by Peter Greene
“Yes, sir—though strange, isn’t it?” asked Smith.
“Is the Captain going to send someone off before the battle, like he did Jonathan and Sean and Miss Dowdeswell?”
Spears picked up on their concern right away and used it to his advantage.
“Not that the orders of an officer are presented for your approval,” he snapped, “however, I am assuming that Captain Walker may wish to retrieve Jonathan and his party as soon as possible should the opportunity arise. Positioning the smaller jolly boat for that purpose would be considerate, yes?”
“Actually,” said Smith, “it makes perfect sense.”
“And we meant no disrespect, sir,” added Jones.
Spears smiled. “No offense was meant or taken. Please attend to the boat immediately and return to your posts.”
“Aye, sir!” they said, running up the nearest ladder.
Belowdecks in the dim and gloomy brig, Kozak heard the scurrying and call to battle stations clearly. He quickly moved to the edge of his cell and looked up. Through the crack in the floor by the door he could usually see some daylight; however, none could now been seen.
It had been several hours since his meager lunch, he assumed. Good, then night is falling! So much the better to conceal our movements. It now comes down to the final test of Midshipman Spears. If he has the key to my cell and has prepared the jolly boat, then all we need do is slip away. I must be ready, but then again, I have nothing to prepare but my wits.
On deck, Captain Walker barked commands to adjust sail and rigging, then ran to the bow one last time. Harrison joined him and gave a report.
“Guns are at the ready Captain,” he said. “We are cleared for action.”
“Good,” replied Walker nervously.
“However,” Harrison added, “we have spotted two French forty-fours. They are far behind the Bordeaux and the two small frigates, and are in full sail. I believe they are heading to the south of Isla Sello.”
“Two forty-fours speeding past the island?” exclaimed Koonts. “They mean to block our escape to the west and bottle us in! Captain, we will be between them!”
“I am sure of it,” said Walker. “Blast! Whatever Mr. Moore has in mind, it had better be effective. With the addition of these forty-fours, a fight may be out of the question. Ideas, gentlemen, and be quick about it!”
“We could try to beat the forty-fours coming around the island and escape north,” suggested Gorman.
“The smaller thirty-sixes will meet us within ten minutes, I presume,” said Harrison. “Jonathan may slow them if he has more than one cannon.”
“If he can hit them,” said Walker. “He is a marvel; however, that is a difficult shot to make even for an experienced hand. If he fails, the thirty-sixes will eventually catch us and delay us long enough for the Bordeaux and her seventy-four guns to engage. Mr. Koonts? Your advice?”
“Run like the wind and avoid battle,” said Koonts. “Toss cannon and supplies overboard to lighten our load. We may be lucky and cripple the two thirty-sixes if they come alongside us. We then may have enough time to head north and seek aid before the forty-fours catch us.”
Mr. Holtz returned and reported that all possible sail was out and that he, too, had seen the appearance of the two forty-fours. He was quickly informed of the possibility of guns in the castle.
“Interesting,” was all he said.
“We cannot turn back to fight, that is clear,” Walker said to himself, though all heard.
“True,” said Holtz. Then, as usual, he said nothing.
“For the love of God, man!” Walker bellowed, “Stop doing that! If you take in a breath, you had better expel it and announce a viable solution! I have been tolerating your idiotic intrusions, all of which have no merit or intellectual value! So pipe down or speak up!”
This explosion took all by surprise, as in the heat of battle, Walker had never lost his temper. However, this was a different situation entirely. The Captain rarely bet on luck and he was now on the losing end of his wager. He had hoped that some aid would arrive in time and now he realized that all hope was dashed. He was soon to be surrounded by over one hundred and forty guns to his rear and eighty-eight directly ahead, with no possible maneuvering room.
Holtz stood at attention and at first seemed unnerved by the Captain’s outburst. Then he thawed.
“Of course, Captain,” he replied, and just when it looked as if he was about to clam up once again, he took a deep breath and spoke.
