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Josephus Allen sat in the cart atop his coffin, his hands bound in front of his body, his arms secured tightly by ropes around his elbows and torso. The noose was already around his neck, the loose end wrapped around his body. The crowd cheered and threw rotten food as the procession passed along the road.
They came to the public square, the cart stopped under the beam of the gallows. One of the executioner’s assistants pulled the quivering Josephus to his feet. Another assistant tied the noose to the beam. The prison chaplain prayed with him for a moment.
The executioner read out the charge and sentence, the crowd jeered at Josephus’ treason against George III.
The horse pulled the cart out from under him. He dropped a few inches and hung in the air, making hideous choking noises while his feet flailed, trying to find the ground just beyond reach of his toes.
John Allen sat bolt upright in his bunk, his body covered with sweat. He rubbed his eyes and looked around his cabin aboard Venus.
“O my God,” he exclaimed, “it was only a nightmare.”
He walked to the open stern window and looked out at moonlight flickering on the waves. It was an hour before dawn, but getting back to sleep would be impossible. He decided to go on deck, and for the fourth, sixth, or ninth times in the last twenty-four hours make sure all was ready.
It was time to sail, and he could not wait.
###
At that moment, Josephus lay on the deck in a cramped space on the fast packet. Irons gripped his wrists and ankles, making it impossible to find any sort of comfort. The other three men in the storeroom were also in irons. It promised to be a hard voyage, with the probability of a noose at the end.
For some endless time he and the others (also captured privateers charged with piracy) had languished in prison cell on St. Kitts. They had not been deliberately mistreated; by clearly the prison warden did not care what happened to them. Food was pitiful, and frequently rotten, there was a bucket for water and a hole in the floor for human waste.
During the day, the heat of the sun baked through the stone walls, with no relief. There was a tiny window but it admitted little air. At night, it could become surprisingly cold. The move to the ship had been a brief experience of change in their existence. Then the four men had settled into a new dull, miserable existence, this time surrounded by rough wood instead of rough rock.
They had conversed among themselves from time to time but after a lengthy captivity, they had exhausted all possible topics. So they waited in nervous expectation, and hoped the sea voyage would not be terrible, although they dreaded what might come at the end.
###
Venus sailed with the tide on a bright Monday morning in late August 1777. By the best information that Garibaldi had been able to gather, they were three or four days ahead of the expected convoy. For reasons unknown, the convoy did not depart on time.
Although John Allen wished desperately to free his father and had used as much time as he dared to prepare his ship and crew. Venus now carried a much heavier armament. No longer a mere merchant ship with guns, she was a heavily armed sloop of war. The two six pound guns were set on the forecastle, where it was theoretically possible to shift a gun from one side to the other.
The weather deck carried eight nine pound guns, what used to be the berthing deck was now a gun deck bearing ten twelve pound cannon and the four big eighteen pounders. The poop and quarterdeck carried no cannon, but sported a number of swivel guns. The foredeck and the fighting tops bristled with more swivel guns.
Garibaldi had shifted ballast and made other modifications to insure that Venus was stable with her new load. It would be harder to work the guns while sailing close to the wind, but the heavier armament suited Allen’s plans.
“This time,” he told his assembled crew just before they weighed anchor, “we will not run from a fight. I know that this concerns you. I have therefore told my officers, and now I’m telling you; that I will distribute my Captain’s share of the profits from this voyage to you.”
The unhappy looks that had shown on the men’s faces when he talked of fighting disappeared. He had just doubled their potential pay for the trip.
For most of them, that was enough.
###
Venus left St. Eustatius flying Dutch colors, and with her gun ports carefully closed. For a time one of the prowling Royal Navy sloops attempted to close with her. Allen ordered Venus sailed as close to the wind as possible. After awhile, the Royals gave up and turned back.
"Gentlemen, we are safely at sea," Allen said, "please come to my cabin in half an hour. We must have a council of war.
At the appointed time, they met again in the captain's cabin at the stern. The great windows were open, letting in fresh sea air. The ship rocked gently in the swells as she crossed the wind on a starboard tack, moving north at modest speed.
"Mr. Garibaldi, have you laid out the intended search?"
"Yes sir."
Garibaldi spread a map out on the table.
"Assuming the convoy's destination is New York, which I have no real reason to disbelieve..."
