Swift Revenge

By Alec Merrill

EXCITING NAUTICAL FICTION WITH ENOUGH TWISTS AND TURNS TO KEEP YOU GUESSING!

Winter 1747, Jon Swift arrives in New York seeking employment related to his hard earned master’s qualifications. Finding nothing suitable, he signs on the schooner Providence as an able seaman. The Providence heads southward toward the warmer, sunnier climate of Jamaica with a load of trade goods, but never arrives in Kingston.

Things go awry when the Providence is boarded. Knocked unconscious during that boarding, Swift wakens to find himself in dire circumstances. Keen to obtain some form of retribution from the people responsible for his present circumstances, Swift must first find a way to escape.

Just how will Swift manage to get out of his predicament? Is any retribution possible from those responsible?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: May 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483427089

Alec Merrill

Alec Merrill served thirteen years in the Canadian Forces as an officer. Using this experience in the private sector, he established the training program for the North Warning System which provides NORAD with surveillance and early warning capabilities across the Canadian arctic. Alec completed three years as the Chief of Emergency Services for Fisheries and Oceans Canada which includes the Canadian Coast Guard during events such as Hurricane Juan, and Katrina. He has been a management consultant for over twenty years.

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CHAPTER

1

D eck there, sail on the starboard quarter, over the horizon, yelled the masthead lookout.

Lieutenant Bosworth, the first lieutenant of HMS Albany, glanced around the quarterdeck searching for an appropriate runner to inform the captain. Midshipman Knight, who should have been present looking after the signal flags, was absent. The only person seemingly available appeared to be Mr. Keenan, the master-at-arms, who for some reason was at that moment on the quarterdeck.

Mr. Keenan, would you inform the captain, there is an unknown sail on the starboard quarter and ask him if it should be investigated, ordered Bosworth.

Aye, aye, sir.

Bosworth, a lanky officer of nearly six feet, with long unfashionable black hair and a pitiful moustache paced uneasily back and forth awaiting the captain’s instructions. The quartermaster on the wheel glanced nervously at Bosworth and unconsciously shifted further away. All officers paced the quarterdeck at some point, but the first lieutenant’s uneasy pacing screamed caution. A further nervous glance by the quartermaster confirmed other men were just as cautious. Everyone looked fully employed, although the amount of work actually accomplished was anyone’s guess.

After some moments, Mr. Keenan returned to the deck, Sir, the captain would like you to investigate the strange sail, and report when she is visible. Be prepared to lead a boarding party.

Without acknowledging Mr. Keenan, Bosworth shouted to the masthead lookout, Lookout, where away is the sail?

Deck there, she’s two points to starboard and turning west, heading toward land.

Helmsman, two points to starboard. Bosun, get those sails drawing properly.

Both the quartermaster on the wheel and the bosun acknowledged near simultaneously. The bosun shouted and the crew launched into action.

HMS Albany eased slightly to starboard, on a converging course toward the strange sail, as yet unseen from the deck. Under the new course, the ship headed south southwest paralleling Long Island. Based on the course, it appeared as if the strange sail’s destination was the port of New York. Whether that was her original intended destination or a recent decision was debateable.

There wasn’t much ship traffic at this time of the year compared to the late summer and early fall when delivery of the harvest happened and the colonists gathered supplies for the upcoming winter. The strange sail was the first ship sighted in the last two days and a welcomed change in the monotony on board the Albany.

Lieutenant Bosworth was both newly promoted and new to HMS Albany. Four months ago he had been a midshipman on a ship-of-the-line in the Mediterranean. Months prior to that, Bosworth had barely scraped by the lieutenant’s examination with a standing so low on the promotion list that any prospects of promotion were a forlorn hope. That had all changed in November when to everyone’s surprise an order arrived to report to HMS Albany.

HMS Albany was a relatively new ship, having been launched the previous March. Although called a sloop-of-war, she had two masts and was in reality a small brig. She was ninety-one feet in length with a twenty-six foot beam, displacing two hundred and seventy tonnes and carried fourteen 6-pounder guns. Unlike other vessels constructed for His Majesty’s navy, the Albany began her life in the colonies in Virginia.

