Rough Passage to London(121)

“What did you say, Cap’n?” asked the mate.

“Nothing, Mr. Moore. Nothing. Steady on.”

He kept his eye to the spyglass. Blackwood and Big Red were both armed with clubs and were trying to get close to the sooty-faced, bearded sailor. Just as they appeared to be cornering him, he watched in astonishment as the man either jumped off or fell overboard into the ocean. Morgan didn’t hesitate. He immediately ordered the first mate to back the yards, and then signaled for the lifeboats to be lowered on either side of the ship. In water below forty degrees, a man could be dead within fifteen minutes of striking the water of the North Atlantic. Sailors called the paralyzing freezing water the “cold locker.” Fortunately, in June the water temperatures were not anywhere near as cold as forty degrees, but the temperatures were frigid enough to make someone lose consciousness if they were not rescued quickly.

Soon the Southampton’s lifeboats were afloat, the men rowing vigorously through the waves back to where the man had jumped. Morgan followed the action with his spyglass and watched as they approached an unmoving figure afloat, slumped across a barely visible oar. For a moment he looked up to see what was happening with the steamship. The Hydra had slowed momentarily, altering its course, and appeared to be in the process of turning around. The Southampton’s lifeboats rescued the trembling man. Morgan couldn’t believe his eyes as he watched a shivering, bedraggled Hiram lifted aboard the packet ship.

He quickly turned his attention back to the ship and the helmsman. The Royal Navy frigate had turned around and was steaming its way toward the packet ship, raising her sails to add power to the large paddlewheels churning up the water. Morgan quickly gave the order to get underway.

“Mr. Moore. Belay the headsails port side. Sheets and braces, men.”

“Shouldn’t we hove to, Cap’n?”

“Steady on, Mr. Moore. Signal the Royal Navy frigate that we will be turning this man over to the proper authorities in Falmouth.”

“But Cap’n, I don’t . . .”

“A Yankee liner stays on schedule, Mr. Moore, and our next stop is Falmouth.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” replied the first mate, even as his frowning face clearly revealed his doubts.

With the backed headsails slowly turning the ship’s bow, and the topsails high up the mast flapping and then filling with wind, the packet slid through the water, resuming its easterly direction. The Southampton’s wide yards were braced to the wind; the main, the topsails, the topgallants, and the royals were now stretched and straining with the force of the strengthening breeze. Morgan noticed that the sailors on board the Hydra were frantically raising the ship’s flags.

“What are they signaling, Mr. Moore?” asked Morgan.

“They are informing us that we will be boarded in Falmouth where they will take custody of the sailor. How should we respond, Cap’n?”

“Tell them we intend to fully comply,” Morgan replied simply. He wanted to avoid any possible incident with the warship, but he also wanted to buy time until he could figure out what to do with Hiram.

The two ships sailed in tandem all day, never too far apart, the steamship following close behind the fast packet. Off to the port side was the rugged coast of Ireland surrounded by gray, overcast skies. Squall bands were moving in, promising a stormy night. They passed the tiny islands of the Bull and the Cow at the tip of Dursey Head. It was growing dark by the time they passed Mizen Head and Fastnet Rock, headed for the Scilly Islands. The next morning brought more dark skies and steep, confused seas with the crests of the waves crashing into each other. The winds were now picking up sharply, and Morgan charted a course keeping Round Island and the outer edge of the Scillies off to starboard and Wolf Rock ahead of them to port. He was familiar with the course and knew he would get through, but he was hoping coming this close to the cliffs of Land’s End would force the larger Navy ship to bear off. The stormy weather had now given him an idea. His plan was to get Hiram off the ship in Falmouth before the Hydra could anchor. He could claim Hiram had escaped. All he needed to do was to beat the Navy steamer into port. With these heavy winds he thought he might be able to do that.

Down below, a pathetic Hiram began to tell his story. He’d been picked up by Stryker’s men when he was in Jamaica. That’s where he had been in hiding. He was trying to get a berth to New York when they found him.

“Stryker sent me a letter in New York informing me that he had arrested you,” Morgan told Hiram.

Hiram shook his head. He hadn’t known that.

“It was like he was challenging me to pursue him,” Morgan said in a puzzled voice. “And then when we sighted your smokestack near the coast of Ireland, we noticed that the steamer had slowed down. It seemed almost as if he was waiting for us.”