by Peter Greene
“Guns!” said Sean and Delain.
“Cannon, as they are called in this case, as we are on land,” Jonathan said.
“But where are they, Jonathan?” Delain asked.
“And why do we care?” asked Sean.
“I presume they are nearby, most likely in these chained rooms to the rear,” Jonathan said. “Unless someone took them down those stairs.”
“That would be a long and treacherous task,” Sean said. “I would venture the forge I found was used to make the cannons right here at the castle.
“Brilliant,” said Delain. “I am sure you are correct.”
“And I believe we should care,” added Jonathan.
“But why? What could we possibly do with cannon all the way up—” Sean paused, a smile slowly spreading on his face as his eyes met Jonathan’s. “Oh, I like that idea, Jonathan!”
Delain looked at the two boys and then at the spaces where the cannon were to be in the wall.
“What idea?” she asked. “What would you possibly do with cannon while we await the return of the Danielle? Oh, I see! I see now! You mean to join the battle!”
“Yes,” Jonathan said. “If we can find the cannon and set them correctly so they overlook the bay, we could maybe take out a few French frigates.”
“That sounds like fun and something to keep us busy!” said Sean, eager to get started. “I will start hauling up the powder!”
“Wait a moment,” Jonathan said. “Let us find the cannon and test a single one first. And for that, we will have to wait until morning. There is not enough light to make it down. It would be best if we sleep as best as we can in here.”
“I am not sleeping in here with all those dead coconuts about,” stated Delain.
“I agree,” said Jonathan. “Follow me.”
The three walked to top level where Jonathan had discovered his workrooms. Though pleased at his plan, they were still too tired to make a proper sleeping arrangement. Instead, they gathered up and cuddled against the back wall of the chamber, and fell into an exhausted and uneasy sleep.
* * * * *
The next morning they were awakened by the sun, a bit of fog still creeping about but nowhere near the amount they had seen the previous day. Without breakfast they immediately cleared the main hall of corpses as Delain insisted they make their new camp “for the living only.” After Jonathan and Sean completed this gruesome task, they began working on their plan to find and restore the cannon.
They retrieved the long iron rods Jonathan had found and moved to the first locked door, where all pried and pulled until the rusty lock was broken. Slowly they opened the heavy door, allowing sunlight to spill inwards. There before them sat over one dozen cannon. All were old and dirty, and the iron wheels almost rusted into place.
“You were right, Jonathan! And at least a dozen or so!” said Sean excitedly.
“Now we need something to load them with!” said Jonathan.
In the next room, after repeating the prying and pulling, they found the armory. There were a few rifles and pistols and swords, ancient as they were, and of no use. However, what did interest them were the hundreds of cannonballs that were stacked neatly in pyramids, slightly rusty but still mostly round. Also, there were empty barrels that probably had at one time contained gun powder, along with a box of what remained of empty cartridges. Their stocking-like casings were tattered and almost fell apart when Delain simply touched them.
“These cartridges will be of no use,” Jonathan said.
“Maybe we can find a way to make new ones,” suggested Delain. “I will rummage through the sleeping rooms and look to obtain better cloth!”
As Delain ran off to search the areas by the lower hall, Jonathan and Sean selected one cannon close to the door, and using the long prying pole, set to loosening the wheels. They wedged the tip of one end of the bar under the back wheel and then, with all their might, pushed the bar forward, moving the cannon a few inches with each thrust. It was hard work and they had to stop and rest every few minutes. At one point, Sean suggested pouring water on the rusted wheels, then banging them with the iron balls to unbind them, as his father had done to wagons on their farm.
Excitedly, they ran down to the landing area and retrieved a small barrel, then filled it with seawater. The boys took turns carrying it all the way to the top, splashing and sloshing the entire way. Though a good amount spilled as the bucket journeyed upward, enough remained for their use. Pouring it on the rusty wheels and banging them with an iron ball loosened the rust, and after much effort, they managed to move the cannon about fifty feet and into position.
Next, they gathered the spiked poles and brushes Jonathan had found and used them to clean out the cannon’s barrel and the touchhole. All this work took most of the day. By the time they had finished, the sun had set, and once again and the Castle of Fire glowed red.
“Boys!” called Delain from the stairway. “Would you please join me at the Café de Fogo for dinner?”
“Pardon?” said Jonathan. He and Sean were sweaty and dirty, hands full of rust and grime. They had been working so hard they had forgotten about eating altogether.
“Supper!” Delain called, and motioned for them to join her below in the main hall. “I used that small stove you thoughtfully brought from the Danielle, Jonathan.”
“It was a gift from Steward,” he said. “I am glad it could be of use.”
Upon entering the room, the boys observed that they were not the only ones who had been busy. Delain had apparently been up and down the stone stairs numerous times, for most of their clothes, food, and other goods were now present in the castle. The area had been swept and most of the debris had been cleared out. The rope rigging from the camp below had been restrung into two hammocks, one in each corner of the main room. Delain had even traded her long dress for a pair of pants she had been given by Steward before they left the Danielle.
“More comfortable and less likely to get caught on things,” she explained.
