by Peter Greene
As Jonathan sipped his tea, he occasionally looked at his father and sometimes even took in a breath as if he were about to say something. Then he would stop, second-guess himself, and exhale. After repeating this two or three times, his father took notice, and after the fourth or fifth inhale and exhale, he finally put down his paper and stared at the boy.
“Jonathan? You have something to say?” his father asked softly, knowing the subject that was about to be addressed.
“Why, yes,” Jonathan said, “though I do not want to interrupt your reading.”
“Well,” his father said, smiling easily, “it has been interrupted now, so let us have at it.”
Jonathan took another deep breath and stared into his father’s eyes. He wanted so much to stand at attention, to stare out the window as he did in Captain Walker’s cabin so many times before. The staring allowed him to think and speak clearly. But now, looking into his father’s eyes, which became dark with sadness each time he asked to sail with the Danielle, made it difficult to express his thoughts. He knew his father would miss him. Once again, his father’s eyes were now dimming.
“Of course, the Danielle sails this afternoon, as you know, and I wish to discuss my sailing along with her. I recognize we hold different opinions on the matter. However . . . I just can’t seem to let it go.”
“I understand that, Jonathan. The sea is a strong lure for you, as it is for me as well,” said his father, softly. “It is within our blood to sail, as it was in my father’s and his father’s before him. And some day you will return. But as I have said, I have only been with you for five weeks and I am not ready to part with you. Not yet.”
“Nor do I want to part with you,” Jonathan said. “I wish we could sail away together, on our own adventures—silly I know, but it is a dream I have.” Jonathan was now seeing a ship in his mind with his father at the helm, himself in the tops, scouting for French frigates.
“I think it will be a long time before I am ready to command a ship, Jonathan. And even then, having you aboard would not be fair, would it?” his father said. “I could only favor you above others, and discipline would be hard to maintain, of course—though, it is a nice sentiment, my son.”
Jonathan became quiet for a few moments. He felt that staying home while his friends sailed off would be unbearable, but missing his father would be just as horrid. He felt torn once again.
“I only know that, no matter what I do, I am between the devil and the deep blue sea,” he mumbled. “And I don’t even know what that means. I had heard the men say it on occasion aboard the Poseidon.”
His father chuckled a bit and reached out to hold his son’s hand. “It is a comment about a difficult task aboard a ship. The planking of the side of the ship that meets the water is called a devil, and it needs much caulking with pitch to keep the water out—a difficult task, especially considering that one is suspended over the side as the ship is moving through the waves, becoming soaking wet just inches above the sea. It is a bad place to be—between the devil and the deep blue sea.”
Jonathan nodded. “Yes, and that is where I am—between staying with you and . . . ”
Just then, Sean appeared from upstairs, scratching himself everywhere imaginable, yawning, stretching, and finally saying, “I assume that is a basket from Miss Thompson, bless her every way to Sunday! And a bit of tea? Spa-len-did! Spa-len-did!” he said, pronouncing the word much as the King had done just a few weeks ago.
After breakfast was completed, Jonathan assisted Sean in his packing and preparation. With a heavy heart, he warned Sean of the dangers and requirements of the mission.
“Make sure, Sean Flagon, that you stay close to Hudson, Hicks, and Harrison. They will teach you well. And mind Steward! He is a cantankerous old fish-wife to be sure, but he means well, and—”
“Aye, aye, Jonny Boy,” Sean said quickly. “I will remember it all. It’s not my first trip, don’t ya know? I’ll be fine. And you behave for yer da and Miss Thompson. Stay out of trouble, now.”
In the early afternoon, the boys, Captain Moore, and of course Miss Thompson, boarded the carriage and began the short journey to the London docks. Sean was in his seaman’s garb and wool coat, Jonathan and his father in their uniforms, and Miss Thompson was dressed smartly in a warm coat, woolen grey and long, almost to the ground.
