"Why do you not give me half of the gold, then we shall raise our flags together and raid this ocean like we did before?" asks Flaco. "No, we shall raid like never before! We can buy more ships! Big ones! I know I can rouse the mighty Chucho with the promise of a ship of his own. We can mount a fleet and take every port in the Caribbean. You can be la gobernadora of Santo Domingo and I will rule over Jamaica. We will throw out both the Spanish Dons and the English Bulldogs! Yes, and the French, too! We shall be the King and Queen of the West Indies, you and I."
"Although the notion is intriguing, Flaco, I'm afraid I have no gold to give," I say, putting my hand on his arm. "And I fear that the Golden Age of the bold buccaneer is over. The British and the French and the Spanish are just too strong, and now the Americans, too. There's just too many of them. Face it, mi querido, it might be time to think of a nice rancho somewhere. Take a pretty and loving wife, and raise beautiful children."
"If you were to be that wife, Jacquelina, I might even consider that awful fate."
I laugh. "Dear Flaco, I do love you, in my way, but you know I am promised to another. As a matter of fact, I expect to see him very soon."
He claps his hand to his chest. "Ah, that another man shall pluck this rare and beautiful flower. It is too much for my poor heart!"
"Oh, I think you'll get over that plucking, you rascal. Here, soothe your tortured soul with another fine sausage."
Above, on the quarterdeck, a mouth is put to the speaking tube, and I hear, "Jacky. Ship on the horizon. We think it's the Dolphin."
I rise and go to the tube. "Be right up, Davy."
"It is the British frigate, this 'Dol-feen'?" asks Flaco. I nod.
"And it has aboard your intended esposo?"
Again I nod.
"Then I shall go and sink it, and then you will be free to roam the oceans of the world with your Flaco," he says, standing and putting his hand on the hilt of his sword and puffing out his chest.
"Go and sink it you will not," I say, laughing at the thought of the little brig El Diablo taking on the mighty forty-four-gun British frigate, fully manned and ready. "Butgo you must, as they will be here very shortly, and they may have some questions as to why the famed Hispanic pirate Captain Flaco Jimenez is hanging about one of their research vessels."
"I will go, mi corazón, but I know that we will sail together again someday."
"I know we shall, God willing. Now give me a farewell kiss and be off. I prefer you take it here, rather than out on deck, as my reputation is already in tatters."
My crew, bless 'em, have not said one single word about that little romp I took yesterday, bearing my shiv and clad only in my tattoo, but I know the story will get out.
Flaco chuckles and smiles. "That image of you, in all your natural glory, flying toward me to cut my bonds and restore my honor will forever live in my memory. Know that, Jacquelina."
I give him a poke in the ribs. "Put that out of your mind and give me that kiss, then away with you, amigo."
We embrace for a good long time, but then my better sense takes over and I push him away. "Come, let us go."
We step out into the light, and I look over to see that it is, indeed, the lovely Dolphin that is bearing down upon us. We can hear whistles and bells coming from her, and we know that she is Beating to Quarters and Clearing for Action.
"It is, indeed, time to go," says Flaco, noting that the distance twixt us and the frigate is closing quickly. He turns to me and, putting his strong arm around my waist, bends me over.
"To hell with your reputation, Jacquelina. I will have another kiss before I go."
He takes that kiss, then releases me and shouts, his white teeth gleaming in his rascally smile, "And I hope your man was watching!" Then he bounds over to his ship. Knowing my luck in that regard, he probably was.
"Hermanos!" cries Flaco. "Ungrapple the ships! Set sail! Let us go!"
I put my fingertips to my just-freed lips and regain my composure to look out at the Dolphin. Strange, I think, that she should go to Quarters for such a puny ship as El Diablo, which is showing every sign of running away. Odd, too, that she should be turning and heading up wind. What is going on?
"Missy! Another ship! A big one! Coming on fast!" comes Danny's call from the crow's-nest. I grab my glass from its cradle on the quarterdeck and leap up the ratlines to stand next to Daniel. Joannie is up there, too, and she asks, "What is it, Jacky?"
