I wonder what strange hint of disaster caused me so to phrase it? Surely, I knew nothing. To my thinking I was but being cautious, having no knowledge of all that would transpire before I came across this threshold again.
The Bonaventure went again to sea, and I with her.
Fair blew the winds, and the sails filled as we breasted the seas for the French coast. Some Spanish ships were reported there and beating their way north for England. But we found them not, so Sir George changed course and stood away to the south for the Azores, casting about for prey.
Owner of vast estates, he was encumbered with debts, and a rich prize might make up for all he had wasted in wild living. As he grew older he had also grown wiser, and wished to establish himself once more. Vessels laden with treasure from the Indies or the coast of America might be along soon, and it was one of these we sought.
We had been but ten days at sea when, just as dawn was breaking, I heard the cry from the masthead. “Sail ho!”
“Where away?”
“Three points abaft the beam!”
Our bows came around and we headed down toward her. She was a fair tall ship, a Spanish galleon fresh from the Indies by the look of her.
The decks were cleared for action and we rounded to. As we came alongside we let go with a broadside that toppled the foremast, and shot away a piece of the bowsprit. We closed in then and Sir George motioned me.
“You will lead the boarding party. Secure control of the vessel and make repairs at once, then keep in our company and prepare to assist.”
As we came alongside I jumped to the rigging. Followed by the members of the boarding party, I made ready for the attack. Men were swarming her deck, but much destruction had been done by our broadside and whoever stood upon the poopdeck seemed to have lost command.
As one man we swung in close and over the narrowing gap. There was a brief, fierce struggle as we landed. A man rushed at me, swinging a cutlass. I greeted him with a thrust, then fired a pistol at a second man. Two more closed in about me but one of them fell before the blade of one of our crewmen, a husky lad from Yorkshire. We drove them back, and I noticed a slackening of effort on a part of the crew, men who appeared to be Basques.
A dozen of these had grouped together. Suddenly as one man they dropped their swords and surrendered. One of them, a tall, blond lad with a splendid set of shoulders, merely handed me his sword. “Captain, we were forced to sea. None of us wished for this.”
“Get forward then, and if it seems to you the mast can be restepped and made useful until it can be replaced, save it. If not, cut it away. Do you and your mates stay forward. Give us good service and you shall be freed.”
They went quickly forward. Elsewhere the fighting had well nigh ceased. Here or there some hardened soul held to his blade. I disliked seeing good men die and persuaded some to surrender.
On the poop the young officer awaited me. Near him lay two bodies, of whom one must have been the sailing master—though I knew nothing of the command on a Spanish vessel. The other appeared to be the second in command.
The officer could be no more than sixteen—one of those given command, no doubt, due to family and prestige, with carefully chosen lieutenants who could carry the burden for him. Our fire had killed both, and now he was alone. A handsome lad, too, standing straight and pale with shock, but with no fear in him.
“You have taken my vessel,” he said, staring at me in an incredulous manner. The shock was still on him, for our broadside had been remarkably effective. Fortunate for me, unfortunate for him. “It was my first command.”
“And this is mine. If you give me your word to cause no trouble, I shall not imprison you.”
“Of course, Captain, you have my word.”
“Captain?” It was Wilsey, one of my own men. “Look!”
Four ships were bearing down upon us, although still some distance away. We had, in the short time since boarding the Spanish vessel, become separated from the Bonaventure, which was hull down over the horizon. The oncoming Spanish vessels looked to cut us off.
“Wilsey, get the prisoners below, all but those working on the forecastle, and make ready the guns.”
Again I glanced at the oncoming ships and at our own vessel. “Tell Brooks I said to get some sail on her.”
Of commanding such a vessel at sea, I knew little, scarcely more than the Spanish don from whom I had taken command. Nor had Sir George intended to leave me in command, I am sure. He had no doubt expected to come aboard and straighten matters out himself before we proceeded with our mission. Now I was alone.
Ordering the young Spanish officer below, I moved swiftly to get the decks cleared and to pull away from the oncoming Spanish vessels. To escape from them meant also to draw away from the Bonaventure, yet there was no other way.
I went below to the cabin, which was beautifully furnished. Disconsolate, the young officer sat slumped in a chair. “Do not despair,” I told him. “You shall be treated as a gentleman.”
“But I have failed!”
“One failure is not a lifetime, and this was no fault of yours. Remain here. I must go on deck.”
With our foremast gone and much of our rigging damaged, I swiftly realized our chances of escape were few. Darkness was hours away.
As I emerged upon the deck, Brooks came to me. “Captain, we are in a bad way. With the fo’m’st gone and damage to the rigging, we can scarcely make steerage way without repairs.” He glanced astern. “They’ll be up with us long before we can get any sail on her to speak of.”
“The guns?”
“Six of them out of action.”
“Our men?”
“No losses. Twenty-two men aboard, Captain, only some minor cuts and scratches. Nothing serious.” His face was stiff. “We’ve no chance, Captain. They’ll come up to us within the hour … two at most.”
My thoughts raced, seeking every possible solution. Capture for the crew meant a Spanish prison, with small chance of escape or ransom. Capture for me meant the same, but the crew were my responsibility.
The vessel moved easily upon the water. It was not a rough sea, and the wind was fair.
“Brooks? Would you rather chance capture, or an open boat for England? It can’t be more than two days’ sail.”
“An open boat?” His face changed as if by magic. The eagerness was apparent. “You mean now? They wouldn’t be apt to pursue, and … We’d chance it, Captain. I can speak for them. We’d all chance it.”
“All right then, food and water, Brooks. Get the longboat over the side, out of sight of the Spaniards. Arm yourselves, but if they pursue, don’t resist and I will do what I can for you. But you’ve a good chance to get away.”
He left on the run, and I turned to the Spanish captain. Of his language I knew a good bit, for Spanish smugglers were often off the Irish coast when I was a lad, and their officers had often visited us at my father’s home. Those who would be career soldiers went elsewhere, a career with their own army or the British being out of the question.
“Your name, Captain?”
“Don Vicente Uvalde y Padilla.”
“I am Tatton Chantry. Don Vicente, you have lost your ship. Do you wish to regain it?”
His eyes lit with hope. “Regain it? How?”
“It is a matter of honor, Don Vicente. I will surrender the vessel to you if you will give me your word not to pursue my crew, allowing them to put off in the longboat.”
He looked at me for a long moment, thinking it out. “My ship is damaged,” he said, “too badly damaged, perhaps. You foresee capture, yet you think of your men.”
“We could stay and make a fight of it, Don Vincente. We might lose. Our other ships,” the plural was only a slight shading of the truth, “may come up to our aid. And they may not. I wish to save my men.”
“And you, Captain Chantry?”
“I would surrender myself to you … to you personally, a Spanish gentleman.”
He smiled. “Ah, Captain! You are shrewd! I am permitted to show myself the victor, your crew escapes, and you become my prisoner, trusting to my honor.”
“Exactly.”
“How close are our ships?” he asked.
“Close,” I admitted.
He laughed, delighted. “Oh, this is beautiful! Beautiful! I must remember it, Captain!”