The Treasure Ship: Kinkaid and the Alliance

By Michael Winston

In this fifth volume of the series, our intrepid captain is given command of America's premier warship, one of the finest ships ever produced during the Revolutionary War, the large and powerful 40-gun frigate Alliance, her mission to deliver 100,000 Spanish milled dollars from the Caribbean port of Havana, Cuba to the coffers of Congress. Needless to say there are many forces that hope to grab this fortune for themselves and others would be just as happy to ensure it never reaches American shores. From the wind in the rigging to the roar of broadsides; with colorful characters, both old and new, as well as unexpected guests and surprising events, The Treasure Ship has everything one expects in a Kinkaid adventure, and more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Winston
• Release date: Apr 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311969316

Michael Winston

Army brat. Served in US Navy as Radarman aboard U.S.S. Cromwell (DE-1014) from 1967-71. BA in Anthropology from Ithaca College; MSW from Syracuse University. Worked in VA clinic and then in U.S. Army psychiatric clinic in Germany for Dept. of Defense. Sailed boats in Caribbean and Mediterranean.Historical fiction novels include the Jonathan Kinkaid nautical fiction series that follows an American naval officer during the Revolutionary War; the epic adventure "Sunset of the Iroquois," about Washington's invasion of the Indian lands of New York State in 1779; and the Sgt. Smith World War II trilogy that follows a squad of 1st Infantry Division soldiers to North Africa, Sicily, and then Europe, based on documented history as well as stories my father told me.Also an artist; paintings and cover art can be seen at www.michaelwinston.org

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The Treasure Ship

Kinkaid and the Alliance

Michael Winston

Copyright 2013

Smashwords Edition

An adventure in the continuing saga of

Jonathan Kinkaid of the American Navy

For the fans

Preface

There was never enough money in the coffers of Congress to properly fight a war, and especially a war against the greatest military power in the world at that time. But because England had made many enemies, all vying to claim their share of world resources, money was often obtained from those on the sidelines if it meant weakening their greatest rival.

France, a longtime foe of England, was the biggest donor, and gave plenty to keep Washington’s forces supplied with essential war material, along with the Dutch, both countries reluctant to commit to another costly war but more than glad to provide arms, powder, uniforms, tents, and other supplies to the American cause. It wasn’t until the American victory at the Battle of Saratoga that Benjamin Franklin was able to persuade France to enter into a Treaty of Alliance and Treaty of Amity and Commerce with America. This recognition by France of the United States as an independent nation caused Britain to declare war on France, officially bringing her into the Revolutionary War on our side.

An article in the treaty invited any other nation who may have received injuries from England to join the alliance, and thus Spain, still fuming over the defeat of her Armada in 1588 and then suffering severe losses to England throughout the Seven Years War, came to sign the Treaty of Aranjuez in 1779, bringing her into the conflict as an ally of France.

Spain was another of those countries that had vied with England for mastery of the seas and distant shores, dominating the New World from 1492 and gaining untold wealth from her greed for plundered gold and silver. But then her Hapsburg rulers became embroiled in too many expensive wars in Europe, culminating in the War of the Spanish Succession, all of which left her impoverished and greatly weakened. When the Bourbons took over in the 18th Century, much like France, Spain saw an opportunity to reclaim some of her former glory by assisting America in her fight with England. While reluctant to send ships or troops, Spain was willing to give money to assist the American cause.

All of which brings us to this story, based on historical accounts, in which Kinkaid is given command of America’s premier warship, one of the finest ships ever produced during the Revolutionary War, the large and powerful 40-gun frigate Alliance, her captain tasked with transporting 100,000 Spanish-milled dollars from the Caribbean port of Havana, Cuba, to Philadelphia. Needless to say, there were many forces that hoped to grab this fortune for themselves and others that would be just as happy to ensure that it never reached American shores.

Here then is the fifth volume of the Jonathan Kinkaid series of nautical adventures. I hope you enjoy.

