H.M.S Valor: Treachery And Triumph: A war time adventure on the high seas Cal Clement (free ebooks for android txt) 📖

and fears as ambush from bands of rebels were a common occurrence after nightfall. But the column drove on, goaded by the three Americans up front. Several of the foot soldiers could be heard cursing and complaining, but none within earshot of Mr. Sladen. The American’s position was a mystery to the British soldiers. Their commanding officer had been summoned before Lord Governor Alton the day prior and issued specific instruction to accompany Mr. Sladen on a sortie against a band of escaped slaves. Tim Sladen seemed to have a manner of intelligence about the escapees, but the lieutenant in command of the soldiers was perplexed why the Governor would grant him any more authority than a common informant.

Tim halted his mount and after a short exchange with his two countrymen riding next to him, he turned his mount and approached the Lieutenant.

“They are camped on the hill just east of the one in front of us Lieutenant. Now would be a good time to get your men formed up and make ready. Come dawn, we will move in to take them captive.” Sladen instructed.

“What makes you so sure they will throw down arms and surrender to captivity again Mr. Sladen? Most of these slaves turned rebels we have dealt with have fought dearly. They are more likely to flee, Sir,” the Lieutenant challenged. His demeanor was stern, and he was quite doubtful of this American.

“You’ll do best to do as your told Lieutenant. I’m taking your mounted men around the rebel position; we will cover the north and east. You hold your line below the crest of the hill in front of you. At dawn you will see that there are Royal Navy sails just off the coast. Do you have the signal flag I gave you?” Sladen cut back, his words dripping with disdain.

“I do,” the lieutenant answered, suddenly losing any inclination to carry the conversation further.

“When dawn breaks, make sure that signal flag is visible. We will be flying one at our position to the east and the ships will begin battery of the hillside in between. If you see the escapees surrendering, drop your flag immediately.” Sladen ordered, his accommodating tone of requests and suggestions from earlier in the evening as they departed Kingston disappeared. Now he seemed to be about his business and the Lieutenant could gather that he had serious personal interest in the escaped slaves, far beyond that of a simple informant.

Sladen departed with all the mounted troops with the exception of the Lieutenant, who remained with his foot soldiers. The infantry dispersed out and formed a skirmish line just behind the crest of the hill as instructed. At first, forming a skirmish line and awaiting dawn was a welcome change for the line of infantry. They could sit and rest their weary legs and sore feet, some even removing their shoes. After the first half hour the stillness of the night set in, only slightly cooled the humid air hung over them and each man had to fight to stay awake. The hours drug by slowly as each weary soldier watched the hillside and fought his eyelids. Sounds floated in on the night air, voices from the opposing hillside. A bell could be heard off the coast in the long hours before sunrise cast its first glows on the horizon. About a half hour before daylight the lieutenant walked his line, steadying his men and making sure everyone was ready. The muggy warmth had given away and the morning air felt crisp as a steadily increasing glow to the east threatened dawn break.

Finally, with the first fingers of sunlight stretching out from the horizon word was passed through the line to fix bayonets. Each soldier swallowed a lump in his throat, no matter how experienced in battle as he mounted the ghastly appendage to his gun. Sails appeared off the coast; the signal flag was raised. Each man readied himself for a fight to begin as the first ship passed by the signal flag. The first boom of a cannon thundered across the water and echoed up off the hill. It was followed by a second and then a third, forth and fifth. Musket fire intermixed with the echoing reports of the cannons and a group of two men and one woman came bounding over the hill in a sprint for life. As the trio ran down the hill, the lieutenant started to call out for shackles to bind them when they ran up to the skirmish line. A shot sounded out, one of the fleeing men fell to the ground. No weapon was visible to anyone in the skirmish line. The lieutenant began to shout down the battle formation, demanding to know who fired on the unarmed group. “Sir, I believe it was them,” one soldier said, pointing up at the crest of the hill. The three Americans sat mounted on their horses, one still shouldering a musket. A very different fear began to take hold of each man on the infantry line.

H.M.S Endurance

19 Aug 1808

17 Degrees 51’ N, 76 Degrees 34’ W

Dawn broke over the Jamaican coast revealing a low hanging fog clinging to the shore. Lookouts had been posted throughout the squadron of ships that sailed in concert with the Endurance. There was the H.M.S Endurance in lead with Admiral Sharpe on board, then the H.M.S Hunter commanded by Captain Nestor and the H.M.S Bayonet commanded by Captain Brant brought up the rear of the formation. Admiral Sharpe’s instruction had been issued very clearly. The Endurance heave to slightly farther offshore and west of the target area while the Hunter and Bayonet sailed through in a circuit delivering battery on target for as long as was necessary.

Standing on the bow of the Endurance, Admiral Sharpe looked ashore for the signal flags, locating them easily just above the misty line of fog hugging the beaches. Tide was slacking and time was certainly of the essence for maneuvers this close to