The most amazing change for the boys, however, was that in the center of the room, the table had been set for dinner. There was a lit torch in the corner and a blanket draped across the table. On the table in the center, Delain had set a half of a wooden crate, and inside it on a small cloth were salted pork and hardtack from their stores. There were cups set about as well, each containing a golden liquid.
“Rum,” Delain said, as if reading their minds. “I know we are quite young and not used to liquor, but honestly, it is all we have. Tomorrow we should look for a fresh source of water, but for now, bon appétit, messieurs!”
The three sat around the table in the center of the room and enjoyed each other’s company.
“A hard day’s work and a just reward!” said Sean as he bit a piece of the hardtack.
“All that is left is the construction of the cartridges and the cleaning of a few cannonballs. We should be able to test the guns sometime tomorrow,” said Jonathan.
“I get to light it. I have experience firing guns, you know,” said Delain, smiling. “It only makes sense.”
All laughed and agreed that Miss Delain Dowdeswell would have the honor and position of powder monkey and igniter. A happy toast was made to her promotion, though they each eyed the run suspiciously before tasting.
“Might as well get it over with,” said Sean.
They sipped.
“Taste like lamp oil,” said Jonathan.
“Like a tonic from one of the street vendors,” added Sean.
“May I suggest that a fresh source of simple water becomes a top priority for tomorrow?” offered Delain.
All agreed without hesitation.
After finishing dinner, it was decided that a good night’s sleep had been well earned and an early rising was in order. Before retiring, Jonathan and Sean double-checked Delain’s sleeping chamber to ensure the room was devoid of skeletons and vermin. She politely requested that the boys please leave her door open to listen for any stra
nge noises, even though they would most likely be asleep. The boys jumped into their hammocks and Sean read from his book that he had somehow brought along, thinking if they were to be stranded, at least he would have something to read.
“I haven’t heard you read in a long time, Sean,” commented Jonathan as he lay down.
“We have been busy, Jonny boy. With a midshipman and a stowaway, duels, invading forts—well, I just haven’t had the time. But as we are here,” he said, thumbing through the pages, “I have decided upon the place in the story where Merlin and Arthur find the Lady of the Lake. Hmm . . . ‘So they rode till they came to a lake, the which was a fair water and broad, and in the midst of the lake Arthur was aware of an arm clothed in white samite, that held a fair sword in that hand.’”
“That is what we need,” said Delain from her chamber. “A lady in the water to signal the French ships to come to our precise point where we have aimed the cannon.”
“Let us think on that,” said Jonathan, and Sean continued the tale, until they all fell asleep.
“Sails, sir! Sails!” came the call from the crow’s nest.
Captain Walker ran to the poop immediately upon hearing that ships had been spotted. It had been almost three days since leaving Jonathan, Sean, and Delain on Isla Sello, and they had finally found the prize, or so he hoped. Watt was at the wheel and even his stone-like countenance seemed to show some concern.
“Orders, Captain?” said Holtz, still standing at attention.
“Garvey!” the Captain called, looking up at the crow’s nest. “Details! And a count, if you please.”
Garvey searched the horizon with his telescope as Harrison quickly reached the top and immediately took his glass and turned it on the approaching ships. After a moment, he spoke to Garvey and pointed to the enemy.
“Captain!” Harrison called. “It is hard to see. There are at least two frigates in the lead with possibly thirty-six guns, and well, at least four other vessels. I assume they are the merchants; however, I cannot be positive unless we move closer.”
“As long as we get them into the strait,” said Walker, “we can easily take them. And if our greeting party has arrived, we should make quick work of the entire squadron. Bring us about, Mr. Watt. Mr. Holtz, hold a speed that puts us just ahead of them, out of their sight, until we near the strait. Then we spring our trap.”
“Aye, sir!” Holtz called, and after enlisting the services of Lane and Spears, the crew set about adding all sail, setting stays, and, as a caution, readying the guns.
As the Danielle turned and ran to the west, Harrison and Garvey kept a sharp eye on the French from the great height of the crow’s nest. At first they could see several ships clearly, though once sail was set, stays tightened, and the Danielle had completed her turn to the west, the enemy ships seemed to slip away, falling behind the Danielle and out of sight. They alerted the Captain, and some sail was reduced until they could just barely see the lead ship behind them.
“Hold this speed, Captain!” called Harrison, “We are just a wave to them, sir, unless they can see better than I.”
Walker laughed, as it was well known that Mr. Harrison’s eyesight was the sharpest in the fleet and his telescope was a device of exquisite make and quality. If he could barely see the enemy, it was almost certain that they could not see the Danielle.
“Thank you, Mr. Harrison, we will,” said the Captain. “Mr. Watt, Mr. Koonts. Mind our position and hold course for the Cape. Set and strike sail as necessary.”
“Yes, sir,” they both said.
The Captain retired to his cabin.
Up in the crow’s nest, Garvey and Mr. Harrison kept their scopes trained on the enemy behind, now and then losing them, only to suddenly be able to make them out between the waves. Their sails were the same color as the crashing whitecaps that were all about them, and the trick, as they both knew, was to watch for the white-tipped shapes that didn’t fall.