Contents

I Gentleman Farmer

II A Captain Takes Command

III For a Life of Action

IV Orders, Brandy and Garbage

V Ungrateful Passenger

VI The Price of Honor

VII Lackluster Chase

VIII Mr. Tyler and the Gull

IX Justice and Mercy for All

X Dark Suspicions

XI Curious Business

XII Havana Heat

XIII True Sentiments

XIV First Attack

XV The Last Battle

I

Gentleman Farmer

Late February brought a break in the weather. The air was clear and mild, and the trees were already showing tiny buds, promising a new suit of yellow-green leaves.

Kinkaid was outside that morning after breakfast, as he usually was most of these too-early-for-spring mornings, in the back yard, patiently placing one rock beside another, slowly forming a rock wall, separating the edge of the trees from the garden like a barrier that delineated the wild from the cultivated.

He’d been at it for almost an hour and now he stood up to stretch his back and have a look. Straight as an arrow and with each rock placed with care and cunning, what he saw filled him with pride.

He hadn’t planned on doing stonework; hadn’t planned on building a stone fence, but the pile of rocks that he’d garnished after he’d finished plowing a rather large expanse of back yard for a garden that he envisioned filled with rows of corn, beans, squash, celery, carrots, radishes and peas, had beckoned to him.

At first he merely dumped the stones in a row along the edge of the field, and then, because he could not help but notice that the surrounding farms boasted neat stone fences, and because he had little enough to do until he could plant his seeds in the dark moist earth, he went looking for more stones to neatly pile on top of the row he’d originally laid out.

The wrist injury that he had sustained aboard the Active while in European waters had never healed properly and still bothered him, although his chief complaint was not that it caused pain, which it did at times, especially when the weather grew damp, but that his pinky and adjacent finger had remained numb and unfeeling. And while at first it made building the stone wall difficult, in time he found that using his left hand was actually improving the circulation in his hand. In fact, the more he exercised his forearm muscles the more feeling returned to his hand, and now the use of those fingers was returning, albeit slowly.

What really got the wall started was when Mr. Jonas Pettigrew, the old farmer down the road, the one he’d bought his horse and plow from, as well as a dozen chickens, a cow and two young pigs, told him about the foundation of an old barn on his property that had plenty of stones he could use to complete his project, and so it had been through his kind help that he’d found good use for his time, for that was really the gist of the matter, that he keep busy.

Not that his time was a burden. Dear Lord, he had so much to be thankful for. A beautiful and devoted wife, an infant son, and the means to provide a home and hearth for them, this very comfortable house on the road between Boston and Cambridge, with almost two acres of land, with a serviceable barn, the house surrounded by majestic maple trees; just the kind of place any man would dream of owning.

But then it was his very comfortable situation that worried him, for he knew that he was now living at the very edge of his means. And with little in the way of prospects for the near future he found himself worrying more and more, even to the point of having nightmares of being thrown off the property as a deadbeat landowner.

But he had to have the place, didn’t he? Him and his highfalutin’ ideas of being a gentleman farmer, if only to prove to Mr. Whipple that he was a worthwhile catch for his daughter, that he was a man of means. Ha, what a joke, for there was very little left now in his bank account, little to cushion his family from overbearing debt, in fact so little that he dared not tell Elizabeth the dire nature of their financial straits, and he living on the half-pay of a beached naval officer, at that.

Oh, the price one pays for pride, thought Kinkaid, to be the big shot. There were even moments when he wished that he’d never come out to look at the place, for once he did, the beauty of the grounds and the vision of he and his wife in front of a warm fireplace worked on his mind until he had to have it. He never even balked when the down payment kept growing, and it was that shyster lawyer, McFarlan, he had to blame for that, raising the down payment every time Kinkaid reconsidered the deal again, the ploy finally working to take almost all of his savings.

Of course he knew that Mr. Whipple would rescue him if the collectors came, but that would only disgrace him in the eyes of his wife and Mr. Whipple. Why, it was enough that he had involved Mr. Weatherby in the deal. As an apprentice in McFarlan’s law firm, Weatherby had volunteered to put a good word in for him with Esquire McFarlan, to have him ease back on his demands for an ever greater down payment, but even that had backfired, for when McFarlan learned of the scheme, the hard and spiteful man raised the payment to its highest level yet and refused to lower it.

