The Lost Years of Billy Battles

Chapter 5-1

Chapter 5The dull pulsating sound of the Comanche’s steam engine was almost hypnotic, and Katharina and I were asleep within minutes of climbing into bed.

An hour later we were awakened by the sound of pounding. I sat up in bed trying to figure out where the noise was coming from.

“What is that dreadful racket?” Katharina asked. Then she turned away from the sound and covered her head with a pillow.

We were in the sleeping quarters of the owner’s cabin, and I concluded the pounding was coming from the door of the main cabin some forty feet away. I climbed out of bed and headed in that direction. It was then that I heard someone shouting.

“Mr. Battles, wake up!” It was Latham.

I jerked the door open. “What the hell is it?” I demanded. “Christ, what time is it?”

“We have trouble. Come to the bridge.”

“Trouble? What kind of trouble,” I asked as we rushed onto the deck and then up the ship’s nine-foot ladder to the bridge deck. I was still barefoot and wearing only my skivvies and an undershirt. The clammy ocean air was cold against my skin. When we entered the enclosed bridge, I saw Petty Officer First Class Goodson at the helm. We were no longer moving. I also noticed that all of our running lights were turned off.

“Why have we stopped?” I asked him.

“Look out there,” Latham said, handing me a pair of binoculars and pointing to an area off the port side of the Comanche’s bow, “and tell me what you see.”

At first I couldn’t make out anything in the darkness. Then I saw what Latham meant. Roughly one thousand yards away I could see a paddle steamer faintly outlined by its running lights. Then, as my eyes grew more accustomed to the dark, I could see what looked like a string of tiny lights on either side of the steamer.

“Looks like a mother ship and a fleet of small fishing boats.”

“You’re right about it being a mother ship, but I don’t think those pangas are fishing boats,” Latham said. “I’ll wager they’re carrying pirates.”

I couldn’t believe it. “The hell, you say. Pirates? Here?” I recalled my encounter with Chinese pirates twenty years before aboard the SS Trave as we steamed across the South China Sea from Manila to Saigon. I didn’t relish a repeat of that fight. Then I thought about Katharina still asleep back in our cabin.

“Damn,” I said out loud. “You need to arm the crew.”

“We’ve already taken that precaution,” Goodson said. “The crew is armed with rifles.”

“And here’s yours.” He handed me a Springfield rifle and a cloth bag containing four boxes of cartridges and stripper clips.

“What now?” I asked.

“We need to prepare for a possible attack,” Latham said. “I don’t think they’re going to negotiate.” Latham then explained the tactics pirates in the Gulf of Mexico often employ against yachts like the Comanche.

“Pirates pull up on either side of a yacht and drag heavy metal chains in the water to damage the rudder, or they try to jam the rudder or screw propeller with metal rods” he said. “If the crew of a yacht decides to fight, they hurl jars of acid or bottles of gasoline onto the deck to start a fire. They prefer not to do that, because they would rather take a yacht intact and as undamaged as possible. That way they can ransom it back to the owner or, failing that, sell it.”

“What about the people they capture?” I asked.

“It depends. If they are wealthy, they hold them for ransom. If not, they may kill them or put them ashore and tell them to start walking.”

“Where do you have the crew positioned?”

“Seamen Jackson and Petty Officer Ruppert are on the forecastle just below the gunwales,” Latham said. “I’ll keep Seaman Flores here on the bridge with me in case we have need for a translator. Chief Engineer Vane and Seaman Longworth have to remain in the engine room to keep us moving. Petty Officer Goodson will remain at the helm. I thought you might watch the stern. Flores and I will stay amidships, and I will send Flores to the stern to help you, if need be.”

“That isn’t much firepower,” I said.

“Well, it’s eight Springfields, and we have those Mills bombs too,” Latham said. “One of those tossed into a panga will obliterate it and whoever is in it. And we have this.”

Latham walked over to where a brown blanket covered something. I could see that whatever it was had metal legs. Latham yanked the blanket off the object.

“This might even the odds a bit, don’t you think?”

It was a model 1914 Hotchkiss machine gun mounted on a tripod. Next to it were five wooden boxes marked “U.S. War Department. Cartridge: 8 x 50mm R Lebel.”

“Where did you get that?”

“We brought it on board in a crate back in Brownsville, but we didn’t get around to assembling it until yesterday. Damned glad we did now.”

I wasn’t convinced that the Hotchkiss would make much difference given the number of boats encircling us.

“I think our best bet is to turn and make a run for the open sea. Those boats won’t follow us there, and I don’t relish the idea of fighting off scores of pirates when I have my wife on board.”

Before Latham could respond, Goodson, standing near the helm, yelled, “Look aft! The sons of bitches are coming up behind us.”

He was right. A half dozen of the pangas, with their distinctive high bows and narrow waterline beams, were perhaps 800 yards behind the Comanche, and several others were moving to create a semicircle of boats off our starboard side. Their outboard motors bawled as they moved to link up with the boats ahead of us. In effect, they were attempting to block our escape to the open sea by creating a long, semicircular line of boats.

“It looks like we sailed smack dab into a trap,” Latham said. “They must have been tipped off when we were in Ciudad del Carmen.”

“How fast will this tub go?” I asked.

“She’ll make about eighteen to twenty knots under full steam,” Latham said.

“Yeah, and what about them?” I asked, eyeing the pangas. “I know you’re the captain here, but I still think we ought to make for the open sea while we can.”

Latham seemed uncertain.

“Have you ever been in combat?” I asked.

“No, but I’m well acquainted with naval tactics and maneuvers.”

