Banners of Canvas

By Wayne M. Hoy

It is the War of 1812 and American Naval Lieutenant Darby Holmes is duty bound to cruise the waters of the North Atlantic in an attempt to keep enemy vessels from Americas shores, when he encounters a mysterious black ship and a distress signal from a beautiful woman trapped below deck.

Pirates have captured Margarita Vicentes ship on her voyage to Los Tortugas after the death of her mother and she fears all is lost, until the handsome Lieutenant comes to her rescue and eagerly agrees to escort her to her new home. But duty forces Darby to leave Margarita on the island with indifferent relatives who appear guarded and subdued and an overseer whose wicked gaze follows Margaritas every move. Margarita longs for Darbys return as her nights are interrupted by unexplained noises and glimpses of a phantom ship in the harbor. To her horror, Margarita realizes that she has unwittingly stumbled into the midst of a covert operation and uncovered a secret the inhabitants of the island plan to keep hidden and one that now threatens her very life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 25, 2007
• ISBN: 9781467816120

Wayne M. Hoy

Wayne M. Hoy presently resides in Southern Indiana with his wife of 62 years. A retired Police Lieutenant and father of nine, Wayne has taught a wide range of courses in criminal justice during his law enforcement career. His diverse education has supplied him with an expertise in many areas and he is an educator in the field of Theology as well. In his spare time, he indulges his passion for writing and researching settings for his historical romances, which include, The Wolf and the Stag, The Miniature, Appeal to Honor, Banners of Canvas, Fire in the Sky, Lone Star Justice, Ambush at Piñon Canyon, Day of the Outlaw, The Long Way Home, Where Eagles Dare, The Lady and ‘The Eagle’, The Eagle’s Wing, Casey Sue Thornton, A Chance Encounter and his latest, An Occasion of Valor.

Book preview

CHAPTER II

The sky was overcast and threatened rain as the coach rocked along the muddy street churned by the wheels of other carriages. Margarita leaned out the carriage window, and the soft wet wind blew upon her face.

Margarita, do not hang out the window; you’ll surely come down with the fevers, Madame Dubreuil scolded, and the girl withdrew her head, though with obvious reluctance.

Madame Erendida Dubreuil, a widow of not even four months, was a fine-looking woman of 24 years with dark eyes made darker by sadness, and a mass of soft dark hair worn in a chignon with tiny ringlets covering her forehead, but hidden now by a wide-brim, high-crown bonnet. Don Manuel Gonzalez, a trusted and longtime friend of Margarita’s mother had arranged for Madame Dubreuil to chaperone the girl and she performed her duties as acompañanta diligently, at times much to Margarita’s annoyance, for she had not even been allowed to be alone with Alfonso before their departure.

For her part, Madame Dubreuil readily accepted her responsibility for the girl’s well-being and she would not fail in her task. Don Manuel’s solicitation to engage her services as acompañanta to the girl came at the most opportune time for she wanted nothing more than to see the coffin safely aboard ship and be gone from this place where her husband had met his untimely death. She had not wanted him to come to this place, pleaded with him, but he had ignored her wishes and had joined the group of patriots making their way to Spain to enlist in the services of Napoleon where the resistance against the French had become a brutal struggle fought without rules or regular battle lines.

As much as Erendida normally avoided any dealings with her father-in-law, she had sought his help in dissuading her husband, and to her relief he had sided with her, more so she imagined out of his own selfish needs rather than of any concern for her. The older Debreuil had forbid his son to go, and perhaps that had been the impetus that had decided Pierre; his final rebellion. There had been a heated argument with Pierre’s father threatening to disinherit his son and ended with Charles Debreuil storming out of the house. And so her husband had left on his adventure, leaving Erendida, married less than a year, alone on the large plantation to face its daily challenges which under the circumstances she had reluctantly allowed her father-in-law to assume. And then word had come of her husband’s death, only a week after he had arrived in Spain.