I have the glass to my eye, and I do not like what I see.
"It is the San Cristobal. She has come out."
I grab the buntline and slide down, shouting, "Battle Stations. Haul anchor! Raise sail! Move!"
Back on deck we hear the first low booooom come rolling across the water. Then another. Booooommm. Flashes of fire spit out from the starboard side of the Spanish ship.
Nothing yet from the Dolphin. I see that she is trying desperately to claw to windward of the San Cristobal, to gain the weather gauge, the position where a ship can rain down its greatest firepower, its broadside, on the enemy, while presenting that enemy no opportunity to do the same.
But it ain't working. The San Cristobal's eighty-eight guns against the Dolphin's forty-four just won't wash. The Dolphin will be brave and will fight to the last, and honor will be served. But it will not matter. It's going to be a slaughter.
There is another blast from the San Cristobal, and I see the foremast of the Dolphin coming down. Soon she will be helpless.
Oh God! Jaimy ... Captain Hudson ... Lieutenant Bennett. .. all my friends ... I must do something.
El Diablo Rojo is still close alongside and I call out, "Flaco! If you love me, you must help us!"
Flaco, looking out over the sea at what is happening, says, "I love you, Jacky, but what can I do? A British frigate, and the San Cristobal? I am but a poor pirate, and a small one at that."
"You must take your ship along the lee side of the San Cristobal and pepper her with shot—enough to distract her captain while I close in and try to shoot off her rudder! Do this for me, Flaco!"
He still looks dubious.
Then I say it. "Flaco. There is a stash of gold. Help me here, and you shall have half of it! I promise!"
Now I see the gleam of his teeth. "I knew it! And that is much more like it, jewel of my heart! Lead on!"
"Battle Stations!" I shout. "Jim, steer for the San Cristobal! Higgins, my jacket! Daniel! Hoist the Jolly Roger! All speed! Let's go!"
And so, our pirate colors flying above us, the Nancy B. Alsop and El Diablo Rojo charge into the battle.
Chapter 50
Lt. James Emerson Fletcher
2nd Mate, HMS Dolphin
An Account of the Engagement Between
HMS Dolphin and San Cristobal
Recorded while still fresh in mind
in anticipation of review
by Navy Board
We met the Spanish eighty-eight-gun man-of-war San Cristobal off the south coast of Key West, Florida, and immediately engaged him in battle. Due to Captain Hudson's expert seamanship, we were able to gain the weather gauge, but it did us little good, for the enemy's overwhelming firepower sent a wall of iron into us, shattering several gunports and bringing down our foremast.
I went forward to direct the cutting away of the fallen sail, which had collapsed over our port side and was dragging down our speed, making maneuvering very difficult.
Wielding axes, we finally managed to free the mess, in spite of the fact that we were being pounded relentlessly by the enemy's guns. That accomplished, I was heading back to the quarterdeck when we received a tremendous blast, and I was thrown from my feet. Rising, I surveyed the devastation all about me—men were crying out in pain, while many others lay quite still. The deck was slick with blood. I noticed that I, too, had taken a flying splinter in the calf of my right leg, but I regarded it as minor, considering the real suffering that lay all about me.
As I worked my way aft, I observed that most of our guns were still firing bu
t had not caused a great amount of damage due to our lack of position. Now that we had steerage again, I hoped they would be more effective, but still I felt, with sinking heart, that we were doomed to destruction or capture.
I noted also that Captain Allen's squad had joined our marines in the maintop and mizzen top and with their muskets were peppering away at the enemy. Lord Allen himself stood among them reloading his long Kentucky rifle. I saw him raise, aim, and fire it, and then one of the snipers on San Cristobal fell from the high rigging. The man had scarcely landed on the deck before Captain Allen had reloaded and fired again. Although I have nothing but praise for the performance of the officers and men of the Dolphin, I must single out that cavalry officer for special mention, as his coolness under fire was remarkable.