Neither Bosworth nor the captain, the only two commissioned officers currently on HMS Albany, had been on the ship for more than three weeks. Of the two previous officers, the former captain had been promoted and sent back to England for other duties more in line with his new rank. The previous first lieutenant was now the admiral’s flag lieutenant, and could reasonably expect promotion when a new ship was commissioned. Aware that the Albany had provided a stepping stone to the previous lieutenant’s career, Bosworth was keen to follow the same path. It was a safe bet to believe the captain held similar views.

The crew considered HMS Albany a happy and lucky ship, at least up to the arrival of the present owners. Now there were serious doubts. Since commissioning, under the previous owners, there had been the usual infractions, caused by the usual culprits, with the expected punishments. Those punishments averaged a flogging a month and the crew in general felt they were deserved. In the three weeks since the new owners had come aboard, there had been two floggings a week and it appeared that number was likely to increase. What was even more surprising was the crew had been on their best behaviour while they grew accustomed to the new owners. The bosun, bosun’s mates and the master-at-arms had all placed fewer men on report in the previous three weeks since the new owners arrived, yet more men appeared before the captain. Every man on board knew the reason and that reason was Lieutenant Bosworth. If men were normally wary of the first lieutenant, they were far more wary of Bosworth. From the men’s perspective, the new first lieutenant was a short fused prick, a bastard, or something far more sinister depending upon who you asked.

As the Albany cruised toward the strange sail, the course on the foremast flapped once as the wind gusted. Bosworth was immediately critical and shouted, Bosun get those sails properly adjusted. Under his breath, but still loud enough for the quartermaster to hear, a further comment escaped.

God this crew is lax. If this is the best they can do, it’s a wonder the previous officers weren’t cashiered.

It was unclear how the captain viewed the first lieutenant’s performance. Regardless, there was no reason to provide any opportunity to criticize that performance, like a sail that wasn’t drawing properly. Discipline was the answer. Since the previous owners hadn’t apparently enforced things up to the appropriate standards, it was up to Bosworth, who would have the crew toeing the line in short order. Either the crew would respond instantly when ordered; or they would pay the price.

The chase was long and uneventful. The strange sail, showing a British flag, slowly slid over the horizon into cannon range after three hours. It was a tub of a brig, built for cargo capacity and not for speed. Once she was fully hull up, Bosworth sent a runner to the captain’s cabin to report as ordered. There was no answer for a period of time before the runner reappeared, saying nothing. Bosworth was about to berate the runner when the captain appeared on deck.

Commander Tomlin was in his early thirties. Well dressed and stylish, he cut a fine figure. Although only a tad over five and a half feet, his presence was immediately felt on the quarterdeck. Soundlessly, he took a glass and scanned the target brig.

Mr. Bosworth, you will prepare a boarding party and examine the brig’s cargo. Take sufficient men to escort three men back here, preferably able seamen.

Bosworth smiled, Aye, sir, then called the master-at-arms. Mr. Keenan, prepare a boarding party and add a few extra men, we will press some of the brig’s crew.

Aye, sir, said Keenan, who set about complying with those orders.

Mr. Knight, signal the brig that we wish to board her for inspection, ordered Tomlin.

With little fanfare, signal flags rose and were reluctantly acknowledged by the brig. Both ships slowed and coasted to a stop parallel to each other at a distance of three hundred yards. The Albany lowered sails and rigged the yardarms for hoisting the cutter. Minutes later the cutter dropped into the water with the boarding party rapidly scrambling into rowing positions.

Boarding party away, ordered Tomlin.

Bosworth saluted and backed down over the side. Seconds later, the Albany’s cutter shot out from the side and headed directly to the brig. Beside Lieutenant Bosworth, there was the master-at-arms and twenty well armed men. No one expected much resistance from the brig, but if there was any, they were well prepared for it.

Tomlin watched with a glass as the boarding party scrambled up the brig’s side. Tomlin noted that a few men preceded Lieutenant Bosworth up the side. A man, who appeared to be the brig’s captain, greeted Bosworth upon reaching the deck, and handed over a parcel of papers. There was little else to see for the next few minutes as the boarding party completed the inspection. Captain Tomlin paced slowly on the windward side of the deck, head down and seemingly barely conscious of the crew.