I sighed. “About twenty years ago I was aboard a ship that was under attack by pirates. It was a 4,000-ton merchant vessel in the South China Sea, not a pint-sized boat like the Comanche. We had an armed crew of maybe thirty men and another ten or fifteen passengers, including me, who were armed with Mausers. We were surrounded by probably thirty boats, each loaded with armed men, and they almost boarded us despite the torrential fire that we rained down on them. Do you really think six or seven of us can hold off all the men in those boats out there?”

Latham looked awkwardly at Petty Officer Goodson who, in turn, looked at the floor. I’d put Lieutenant Latham in an uncomfortable position in front of a subordinate. It was bad military etiquette and I knew it, but I wasn’t about to remain aboard the Comanche while it came under attack.

“Look, Lieutenant, if it were just me I might be willing to scrap with those pirates, but I have my wife to consider. What do you think would happen if those pirates got aboard this ship and found a woman? If you’re worried that turning tail and running will get you into some kind of trouble with General Funston, worry no longer. Funston is a good friend, and I am sure he will understand a decision to cut and run rather than slug it out.”

Latham looked relieved. “It’s not my nature to run from a fight, but there is the lady to consider.”

“Exactly. Now, I am going to go get that lady and let her know what’s going on.”

I hurried back to our cabin. When I entered the bed bedchamber, Katharina was up and getting dressed. When she saw me, she laughed. I was still barefoot and wearing only my underwear.

“Were you sleepwalking?” she asked. Then she noticed the grim expression on my face. “What’s wrong? And why have we stopped?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I reached for my trousers and pulled them on. Then I grabbed my shirt, socks, and shoes and finished dressing.

“William.” Katharina was irritated by my silence. “What is going on?”

“We have company.”

“What do you mean?”

I paused before answering and then walked over to her and put my hands on her arms. “We think it’s pirates.”

Katharina’s knees buckled at that news. “What? Oh my God.”

“We’re going to be all right. We can outrun them. They’re in fishing boats.”

My explanation did not assuage Katharina, and she regarded me with a look approaching desolation. I was trying to decide what I should do with her if we came under attack. As large as the yacht was, there really were no secure hiding places aboard the boat. Eventually, anybody hiding would be found.

I was still mulling that over when Katharina broke the silence.

“We’d better get ready then,” she said. Her voice was strong and determined. “No pirate is going to make me walk the plank.”

I couldn’t help smiling. It was classic Katharina. Tough and feisty no matter what.

“Let’s get back to the bridge,” I said. “Latham and Goodson are both up there.”

“Just a minute.” Katharina walked to a side table and pulled the pistol Latham had given her from the drawer, along with a box of ammunition. I grabbed my Colt and slung my Springfield rifle over my shoulder.

Latham’s eyes widened as Katharina walked onto the bridge with me.

“Is this wise?” he asked, looking at Katharina.

She was having none of it. “Well, Admiral, what do you expect me to do with pirates all around us? Recline on a couch and eat peeled grapes?”

Latham looked at me. “There’s your answer, Lieutenant,” I said.

With our running lights extinguished, we’d be difficult to see in the moonless night. Nevertheless, making a run for the open sea would not be easy. We would have to crash into some of the wooden pangas to escape. Fortunately, the Comanche had a sturdy steel hull and would probably survive a collision with minimal damage.

“I’ve sent a wireless message to the USS Dolphin, Rear Admiral Mayo’s flagship off the coast of Tampico, informing him of our situation,” Latham said. “Of course, we can expect no assistance from the American fleet. It’s more than 600 miles away.”

“How reassuring,” Katharina said.

Latham went to the voice pipe and ordered Chief Engineer Vane and Seaman Longworth to get the Comanche underway at full speed ahead. Moments later, the yacht shuddered to life, and Goodson turned us away from shore and toward the open sea. The ocean was calm, and the Comanche began picking up speed.

“Leave the running lights off until we’re well past the pangas,” Latham ordered. “And let’s take the Hotchkiss forward.”

Latham then ordered Flores to go below and bring up as many mattresses as he could find in order to create some kind of a barrier to place the Hotchkiss gun behind.

I looked at Katharina. She was holding the .45 automatic in her right hand and steadying herself at the bridge’s doorframe with the other.

“What about me?”

“I’d be happier if you went back to our cabin,” I said.

“Why? Where are you going to be?”

“Probably aft, protecting our rear.”

“Then that’s where I’ll be too.”

“I figured as much.” I knew I would never convince Katharina to go back to the cabin.

Latham looked at me and whispered, “Mulish filly, ain’t she?”

“I heard that, Admiral,” Katharina said. “And by the way, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m way past the filly stage.”

Latham winched and rubbed the back of his collar. “No offense, ma’am.”

“I’ll take that under consideration, Admiral,” Katharina replied.

For the next few minutes, Latham, Flores, and I moved the Hotchkiss gun to the forecastle and placed it on an elevated area near the galley stove cowl, just behind the anchor windlass and chain pipes. We crammed several mattresses around the front and sides of the gun, along with some spare three-by-three-foot metal plates that were on board in case the hull ever needed repairs.

Latham and Jackson were the only crew members who had any training at all with the Hotchkiss, and that was minimal.

The Comanche was now making close to twenty knots, and several of the powered boats were chasing after us, as was the larger mother ship. In front of us we could see what looked like a chain of lights bobbing in the water as the pangas came together in an effort to create a barrier to the open sea. We were still about 2,500 yards away from them when we heard the sound of rifle fire followed by the distinguishing purr of spent bullets as they flew over the Comanche or smacked its hull, gunwales, and bridge.