The Scourge - Pirates & Privateers

Chapter 24: Salvation and Damnation

'Sails ho!'

As the seventh day dawned, the cry cracked the silence like a clap of thunder. The crew burst from the hatches and made the guns ready as they stared down the masts of the two ships on the horizon in ahead.

'At the ready, boys!' Ulrich ordered. 'Man the guns! Shot and powder!'

'Be ready on the defence!' Martin shouted from the helm. 'We're not looking for a fight, but if they fire first, let's not give them the upper hand. Schleckt, what are we looking at?'

'Two ships. One a merchant schooner. The other a ship-of-the-line. Fourth rate, at my guess.'

'Whose colours do they fly?'

'British. One East India, one Navy.'

'Navy?' Martin looked back at the flag flying from their stern – the Spanish cross. 'Strike the colours and show them the whites.'

'We're surrendering?' Schleckt asked.

'Not as such, but we need them to board.'

The Spanish flag was struck from the stern and a white sheet raised in its place. The British ships lumbered on forwards, oblivious it seemed to their presence. After ten minutes or so, the ship-of-the-line, which was now close enough that they could read her name – HMS Petra – came about at a laborious pace and reefed her sails to meet the Señora.

The crew lay in wait as the Petra loomed over their port bow, followed close in tail by the schooner. Both ships hauled into the Señora, and their officers prepared to board.

The Lieutenant of the HMS Petra, a fresh-shaven man of twenty or so, neatly garbed in a Navy uniform, marched with hands held behind his back, an entourage of red-coat soldiers at his heel.

The captain of the schooner, who Emily seemed to recognise, stepped gingerly onto the frigate, ringing out his hands.

The Lieutenant wrinkled his nose and eyed the crew suspiciously as they sat motionless on the deck.

'Who is your Captain?' he asked, his clear-cut voice slicing through the heavy silence; the voice of a true commander. 'Let him come forward.'

'We have no Captain,' Martin stepped forward. The Lieutenant looked at him in confusion.

'You're no Spaniard.'

'None of us are,' Martin said. 'We're British private men of war. My name is Martin Hamish, Helmsmen of the Scourge, and this is her crew. I speak on their behalf as our Captain was lost in action, along with our ship.'

'So, how is it you came to possess a Spanish one?' the Merchant Captain hoisted his nose in the air and peered down it at him.

Martin told the story, omitting as little detail as he could, ordering Schleckt to bring forward Captain Toros, bound in chains, then Emily stepped forward with the cylinder in hand. All the while, Martin followed Toros' gaze. He never once took his eyes off the Merchant Captain. The Merchant Captain never took his eyes off Emily.

The Lieutenant opened the cylinder and checked the contents, then, scratching his bare chin, nodded, satisfied.

'This all seems in order. It certainly sounds as though you've gone to a great deal of length to bring these documents home. You have my thanks, Captain.'

'Oh, I'm... not the Captain,' Martin shook his head.

'Indeed,' the Lieutenant smiled. 'Captain or no, you've done your duty by the Crown, and for your efforts, you are all owed a reward. How much was it you were promised?'

Martin relayed the amount.

'Well,' The Lieutenant dabbed his forehead. 'A-a sum of that nature can certainly be arranged, if you'd care to accompany us back to Plymouth?