16 June 2016 -Trigger Challenge: Write an Adventure story

Sir Bags and the Secret Dispatch

Christopher Martin stared vacantly through the window of his cabin into the blackness of space. Not a star shone in the eastern atlantic sky. The storms that had driven his sloop across the waters had yet to give in. But it had been a wonderfully fast trip home. Far more quickly than any other boat could have done. Of that he was certain.

However, that in no way reduced his vigilance. As now he knew he would be moving into waters where the french privateers patrolled, despite the British Blockade. And the information he was carrying could prove to be the key stroke in breaking Bony’s back. As these thoughts passed through his mind, Bags, Chris’ Newfoundland, stretched again, laying his heavy mass over Chris’ feet.

“Johnson” Chris called out, with his usual through a gale roar.

“Sir,” Johnson, the captain’s coxswain and attendant stepped through the door. Actually, he had to turn almost sideways to get his large frame inside the small cabin, stooping and swaying with the grace of a man who is totally in tune with his habitat. Chris had saved Johnson back in ’82 in the closing days of the war with the colonies. Johnson was just a young lad who was a slave on one of the rebel plantation. After Yorktown, and the british retreat, Chris had found Johnson hiding in a ships barrel and had cared for him ever since.

Johnson was now grown into an imposing, free, man It was he who now took care of Chris, capable of saving his life or also serve as butler. Between Johnson and Bags, Chris was never without a protector.

“Johnson, please tell Lieutenant Vails to post extra lookouts tonight. These storms may just possibly have enable some of those pirates in that rats nest at Brest to have escaped. And make sure all lights are doused. We don’t want to attract any attention.”

“Aye Captain”, Johnson replied in his deep voice as he turned from the cabin and headed up on deck to relay the order.

The rhythm of the waves and the thump of their sound against the hull of his beloved Harlequin, lulled him a bit into a trance and then into that sailors’ quick sleep. Even for him the recent events had taken on an unusual turn. It had started back in Port au Prince. Johnson had been taken from there with his parents when he was a baby, sold to a low country plantation owner in the Colonies. It was Johnson’s cousin, a key aide to Tousant l’Overture, who had made contact with Johnson to propose that the british aid the slaves in their rebellion against the French. It opened the door to the possibility of denying france the riches from that territory which helped fund their war against the world. Any disruption of those flow of funds would help end the war. This war that Chris had been fighting seemingly all his life.

Chris loved the freedom he had with his swift Chesapeake bay 3 masted sloop. It had been captured during at the end of the war with the Colonies. Chris as its Captain, using its full potential, played a vital role in searching out the enemy and carrying information to the fleet. The Harlequins dozen 8 pounders protected him against most of the enemy near its size, and allowed Chris to outrun the rest.

He was now under orders to deliver the secret dispatch packet detailing how to aid the slave insurrection direct to the Admiralty. He regarded the lead lined pouch which contained the documents. His orders stated he should take no risk whatsoever in the delivery of the pouch, and that he must be ready to ensure the packet would never be found by the french in case of capture.

As men born to the sea do, Chris woke as his subconscious became aware of a slight change in the movement of the Harlequin. They must be approaching the coast and the shallower water, he thought, making the crests sharper and the movement of the ship responded accordingly.

He clambered up the steps outside his cabin to the quarterdeck. Lt Vails acknowledge his presence and moved to the far side of the deck to leave the captain his space. Actually now, the sky seemed to be clearing off in the distance though the wind continued at gale levels.

With the pitch and roll of the boat it took the best eyes to serve as lookout in these conditions.

High on the crosstrees, Nathan Sparks scanned the skyline ahead. He knew that you never looked at something directly at night. You have to learn to see at angles as that is when light or movement is processed through your brain. Nathan watched a gap in the clouds form right at the horizon, and there, the moon began to rise. It was then he saw something framed, black over the moon in the background. He was certain it was a sail.

“Sail Ho, 10 points on the starboard bow,” he shouted down.

Chris realized, given the conditions, and the lack of signal, that it was all likelihood a french ship. Knowing it was unlikely that the Harlequin had been seen, he gave the order to tack the ship, thinking with his speed he would easily be below the horizon and out of view by daylight.

He paced for a while but then went below, not wanting his crew to catch his concern. All was being done. Just as he closed the door to his cabin, he heard a loud crack, the foremast had shattered. All the stress that had been place on the Harlequin by the storms during this crossing, had finally created potential disaster at this most inopportune of time.

Chris was up and out and on deck. Already Vails had a work crew chopping at the lines which were holding the broken foremast to the side of the ship, slowing her down acting as a sea anchor. Men worked furiously to clear the wreckage while others began to rig a spar and spirit sail to give the harlequin the ability to point into the wind.