Jonathan tried to smile, but only a small tear came to his eye. “Sean?” asked Jonathan meekly. “Would you grant me a special favor?”
“Surely, Jonny boy,” Sean said, still digging through his sack, checking to make sure he had everything.
“Would you give this to Miss Dowdeswell with my apologies and my best wishes? Tell her I hope to see her again soon?”
He held in his hand a small, delicately-wrapped package with a golden bow about it. Sean looked up and his eyes widened.
“Is that the dolphin? Of course I will give it to her. I–I’m sorry, Jonny.”
Jonathan gave the package to his friend, then turned to look out the window. As Miss Thompson faced Nathaniel, she could see the indecision on his face. He quickly looked out the window as well. All rode the rest of the way in silence.
4
The Nemesis
The new docks of London at Wapping rarely held warships, but on this day, HMS Doggard, of course known to all as the Danielle, was moored front and center off Reardon Path. A crowd of a few dozen were always in attendance to marvel at the ship, as it had become a tourist attraction of sorts. As the carriage slowed, Jonathan looked out and noticed not only the Danielle, but another ship.
“The Trident,” he announced flatly, and all turned to see the great ship, though it was slightly dwarfed by the much larger Danielle. At a recent party held by Captain Walker for the purpose of celebrating the sailing of the crew on their next assignment, they had been informed by none other than Mr. Langley himself that he had been assigned as Captain of the Trident. He had also received his orders to join a small squadron of ships off the French coast. Maybe they would see each other, many had said, and all laughed, knowing that the ocean was so vast that the chances were slim.
The carriage came to an abrupt stop at the wharf and slowly they all exited, with Nathaniel assisting Miss Thompson. From their position on the street, they could look almost directly across the way to the deck of the Danielle and see the crew busying themselves. Some regulars were not there, as Mr. Langley had “stolen a few,” as Captain Walker happily pointed out to all who would listen, namely the well-seasoned Gallotta, Smalls, and Jenkins. However, Jonathan did see Steward and Harrison, and Watt, ever-present at the wheel. Of course, squeaky-voiced Koonts was aboard with his giant book, collecting information, writing names, and watching all that came on and went off the ship. At least Garvey was still there, and Smith and Jones, so Sean would have a few good friends about his own age to keep him company.
HMS Danielle and HMS Trident at Wapping
“Off I go, Jonny Boy!” Sean said, and for the first time, he finally took in the weight of what was happening. He had been with Jonathan since they were young boys, six years old, through the hardships on the streets of London and the trials of their lives at sea. They had seen morning suns rising above the waves, the expanse of sails spread to catch the breeze, roaring guns, sword fights, storms, death, and treasure—yet always together.
“Oh my, Jonny,” Sean said with a tear as he hugged his best friend tightly. “I-I will miss you.”
Jonathan fought to hold back his tears.
“You are my brother,” he said to Sean, still holding him, “and we will sail together again, someday. Godspeed, Sean Flagon.”
Many present on the dock and aboard the Danielle saw the boys embrace. The crew of the ship watched in sadness, as all were aware that Midshipman Moore, their good luck charm, would not be traveling with them.
As Moore watched this scene, he saw Captain William Walker watching as well. William stood stone-faced, yet staring at his friend, as if to say, “You must let him g
o. Do not withhold from him his rightful destiny upon the sea. I will do all in my power to return him safely.”
If those words were actually in Walker’s mind, it mattered not. They were now in Nathaniel’s. He witnessed the sobbing of both boys and also heard the sniffles of Miss Thompson. He remembered being a newly promoted midshipman. To be at sea, he would have run away with his shipmates, even against the wishes of his father. He did not love his family any less, yet the lure of the ocean was strong in the Moores, like the pull of the moon that caused the tides. It could not be stopped. He knew in his heart that Jonathan was a Moore, just like the generations before who took to the waves. Yes, he wanted to be with his son, however . . .