Upon regaining the quarterdeck, I was distressed to see that our excellent First Officer, Mr. Bennett, was down. Two men with a stretcher appeared, and he was taken, unconscious, down to the orlop, where Dr. Sebastian had set up his surgery. I was sure the good Doctor would be kept quite busy.
"He's unloaded his port guns on us, Fletcher, and hurt us severely," said Captain Hudson, grimly, "and now he's turning to finish the job." He then faced forward and shouted, "Bear up, bonny boys! Steady, boys, steady!" There was a faint cheer at that, a very faint cheer, you may be sure, but a cheer from our fine men, nonetheless.
"Mr. Fletcher, see what you can do about—What the hell is that?"
The Captain was looking over my shoulder and I turned to look.
There, coming full tilt toward the mighty San Cristobal, was a small brig and an even smaller schooner.
Good Lord.
Chapter 51
El Diablo Rojo heeled over smartly on the starboard tack and let loose his broadside into the port side of the San Cristobal. There were only six twenty-four-pounders, but the blast got the Spaniard's attention. Luckily for Flaco, the huge ship had just loosed its full port broadside at the poor Dolphin, and the gunners were a little slow in reloading.
I don't let myself think about what might be happening on the Dolphin. No, instead I fix my mind on the rudder of the San Cristobal looming up ahead. I've got Jim Tanner on helm, John Thomas and McGee tending the sails, Tink and Davy on the side guns, Higgins on the after swivel, and me on the bow chaser. Danny and Joannie are powder monkeys and have been told to keep their heads down when not engaged in their tasks. I have strapped on my sword and pistols and all others are armed as well.
Flaco whips his ship around and lets loose another blast at the big ship towering over us. It is good that the San Cristobal is so high, because when we are close in, as we both certainly are now, she cannot bring her guns to bear upon us when we come in low to sting her.
"Ready all!" I shout as we get near. We're about twenty-five yards away when I decide to risk a shot. I sight across the barrel, swivel it three degrees to the left, judge the up-and-down action of the waves, and then jerk the lanyard.
Crrrack!
I had been aiming for the upper pintle of the rudder, but I was high and missed, splintering only a few of the after boards.
Damn!
"Jim! Hard Right! Tink! Davy! Fire the port guns as they bear! Joannie, Danny, reload the chaser!"
The Nancy's head swings over and ... Crrrack! ... Crrack!
The lads fire, then the smoke clears. I see that the enemy's rudder is damaged yet hangs in its gudgeons and still works.
"Reload! Davy and Tink, to the other side." The kids reload the spent guns, and the lads man the starboard guns.
The Nancy's bow continues to come around. We are now directly under the fantail of the San Cristobal, and we have not escaped their notice. Angry faces peer over the side at us. I see that one of them is that vile Cisneros, glaring down at me with all the hate that is in him. I whip out one of my pistols and get off a shot at his face, but he ducks so I miss.
Then Spanish marines appear with their muskets at the rail of the big ship as we lie helpless below them.
Uh-oh.
Chapter 52
Lt. James Emerson Fletcher
2nd Mate, HMS Dolphin
An Account of the Engagement Between
HMS Dolphin and San Cristobal
Continued...
Yes, gentlemen, it was Miss Jacky Faber, so often at His Majesty's displeasure, who was now sailing to the aid of one of His Majesty's ships, risking life and limb to do so. Although you gentlemen may know of my liaison with this young woman, and some may fault me for it, I must say that I was never more filled with pride than I was at that moment. Dear, brave girl. Yes, I thought her actions rash, but then I have often thought so in the past.
Sailing in company with her was a small brig, flying colors not generally associated with any known country, that was unloading broadsides into the flanks of the San Cristobal with both impunity and great rapidity, distracting the Spanish ship sufficiently to give us a much appreciated breathing space.
Captain Hudson squinted through his long glass. "What colors are they flying, Fletcher?"
"Uh ... I believe they are pirate flags, Sir."
"Um ... It looks like she means to knock off the enemy's rudder. Brave girl. Let us see if we can help her. We shall draw closer."
Brave? No, she has never been vaingloriously or foolhardily brave. Generally I have observed her to be primarily intent on her own personal survival—and that of her friends.