Chris looked behind, the frenchman had seen him. Their sails were now well above the horizon headed directly for him. With a great lunge, the Harlequin broke free of the wreckage left behind in the water. But much of her ability to maneuver had been lost. It would have to be a straight run before the wind now if he had a chance at all.

It was not to be and soon the frenchman was at his side. But Chris had well prepared for these possibilities. His crew had been with him many years and understood the requirements laid down in his orders. In the normal morning foggy mist which arose in these waters, Chris put his cutter over the side, coxed by Johnson, and with a picked crew of his men, set off to become invisible to his opponant’s boat. Before leaving, he had shone the dispatch pouch to Bags. “Don’t let anyone touch this Bags” he said. Bags gathered his enormous frame and moved over next to the pouch which had been placed on the captain’s chair, and sat in front, a low growl coming from his thick throat.

Through the fog the frenchman came up. “Strike your colors and be boarded” was the cry. “This is the Bellefontaine of Brest. You are our prisoners.”

He emphasized his point with a broadside. The Harlequin as planned answered with chain and grapeshot slicing sails and cutting down men and ropes on the french ship. And with a sudden turn of the helm, drove the ship toward the Bellfontain.

The crew of the Bellfontaine roared their defiance while answering with cannon of their own. As the Harlequin crashed alongside the french ship, its guns continued firing deadly grape shot that devastated large swaths of the men aboard the Bellfontaine. With the ships lashed together, Vails led a charge across from the Harlequin. In the confusion, the Harlequin’s launch came out of the fog on the other side of the Bellfontain. Chris and Johnson led a mad charge up the side and onto the deck attacking the Bellfontain crew from the rear. .

While the main body of his men fought the french crewmen, Chris fought his way towards the quarter deck and control of the ship. Johnson, in front of him, wielded a large broad axe on a long iron handle, cutting down french mariners like he was clearing brush. By now, the cannons on both ships had stopped firing as the fighting raged throughout the bellfontain.

The element of surprise and the ferocity of Chris and Johnson, swept them up onto the deck where the captain and a handful of his crew still fought on. The blood made the deck slippery and difficult to keep footing in the rolling of the ships. Just as Chris was about to reach the french captain, he lost his balance and fell backwards. Johnson was occupied with three of the french officers on the other side of the deck. The french captain seeing his chance lunged forward, blade pointed ready to run through chris’ throat.

At that moment, a growling black blur of fur, flew through the air over Chris. Bags large jaws clamped over the frenchman’s sword arm, tumbling him away from Chris.

“I yield” screamed the frenchman, in terrible pain from how his arm had been broken by Bags, who would not let go until told by Chris. He remained standing, growling over the defeated captain ready to attack again at the slightest provocation.

Chris shouted for the frenchmen to throw down their arms. Slowly the frenchmen on deck realized that the fight was over and allowed themselves to be herded below and imprisoned in the ship’s hold. Johnson and Bags, patrolled the surrendered officers on the deck while Chris went about organizing the repairs to the two ships.

A few days later, the Harlequin sailed into Portsmouth, the Harlequins multi hued flag flying high above the captured french flag. The Bellefontaine followed now wearing British colors.

Port admiral Jervis, upon hearing Chris’ report ordered him off in a coach to the Admiralty with the secret dispatch. “You deserve to bring the news to the first Lord yourself my boy. Wouldn’t be surprised if there might not be a nice promotion in if for you.”

After a pause he added, “There may even be a knighthood come out of this.” After viewing the look on Chris’s face Jervis then added, “Oh, not for you, your dog, for saving your life and our dispatch. Eh what? Sir Bags think of it.” His whole body shook with the phlegmy laugh, “Har, har, har.”

“Sir, with respect, I think he should be court martialed. I ordered him to stay with the dispatch.”

“Lucky for you, Bags hid the dispatch when the ships were locked together and was able to jump across from the Harlequin, just as that bloody french captain was about to do you in. Did you ever discover where Bags hid the packet?”

“No sir, we searched the entire ship. It wasn’t until we entered Portsmouth harbor that Bags brought the dispatch packet to my cabin.”

Admiral Jervis’ doughy frame jiggled all over as his laugh dissolved into a coughing fit. “Perhaps my boy, we ought keep that detail between us. It wouldn’t do for your crew or the admiralty to wonder who really is the captain on your ship.”

Bags, who had been resting quietly on the floor next to Chris during the interview, rose at this point, walked to the door, looked back at Chris and barked.

“Well Captain, it looks like you have your orders to leave.” Chris rose silently, walked to the door and opened it. Bags walked through and Chris followed as they headed down the stairs to the waiting coach, Bags jumping in first laying out on the seat in front, Chris clumbering up behind.

At a bark from Bags, the coach pulled away while the courtyard echoed with the sound of the Admiral’s voice and laughter. “Sir Bags indeed, Har, har, har!”