After about twenty minutes the boarding party started descending into the cutter. Three additional men accompanied them. These sour-looking men dropped bags into the cutter, so it was reasonably easy to distinguish those pressed men from the Albany’s men.

Almost the instant the cutter cast off, the brig dropped sail and scurried away. It was as if she wished to run in case the Albany’s captain had further thoughts of pressing additional men.

A smiling Bosworth rose over the Albany’s side and saluted Tomlin. Three prime seamen, all qualified able and supposedly good topmen, sir.

Tomlin smiled. The additional three men would put them one man over the Albany’s complement, but that was not the end. After seeing so many men on report before him, if they continued to press men from these colonial merchantmen, he could rid the ship’s company of the malcontents and malingerers. Those men could be transferred to other ships, via the Admiral. In that manner, two objectives would be reached. The Albany would have a top-notch crew and Tomlin would become the Admiral’s favourite. Both would have beneficial consequences for one’s career.

While hoisting the cutter and lowering it back into position on deck, snowflakes started to descend. Tomlin looked up at the sky in annoyance.

Mr. Bosworth, resume our previous course and get us back on our patrol station. I’ll be in my cabin should you need me. With that Tomlin retreated to the dryness and shelter of the cabin.

The crew of the Albany jumped to action upon orders from the quarterdeck to get underway. The snow just added one more aggravation to their lot. The three new additions to their company had far more to grumble about. They had just lost their freedom and taken a drop in pay to one third of what they received per month.

It did not make for a happy crew.

CHAPTER

2

A cold desolate wind blew down the wharves as a barefoot man trudged along.

The wharf area close to the water was clear of snow, but further away, leaning against the dreary warehouses, were piles of snow. Puddles, formed from melted snow, froze in the fading light. The man plodded on, indifferent to the puddles, wind or cold. A loose pair of slop pants covered pale legs. A thick navy coloured jacket concealed a light cotton shirt. The man wore no gloves and no hat. Short wavy brown hair blew in the wind, which a canvas sack carried over the shoulder partially blocked. A short brown beard obscured most of the face.

It appeared there was some destination in mind, as the man paused to determine the name of each ship docked at the water’s edge. There was little pause to inspect larger three-mast ships, whereas smaller vessels triggered a lingering examination. The man loitered in front of a two-mast ship; an older gaff rigged schooner. Smaller than many newer ships around her, she was still big for her age. At about one hundred forty feet in length with a beam around thirty feet, she was long and narrow. She would knife through the water.

Whoever designed the schooner had put considerable thought into it. The foremast position was well forward, closer to the bow than on some other schooners. It necessitated an extended bowsprit so the jib and forestay sails could be adequately accommodated. More importantly, it allowed longer fore and after booms which could carry significantly more canvas. This ship would fly. The schooner’s name was the Providence.

Although the ship had an appealing design, other reasons drove the man to search for this particular ship. The man had learned in earlier conversations that the Providence’s destination was Kingston, Jamaica. Sunnier, warmer climes beckoned, especially when compared to the current weather in New York that December evening. The man had no qualms about leaving New York, as he was not a native of the colonies, just a transient. Barely seventy hours before he disembarked from a three-mast merchantman, the Rockport, operating out of Rhode Island. The Rockport had left London, England en-route to New York with a mixed load of cargo.

Although a certified ship’s master with papers to prove it, Jon Swift had signed on with the Rockport as an ordinary seaman. The position was well below a master’s station and skill level; but it meant being paid to work the voyage, rather than paying for passage. Lacking a master’s experience and being only eighteen, no company considered Swift seasoned enough to handle the responsibility of a ship’s captain.

In addition to the master’s certificate, Jon stepped ashore with over one hundred pounds in a money belt. Given the fact that a stevedore made approximately twelve pounds annually, a place to secure those funds was a high priority. Any man walking around a city with that much coin was a big target.