Of course more than a few prizes that Kinkaid had taken on his last two cruises were yet to be adjudicated, and so he could take some comfort by knowing that a rather large sum would eventually make its way to him. But the process was slow and uncertain and could not remove the worry that he had not only risked his own reputation by plunging deep into debt but was risking his son’s future as well.

Only a few months old, little Nathan was a joy, and it had come as a pleasant surprise, and a great relief as well, for Kinkaid had been worried that he might not take to the fatherly role, thinking himself a sailor first and foremost, doomed to a lonely life at sea, with only sporadic visits with Elizabeth.

But all that had been dispelled the moment he had picked up and held the tiny bundle in his arms the day it had been born, and now he could not get enough of the child’s laugher and wonder at the world, with every color and movement and shiny little trinket a new and wondrous discovery, bringing Kinkaid to mimic every adorable expression, acting the fool to elicit the most delightful giggles, and it tugged at his heart whenever the little tyke cried.

Yet, even with all these blessings, these cherished gifts of fortune and delight, he had far too much idle time on his hands, too much time to worry, and so the garden and stone wall had presented the perfect solution, for the winter spent in idleness had been a torture. With so many captains and so few ships it was made even more difficult when he read glorified accounts in the newspapers about the exploits of the dashing John Paul Jones, setting the countryside of England ablaze, and then there was that fight with the Serapis where he had cried out, I have not yet begun to fight! earning him a place in the history books.

But Kinkaid’s increasingly strident requests for sea duty remained unanswered, and when the spring came all he could do was fill his time with the smell of the earth instead of salty sea air. It was worms and seeds and stonework instead of gulls and hardtack and wooden decks that occupied him now.

Even considering his financial straits, another factor that gnawed at his mind was that he was beginning to enjoy being a new father and gentleman farmer, and so even his deepest gratification was tinged with a feeling of guilt over not having a ship, that history was passing him by even as Jones kept adding to his fame. He even began to believe that it was his own fault; after all, he knew he had done little to impress Commodore Esek Hopkins when he’d served with him on that depressing cruise with his Northern Fleet to Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, where they managed to take a few valuable prizes, then did little but destroy some fishing boats before narrowly escaping the clutches of a powerful British fleet in the Cabot Straight that sent them packing for home port.

And while taking the news of our victory to Benjamin Franklin in Paris had been an important assignment, being a messenger boy for Congress had done little to further his career. At least he had accomplished one good deed to be proud of; rescuing those American seamen from the Portsmouth jail.

These thoughts and more went through his mind as he picked through his pile of rocks, finding a suitable stone, lifting it and then securely embedding it like a jigsaw puzzle next to those he’d already placed, while the sounds of life could be heard all around him.

In addition to the spring peepers, there was the familiar song of a cardinal, and behind him he heard the drumming of a woodpecker on that dead pine tree at the edge of the field. And there, off in the deep woods, he could hear the sound of the turkeys that he’d seen only briefly just a few days ago, the males puffed up in front of their harem.

Nathan had been named after Kinkaid’s grandfather who once owned a large farm down in Pennsylvania, and it surprised him how all of his grandfather’s knowledge of farming came back to him as he contemplated his planting the large garden that had already been plowed, for he had paid little heed to the old man back then, waiting only for the time when he could strike out on his own in the world.

Now the stone wall was forming faster than he imagined it could, his diligence paying off. And so his mind began to drift to what he might accomplish next. Perhaps, as O’Toole had suggested, a small pond on the north side of the house; now that would be a project! Why, he could make it large enough to provide a haven for ducks and geese. Perhaps even float a small boat; at least a small sailboat to amuse Nathan.

Jonathan? Oh, Jonathan? You have a visitor!

Kinkaid looked up from his work and what he saw was a picture of domestic bliss; Elizabeth on the back porch in his favorite blue dress with the white trim, with Nathan in her arms, sucking blissfully on his thumb. Yes, he decided, it was all worth it, all worth a bit of worry.