“Doing the math, sir, it would seem that we have a good chance against the two forty-fours coming around the back of the island,” he said. “I favor some limited aggressiveness. If I were captain, I would head directly at the pair of forty-fours at best possible speed, trying to split right between them and give them both sides as I pass, pouring all shot into their stern quarters to damage steering. If we are lucky, they will be out of action as we sail past.”
“That leaves us against the Bordeaux that we can easily outrun and the pair of thirty-sixes which we cannot,” said Koonts.
“After we cripple the forty-fours,” continued Holtz, “we do as Mr. Koonts suggests and get the dickens out of here. If Jonathan has something prepared, it may just slow the thirty-sixes enough for us to escape—not north along the coast, but out to sea. We head into the night and we extinguish all lights. We become lost in the dark. Sir.”
Walker, astounded at the frankness and ingenuity of the plan, couldn’t speak for a moment. All the officers nodded in approval. Finally, the Captain smiled.
“Mr. Watt? Execute Mr. Holtz’s plan. Have the gun crews ready, Mr. Harrison.”
“Captain!” called Garvey from the crow’s nest. “Something in the distance, in the center of the strait!”
“A British ship?” called Walker, hopefully. He put his glass to his eye and tried to focus quickly. He noticed a shape bobbing erratically in the water; he was sure of it. But if a ship, it was certainly a small one.
“A raft!” said Harrison, looking in his glass. “What is a raft doing in the inner channel?”
“And sir,” said Holtz as he joined in the gazing, “I believe there is a flag on it. It’s . . . ladies’ bloomers! Again!”
Walker could now see it clearly. Just like the flag hoisted on the Fiero so many weeks ago, the small target raft had a pair of ladies’ bloomers as a flag.
“The same bloomers as before!” Holtz said. “Whatever does that mean?”
“Why would someone do this?” asked Koonts.
“Not just someone,” Walker said, lowering his glass with a smile, “Jonathan Moore. He is trying to tell us something.”
Harrison scratched his head. Why would Jonathan set a target raft in the middle of the channel? The bloomers surely stated that the raft was there on purpose, by Jonathan’s doing, and certainly with the cooperation of Miss Dowdeswell.
“The thirty-sixes are in range, Captain!” Steward called from the stern rail. “The one coming to starboard is the Petit Chaton, the other is the Bleu Fille. Just thought ya would like to know!”
Walker glanced astern. The pair of small frigates were gaining fast. Behind them in the distance, the Bordeaux sailed onward.
“I’ve got it!” said Harrison. “It is a target raft! A target!”
* * * * *
Walker paused, then realized what Jonathan had done. The bloomers were his signature. He had used them on the Fiero at the suggestion of Mr. Tupper. The raft was set in position on purpose, and a target raft was clearly just that: a target.
Walker turned his eyes and glass to the island. After adjusting his scope and running it to the topmost peak, he saw the Castelo de Fogo, its parapets now a glowing reddish orange in the setting sun. Moving aside, he spotted three figures leaping up and down as they looked over the embrasures—the embrasures bristling with several cannon pointing almost directly at the raft. Walker smiled and joy rose within him.
“I think Mr. Moore is directing traffic in the strait!” he
said. “Mr. Watt, on my command, we will temporarily turn hard to starboard right at the target raft and fire any guns that can bear on those thirty-sixes! Then we will turn to port after leading the French to the killing zone. Once in position, we will split the frigates as Mr. Holtz suggests.”
“When our starboard side fires on the thirty-sixes,” said Holtz, “they will have to re-load quickly, in less than a minute, if they are to rake the forty-fours!”
“Then get down there and drive those devils!” screamed the Captain, and both lieutenants rushed to command the crews.
The Danielle executed a slight turn to starboard, towards the raft, and fired several rounds from the rearmost guns. Light damage was done to the Petit Chaton, who returned a bow chaser to no effect. The Dani then went straight at the bloomered raft.