Placing money in a bank for a short period of time is acceptable, but investing the money pays greater rewards. Since Jon had never sought investment counsel in any city, let alone New York, it was necessary to question numerous people while seeking that counsel. Several times people mentioned a firm called Reinhardt and Sons Traders. Further inquiries ascertained that Reinhardt and Sons Traders had a good reputation, were an established trading company, and also handled client funds. They had ships engaged in moving goods throughout the colonies. Jon headed to Reinhardt’s offices to obtain further information.

Initial inquiries at Reinhardt’s office resulted in being steered to an investment advisor named Bruce Phillips, who was a senior man. Their first meeting had been long and informative. To set the proper tone, Jon had dressed as a country gentleman, using the one set of clothes acquired for just that purpose. During the meeting, Phillips explained the advantages of becoming a member of an investment combine. The combine in question purchased trade goods in New York which Reinhardt’s vessels carried and sold to buyers in the West Indies. The sale proceeds allowed for purchase of cargo in the West Indies, which the vessels transported back to New York and sold. Items always in high demand in the colonies were sugar, molasses and rum. Members of the combine made money on the cargo heading south and money on the return cargo as well.

Jon anticipated high returns, somewhere in the neighbourhood of forty per cent, based on the information Phillips provided to lure him into the venture. Sixty of Jon’s one hundred pounds went into the combine, which amounted to fifteen per cent of the total combine. A signed copy of the combine papers approved by Phillips was left in Jon’s sea chest. A certificate of deposit from Reinhardt’s for all remaining funds went into the chest as well. The locked chest, along with all other personal valuables, remained at Reinhardt and Sons for storage.

During a subsequent meeting with Phillips, the name of the vessel carrying the combine’s goods was inadvertently disclosed. It was the Providence – heading to Kingston, Jamaica. Upon hearing the name of the ship, Jon heard opportunity knock. If it were possible to attain a position on the ship, it would be possible to watch the combine’s shipment. Simultaneously, it might be possible to learn more about trading and all the time be paid for it.

After leaving the meeting, Jon had changed into slops and ventured down to the docks to find the Providence. That was the reason he presently stood at the Providence’s gangway. Surprisingly there was no deck watch. Jon ambled up the gangway and paused on deck at the entry port.

Hello on the Providence.

A head appeared from the foreward hatch in response. Whatcha want?

Looking to sign on, if you have a position available?

Wait a minute. I’ll see if the captain wants to speak with you.

The man walked across the deck and disappeared down the aft hatch. In a few minutes, the same man beckoned Jon down aft to the captain’s cabin.

Jon Smith, able seaman, sir.

I’m Captain van Burgen. I understand you want to sign-on. Why?

Need a job, sir. I’m an able seaman, but the only job I was able to find was as an ordinary seaman. I also heard this ship was heading to the Indies and its warmer there than here, sir.

Ever do lookout duties?

Aye, captain.

I can use you for this voyage. I’ll pay you seventy-five shillings per month. There’s also a bonus if we get our cargo delivered early. See Mr. Swain and get settled foreward. We’ll sail in the morning.

Aye, sir, and thank you.

With ditty bag in hand, Jon headed foreward. There was something very different about this ship and crew. There had been no harbour watch on deck. The captain hadn’t questioned or tested any skill even when Jon claimed superior skills as an able seaman. Lastly, it was the first time encountering a bonus for safe, early delivery. If there was something to learn about trading, this appeared to be the right ship to find it.

Signing on under a false name was deliberate, so the captain wouldn’t associate him with the combine’s cargo. Considering the other strange occurrences, this decision might be wiser than expected.

In the morning, the Providence set sail down the eastern seaboard toward Jamaica. There were no topman duties as such, since all sail adjustment could be completed from the deck. The duties were not onerous; Jon was just a strong back pulling the correct rope at the correct time.

Once out of the harbour approaches into the Atlantic, Jon went to the top of the mainmast to act as a lookout. Harold Miller, another able seaman who had signed on the day before Jon, shared these duties.

The Providence was a fast ship, able to sail closer to the wind than any vessel with which Jon had previous experience. It was approximately sixteen hundred nautical miles to Jamaica via the Windward Passage. At an average cruising speed of nine knots, they could expect to reach Kingston Jamaica on the seventh day.

