Pirates and Patriots: A Tudor naval adventure (The New World Nautical Saga Book 1)

PIRATES AND PATRIOTS The New World Nautical Saga Series Book One David Field Table of Contents 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 A NOTE TO THE READER MORE BOOKS BY DAVID FIELD 1 March, 1554 Francis Drake was on his fourth journey across to Boulogne under the command of Thomas Crayshaw, who never ceased to demonstrate his resentment at having to include the precocious fifteen-year-old in his crew. Francis, for his part, was living out his boyhood dream of being a sailor, following holidays with his Hawkins cousins in Plymouth. While wandering the mudflats and navigable reaches of the Medway Estuary, Francis had prevailed upon his mentor John Tench, owner of the Bonaventure, to let him take to sea with the basic knowledge he had acquired in the Hawkins family’s shipbuilding yard. An unseasonable easterly had taken command of the vessel’s two mainsails the minute that they’d left the Medway at Sheerness and turned the Bonaventure south-westwards as they hugged the French coast. Francis was gazing up at a flock of seagulls that was tailing their vessel when Captain Crayshaw ordered helmsman Jim Bunting to take their vessel a few more points to starboard to keep her well off the coastline. There was a cracking noise, and a loud curse from the helm, and Francis looked back inboard, to where John Bunting was staring helplessly at the wheel in his hands. It had sheared clean away from the spar that joined it to the rods below the waterline, which were connected to the rudder. ‘What happened?’ Crayshaw demanded. Bunting stared back at him with an expression of frozen horror. ‘She just sheared off, Cap’n,’ he explained unnecessarily. The vessel lurched landward on the south-easterly gale that would drive them onto the rocks beneath the headland, now that they had no way of steering to starboard. ‘Lower the mainsails!’ Crayshaw ordered, and several deckhands ran for the main masts. ‘Hold!’ Francis yelled instinctively, and Crayshaw rounded on him angrily. ‘Who are you to countermand my order, boy? I’ll report you for mutiny, or perhaps just run you through now and lob you overboard!’ ‘If we lower the sail, we’ll be even more at the mercy of the current,’ Francis said, ‘and it’s driving us straight onto those rocks ahead.’ Crayshaw stared at him disbelievingly. ‘We just lost steering! What use is sail without steerage?’ Francis jerked his head towards the stern. ‘The rudder runs proud of the stern rail, doesn’t she?’ ‘So?’ Francis spotted his friend Jim Short among the deckhands. He yelled to Jim to bring him a hammer and a length of wood, and was shortly instructing a protesting Captain Crayshaw to hold the length of wood steady over the top edge of the rudder while he hammered in ten heavy nails. He then pulled it hard towards him. Almost immediately the ship lurched to starboard, towards mid-channel, and then the opposing pressure from the protesting keel and rudder threatened to pull Francis off his feet. He yelled for Crayshaw to add his weight to the horizontal bar of wood. Slowly and painfully the Bonaventure creaked, bucked and heaved its way further out into the open sea, the chasing wind tearing noisily through the rigging as the full sails billowed outwards. Ten minutes later, they passed the tip of the cape. A ragged cheer of relief could be heard from the deckhands standing amidships, shivering with a combination of relief and the heavy spray that was blasting on board as the vessel continued to cut across the heavy current from the full tide. Their first port of call after they moored in Boulogne and set a guard for the cargo was a local inn, where Captain Crayshaw ordered a bottle of rum, which he shared with all hands. He reluctantly handed the bottle to Francis for him to swig from, but Francis shook his head. ‘Too holy to drink, are we? I suppose you’re feeling very virtuous right now, having saved the Bonaventure? What was that inspired piece of woodwork, anyway?’ Crayshaw demanded. ‘It’s called a whiplash, and it’s the latest way of steering,’ Francis explained. ‘My cousins, the Hawkins family of Plymouth, build ships, and they’re fixing them in all their new ones. But, as you saw, it takes strength to operate — more than is needed for a wheel, anyway.’ ‘Before you think of boasting to our employer about how you saved his ship,’ Crayshaw warned Francis almost under his breath, but still contriving to breathe rum fumes all over him, ‘remember that you countermanded my order. The first rule on board ship is to obey the captain’s orders, right or wrong. To refuse to do so, or to question any order, is mutiny, and you’re lucky you’re not dead.’ ‘We’re all lucky that we’re not dead,’ Francis riposted as he nodded towards the others. Crayshaw gave Francis a meaningful look of triumph. ‘Before you even think of telling our employer what transpired, or how he came to be the proud possessor of a lump of wood nailed to the top of his rudder, bear in mind that if I report you for mutiny, you’ll never mince back on board the Bonaventure, because I’ll refuse to sail with you. We’ll get the wheel repaired in harbour here, so you won’t even have the evidence to support your story.’ ‘I was thinking of going back to Plymouth anyway,’ Francis replied with a hint of defiance. ‘Tired of the sea-going life, are we?’ ‘No — tired of sailing under your command. To my mind, a captain’s first duty is to his men, not his reputation.’ ‘Out of my sight, boy, before I run you through!’ Crayshaw spat back at him. Francis made a hasty departure. His comrades on the next table gave him a round of applause as he scurried past them, head bowed. The return trip was uneventful, and after their