As the Captain looked to the island and to the target, Smith and Jones skillfully moved the jolly boat from its resting position and secured it over the starboard side. Looking for Midshipman Spears and not finding him, they returned to their gun.
“We are committed!” called Walker. “Steady, Mr. Watt, Steady!”
A crash was heard as the Danielle rammed the small target raft, sending spars and barrels into pieces, some tossed wildly into the air, most splintering and falling into the dark water. Steward looked over the side and saw the bloomers sinking into the waves amidst the debris of lumber and rope.
“Now ya don’t see that every day,” he said to no one in particular.
At the Castelo de Fogo, Jonathan took up his glass and stared at the remains of the raft. The Danielle rushed past, then headed straight on.
The Petit Chaton and Bleu Fille continued west, sailing in line. Within a moment the Chaton had reached the exact spot where the target raft once floated. Jonathan paused for a second, lowered his scope and yelled, “Fogo!”
“Pardon me?” asked Delain.
“Fire!” Jonathan yelled.
“Oh!” she said. “By all means!”
Delain set the torch to the first cannon. It exploded with a bellowing roar, flame lighting up the twilight. She did not stop to look. She ran to the second and third cannon. BOOM! BOOM! the monsters snarled, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! as each gun discharged with powerful fury.
Captain Walker turned to watch as ball after ball blasted from the castle into the sails and decks of first the Petit Chaton and then the Bleu Fille. The force was amazing, certainly more powerful than he assumed could come from such old cannon. The rigging of the two small frigates was torn, the masts shattered, the mainsails ripped, and spars rained down upon the deck. At least two monstrous holes appeared in the starboard side of the Petit Chaton. A fire erupted as the last shot ignited at least one keg of powder aboard the Bleu Fille. The French ships began to spin crazily in the water and were now heading almost backwards, to the east.
“Again, Mr. Moore comes through!” Walker called and the crew erupted in cheer.
“Hard to port, Mr. Watt! Run hard to the south! We will surprise those forty-fours as they clear the island! Ram them if you must to split them apart!” Walker ran to the aft hatch and yelled to the gun crews as loudly as a hurricane:
“Aim for their sterns and rudders, men! Hold fire until you have a clear shot!”
The Danielle responded quickly as Watt turned the great wheel, the ship heading almost directly south to engage the enemy.
Jonathan watched as the action unfolded. He and Sean had reloaded all the cannon. Delain stood ready to ignite another barrage. They could see the two small thirty-sixes, damaged and almost colliding as their westward motion halted and the current quickly pushed them eastward, back the way they had come.
“They are drifting into our line of fire once again! Prepare to fire, Miss Dowdeswell! Sean, lower the cannon by five degrees! I will assist!”
He quickly ran and adjusted the farthest guns as Sean worked hard on the first in line. They met in the middle in less than thirty seconds.
“How do we look, Delain?” Sean said.
“Let us see!” she exclaimed, and ran down the line, igniting each cannon once again.
Two shots sailed high, into the sails, doing little damage; however, the last six from the fort struck hard on the stern of the Petit Chaton and into the bow of the Bleu Fille, directly at her waterline. A gaping hole at least twenty feet wide appeared under the figurehead. All knew that both ships were headed for the bottom.
The Bordeaux, after seeing the destruction of the small frigates, quickly adjusted course and followed the forty-fours to the south of Isla Sello.
“What is this?” screamed Jonathan as he looked through his telescope. “There are two forty-fours coming around our island!”
“They will be after the Danielle!” Sean added, “She is still greatly outnumbered!”
“What will Captain Walker do?” asked Delain.
Jonathan paused for a moment, wondering what options were available. Walker could continue on and fight, his single ship against three, or he could run to the north and put distance between himself and the enemies. But running was not something Captain Walker would do.
