your family whalers?”
“Ah, yup.”
A whaler from Nantucket, Allen new the type. A polite conversation consisting of three word sentences could go on for hours.
He looked at the carving taking shape. A mermaid with a substantial bosom. It was true, sailors were the same everywhere. Perhaps he could get the man to carve a figurehead, although he suspected he’d have to throw a blanket over it when entering port.
“Boat ho!”
Allen looked toward the harbor. His father’s boat was headed back out, under sail; and with a green and red flag at her masthead.
His father had concluded the negotiation successfully.
###
“Huzzah! Huzzah!”
The shouts carried across the water. Aboard Greene and Stuart, sullen crewmen eyed their guards warily. “I suppose these Allen fellows have sold us all.” One of the men grumbled.
“Aye, that’s the way of it for a lot like us, a different hand on the cat, same lashing every day.”
“They’re not like that,” seaman Jackson said, “at least young Master Allen isn’t.”
“Bah, he’ll sell us in a second for the right price.”
“Or even a bad one,” another man remarked.
Ironic laughter rippled around the deck.
Jackson glanced over the rail, aboard Venus men were readying the whaleboat.
“Let me tell you a story,” he began, hoping he could keep this lot entertained until Captain Allen was aboard. He was sure from the cheering that these men would be happy.
“And this is God’s honest truth. We took this ship with a Spanish family aboard,” he saw bored looks that quickly disappeared when he described the daughter.
As the whale boat approached Greene, father and son looked at each.
“What do you suppose they’re laughing about?”
“I have no idea.”
Gascard, Josephus’ friend said something in a completely incomprehensible accent.
“No,” Josephus answered, “I don’t think they plan on killing us.”
A few minutes later the were on the ship’s deck.
“What’s going on here, Jackson.”
“Oh, just telling them the story about that Spanish family. Letting these fine sailors know what a good man you are.”
Josephus laughed, his son turned and glared at him.
“I don’t see the call for your humor.”
“Of course you don’t. I’m your father.”
Allen looked at Jackson.
“And, of course, you didn’t embellish it at all.”
“Of course not.”
Allen looked around the deck. The men were once again grim looking. Behind him, four sailors heaved a chest onto the deck, having lifted it up from the whaleboat.
“Gather ‘round. Let me talk to you.”
He reflected for a moment on the stories they had told him, the moans of slaves below deck; the daily whipping of crew and cargo alike. These men were mostly New Englanders, they were good sailors and unused to the slave trade.
“Bring that man Gore to the deck. He should see this.”
A moment later, the former master of the vessel staggered onto the deck, shoved by two seamen. He was bound, but not gagged.
“I WILL HAVE YOU ALL HANGED AS PIRATES.” He shouted.
“Oh be quiet,” Allen growled, “or I will feed you to the fish.”
“You men have been badly treated, I told you I would make things I right for you, and so I shall. This is Mr. Gascard. He has purchased the ships and their cargo, but not you. You may do as you wish, sign with him, sign with us, or take your pay and go ashore.”
He heard incredulous murmurs among the men.
“Did he say pay?”
“Yes,” Allen smiled, “I said pay. You men, by your refusal to fight aided us greatly in the capture of these ships. My father and I have determined that we should reward that behavior with a share of our bounty.”
He paused at the chest behind him was opened, and men gaped wide eyed.
“Form a line and step forward.”
###
At a call from the masthead a seaman ran to the bow of the ship with a crude net on the end of a pole. After a moment he spotted what he was looking for, a bottle with long cloth trailing it in the water. As Venus slipped past it, he scooped it up in the net.
It was proving to be a good method of communication. The lead ship would fire a pistol when a message bottle was tossed overboard, alerting the trailing ship to the fact that a message was in the water. Moments later Allen was reading the note from his father.
“Son, I opposed you in giving bounty money to the crews of Greene and Stuart. These men worked harder than the original crewmen, now they’re trying to outdo each other. We have prize crews we can trust when they’re needed, and these men would sail into hell for us, if asked.