The journey from New Orleans would have been much more sufferable had at least her mother-in-law been able to join her, but Charles Debreuil had collapsed at the news of his son’s death and was confined to bed for an indeterminate time. It was his heart the doctor said. With no one else but his wife to care for him Erendida had journeyed alone to claim her husband’s remains while her mother-in-law, Félicité had remained behind.

It had been a dark lonely, and at times, terrifying voyage from New Orleans. Aterrible storm not even a week into the voyage caused the death of most of the live stock, and the fare was reduced from the beginning to short rations of rice and beans. Two weeks after setting sail what was thought to be a pirate ship was sighted. Immediately preparations were made for a fight. Each man armed himself and took his position; the cannon loaded. It was decided that during the engagement Erendida and two other older women who were returning to France, should remain shut up below. All the valiant rehearsals, fortunately, were a waste as the suspicious vessel, after much circling and doubling, came no closer and disappeared over the horizon. A month out they encountered another storm and the sea grew so violent and threatening that Erendida had to tie herself in her bunk in order not to be dashed against the bulkhead. It was with great relief when the ship finally arrived at her destination.

So this arrangement was an excellent one, as she was quick to tell Don Manuel.

"Señorita Castelar’s company will be greatly comforting to me as I complete my tragic mission," she said truthfully.

And indeed, she would have a companion on the long voyage home bearing her husband’s coffin for burial.¹

She did look forward to the pleasant company of the girl. It would make the journey much easier. Her big worry at the moment, aside from violent storms, was the uncertainty of being set upon by pirates, even war ships or privateers, now that the United States was at war with Great Britain. All of Europe was in turmoil, it seemed, what with Napoleon’s army marching into Russia and occupying Moscow. And Spain, the place of her ancestry; things were going from bad to worse. The French forced Ferdinand, Charles’ son, to abdicate and Napoleon’s brother was named king resulting in Spain turning to Britain for aid. She would be happy to leave this place and more so when this voyage was over, she sighed, touching her kerchief to her eyes.

She glanced now at her ward. The girl’s swan-like throat was arched slightly in order to peer out at the passing landscape through the coach window, her face hidden by the curve of her wide-brimmed bonnet. At seventeen she was quite the beautiful young lady with a freshness and vitality about her that had already drawn the looks of many men during their trip here to Málaga the large port from which they would set sail; looks that were variations of pure appreciation, and of sheer yearning, all of which had served to keep the older woman constantly vigilant. Auspiciously the girl understood and spoke English reasonably well and Madame Dubreuil intended to encourage the girl to speak it almost exclusively on the voyage. She envisaged, and rightly so, that the girl’s knowledge of English would serve her well in the future. Madame Dubreuil’s English was perfect due to schooling in the United States as a young girl. She spoke French too as well as her native Spanish having grown up in New Orleans with its deep French and Spanish roots, and of course, her marriage to Pierre Dubreuil, a French plantation owner.

Margarita, her dark luminous eyes bright and staring with both excitement and trepidation made her way cautiously up the gangplank to the deck of the Bella Canto, a three-masted bark flying the Spanish flag, to the swirl of activity. A few steps behind her followed Madame Dubreuil. The women made their way to the afterdeck where Margarita, standing at the rail, watched as the ship got underway, only distantly aware of the sounds around her, the cry of, "Tail on!" followed by the squeak of block and tackle and the hiss of lines cast away and the flap and rustle of sails unfurled to the wind.

The wind was hard out of the northeast when the Bella Canto set sail on the morning of August 10th on a course for La Florida. Margarita wondered what things would be like with the world at war. Madame Dubreuil was worried Margarita knew for they were sailing without escort with only a small squad of ten soldados under the command of Captain Juan Carlos; destined for the Spanish fort at Vera Cruz, she was told. She glanced at the Captain who at the moment was conducting an inspection of his men assembled amidships. She watched him as he strolled back and forth, his dark-haired head set arrogantly on a strong neck, the unmistakable ripple of muscle and obvious power of limb. He was indeed quite handsome, she sighed; if, she shrugged, one was attracted to soldiers.

