H.M.S Valor: Treachery And Triumph: A war time adventure on the high seas by Cal Clement (best way to read an ebook TXT) 📗

“No, lad, no, Sladen took me captive. When the Admiral sent a shore party into the prison camp, Sladen thought I had betrayed him to steal a large payment. I had no part in any of that. When the fleet was under fire, I was in a cell in the fort.”

“So, you say. Lord Alton, this is treason.”

“Against what? The Crown? Use your head boy! Who do you think arranged for this?” Geor shouted in reply, leaning forward in a struggle against his gut. “You have no idea what you are stepping in son. You would be best served to forget this mess, die with a clear head.”

“I don’t intend to go quietly Governor. You may have surrendered your honor, but I refuse. Whether this was your doing Lord Alton or the King’s, it is treason and I will not go along with this.” Will glowered, rising to his feet.

“What exactly do you think you are going to do lad? You are a prisoner, same as me. They will kill us both, it’s only a matter of when.” Geor snorted, prodding his finger in Will’s direction.

Under his feet Will could feel the Maiden shift course in a hard turn, prompting him to brace himself on the bulkhead at his side. In the cell next to his, Will could hear several of his men topple over.

“Governor, you’re going to explain this to me. How does this operate? How have these arrangements been made?” Will said as he straightened from the ship’s lurching turn.

“I don’t see why I would. I told you, I intend to spend my last moments at ease,” his driveling speech cut short when Will’s boot set firmly against his throat.

“You’re going to tell me everything Geor, or you will die here, at my hand, traitor.” Will seethed, pressing his boot into the Lord’s neck until his face began to change color, then removing it suddenly to a fury of coughing and spit.

“What? What is it you want to know?” Geor hacked through wheezing coughs.

“How is the American involved?” Will pressed, raising his voice higher.

“He works for an apparatus called ‘the order’, he is their chosen representative.”

“The Order?”

“A combination of both American southerners and British Lords of the King’s choosing. They have met twice now and their next council approaches soon.” Alton wheezed, still clutching at his throat in dramatic fashion.

“Give me names.” Will demanded.

“I have none to give, son. I’ve never met a single one of them, like I said, Mr. Sladen is their sole representative. I don’t even know the date or location of their next meeting,” came the sniveling answer.

Will stepped away, weighing his position, his options. They were few. Any way he went about things now, if he were to stand by his honor, he would be branded a traitor. If he could somehow get off this ship and return to England unscathed, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Do what you know to be right. Captain Grimes’ words rang through Will’s ears almost as if he were in the room with him. He took a deep breath of the fouled air in the cell, letting it out slowly while stepping towards the cell door.

“Guard!” he called out, “Get Trina down here, or your Captain. There’s something they need to hear.”

H.M.S Valor

27 Sept 1808

17 Degrees 34 minutes N, 76 Degrees 14’ W

Salt water sprayed in the wind as the hull of the Valor slid through the waves, her sails stood taut, harnessing the wind in their haste northward toward the smoke plume on the horizon. On the quarterdeck, Cobb paced between rails checking course and wind, eyeballing sail and line and helm. The gradual approach toward the ominous column of smoke slanting upward into the sky maddened him further with every passing heartbeat. His mind was wholly consumed by verifying the doom of the Endurance. Each glance and look from sailors on deck brought amplified his mistrust of the men around him, making him manic to a point of intolerance.

The morning sun had brought no comfort, even though the night had an edge of chill, it laid bare the frayed looks and distraught temperament of a crew he no longer trusted. And he was beginning to see the feeling was mutual. He turned on his heel, making another swift plot across deck to face the sun.

“Sail! North of the wreckage, heading north by west!” The forward lookout called down.

Before the call was repeated Cobb was off in a run to the bow. His looking glass in hand, he weaved between crewmen as they gathered around to catch a glimpse for themselves. He extended his glass and raised it to his eye, scanning from left to right over the debris field where the smoke continued rising from scattered flotsam and a hulk of ship still protruding from the water’s surface. At first pass he saw nothing, empty horizon and smoke. Then, edging out from the pillar of thick black and gray wafting from the water in a slanting cone from the wind, he caught a glimpse of her. She was angling away from their approach and using the smoke screen to cover her movement. Cobb turned skyward to the lookout.

“What can you see of her?” he shouted.

“Just the mainsail Sir. She’s blocked by the smoke!” the lookout called back with a shrug.

Cobb gritted his teeth in frustration, wanting to rap the sailor across the mouth. His frustrations becoming more and more apparent to the crew standing around him. His gaze fell to the deck and then lifted to the men around him.

“Well! If we can’t see them yet what are you lurking about for! Back to work!” he screamed, flailing his arms before making a threatening grasp on the hilt of his sword. He turned back up toward the lookout, “Call out as soon as you can see her colors!”

“Aye Sir.” the reply fell flat onto the deck