by Peter Greene
The Cannon of the Castle of Fire
“Whoa!” said Sean, laughing. “That went a bit too far!”
“Almost twice as far as needed!” added Jonathan.
“I do believe, Mr. Flagon,” said Delain, “that we have made the cartridges a bit too powerful, yes?”
They all laughed, agreeing that maybe a little less gunpowder would do the trick well enough. With several cannons aimed just right, and a bit of practice they all looked forward to, the Castelo de Fogo, the Castle of Fire, would regain its namesake and could be a key element in the pending battle, if there was to be one.
Now that the first gun had been tested successfully and found to be more than satisfactory, the trio spent the next few days alternating between fixing and moving cannon and finding and preparing food. Jonathan had found the fishing line and hooks in their supplies and rigged a simple pole with an old broom handle he located in a small storeroom. After using a little salted pork as bait, he was more than triumphant fishing, pulling in six or seven snoek and avoiding their nasty bite to easily clean them for meals. Delain, using the small stove that Steward had given them, fried the fish nicely in some olive oil. Sean, when he was not cleaning and repairing cannons and balls, found a tarp in their supplies and had rigged it as a rain-catch. Soon, they would have water, as it seemed that almost every night, it rained for at least a few minutes.
The main thrust of their effort had been the cannon, and they were proceeding nicely. Soon they had four additional guns ready and tested, and Jonathan had perfected the aiming. He knew that sailing ships would not be able to stop quickly when underway, and once they committed to a course, it would mean they continued in basically a straight line. Even hard course corrections would take a few moments to execute and effect.
“If we can aim all the guns in the same spot,” he reasoned, “and apply our firepower in a concentrated manner, we can do considerable damage. Since we only expect two frigates, we should have a good shot at disabling at least one.”
“I am sure the Danielle will take care of the other!” Sean said, laughing.
They continued working diligently, and by the end of their first week, they had water, fresh fish, shelter, and eight twenty-four-pound cannon in the north wall embrasures, all aimed at the center of the channel, all within a few feet of the same target area. Every one of the eight cannon had been tested, and a special routine was rehearsed that allowed them to reload and fire another series of eight if they had the chance. Of course, all the cannon would be loaded at the first sight of any sail. Then, after the first round, Jonathan would clean and dampen the cannon one by one, running down the line. Sean would follow, ramming cartridges, then Jonathan would come a second time and load a ball in each. It was to Delain’s great delight that she was to clear the touchholes, and on Jonathan’s command, light them as fast as she could.
As they stood looking at their battery of cannon, Jonathan suddenly seemed worried. Sean noticed the change in his demeanor.
“What is it?”
“We need to create the signal—our Lady of the Lake, as we discussed.”
“Yes,” Delain said, “what can we do to make sure Captain Walker knows we are ready to fight and that he needs to bring the ship close to us? I am surely not going to tread water and wave him to my position!”
“I think I have an idea,” said Jonathan. “Sean, get the hammers and nails. I will get the rope.”
19
Point of No Return
Late the next afternoon aboard HMS Danielle, the sailing was swift and certainly easy for the crew to maintain. They had finally adjusted their speed so the enemy was just barely visible when the air was clear. On a few occasions, Captain Walker believed he had been spotted and that the French ships might slow down or spin off on a slightly different course to avoid a confrontation, but soon it would not matter. He was nearing the strait and was confident that he could engage them soon enough.
“Do you think,” Koonts said, standing next to the Captain, “that any assistance has arrived?”
“I am not sure,” said Walker as he gazed ahead.
Meanwhile on Isla Sello, two rafts had finally been completed. Jonathan, Sean, and Delain had fashioned them from the lumber they had found in the storage rooms and from some of the larger barrels they had been given for supplies. They supplemented this by finding and using additional barrels they had in and around the fort. One of the rafts was about the size of the targets they regularly built and launched off the side of the Danielle for target practice. About twenty feet across and ten wide, the raft looked quite seaworthy and even had a tall mast of sorts, with a flag on top.