“Jonathan,” his father said. “I see your heart is breaking and mine aches as well. I love you, but I cannot hurt you. I will go back with the driver and return with your gear. Go. Before I change my mind.”
Jonathan slowly let go of Sean and turned to face Captain Moore. He felt no joy with this news, for immediately, his longing for the sea was replaced with a growing sadness of separation.
“I will make you proud and I will return as fast as I can,” he said, embracing his father. After a long moment, Miss Thompson bent to kiss Jonathan, then turned away to the carriage.
“Jonathan,” Nathaniel said, now holding the boy squarely by the shoulders, “inform Captain Walker that I, as the King’s personal adjunct, have assigned Midshipman Jonathan Moore to HMS Danielle, until further notice.”
Nathaniel watched as Jonathan and Sean ran up the gangplank to greet Koonts. As the boys turned to wave goodbye, another midshipman, slightly taller and heavier than Jonathan, also walked up the plank. His eyes were on Captain Moore.
Sean reached the deck first and heard a soft meow just loud enough to startle him.
“Stewie!” he called, and ran on to greet his favorite ship’s cat. A great mouser, Stewie was adopted by Sean during his captivity aboard the Danielle, before her capture by the British. There were many cats aboard and they were prized by the crew, for the most part, because they kept the rats and mice in check. Stewie was certainly a favorite as he resembled Steward remarkably, with his whitish beard and scruffy look.
“Did ya miss me?” asked Sean, as he scooped up his pet.
Jonathan waved one last time to his father and stood at the top of the gangway, laughing at Sean.
As Nathaniel ducked his head into the carriage, the other midshipman moved quickly behind Jonathan, unseen. With a dipped shoulder, he pushed Jonathan hard, causing him to stumble, strike the side of the plank, drop his belongings on deck, and fall dozens of feet directly towards the cold water below. As Jonathan fell, he looked upwards and caught a dizzying glimpse of a turning face and then a ponytail moving away fast.
Was I pushed?
Jonathan hit the water hard, and the icy waves covered him immediately. His wool coat and uniform suddenly weighed many times more than when dry, and he struggled to recover to the surface. After much thrashing, his head reached air once again. He gulped a large breath. Looking to his right, he saw the Danielle bobbing closer to him, now pushing his body in the direction of the pier. I will be crushed!
“Help! Overboard at the plank!”
Sean recognized the voice and called for others to assist as he ran to the plank and tossed a rope over the side. Jonathan grasped the line immediately. It would be only seconds before he was crushed.
With the help of Koonts and several others, Sean began pulling Jonathan out of the water. They worked fast and strained mightily. Jonathan was lurched upwards suddenly from the water, and due to the crew’s speed and strength, he almost flew over the gangplank. Crew members immediately stripped him of wet clothes, wrapped him in a dry blanket or two, and comforted him as he shook from the cold. Claise, who was nearby, went to retrieve a hot cup of coffee.
Jonathan accepted the drink gratefully, repeatedly saying, “No problem, I am fine.” and, “Not sure what happened. I must need to regain my sea legs.”
Harrison appeared on the gangway and observed Jonathan, hair still wet, being babied by the crew. With a puzzled look on his face, he approached the scene.
“Well, Mr. Moore,” Harrison said, “did you forget to bathe this morning, so you decided a swim would do?”
The crew laughed briefly, but the revelry was cut short as Captain Walker appeared, flanked by two unknown lieutenants. Jonathan looked up as the others stood at attention, then scrambled to his feet and saluted the best he could, as he was still wrapped in blankets.
The Captain exploded.
“By all the sirens and harpies, what is going on here?!” he yelled. “This is not a circus or a bath house! Moore? What is the meaning of this?”
Jonathan cleared his throat and tried to speak, but nothing came out. He had forgotten what a temper Captain Walker possessed, and after all the peaceful and serene days he had spent with him at his home, Jonathan was surprised by how loud and angry the Captain-at-sea could be. It was Koonts who spoke first.
