Free The Seahorse by Michael Aye Page B

decks
    Cause I can’t go to sleep.
    Every time I close my eyes
    I can see her face.
    Makes me wonder if her love
    Is nothing but a waste.
    My heart is so empty
    When she’s not around.
    But if she needed help
    Where would it be found?
    - Michael Aye

Chapter Eleven

    Lord Anthony lay in his cot. The only sound was the rhythmic creaking of the ropes that attached to eyebolts in the overhead. The cot seemed empty and cold in spite of the heat. It was the first night since weighing anchor in Plymouth that he had slept alone. He already missed his wife and daughter more than he ever imagined.
    Bart was right. Being on the beach was not that bad. He had saved enough prize money that he should be able to retire easily. Especially when combined with Deborah’s holdings. Yes, Deborah’s holdings. He had not as yet considered it his as most men would have done.
    The sudden shrill of a boatswain’s pipes broke Anthony’s thoughts. The sound of the bosun mates could be heard as they aroused the sleeping men below deck.
    â€œAll hands rouse out, rouse out you lubbers. Lash and carry.”
    The men below tumbled out of their hammocks quickly. The promise of being enlivened by the bosun mate’s starter prevented most from being laggard. The cook lit the fires in the galley stove while the on duty watch was put to work. They rigged the pumps, and got out swabs, buckets, and holystones.
    They scrubbed and washed down the deck then flogged them dry with swabs. Brick dust was used to polish the bright work. By seven o’ clock, the crew was piped to a simple but filling breakfast of burgoo (coarse oatmeal) and coffee. Anthony could hear Silas scrambling around in the pantry preparing his breakfast.
    â€œMy Lord.” This was from Bart. “I’s let you sleep longer than be usual. Yew seemed restless like.”
    I must have been , Anthony thought, if Bart had come in without awakening him .
    â€œLord Ragland, is he awake?”
    â€œAye,” Bart replied.
    Anthony roused out of his cot and dressed quickly. He then looked at Bart and said, “Go topside and invite Buck and Lord Ragland to breakfast.”
    â€œAye,” Bart replied, easing the cabin door to as he left.
    The breakfast consisted of coffee, cold cheese, pastries, and a discussion about the meeting with the foreign office agent, Sir Victor.
    Sir Victor had given Sir Henry his orders recalling him to England. He alluded that it was just a normal rotation with Admiral Lord Anthony replacing him.
    But in private Lord Ragland told Anthony otherwise. “British trade in the West Indies has been hit hard. To the point it’s critical. Only twenty-five ships out of a convoy of sixty carrying provisions to the Caribbean arrived safely. The governor of Grenada sent a letter to Lord North stating that they would soon die of hunger if the losses were not stopped. Insurance rates have soared and the Admiralty has been bombarded with demands for protection. More than three hundred trading vessels have been captured…a good many by the daring privateer, Malachi Mundy.”
    Gabe had met with him, Anthony recalled, but did not mention it.
    Lord Ragland continued, “Sir Henry was being recalled due to his inability to stop the losses.”
    Sir Victor had informed the group that it was now certain the French would enter the war…probably very soon after the New Year. He felt that Spain would soon join in as well. They had been secretly aiding the American privateer for a while now. “This has been confirmed by our agents,” he stated.
    Sir Victor had then pointed out the window to the harbour that spread out below them. “Do you think the eighty-gun Sceptre is here for her health? Where did her consorts go?” He had been speaking of the St. Michel , a seventy-four, and Toulon of fifty guns.
    â€œThey’re spying,” he exclaimed, “and there’s not a damn thing we can do about