I put the glass back to my eye, expecting the worst and finding it. The Spaniard, noting the threat from her stern, had plainly ordered marine sharpshooters to the fantail.
"Allen!" I roared up into the mizzenmast rigging. "Concentrate your fire on the enemy's quarterdeck! They mean to shoot Jacky!"
Immediately the musket balls from Captain Allen and his men rain down on the fantail of the San Cristobal, and the personnel there scatter. There is, however, an officer there who rallies the men, and muskets are again pointed over the rail at the little schooner lying below.
There is a thump as Allen's boots hit the deck next to me. He bites a bullet out of a white cartridge and reloads his rifle. His other men come down from the rigging to join him.
"I think we would all be better off if the Cristobal didn't have its captain," he says and levels his gun and fires. Over on the other ship, the Captain of the San Cristobal clutches his breast and falls to his deck. "Not very sporting of me," he says, "but it is our Jacky we are concerned about here, eh, what?"
He reloads as the three vessels come together. I could see the seamen David Jones and John Tinker down below on the deck of the little schooner preparing to fire their guns at the enemy's rudder, and Jacky Faber calling out orders to others of her crew. The Nancy B.'s mainmast rigging is now lying against the side of the Dolphin.
"Will you be taking care of things up here, Fletcher?" calls Allen. He slings his rifle over his shoulder and climbs over into the schooner's ratlines and begins to descend. "I believe we'll be of more use below. Come along, men."
A moment later I hear him call out from below...
"Fear not, Princess, the Cavalry has arrived!"
Chapter 53
I cannot believe my ears. Nor my eyes. I stand astounded.
"Richard! What the hell are you doing here?"
"I might well ask the same of you, my sweet little river nymph, finding you out here on the big broad sea," answers Captain Allen. "But time for hugs and kisses later, Lady Pretty-Bottom, as we have hot work to do here."
We are crammed up against the other ships now, fighting to get our starboard guns in position to fire on what has turned out to be a very sturdy rudder. Before, musket men had appeared at the rail and had rained shot down upon us, but aside from a graze to the side of Davy's face, no one was hit. Then the musket men above disappeared, probably because of the red-coated squad that had just climbed down to our deck.
"Sergeant Bailey. Align the men across the deck here such that we will fire in two ranks. If anyone shows their face above that rail, have the first rank fi
re, but have the second rank hold back, in case they think to shoot at us as we reload."
"Aye, Sor," says Sergeant Bailey, the old Welsh soldier who has heard all this many times before. "McDuff, Quimby, Jackson, kneel in First Rank. McMann, Merrick, Luce, stand in Second Rank. You heard the Captain."
Could it be? Archie and Willie and the rest of Allen's Dragoons from our trip down the Big Muddy? It is.
"I thought you might like seeing the lads again, Jacky, so I brought 'em along especially, like," says Richard, scanning the ships towering over us. Both vessels shudder as they continue to put broadside after broadside into each other. In addition, the San Cristobal also suffers the lesser but still deadly blows from El Diablo Rojo." 'Course I didn't know we'd be getting into this dustup, but hey, fortunes of war, eh, Princess?"
A bullet hits the deck between Richard and me, digging a furrow into the wood. He looks up, spots the man who fired it, a figure far up in the mainmast, and raises his rifle and fires. The figure jerks, slumps, and falls.
"If you ever see Lightfoot again, Wah-Chinga, give him my thanks for pointing out the virtues of this weapon." He reloads, and then shoves one of his thin cheroots between his teeth.
"Jacky! Coming in range!"
"Fire when she bears, Davy!"
Cccrrrack!
Davy's aim is true, but the four-pound shot hits the upper pintle of the anchor and bounces off harmlessly. Harmless to the San Cristobal, that is, for the shot ricochets back across our own deck, almost hitting Joannie, struggling across with another heavy bag of powder.
Damn! That rudder was built strong! Probably the builder thought about this possible eventuality, and curse him for his foresight! "Tink! Coming up on you! Try him!"