“Begging, your pardon, Captain,” he said in his high, squeaky voice, “It seems Mr. Moore had a misstep and ended up taking a plunge off the gangway. We retrieved him, no harm at all.”
“A misstep?” said Walker. “Is that the case, Mr. Moore?”
Jonathan paused, thinking about what he had seen as he fell, just a blurry face and a ponytail. However, there were many ponytails aboard the Danielle. In fact, there were probably more bobbed heads aboard than not. And the push? He reasoned that it could have been an accident. Maybe someone with a crate or sack of flour? Turning sharply? Not even knowing what they had bumped into?
“It does seem so, sir.” Jonathan answered. “I believe I bumped into something, or someone, and over I went. An accident, I am sure.”
The face of Captain Walker scrunched a trifle, and he looked at Jonathan quizzically. His temper seemed to be building.
“Very well, then,” the Captain said, holding back an obvious outburst. “Please be more careful, Mr. Moore. This is a fighting ship of His Majesty’s Navy and we conduct ourselves with professionalism and grace at all times. And Mr. Koonts?”
“Yes, sir?” Koonts said, now expecting the outburst to be aimed at him.
“Make sure the deck and gangplank are clear of obstruction!” bellowed the Captain. “By all the saints and sinners—having officers tripping over debris, and disorderly loading of supplies? I want this corrected now! Mr. Harrison? Get Mr. Moore to the doctor and get him some dry clothes. When you are finished, I want to see you both in my cabin. And Claise! Blast it, that coffee smells wonderful! Get me a pot immediately and for God’s sake, teach Steward the proper procedure needed to make a decent brew!”
“Yes, sir!” Claise replied. The Captain spun on his heels and marched away aft to his cabin.
As the crowd dispersed, Claise leaned over to Jonathan and said, “Nice to see you again, Mr. Moore.”
Later, in the Captain’s cabin, Jonathan stood at rigid attention with Harrison by his side, staring out the rear window. Indeed, the room had been repaired completely after the Danielle was won in battle. It now contained a little more comfort than the cabin of the Poseidon and Walker easily fit a larger table, two comfortable chairs, two sets of drawers instead of one, a handsome cabinet that held a sextant and mapping devices, and even four lanterns hanging in the rafters of a slightly higher ceiling.
Walker was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs that he had pulled up to his table. Still standing were the two lieutenants Jonathan had seen on deck. As ordered, there was a steaming pot of coffee on the table, along with a few pastries, a cup of milk, and a plate of cheesed and toasted anchovies. Walker sipped the coffee silently as he considered the assorted maps and papers on his desk. Finally he looked up.
“Mr. Harrison? I think you know the two senior lieutenants assigned? Jonathan, this is Lieutenant Holtz, my second-in-command, and Lieutenant Blake.”
Both men nodded to Jonathan. Holtz was almost as tall as Capt
ain Walker and had a surprised look on his face. Jonathan waited for him to speak, as if he were about to ask a question or seek clarification on what he had just heard, however, as the moment lasted, Jonathan realized that was not the case. Holtz just looked that way, probably all the time. He had a dark complexion, and his beard looked like it had been growing for more than a day or two. His hair was dark and short, his eyes permanently squinted, the color indiscernible.
Blake was shorter and his pale, round face seemed disinterested, as if he had better things to do than attend to the Captain. He looked out the window and glanced about the cabin, as if in his own world. Not once did he look anyone in the eye.
“Mr. Moore,” Walker said without looking up from his meal, “you are to report to the deck and assist Mr. Koonts in logging the ship’s stores and crew until your father delivers your things. Once they arrive, stow everything away in the cockpit, clean your uniform and dry it, and introduce yourself to the other two midshipmen aboard. You will be joined on this cruise by Wayne Spears and Timothy Lane. You are dismissed.”