She turned her thoughts to her tía. A tinge of apprehension caused her lips to turn downward as she tried to envision what her life would be like, and she could not quell her sense that things might not be all that she wished for.

The wind, stiff and cold, stung her cheeks and she was glad she wore her bonnet and velvet mantle bound with swan’s-down fur. They had been at sea for nearly a month and the weather was changing and with it the tenor of the sea. The effervescent swells were short and broken with deep irregular troughs and the deck rose and fell pronouncedly beneath her feet as above her the wind caused the canvas to billow and flap. A mizzle of sea spray wet her cheeks, forming little beads upon her long lashes and she shivered, drawing her mantle tighter about her as she made her way below decks to the spacious cabin in the far aft of the ship. Lying across her narrow bed, Margarita opened the envelope and once more read the letter from her tίa written in a cramped hand, on plain paper, months ago and almost a year since Margarita’s missive to her.

Her tίa said she was shocked at the blow that had befallen her niece; that she had no idea her sister was ill, it was so many years now since she had been to Estepona. And she went on: "There have been changes with us you would not know. I no longer live in Havana, but in Las Tortugas, in La Florida on Cayo Hueso. It is a very small and remote island and if you were to come to us I should very much like your company. I have asked your uncle, and he does not object, he says and supposes you have received some inheritance…"

Margarita folded the letter and laid it aside on her bunk. It was a strange message of welcome from the smiling aunt she remembered; a cold empty letter giving no word of comfort, and admitting nothing…and that odd remark about inheritance. What was she implying? She stared out the stern window. Tίa Alicia with her silk dresses and delicate ways, the wife of a plantation owner. And what a strange name; Cayo Hueso…Bone Island. The letter was very different from the one penned by a happy bride ten years ago. Whatever her welcome, Margarita sighed, her tίa was her own mother’s sister, and that was one thing to remember. The old life lay behind—the countryside of Costa del Sol where the mountains rolled down to the sea. Before her lay the future—and Cayo Hueso.

On the morning of September 24 the low-lying green expanse of the Bahamas was seen off their larboard beam. The weather was noticeably warm and the sight of land lifted Margarita’s spirits. It was shortly after noon that a shout went up from the lookout high in the tops.

Sail ho! Two points off the larboard quarter!

It was exciting to meet another ship on this wide expanse of endless sea and Margarita joined Erendida at the larboard rail where shading her eyes she peered out over the water. The ship was a small dark speck, lost for a moment, then sighted again as the Bella Canto surged to the crest of a wave. The ship’s captain, Mateo Juarez, a short heavy-shouldered man, stood on the quarterdeck long glass to his eye. In a moment he cursed, and lowering the glass, cast a hard look at his first mate before bringing the glass back to his eye. For a long time he stared to sea before whirling upon the crew.

Outer jib, all fore-tops’ls, main and mizzen-tops’ls and main to’gallant, he shouted, his vibrant voice booming across the deck that produced a flurry of activity and a change of course.

Captain Carlos hurried topside from his cabin below and approached Captain Juarez who was twisting the long glass about in his hands staring hard to sea.

"¿Que pasa?" Carlos demanded hand on his sword.

That ship, Captain Juarez said, pointing. I don’t like the make of her. She has the look of pirate. I’ve ordered all canvas spread even to stu’ns’ls. I’m going to make a run for Havana.

Let me see, Carlos said, reaching for the long glass. She’s black-hulled and shows no flag, Carlos muttered, slamming the glass closed. And it looks like she’s making for us.

What is wrong? Margarita asked, looking at Erendida who had just returned from talking with Captain Juarez.

Erendida caught both of Margarita’s hands in her own. Captain Juarez thinks the other ship might be…a pirate, she swallowed, face a pasty white.

"¡Madre de Dios!" Margarita gasped.

Mesmerized, trembling with excitement, Margarita and Erendida watched with an almost fatal fascination as the black speck grew larger and larger, first dead astern, and then on a parallel with them only two miles distant.