The days were short, the nights long as the Providence headed south. At that time of the year, the ship traffic was minimal along the coast of the colonies with more ships headed south according to the rumours Jon had heard in the New York taverns. It was strange that the Providence never saw a single ship for five days.

On the afternoon of the fifth day, the Providence altered course and headed east. While it is difficult to ascertain any direction in the middle of the ocean without seeing a compass, any good sailor can tell the general direction in daylight. The sun was visible on the ship’s aft starboard quarter as they headed toward land.

As usual, Jon was at the masthead providing lookout duties as the Providence forged ahead. It had been some time since the last passage through the Windward Passage, but from what he remembered, the Windward Passage was north-south. The passage they entered was east-west and considerably narrower. To the north was a large island and to the south was an immense island.

Captain van Burgen never reduced sail in the passage, attempting to transit the passage as fast as possible. Well into the passage, they hoisted a red flag on the foremast and eased closer to the south coast of the passage. At the narrowest point in the passage, on the southern coast was a small port. They sailed east past this small port, reversed course and passed the port once again heading west. French flags flew over the port. By the time they had passed the port the second time, darkness had descended.

The Providence continued west along the coast for a short distance in the darkness, entered a very shallow bay, and anchored. It appeared that they wouldn’t reach Jamaica on this trip. What worried Jon was the possibility they might never reach Jamaica or any other place.

Returning to the deck from the masthead, Jon sensed an increase in tension amongst the crew, but nowhere near as fearful as expected. Considering the circumstances, he kept quiet and a hand on the hilt of one of two knives carried on the belt.

Open the cargo hatch and rig for hoisting, ordered Swain.

Miller and Jon rigged the foremast boom for hoisting and prepared the cargo nets, while Barry and Goodall opened the cargo hatch. Forrestal and Robinson were aft doing something else and McMurray, the cook prepared something to eat in the galley below.

With all the work done, they broke for a light meal. After an hour or so, a small cutter approached from shore. The occupants spoke mixed English with some French words. They all had French accents. One man boarded the Providence and spoke with the captain. There was some bantering back and forth, and then the Frenchman departed. Jon had no idea what they discussed, but after the Frenchman left, it was apparent, some form of deal had been made, as orders arrived.

Start hoisting that cargo out and onto the deck. We need to get ready to receive cargo, growled Swain.

In response to the orders, the Providence’s crew lifted as much cargo as possible from the hold and placed it on deck. Cargo covered virtually every foot of the Providence’s deck and only a portion of the hold had been emptied. While the Providence’s crew hoisted out cargo in preparation for the coming exchange, two large barges, each loaded with barrels, emerged from the darkness and came alongside. The Frenchman who had previously been on board returned and took a seat aft at a table across from van Burgen.

Load by load, the Providence’s crew filled the cargo nets with crates and boxes in the hold, hoisted and lowered them directly to the barges. On the barges, Frenchmen maneuvered barrels into other cargo nets for hoisting on board the Providence. It was easy to tell the content of the barrels, as the smell of rum was very pronounced.

All hoists were from the hold directly to the barges and from the barges to the hold. At times the cargo on the deck was in the way, but it couldn’t be helped. There was barely enough room to move in the hold.

The transfer continued nonstop despite the exhausting pace. There was only room for three men in the hold, and the average man could only last for three hours in the heat without a break. Nevertheless, the transfer of cargo continued all night without let up. Things started to speed up once they extracted the last of the southbound cargo from the Providence’s hold. Moving the cargo resting on deck was much easier and more rapidly accomplished. Stowing the rum barrels below was not so easy. In the close confinement of the hold there were still problems moving the heavy awkward rum barrels. Extra care had to be taken to ensure these barrels didn’t shift during the upcoming voyage. It was well past dawn when the work was finally complete. Most but not all of the cargo space in the hold was filled with rum barrels. It was time for the final steps. They stowed the hoisting rigging, secured the cargo hatch, and finalized all preparations to sail.