“It’s a dance of sorts,” Garvey said as he peered into his borrowed scope. “We move in, we move out, we twirl and spin. Surely their smaller ships could move faster and catch us.”
“Yes,” said Harrison, “though they must stay together and therefore must travel as slowly as the dullest ship in the squadron. Also, I do not believe they have even seen us. It’s a wide ocean and we are quick to move out of their sight. We must be diligent, Garvey, and make sure to alert the Captain of any movements. Take a gander ahead and see if there are any other ships about. We wouldn’t want to miss a friendly!”
“Or a not-so-friendly!” added Garvey, and they continued their watchful duty.
It was now the third evening the trio had spent on Isla Sello. Jonathan sat on the wheel of the first cannon they had resurrected from the armory. He and Sean had worked for a full two days repairing the cannon, assisting Delain in manufacturing powder cartridges, and cleaning over a dozen rusty cannonballs. They had rigged a few heavy timbers behind the cannon with sturdy wooden pegs that were driven into cracks in the stones that made up the floor, hoping the weapon would be held in place. It also took over two additional hours to haul a small gunpowder keg up the many steps—exhausting work, to say the least.
As Jonathan rested, he examined his hands. They were scraped, swollen, and dirty—looking as if he still lived on the streets, digging through the alleys and backyards, searching for food and anything that could sustain his life. However, as he looked at his hands this cool evening on an island just off the southern tip of the African continent, he couldn’t help but smile. Amazing, was all he could think. How can one go from nothing to all the adventure I have had and see half of the world in the process? And what have these hands done in the last year or so? Learned to sword fight, fire a gun, tie a sailor’s breastplate, cook spotted dick, salute, and now, repair cannon that have to be older than Steward and Captain Walker combined!
Though it was only a single cannon, they had learned so much about the tools and processes for restoring these monstrous weapons. All agreed that they could repair two or three guns a day and maybe have several working by the end of the week.
After retrieving a powder cartridge from her “laboratory,” as Delain called the room where they filled the cloth tubes with explosive powder, she appeared with Sean and joined Jonathan atop the castle. They were ready to test the cannon.
“No use repairing all of them if we can’t make this one work!” said Jonathan.
“And we must make sure,” added Delain, “that these cartridges will satisfy. I gathered material from old sheets and bandages that I found. Sean helped me stuff them with powder, so I am sure they will work.”
“These are larger guns, Jonny, so I used a little extra powder,” Sean explained.
“He is an expert with explosives,” said Jonathan, smiling. “He actually damaged the Danielle once with a homemade bomb.”
“I remember the tale,” said Delain, “and though it didn’t sink, it was crippled. Let’s make sure this time we actually sink something.”
“Then we will need a few of these,” Sean said, holding up a cannonball that he had scraped and chiseled back to an almost perfectly round condition. “Let’s give it a ride!”
The sun had set almost an hour ago; however, the sky to the west still showed a faint glow of purple. Stars winked to the east and above their heads, and the moon made an appearance in the southern sky as if to witness the firing of the cannon.
From their elevated position in the fort, they had seen the strait below and believed that Captain Walker would more than likely sail between the island and the mainland, leading the enemy frigates right past them.
“Let us aim in the center of the channel,” Jonathan said, and Delain and Sean began to discuss in a lively manner how best to accomplish this.
“I believe it is pointed too high, Mr. Flagon,” Delain said. “On the Fiero, I was too high with my first attempt and certainly I can see that, here, we are in the same condition.”
“With all due respect
, Miss Dowdeswell,” said Sean with a frown, “I have fired a few guns aboard the Poseidon, rest her timbers, and even the Danielle. I think we are perfectly directed at the center of the channel.”
In the end, after a heated debate, Jonathan decided that the most important achievement would be to make sure the gun would fire without exploding into a thousand pieces and killing them all. As long as it worked, and the ball left the barrel with the velocity required to damage the hull of a ship at four hundred yards, it would be a success.
“Aiming can come later,” he said, and he moved the gun to an angle of approximately fifteen degrees, and rammed the cartridge and ball home. The cannon was surely longer than the guns aboard the Danielle, at least nine feet long, and by the weight of the ball, Jonathan assumed it was a twenty-four pounder. He cleared the touchhole.
“Miss Dowdeswell, if you would light the beast?”
“My pleasure!” she answered.
Jonathan lit a small torch they had prepared and handed the flame to Delain. He and Sean then moved to the left side of the cannon and covered their ears.
After a pause of a few seconds and a fast prayer, Delain set the torch to the cannon.
B-O-O-M! The blast was enormous, the noise truly deafening. As Jonathan held his ears, he saw the flame discharge from the huge gun with an amazing fury that lit up the entire center of the strait. The monster rocked backwards, yet the bracing held.
All three ran to the embrasure to see where the ball would land. To their surprise, the moon’s glow had illuminated a white streak in the air as the disturbed moisture marked the path of the projectile. The trip ended after the ball travelled all the way across the water and slammed into the side of a cliff on the main land, over eight hundred yards away. They could barely see black rock exploding as the ball struck, sending dust and debris into the air. A second or two later, they heard a strong BOOM – CRACK! from the amazing force of the impact.