"¡Dios me libre! Captain Juarez cursed, They’re cutting us off from shore."

The black ship’s three masts were sharply canted, sails billowing, gun ports gaping, a thing of power and speed. Though she flew no flag the name Sea Witch was plainly visible on her bow. Suddenly a cloud of smoke erupted from the deck of the sinister black ship and Margarita screamed throwing her hands to her face as the Bella Canto’s topgallant yard tumbled to the deck followed by a rain of splinters and hiss of lines.

Take the women below! Captain Juarez ordered, and Captain Carlos pushed the women before him down the steps.

As the terrifying crash of musketry sounded from above, the two women huddled before the small statue of la Virgen where a tiny candle winked in the dimness of the cabin. The sudden sound of fierce shrieks and thumping and pounding of feet came from the deck above and the women screamed, clinging tightly to each other. There was crashing and bumping in the stair well and the sound of men cursing, the clash of metal upon metal and then with a splintering of wood the cabin door was flung open. In a flash Margarita saw the crumbled, bloody form of Captain Carlos at the foot of the stair. Over him stepped a half naked creature, blood splattering his massive chest and arms. He clasped a bloodied cutlass in one hand and a sharp-pointed dagger in the other. Several other men of like appearance crowded into the cabin behind the first pirate where they halted staring at the two women in lewd appraisal. To Margarita their faces loomed shapeless and distorted all hair and teeth, mouths much too large for their bodies, and they brought with them the foul smell of unwashed bodies and the sickening scent of blood. The first pirate advanced purposefully toward the women who huddled in frozen horror against the transom window. His lust-filled eyes came to rest on Margarita who turned sick and nearly faint at the sight of him.

You, he purred sensuously in a voice with a thick French accent. Come to me.

No! cried Erendida thrusting herself protectively in front of Margarita.

As though he found her conduct amusing, the pirate’s lips curled in a sneering grin baring yellow teeth. Sliding the dagger beneath the leather belt holding up his baggy breeches, he suddenly seized Erendida’s wrist and nearly jerking her off her feet, swung her around him into the arms of one of his companions who, uttering a lurid expletive, grabbed her about her waist.

Tickle ‘er up Joss, one of the motley group shouted as they crowded around Madame Dubreuil and her captor.

Let’s see what she looks without her fine clothes, laughed another, odious and obscene.

There came the thumping of footsteps on the stair and the figure of a man loomed in the doorway. He was tall and had to bend low in order to enter the cabin. He straightened, a slow deliberate action, and stood surveying the scene, arms akimbo.

That’s enough boys, he said, leave the women be.

Be damn, why not we have fun with them? growled one of the pirates.

"Oui, snarled the Frenchman. Why not we enjoy them? Then when we done with them we take them to Trinidad, sell them. They make very fine whores, make lots of money."

The newcomer shrugged. "El Segundo said no one is to harm the women, until he decides what to do with them."

The Frenchman, hands dangling at his knees, listened open-mouthed to the man’s calm speech. Son of the bitch! he blasted, and the pirate holding Madame Dubreuil shoved her into Margarita’s arms and the two clung trembling to one another.

Cursing steadily, and almost dancing with rage, the pirates stomped from the cabin. Whoever this El Segundo was, Margarita shivered, the very mention of his name caused the others to give in without argument.

Well, ladies, said the newcomer. I’ve saved you…and you ought to go down on your knees and thank me for it; because, if I hadn’t—by God, there wouldn’t be much left of you now!

There was something appalling in this ingratiating speech, which in some strange way held not a note of benevolence, but only disguised some sinister thing yet to come about.

What will become of us? Erendida asked, voice quivering.

He shrugged. That depends on your families, if they come up with the ransom payment… If not— He shrugged again. He spoke with calm authority and when his eyes encountered Margarita’s she thought them strange, transparent like glass and pale in color.