“Here is our Lady of the Lake!” said Delain happily. “Captain Walker will surely see it!”
“This flag will do the trick, Jonny Boy!” Sean said, laughing as he climbed aboard. He worked at attaching a pair of bloomers to the mast. “And I think it is big enough to be seen!”
“How rude, Mr. Flagon!” said Delain. The bloomers were hers, of course; she had removed them previously when the idea had been suggested.
“I was only kidding, my dear Miss Dowdeswell,” Sean said as he tied Delain’s bloomers to the pole aboard the larger raft.
The second raft was considerably smaller, about five feet by five feet, and Jonathan manned that one, complete with two paddles and a rope attaching it to Sean’s raft.
“Let us make sure we stay aboard,” Jonathan said. “I think those sharks we have been seeing are looking for a free meal and I’d rather not be it!”
“Do be careful,” said Delain. “I can’t fire all those cannon without you.”
“We will, Delain,” Jonathan said. “And thank you for the flag! It will do the trick.”
“It is tested and true!” she added as the boys pushed off and paddled out into the channel.
The sea was rough and still a sickly green. The boys had a difficult time, as the rafts seemed to want to float somewhat submerged and move differently in different directions. More than once, just within the first few yards offshore, one or both of the rafts would pull the other to such an extent that they would almost capsize, causing water to rush over the low boards making up the decks.
“Lord!” cried Jonathan, “We must be careful, Sean.”
“We have company, Jonathan,” Sean said as a few shark fins broke the surface. The monsters swam by, looking, it seemed, right at the boys as they splashed and floundered in the water. More than once, Jonathan appeared to be sinking, and at one point a large grey-eyed shark actually swam up and placed its toothy head on deck, further tipping the raft. After a scream or two from Delain, who watched in horror from the shore, and a quick jab with the paddle from Jonathan, the shark retreated.
“This is not in any way enjoyable,” Jonathan said.
However, after a few more tips and a few more paddle-whacks to the trailing shark’s noses, the boys settled down and worked together, both paddling at the same time. After thirty minutes they had reached the center of the channel.
“Drop anchor, Sean!” Jonathan said.
Sean set his paddle down and pushed their makeshift anchor over the side, slowly feeding the rope into the water.
“I hope we have enough, Jonathan!” Sean called as the line slipped through his fingers.
“Proceed slowly, Sean. We don’t want the anchor tipping you over!”
Luckily, and through some accurate guesses, they had figured that the channel couldn’t be more than a dozen fathoms deep. They remembered that Captain Walker was somewhat worried about bringing the Danielle too near the shallowness of the channel. He had anchored with little difficulty and, though neither boy could remember how deep Watt had determined the bottom to be, they assumed that sixty feet was probably a decent approximation. The rope they had was just over one hundred feet, and finally, as Sean and Jonathan just thought it would run out, Sean felt the rope slacken in his hands.
“We’ve hit bottom!” Sean called happily, “and with a few fatho
ms to spare to account for tides!” Quickly he tied off the rope on the cleat they had fashioned out of spare metal parts found in the castle. Jonathan maneuvered his raft closer to Sean by pulling easily and carefully on his rope.
But as Sean stepped from the target raft, he somehow ended up with one foot on each of the jostling crafts. He was for an instant, stranded between.
“Be careful, Sean!” cried Jonathan.
At that instant, the boats pushed aside as if some force from below was rising in an attempt to separate them. And indeed, it was true.
An enormous shark, its dark gray fin now cutting the surface of the water just to the side of the target raft, had wedged its gaping, toothy maw between the boats. This caused Sean to fall back to the target raft, his legs splashing in the water, inches from the great shark’s mouth.
Horrified, Sean screamed as the cold murderous eyes of the beast glared at him. Raising its head to the edge of the raft, the brute began to chew as if Sean were already within its grasp. To make matters worse, the behemoth began thrashing its fearsome head from side to side, further upsetting the raft. Sean kicked at the brute, trying to scramble away.