Now a man stood behind her. Why, it was none other than Mr. Simpson, employed by Congress as a diplomat, and impeccably dressed, as usual, coming over to greet him.

No need to stop your project because of me! he insisted.

Kinkaid wiped the dirt from his hands on his trouser leg as best he could before shaking hands with his old friend.

Good to see again, Mr. Simpson.

And I, you, said Mr. Simpson, checking his hand for dirt. But then he cast his gaze upon the stone wall and proclaimed, Kinkaid, this wall looks like the work of a true professional. Just look at that straight line; as straight as any keel or mainmast. Why, I believe you have found your true calling.

Perhaps I have, admitted Kinkaid, but what is it that brings you out here? The last I heard they were sending you to Spain.

And I’ve just returned from there. What a wonderful country. The women, the wine, the gracious manners of their nobility, the rich fashions. Why, this suit was made there.

Quite becoming, Kinkaid had to admit as he took in the rich dark green material of Mr. Simpson’s jacket, set off with bright gold buttons.

I was sorry to leave, but then my business had come to a successful conclusion and so now here I am.

Well, this is quite a pleasant surprise. Come; let us go into the house and talk. I can’t tell you how out of touch I’ve been of late, and you must be full of the most recent developments.

I suppose I may be of use to you in that respect, said Mr. Simpson, pretending an insult.

Oh, come now, I’m delighted to see again, blurted out Kinkaid before realizing Mr. Simpson was only teasing.

Elizabeth brought them tea and scones and then sat and chatted with them for a short time, but then left the two men in the parlor with the excuse that she had to check on the baby, whereupon the two men were left to themselves.

They sat with their backs to the fireplace. It was Kinkaid’s favorite room, with two tall maple bookcases, a solid oak desk, two easy chairs and a very comfortable upholstered and cushioned settee, but what made the room special, as far as Kinkaid was concerned, was that it afforded a clear and open view of his garden and rock wall through the bay windows.

They talked of old times, of their voyage to the Caribbean, and of their adventures in Paris with Franklin.

How did things go with the French? All I know is what I’ve read in the paper.

Quite well, as you may have read. Although it took some time to make it happen. Why, you know yourself how contrary they can be...and never to be rushed. But they’ve fully joined with us now and were readying a vast fleet to send over even as I left France, along with a couple of battalions of soldiers.

That is good to hear.

They even found themselves fondly recalling their questionable dealings with a certain pirate.

What was his name, anyway? asked Simpson. Blackstone, or McGregor, or McDougal?

All three, laughed Kinkaid. Why, he told me his chief aim in life was to live every name in the almanac before he’s through.

Mr. Simpson laughed. I knew that he returned with you.

Aye, we sailed back together; he in that fancy ship he stole from the Marquis.

And a lucrative return, from what I heard.

Kinkaid grinned, We did manage to take a couple of rich prizes on the way back.

Whatever became of the scoundrel?

I really couldn’t say. You know, I had hopes of making him an honest man; even managed to persuade Commander Nathanson to issue a letter of marque for him. At first he seemed amenable, but then he fell in with some rich Boston merchant and the next thing I know he’d left for parts unknown.

Probably went back to his old ways.

I don’t doubt that for a moment.

Well, it’s not easy for a man to change. And I would imagine that the free life of a pirate could get into a man’s blood, to the point where a normal life becomes impossible to endure, especially a restless rascal like him.

I suppose.

Well, you’ve made quite a home for yourself, Kinkaid, and I have to say I envy you. Very comfortable, very comfortable, indeed. Yes, when I finish roaming the world this is just the kind of place I’d like to find for myself.

Mr. Simpson picked up the carved wooden boat that sat on a little stand on the table in front of him. Now, why does this look familiar?

It’s one of O’Toole’s creative works.

The old white-haired Boatswain’s Mate? What’s he up to these days? I’ll bet he’s found a ship.