Why are you doing this? Erendida asked, biting her lip. Your speech, you are well educated; you must have come from a good family. Do you not have mother, sisters—

Hah! he guffawed and his pale colorless eyes became dark shadowy pools. He turned away from her without another word and climbed the stair to the deck.

At sea in the North Atlantic

CHAPTER III

The wind, trailing a wet fog off the sea, sang boisterously in the rigging of the United States Brig Vantage . A mizzle of sea spray breaking over the quarterdeck breastwork wet First Lieutenant Darby Holmes’ cheeks, forming little beads upon the lens of the long glass he held to his eye. A thin ray of sun broke through a wisp of cloud glimmering dimly upon the single gold epaulette on his left shoulder as he wiped the glass on the sleeve of his dark blue coat festooned with bright gold buttons down the lapels and across the cuffs. He brought the glass back to his eye staring out over the endless green effervescent swells to again train upon the gray sails far in the distance.

Shall we change heading to intercept her, sir? the young midshipman at his elbow asked.

And what do the regulations say, Mister Wilmot? Darby asked, not taking his eye from the distant sail.

At sea the ship’s course shall not be changed without the captain’s direction, unless to prevent an immediate danger, the midshipman quoted decisively after only a moment’s hesitation.

Very good, Mister Wilmot. You may notify the captain, Darby acknowledged.

Aye, aye, sir, the young man exclaimed and fairly skipped down the ladder to the berthing deck.

Actually, Darby thought, lowering the long glass, Vantage wouldn’t have to change heading if the unidentified ship continued on her same tack. They would pass within a cable’s length of each other. With times being what they were, he didn’t expect the ship to stay her course, though—unless she was a British or French ship of war. In that case she would change tack to intercept Vantage. He peered again through the long glass at the distant sail. The ship’s course remained unchanged.

Perhaps she hasn’t seen us yet, he mused aloud.

She’s a large bark, I’ll wager, opined a tall thin man standing to his left.

Mayhap Mister Griswold, Darby grunted.

If’n she a Britisher, will we get a share of the prize money, lieutenant or will it all go te the government? he asked.

That is up to the captain Mister Griswold, but need I remind you that the French have seized more of our ships then the British, Darby responded, darting a shrewd glance at the lanky sailing master from beneath the point of his gold-laced cocked hat.

Aye, Lieutenant, and we ought te take on them Frenchies too! Griswold spat.

I agree, Mister Griswold, Darby said, glancing at the sailing master. The man had that characteristic broad-shouldered, barrel-chested physique of the sailor, the result of heavy hauling and lifting and often being bent double over the yards. "Vantage is one to take the fight to the enemy."

Well spoke, Lieutenant, the sailor acknowledged, casting a sweeping glance up through the rigging and across the deck. She’s fast and a good sailor.

Darby’s eyes followed the sailing master’s gaze. The deck, clean and battle ready, was armed with two 12 pound long guns and eighteen 32 pound short-range carronades that at close quarters were devastating to any opponent. Vantage, commissioned this past January at Philadelphia, was indeed fast, certainly for a brig, a squared-rigged, two-masted warship. She carried a crew of 155 officers and men that included a company of forty-three Marines.

It was a wonder; Darby thought that the ship had been commissioned at all. President Jefferson, a pacifist who regarded the national debt as a mortgage to be paid off as quickly as possible, had sliced the Navy’s budget by two thirds. Notwithstanding, Darby conceded Jefferson did dispatch a three-frigate fleet to North Africa to deal with the Barbary States which had preyed on United States shipping. Proudly he had been a part of that venture as a young midshipman, but in the years following they had had to endure insult after insult by the British Navy flaunting their power by impressing American sailors, some right off ships in American harbors. But now Madison was president and they were at war finally.

The orders were neat and crisp. They were to proceed against the enemies of the United States conforming to the orders and regulations of Congress made for the Department of the Navy; and in conformity thereto, take, sink, burn or destroy all such of the enemy’s ships, vessels, goods and effects as they may be able. They were not limited to any particular cruising station, but left at large to search wherever the greatest chance of success presented.