Thank you.”
The ships cruised a few miles apart along a north-south line, north of Port-au-Prince. After taking command of his new ships, Gascard had passed along some useful information. George III had issued a decree ordering the suppression of the North American rebellion. As a result there was continued conflict in the colonies. It was believed that a large body of ships was leaving St. Kitts, bound for New York or Boston. The Allens hoped to find and trail the fleet, although not closely. There was a good chance they could pick off a straggler or two.
In passing Gascard also mentioned that agents representing the colonial Congress were working to obtain powder in Spanish and French possessions.
A week after leaving Port-au-Prince, midway through the noon watch, Allen heard the call of the lookout. As usual a number of men lined the rail, trying to make out sails. Cunningham, Garibaldi and O'Reilly joined him on the quarterdeck.
The men watched as one set of sails after another came over the horizon, well off the port quarter.
"We have the weather gauge," Garibaldi remarked, "if we need it."
"We may need it to run," Allen answered.
Through his telescope he began counting ships.
"At least twenty-nine of them. I can't tell how many are warships, although I'm sure the majority are not."
Indulging his usual habit, he looked up at the sails, judging the wind.
"We should keep the sails a little slack."
"You want to go slowly?" Garibaldi asked. Next to him, Cunningham was nodding, as if he had worked out Allen's plan in his head and agreed with it.
"Yes, I want to get behind them, but I don't want to be seen doing it. They're several miles away from us, I doubt they'll pay much attention."
"I suppose," said O'Reilly, "that if they sent somebody to look every time they saw a sail, they'd lose formation in a day."
"Exactly, how many ships do we sight in a day? Three, four?"
"It has been busy of late," O'Reilly said.
"So we slip in behind them and wait, with luck we'll find a prize or two."
For the rest of the day Venus and Mary Jane wallowed through the swells, trying to look like simple, slow merchant ships. As soon as the sun went down they turned and ran before the wind, taking up "station" behind the Royal convoy.
They cornered their first prize around mid-afternoon. The hapless ship had been loosing her battle to keep up with the rest of the fleet for the entire morning. Venus, was much closer, being a mile or so ahead of Mary Jane.
"Signal my father to take this one," Allen said, "there's another one, two miles ahead. We have a better chance of catching it."
"You dearly want to take two prizes in one day again, don't you?" Cunningham smiled as he said it.
"Of course, don't you?"
As Venus plowed past the merchantman, Allen gave her look.
"She's not at all shipshape, I'd be embarrassed to claim her as mine."
The ships rigging was tattered, the paint on the upper hull looked worn.
"Look at the waterline," Garibaldi said, pointing, "see those barnacles, her bottom is foul."
"Yes, no wonder she's so easily caught."
Her Captain waved casually at Allen, as Venus passed by two hundred yards off her beam.
"He has no idea what is happening, does he?"
"He'll find out soon enough, I expect." O'Reilly answered.
An hour later Venus was closing in on her prey, another merchantman that looked well past its prime. Astern, Allen heard the roar of guns, he turned just in time to see the merchantman's flag come down.
"Look, look."
He turned at the shouts from the spar deck. Men were pointing. Three hundred yards off the port bow is own target was turning into the wind, he sails fluttering. The rest of the convoy was miles ahead, far out of range to send assistance. As Allen watched, his own target hauled her flag down.
"No stomach for a fight."
After taking a boarding crew over in the whaleboat he found out why. The ship's hold contained barrel after barrel of powder. One lucky shot and the whole ship would have been blown into the sky.
"This will be worth a fortune when we get home," Cunningham said, "I can't believe our luck."
"This has been incredibly easy," Cunningham said.
That night Allen tossed and turned uncomfortably on his bunk. Reviewing recent events, he could not stop his mind from racing. Cunningham's words came back to haunt him.
It HAD been easy.
And he could not escape the feeling that somehow, somebody; God, the fates, George III; would reset the balance of his moral scale.
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