Jonathan grabbed one of the makeshift paddles and began beating on the intruder’s sides and head, but it was of no use.
“What can we do? We need something with some sting to it! I should have brought my sword!” And then he had the answer. “Your letter opener, Sean! Steward’s knife!”
Sean had finally made his way to the pole atop the target raft as the shark continued to advance. He reached desperately to his leg, retrieved the blade from the leather sheath, and attacked the shark’s snout repeatedly. After a moment, the shark retreated, nose bloodied, but still with an empty stomach.
After a brief rest and much encouragement from Jonathan and the nearly fear-paralyzed Delain, Sean cautiously made his way to Jonathan’s raft. Quickly severing the ropes that held the two crafts together, the maneuvering became easier and they were able to make it safely back to the rock landing.
“I don’t like small boats,” was all Sean would say about the matter.
“Captain!” Garvey called from the crow’s nest, “We have been seen! The lead French frigates have added sail and are heading straight towards us!”
“Captain,” added Harrison, “there is another warship directly behind them. She is also adding sail!”
“How many guns?” Walker shouted anxiously.
“Looks like our sister, Captain! I count over seventy!”
Walker took up his glass and looked back at the enemy. It took a full minute for his old eyes to see, but it was clear. Watt confirmed it: a French seventy-four with all sail and two frigates now racing ahead.
“I believe the seventy-four is the Bordeaux, Captain,” said Harrison as he appeared at their side and lowered his glass. “I am not sure of the two frigates. Can we make the channel before we run out of light?”
“I believe we will hit its center before the sun flashes out. We will still have some light for a half an hour or so,” said the Captain. He ordered Watt to keep his course true and then ran to the bow, Harrison at his side. Both peered into their glasses as they searched ahead and prayed for some sign of British ships.
“I see no masts, Captain,” Harrison said dejectedly from the bow of the Danielle. “I believe we are on our own.”
Walker realized that if his lieutenant was right, they were alone in the battle against three ships with almost one hundred and fifty guns. That would mean little chance of success. The Dani could add all sail, and lighten the load by dumping some supplies and guns overboard to gain extra speed; however, they would still quickly be caught by the two frigates and delayed until the seventy-four could engage.
“We must decide soon, sir,” said Harrison quietly.
Walker continued searching the enemy position and then the channel, looking for some sign of help. But as the sun set further, so did his hope of aid.
Exhausted, the party on Isla Sello climbed the stairs to the Castelo and sat down to a dinner of peppered fish, potatoes and some fresh water, most welcome as well, even though warm. All three ate upon the parapets of the fort, looking out upon the world below as the sun began to set.
“The cannon may need some re-aiming,” said Jonathan. “I think the raft may be a little out of place.”
“From the landing,” said Delain, “you seemed in perfect position. But let us see.”
To the enjoyment of the boys, Delain, by herself, loaded a cartridge and a ball into the first cannon, cleared the hole, and set the torch. The shot roared out in a fiery BOOM! and landed about twenty feet to the west of the raft and a little beyond.
“Close enough!” the boys laughed and Delain sat back down after a brief curtsey and a smile.
“Captain!” called Garvey, “They are almost in range!”
And we are almost in the channel, thought Walker. Time to dance or flee.
Just then, a thundering boom was heard. All on deck turned their heads to the bow.
Searching, Garvey called out. “Captain! Gunfire! From Isla Sello! I saw the flame! A single shot!”
“We saw it as well, Cap’n!” said Smith and Jones, who were on the port side near the bow.
“Jonathan!” exclaimed Harrison.
“He has guns, at least one!” said Walker. “That does it! We will delay our plan to run until we see what Jonathan has up his sleeve. Ready the guns!” he shouted. “Clear for action!”