He’s had offers, but he and Mr. Grubb have started a small boat-building business over in Chelsea. He happened to stop by soon after we moved in. Had a few ideas about improving the place. Got me started on plowing the garden, which led to the stone wall; even suggested a small pond on the north side. I’m looking into how I might best excavate it. He also suggested I tap those maple trees to make syrup but since I still need to finish the stone wall and do my planting I may hold off on that until next year.

Do you hear from any of the others? Is Cato with you?

He was for a short time, but then he found employment as a chef at the Union Oyster House, where he is fast becoming famous for his seafood dishes, according to Mr. Weatherby, who claims the Oyster House the finest restaurant in America.

Ah, Mr. Weatherby, one of the brightest and most charming young men I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. And what occupies him of late?

Well, we see him quite often, though he’s busy taking classes nearby, at Harvard, and has found an apprenticeship with a law firm in Boston, that of McFarlan and Brewer.

Quite prestigious. So he is to become a lawyer?

I don’t believe he has decided yet. The last time I spoke with him he was excited with a science class, experimenting with electricity. The time before that he spoke of nothing but medieval history. In fact, it was none other than the plague that fascinated him at that time. Can you imagine? And he’s already looking into a whole new series of classes for next semester. While he claims the study of law a challenge, he maintains certain scruples which the most successful partners at the law firm don’t seem to share.

Mr. Simpson laughed and said, I’m not surprised, for if Mr. Weatherby is anything, he overflows with a delightful curiosity about all things, and is honest to a fault.

He worries that he is doomed to become a Jack of all trades but a master of none.

Oh, I don’t believe he need concern himself. Now is the time for a young man to investigate. He has plenty of time to decide what course his life is to take. Why, a young man of Mr. Weatherby’s talents is bound to rise to the top of any profession he chooses. Why, one could say that of many of your young officers; Mr. Briggs and Mr. Lofton come to mind.

Mr. Briggs and Mr. Lofton were both down in Philadelphia the last I heard, seeking assignments to any Continental ships that were scheduled to depart. Yes, they are all fine young men, all destined for success, and all excelling as naval officers. Given the chance any one of them could become an excellent captain, even a great one; if only we had more of a navy, more opportunity for them to prove their worth.

And what of that reticent yet practical gunnery officer of yours?

Mr. Hill? We attended his wedding not a fortnight ago. Lovely affair. Then Kinkaid had to laugh. I’d never seen him in a lighter mood, or more talkative. Yes, Mr. Hill did quite well for himself; married his nurse, you know, a woman of substance and wealth. As practical as he, and with as firm a hand as any captain that ever lived; why, she made him promise he’d stay away from ships before she would agree to marry him.

So his sailing days are over.

And gladly, in Mr. Hills case. Thirty years on the bounding main should be enough for any man, is what he told me.

What Kinkaid failed to mention was that Mr. Hill had come to him before the wedding with doubts. Not that he doubted his love for Glenda, but being a man of habit, he could not quite allow that a different life, a life away from the sea, a life of leisure and repose, was possible for a man with his abiding sense of duty. Why, all I know is ships and guns, is what he’d said, which had brought from Kinkaid, I’ve never known you for a fool, Mr. Hill, and all I can tell you is never turn your back when love and fortune call.

The room was filled with a resounding silence before Mr. Simpson asked, And what of yourself, Kinkaid? Do you not miss the sea?

Kinkaid sighed. Not so much the sea, but duty, he admitted. The sea is always there, waiting. One can always take a boat out.

But surely you must have hopes that duty also awaits?

I once hoped. Now I am not so certain. In any event, I’m afraid such things are out of my hands. I’ve requested, I’ve pleaded, I’ve even begged…all to no avail. The fact is that there are far too many captains and too few ships to employ them. But then one must accept one’s fate; and after all, I am a lucky man, a very lucky man indeed, and quite happy right where I am at the moment, and how many men can say that? Even as Kinkaid spoke he knew he was being less than truthful, and his anxiety over his finances taunted him again like a cruel jester.

But Mr. Simpson was considering the boat in his hand, the one O’Toole had carved, and now he carefully placed it