"Could they be going elsewhere?” Cunningham asked.
Garibaldi shrugged.
"It is possible, but everything I heard pointed to New York as a destination."
He paused.
"If that is not correct, it calls into question our understanding of the payroll cargo and..."
He looked sharply at Captain Allen.
"...Mr. Allen may not be aboard either."
Allen looked resigned.
"All too true. Continue."
"So, assuming New York, and assuming they will want to talk the most direct route, they will be traveling along this path."
His fat calloused finger traced a line on the map.
"If I may say so, even if their destination is back to London, they will likely take this course for a time. If going back to England they would want to steer north for a time to gain more favorable winds."
His finger moved back and forth over the map.
"I would suggest sailing north a day or two, or perhaps more, and then crossing back and forth over this route. We will want to keep sharp eyes at the very tops of the masts so that we are scouting as much ocean as possible. It will be more difficult with only one ship."
He looked again at Allen.
"Sorry to bring that up Captain, but I wish we had another ship with us."
"It does no good to wish for two ships. I think we could have had Trumpeter, but it would have been two or three weeks before she was ready for sea. I still think one strong ship, ready in time; is preferable to two weaker ships, ready too late."
"Don't worry I agree."
Allen turned to O'Reilly.
Are we ready for battle?
"Aye Cap'n. I have been drilling the gun crews hard. With your permission I would like to put them to some live firing while we are searching."
"By all means, do we have sufficient ammunition?"
"We have a goodly supply of powder and solid shot. I have very little grapeshot or chain shot, and case or canister was impossible to find. Seems fuses were in short supply. I'm making up for a shortage of anti-personnel ammunition with a little plan of my own."
"And that would be?"
"I purchased some thin linen bags just before we left St. Eustatius. We have several barrels of musket balls we took from Trumpeter. I'm having some of the landsmen load up the bags with the appropriate amount of musket balls. It should be pretty nasty if we need to use it."
"Good work. What about personal weapons."
"The men who are capable of shooting have muskets. Some additional men have sabers or cutlasses, a number more have hatchets or boarding pikes. The rest are busily carving clubs. We will be in ready if we need to board the enemy, or repel boarders."
"Excellent, thank you. I believe we will have to board the enemy to accomplish our mission. If our information is correct, my father will be aboard one ship and the money on the other. Depending on the tactical situation I expect we must put the sloop of war out of action quickly.”
The others nodded.
“Well,” Allen concluded, “all we have to do is find them.”
###
“The problem is that it is a big ocean.”
“Perhaps, Captain, we can find you a smaller one.”
Allen laughed.
“Yes, I suppose we are stuck with what God has given us.”
For five days, Venus had quartered the seas north of St. Kitts. Each time the ship came about; Allen had the turn made to the north.
“My big fear,” he had explained, “is that they will slip past us and we will never see them at all.”
A boom and a cloud of smoke issued from one of the light guns on the forecastle. O’Reilly worked his gun crews in shifts. They were now precision teams, each man carrying out his assigned task with maximum speed and efficiency. It would serve them well when the time came for a fight.
In the waist of the ship, another group was drilling with boarding pikes. Garibaldi claimed to have had training in the use of the bayonet, he was putting to use aboard Venus. At his shouted commands, the men crouched, aimed the sharpened point, and lunched forward.
“I hope they don’t spear each other with those things,” Allen said.
Cunningham shrugged, “Perhaps it will give them a bit of extra respect for their weapons.”
Allen scanned the sea to the south, “well we’re ready. Where are they?”
###
“I’ve never been so miserable at sea,” Josephus remarked.
None of the others answered him. There was nothing to say. Josephus stretched his legs out as best he could, the task was very nearly impossible in the confined space. Spasms of pain shot through cramping muscles, aggravated by unrelenting contact with the hard deck. He pulled a splinter of rough wood from his calf and rubbed the sore it left.
“I suppose this is something of what crucifixion felt like,” he said to himself.
Above their heads, a drum began beating.
“Sounds like quarters,” one of the others said.
They could hear running feet, and yelled orders, although it was impossible to understand the words.
The deck tilted as the ship came to a new course, and the motion imparted by the waves changed.
“Listen!”
A rumble, like distant thunder reached their ears.
“Cannon.”
Josephus smiled.
“I knew my son would come for us.”
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