Commander Cantrell in the West Indies(220)
Seventeen miles south of Cerro Indio, Isla de Vieques
Admiral Fadrique Álvarez de Toledo lowered his spyglass and spoke over his right shoulder. “Time for you to be getting back to your ship, Captain de Covilla. It seems the Dutch and their heathen friends have taken the bait.”
“They are steaming towards us already?” De Covilla sounded alarmed.
Fadrique laughed. “Hardly. They seem to be slowing, probably reefing their sails, from what our pickets report.” Which meant that, given the many relays it had taken the report to reach them, from the lead scout-patache all the way back to their position toward the rear of the van, the change in the allied fleet had probably been observed twenty minutes ago.
“Then how would that indicate they are taking our bait, Admiral?” De Covilla sounded perplexed.
“As I observed off Grenada, they will wish to conserve their fuel, and also to take us at distance with their deck guns. They would achieve neither if they pushed on now.” He gestured behind at the sun which would be kissing the horizon in an hour. “Instead, they would reach us in darkness, a time that all but eliminates the superiority of their gunnery and they would have burned much coal to do so. No, they will approach slowly through the night and leap upon us in the morning, using full sail to overtake our fleet before shifting to their steam power to outmaneuver us tactically.”
“Except we will not be where they expect,” smiled de Covilla.
Fadrique nodded. “Sailing before the wind all night, we will be ten miles farther to the west, compelling them to chase us. Naturally, they will be frustrated, and will find the poorer sailing speed of the Dutch warships, and particularly their supply ships, to be particularly annoying.”
“Perhaps they will abandon the slower moving ships, then.”
“We could hope for that, but I doubt it. I have not seen that species of rashness in their commanders, to date. But I suspect that, in straining to catch us, they may not maintain the formation they intend. And that will be serviceable enough. Assuming that all our own plans are in order. About which: have we had another signal from Equiluz?”
“Yes, Admiral. He reports the easternmost scout of his privateers have sighted the western mountains of St. Croix.”
“Are our privateers in good formation, reasonably tight?”
“That final part of Equiluz’s message failed, sir. As the sun sank, his reflector became dim, then unreadable. We will need to wait until nightfall for our far southern pickets to see his heliograph.”
If we see it at all, Fadrique grumbled mentally. This had always been the part of the plan about which he had harbored the greatest misgivings: that an armadilla of pirates-made-privateers, maneuvering independently, and with only one Spanish ship to oversee their compliance, would in fact be where they were needed, when the time came. St. Croix had been the visual anchor point for that southern detachment’s furthest eastern picket, and had obviously served that purpose well. Navigating to a position in unmarked, open waters would have been an unreasonable expectation. But if the weather turned, or a mist rolled in—“The weather, Captain de Covilla: what do our scouts report from the east?”
“Clear skies of a pink tint, Admiral. We should have good visibility to receive new messages, at least unto the middle watch.”
“Excellent. When you return to your ship, remember to send word that the sappers on board the San Augustin must finish distributing the pole-petards to the piraguas by midnight. It will take time to rig them on their booms and run the fuses through the pitch-sealed tubes.”
“I shall do so immediately upon my return, Admiral. However, I must report that the crews of the piraguas are still none too confident that the spikes will hold the petards to a hull, no matter how forcefully they are rammed home.”
Fadrique shrugged. “In all honesty, de Covilla, I share their uncertainty. But their duty is to Spain and her God-loving king, so we shall hope that divine grace shall vouchsafe either safety for their bodies or salvation for their souls. A commander in war-time may hope for little else when he sends so many men in harm’s way.” Although, truth be told, the men in those petard-carrying piraguas will be consorting with more bodily harm than I would happily embrace. “Now, be on your way, de Covilla, unless you have some other question.”
“Just one, Admiral. How can we be sure that the enemy does not have a second contingent of ships, one which might be coming around St. Croix from the south? If so, they would find our southern privateer armadilla and quite ruin our stratagem.”
“Yes, they would, but you are watching for spectres of your own fears, my dear young captain. Be assured, the Dutch fleet in front of us is all they can spare to hunt us. Indeed, they have sortied more ships than I expected. But if we further assume they sent at least ten or a dozen hulls to protect their new assets on Trinidad, then they can barely have enough ships left to guard their probable base on St. Eustatia. So, to send yet another flotilla southward around St. Croix would necessitate reducing their home guard. And I’m sure the Dutch would not do anything to jeopardize the only safe anchorage they have. I’m sure they left it in well-armed and highly-vigilant hands.”