During the entire loading process, Jon rotated between the hold and the hoist. When on the hoist it was possible to see Captain van Burgen seated at a portable desk on the aft deck with a quill and book in hand, counting the cargo off-loaded and the cargo coming aboard. Once the last net load of rum came aboard, van Burgen made certain of the tallies and completed all the transactions with the Frenchman, who sat across the table. When it appeared both were satisfied with the tally, van Burgen stood, shook hands with the Frenchman, and escorted him to a barge waiting alongside.

As soon as the Frenchman’s barge cast off, the Providence weighed anchor and set sail back north the way she had come. It was a brutal morning, as there was still a requirement to stand watch despite the exhaustion felt by the entire crew.

Jon expected about a five or six day voyage back up to the northern colonies; however, four days after loading the barrels, the Providence turned westward toward shore late in the day. They continued sailing towards the shore after dark. The longer they sailed toward shore, the greater Jon’s apprehension, as no sailor liked sailing toward an unknown shore in the dark. At the time, only the captain, and possibly Swain, the captain’s right hand man, knew the location or destination of the Providence. Jon would have loved to see a chart, but that wasn’t going to happen.

The Providence entered a small bay or sound, reducing sail upon entry by lowering the foresail. The Providence crept along at two or three knots. A small island lay off their larboard quarter. The island’s shoreline didn’t look suitable for landing, so there was some relief as the Providence continued past it. The ship slowed further as they turned toward the mouth of a river. The river’s current knocked another knot off their speed.

The Providence tacked close to the northern side of the sound. Barry, put in the chains to cast the lead, started a chant; seven, six and a half, seven, as the Providence moved slowly along an unmarked channel.

The Providence entered the river mouth, with the chant immediately dropping to five, four and a half. Every man’s attention focused on Barry’s chant. If they grounded in a river with a load of rum onboard, the consequences would be dire. The Providence continued to glide silently through the dark.

As the Providence approached a point, they took a quick course alteration first to the larboard and five minutes later to the starboard. They edged up the starboard side of the point. After the second course alteration the chant changed to seven, eight, eight and a half, as they hit deeper water in the centre of the river. They cruised slowly up river remaining in the centre of the channel. The shores on both sides appeared to be marsh with an absence of trees and no solid ground in sight, although it was challenging to determine that in the dark.

As the river forked, the Providence eased over to the larboard channel and remained in the centre of the river. Slowly, as they progressed around a curve in the river, the depth of the water decreased. The chant went from seven, to six and a half, then six, then five, then four.

Ahead they could see a bluff of land looming on the starboard quarter. The channel narrowed, with the water ranging in depth between three and six fathoms. As the river turned, it apparently scoured the far side of the turn leaving it that much deeper. The bluff they approached was on the far side of a river bend in the deeper water. The depth of that water was such that the Providence glided right up against the shoreline. A lantern flashed from shore indicating the place to anchor.

Let go, shouted van Burgen and the bow anchor splashed into the water. Once halted, the river’s current gently pushed the Providence directly against the river bank. It was possible to hoist directly to land.

During the slow move up the river, they had opened the hatches. Jon and Miller rapidly rigged the fore boom for unloading after lowering the sails. By the time van Burgen finished talking with the men waiting on shore, the Providence was ready to unload.

Empty cargo nets descended into the hold and the first net load of barrels maneuvered rapidly into position for hoisting. Captain van Burgen went over the side to conduct business. Upon receiving a predetermined signal, the crew hoisted up a net loaded with rum barrels and swung it over to waiting carts on land. Load after load came out of the hold to be lowered directly into waiting carts. It was a very smooth and very fast operation. It had taken nine hours to load and stow all of this cargo. Unloading took less than five hours. Upon completion of the unloading, Captain van Burgen re-embarked with a padlocked metal chest, which was so heavy it had to be hoisted aboard.

The tricky part now occurred. The Providence had to be swung around in a very narrow channel. Rather than drop an anchor aft of the ship, they snaked a three-inch cable over the stern and tied it to a large tree on the shore. Having secured this cable and taken up the slack, they retrieved the bow anchor. The ship would not turn. The current, although very slow continued pushing the Providence against the shore. In order to turn, the bow would need to be well out in the current. The jibs would also have to catch the wind and between the two, they would force the bow around.