What do you have, Lieutenant? asked a lean officer with sharply scooped cheeks and hollowed temples who approached unhurriedly to take a position on Darby’s right.

Sail yonder two points off the starboard bow, Captain, Darby responded, handing him his long glass.

She’s spotted us! Nelson Griswold, the tall sailing master cried, pointing. She’s running!

Very well, Captain Edwards nodded. Set the stu’n’ls, Lieutenant. We shall see.

With every inch of canvas spread to the spanking breeze, the stranger took flight, but it soon became evident she could not out run Vantage. By mid-afternoon they were within gun range.

She’s Spanish made, Griswold said, his long glass resting on the gunnels, And a slow sailor.

Vantage was dead astern of the fugitive now, both on a starboard tack heading northeast.

Quartermaster, hoist the battle flag, Captain Edwards commanded.

"B-E-L-Bella Canto, Darby read the bold gilded letters across her stern. Looks like a merchantman and she’s flying a Spanish flag," he observed, arching an eyebrow speculatively.

As Darby watched he was startled to see the transom windows on each side suddenly thrust open and a white cloth stretched between the windows. Scrawled across the white cloth, plastered against the windows by the wind, Darby read the word, ¡SOCORRO!

Captain, Darby spoke up, his glass still focused on the Spaniard’s stern windows. It’s some sort of signal, sir, from someone in the stern cabin.

Signal? Captain Edwards questioned. What kind of signal?

It appears to be in Spanish, sir, Darby responded.

Aye, I see it, Edwards said. Do we have anyone aboard that can read Spanish?

Aye, sir, Landsman Alvarez speaks the tongue, Griswold said.

Quartermaster, bring him topside, lively now! Captain Edwards ordered.

"Si, Capitano?" the swarthy faced Alvarez said hurrying up to the group standing at the quarterdeck rail, who by now had been joined by two other officers, one of which was Marine Captain Ezra Scott, a firm-jawed man with a lean intelligent face tanned by wind and weather to a brownish tint.

Can you read Spanish? Captain Edwards asked the Spaniard without taking his eye from the long glass.

"Si, si, the man nodded eagerly, Me read good."

Taking the glass the captain handed him the man stared intently for a long moment through the instrument, bringing the alien ship into focus. Presently he called out, Ah…‘Help!’ It say, ‘Help!’

Help? Edwards queried.

"Si, Capitano, the word it say, ‘Help.’ No more, just, ‘Help!’"

Lieutenant Holmes, what say you? Edwards demanded.

The two figures at the window, sir, they appear to be female, Darby responded, his low-lidded azure blue eyes still fixed on the Spanish bark.

Quartermaster, signal her captain to heave to, Edwards ordered.

A thunderous crash from one of Vantage’s deck guns sent a great cloud of smoke that the wind rolled over the larboard side momentarily obscuring the Spaniard from those on the quarterdeck. When the smoke cleared Darby saw the other ship was backing her sails, coming almost broadside to Vantage.

Lieutenant Darby Holmes accompanied by Marine Sergeant Joshua Coats and a squad of eight Marines, was first up the Jacob’s ladder to the deck of the Bella Canto. As Sergeant Coats, with half the detachment, took up position on the quarterdeck where they had a clear view down the deck, the remaining Marines spread out to each side of Darby.

The scene aboard the Bella Canto was eerily quiet, save the creaking of blocks and shifting of cables and an occasional slap of slacken sail. The deck was strangely clear of activity. Half a dozen men, mean of appearance, silent and watchful, their look wary and at the same time, Darby thought, primed for action, stood near the quarterdeck superstructure, arms folded across their chests. Their dress varied; some in loose pea jackets over wide, buff-colored canvas pantaloons, others in vests and long pants. All appeared armed with either pistol or cutlass. On the forecastle three others stood about, seemingly haphazardly, mute and staring, their faces expressionless as the boarding party took position along the deck.