Back on Isla Sello, the shore party was almost finished with their meal. It had satisfied them and they relaxed for a moment. Before long, Sean stood, took his plate with him, and headed down to the lower levels of the Castle. “I will find Stewie and if he is not too full on mice and the occasional booby, I will see if he would enjoy this last bit of fish!” He winked at Jonathan and left. Now and again, he let out a little whistle and a call for the cat.
“If I weren’t so worried,” said Delain as she sat down on the wall next to Jonathan, “I could enjoy the view. I have to say, I have gotten a bit more than I bargained for.”
“As have I,” said Jonathan. “Captain Walker had told me once that sometimes, missions and assignments are actually quite boring, but I have not seen a dull minute. Ever.”
“How London will ever hold your interest again, I wonder,” said Delain.
Jonathan smiled a bit and blushed. “I think with my father, whom I miss terribly, Miss Thompson, and now the Ladies Dowdeswell in town, London might be as interesting and even as dangerous as my life at sea!”
“So your life is at sea, Mr. Moore?” Delain asked with a comical and over-exaggerated frown.
“Now, Miss Dowdeswell,” Jonathan said, faking a huffy voice and a proper tone, “I believe a man can serve his interests on the waves and on land if all understand his purposes.”
“And am I one of the interests on land?” she asked.
Jonathan again felt as if Delain were asking him something more, and in the setting light and the soft breeze, she looked beautiful and sweet. He admitted to himself that he had been thinking of her and even of what a future together would be like. Yes, he had much to do and accomplish, and he needed to learn more about the world and his place in it, but maybe they could learn together. And certainly nothing had to be settled right here, right now, on Isla Sello.
“You are the best reason I can think of to ever come ashore, Miss Dowdeswell,” Jonathan said, and once again he wondered if a simple kiss might be welcome. And as he stared into her darting eyes, he saw her smile fade and her face become alive with surprise—and alarm.
“Mr. Moore!” she cried, standing abruptly and rushing away.
“I-I am sorry, Delain,” he said, suddenly concerned that he had upset her. “I m-meant to take no l-liberty at all—”
“A sail! A sail!” she called.
“Oh!” cried Jonathan as he stood and turned to the channel’s entrance. Quickly he took up his telescope and looked into the fading light. “Oh dear!” he ye
lled. “Sean! Sean! It is the Danielle! And the small frigates we expected have been joined by a seventy-four to boot!”
“A seventy-four?” said Sean as he ran to join. “Kozak said there were only—”
“He’s a liar!” said Jonathan. “I never liked him!”
Aboard HMS Danielle, Lieutenant Harrison spoke quickly to Spears and Lane as they came on deck for duty.
“Spears, take the lower deck. Lane, you have the upper. I am not sure if those thirty-six-gun frigates will catch us, but you had best be prepared. Open the ports immediately!”
“Yes, sir,” both midshipmen said as they ran off to their duty. It seemed that Lane was excited and almost happy to take control of the guns; however, Harrison believed Spears was distracted, and though he looked into Harrison’s eye, he seemed to be in deep thought, miles away.
“Anything on your mind, Midshipman Spears?” Harrison asked.
After a mumble or two, Spears simply replied “Eager to do battle, sir. That is all.”
“Well then, do your duty,” said Harrison, “and we may all live see another day.”
With that, Spears tipped his hat and moved on.
He did indeed have a few things on his mind. Though he knew it dangerous to neglect his duty, he realized that after maybe a volley or two, he could abandon his post unnoticed and use the key in his pocket to release Kozak from the brig. In the confusion of battle, he might not be seen. As he ran to the upper gun deck, he sought out Smith and Jones as he pretended to check each gun crew for readiness. As he approached gun twenty, the Banger, Smith and Jones were rolling her into position. They were very experienced and had their weapon ready before the others, as usual.
“Smith! Jones!” Spears called.
“Aye, sir!” they replied in unison.
“A special assignment. The smaller jolly boat needs to be slid into position over the side. Do not lower it, just secure with side lashings and remove the tarp.”