Unfortunately, the bluff partially blocked the wind, so it appeared a boat and brute strength would be necessary to turn the bow. As there were only eight men in the crew, Jon accompanied five other men in the designated boat crew. The boat crew strained and strained to get the bow around. Finally, after two hours of struggle, they succeeded. An exhausted crew boarded the Providence, after which the men on land released the aft cable.

Barely had they boarded before Jon hauled first on the lines to raise the mainmast sail and then to recover the dragging cable. There was little wind, but the current gently propelled the Providence downstream. The sails allowed enough additional momentum for the rudder to bite, which gave them steerage.

It was well after dawn when the Providence finally hit deep salt water. Everyone was very happy to have the additional manoeuvring room. Once the Providence hit open water, they headed north but remained reasonably close to shore. They sailed at a leisurely pace of approximately eight knots all day. Well before dark, they turned closer inshore.

Jon was at the masthead performing lookout duties until last light and could see a significant increase in shipping ahead. Over the next hour, realization dawned that they were heading into a harbour, and a large harbour at that. It was Charles Towne.

Jon wondered why they would head into Charles Towne. They had no cargo, and there were bound to be British men-o’-war in the harbour, although at this point, with no cargo there was no need to worry. It was just curious.

There were a number of empty spaces at the piers, so the Providence docked instead of anchoring. It made things easier for the crew to get their run ashore. Two men remained aboard to provide a harbour watch. Jon was not one of them.

Curiosity pulled him ashore.

CHAPTER

3

D uring a run ashore, the average sailor makes a beeline for the nearest tavern or brothel. Not so for Jon.

Jon spent time looking over the city of Charles Towne. His incentive was the memory of being caught in a dead-end alley in London by three would-be robbers. Knowing the street layout might prevent being caught in a similar situation. Acquaintance with the locations of the banks, merchants and similar establishments might also be of use further down the road.

With little coin available, the simple pleasures such as sitting in a tavern drinking were not possible. Jon returned to the Providence midway through the first watch, and relieved Harold Miller, the man on deck watch, for a few hours.

The next morning the crew of the Providence rose late, sleeping off the affects of their run ashore. The captain was up and about, leaving the ship at the start of the forenoon watch. Not have suffered the effects of a night of drinking, and being accustomed to rising at first light, Jon was up in time to see the captain depart. Once van Burgen was out of sight, Jon left the ship and began stalking. In case there were onlookers from the ship, Jon departed in a different direction than the captain. Having reconnoitred the layout of the streets near the waterfront the previous evening, there were no difficulties acquiring visual contact with the captain. It was just necessary to rush up another parallel street and turn toward the captain’s expected route.

Without any knowledge of the captain’s destination at this time in the morning, a logical assumption was that he would seek out a bank. There was a significant amount of coin on board the Providence as a result of the delivery of the contraband cargo. A prudent captain would offload most of that in case the ship was lost or taken on the next voyage. The captain’s path was in the general direction towards the banks.

When departing the ship, Jon had maintained a steady walking pace until he reached the first street and was no longer in view of the ship. At that point, he dashed forward to the cross street a block ahead. At the corner of that cross street Jon paused to look down toward the street where Captain van Burgen walked. There was no sign of the captain, which was to be expected, as the captain had a lead on him. Jon confidently turned into the cross street and started determinedly towards the captain’s route.

Unexpectedly, the captain crossed the street at the intersection ahead. Jon ducked immediately into an open door entrance to ensure the captain would not spot the tail. With his heart in his throat, Jon peeked out from the doorway to verify the captain was no longer in sight. Even waiting a few extra seconds, he was somewhat hesitant to continue, and had second thoughts about heading back to the Providence.

Finally, after chastising himself for being weak, he got underway again and hurried to the intersection ahead. At that intersection he stopped and peered around a building to regain visual contact with the captain.

Captain van Burgen had stopped in front of a bank. Rotating around in that spot, the captain made a thorough check to see if anyone was paying any attention to him. Once assured no one watched, the captain entered the bank. That strange entrance intrigued Jon. It was also an early hour, and most other businesses on the street didn’t appear to be open.

Charles Towne was a