“I believe he means to engage, as he is heading right at them. He will most likely then head due north, to meet with whatever aid is on the way,” he finally said.
“He is leaving us?” asked Delain, shocked.
“Unless he is sunk,” said Jonathan as he lowered his glass. “Then we are left just the same.”
Their hearts raced as they ran to the far side of the fort to watch their friends and their ship engage with the frigates. They couldn’t help but be worried, as the Danielle was still outgunned more than two to one.
Aboard the Danielle, Captain Walker and the officers took a few seconds to watch the small thirty-six gun frigates disappear below the dark waves.
“Bravo, Mr. Moore!” Harrison said.
“Now on to the newest pair!” called Walker. He had prepared his crew, had positioned the ship as best he could, and had instructed Watt to try to sail between the two frigates so he could give them both sides. Of course, as he sailed through them, they would also turn their sides to him, bringing as much damaging power to bear as they could.
On the parapets of the Castelo, Jonathan raised his telescope to get a better view of the battle below. The Danielle successfully split between the two frigates directly before her, then all three ships fired simultaneously. Ball went forth, splintering masts and men, marines were firing from the tops, sail was ripped and rigging torn. The entire scene was soon half-hidden with smoke, though through the haze, the two frigates emerged.
“The French are badly damaged, barely able to steer. They are out of it for a while!” Jonathan said.
“And the Dani?” asked Sean.
“She is hurt, but still sailing and steering! She is . . . heading out to sea!”
In the brig, Walter Kozak waited impatiently. He wondered if Spears had decided against the plan and was instead attending to his duties. Or possibly he had become injured during the last volley. It was hard to tell from his position aboard the ship how much damage the Danielle had received. He felt the ship shudder and could hear the calls of men suffering on all decks. Just as he had resigned himself to either dying here aboard a sinking ship or hanging from the gallows in a London executioner’s square, the door above opened. Light from a nearby fire streamed in. Legs descended the ladder. It was Spears.
“My boy! I knew you would come!”
Spears quickly inserted his key in the lock, pulled on the base, and removed the restraint from the door. Swinging it open, he looked at Kozak and smiled.
“I am throwing in with you now, Kozak. I cannot look back. It is my decision.”
“And I will honor it,” said Kozak as he reached to shake the boy’s hand. “Is the boat ready?”
“If it is not destroyed, yes,” said Spears. “It is now dark enough and the Captain is busy. There is a little more than he bargained for. A French seventy-four has appeared and a few extra frigate
s as well.”
“Then we best hurry before all the sea is filled with obstacles!” said Kozak, and he followed Spears to the top deck and hid behind a fallen spar until the coast was clear.
“Damage report!” called Walker as Harrison and Holtz approached. They seemed in one piece, yet Holtz limped a little.
“Sails are in decent working order, Captain,” said Holtz, “though the foremast and spanker are both unusable. Some other sail is torn, but all the men are still in position. We have lost a few guns on each side. They gave us a good licking, sir, but we can at least steer.”
“Both forty-fours are injured, Captain,” said Harrison. “Our gunners blasted both sterns with excellent effect! They are out of it for the time being.”
“Captain!” came a voice from the tops. “Two more sails to the east at the mouth of the strait!”
All looked off the stern. Barely visible in the waning light, the shape of a pair of ships could be seen.
“Good God!” Walker cried. “Will this never end? Curse that pirate Kozak! Two frigates, he said! Of course the manifest would not list all the strength of the protecting force! If we make it through this alive, I will hang him myself!”
“They must have been guarding the rear of the merchants,” said Koonts. “They have been called up!”
“Both are forty guns at least!” called Garvey from the top. “They are in full sail and moving fast!”
The French had held this last card for the final round, and now Walker realized that he was still between a rock and a hard place. There were now two fast frigates and a seventy-four to deal with. It was only a matter of time before the forty-fours they had split and damaged would return to action. Options and light faded quickly. His only hope was to disappear into the darkness, but the approaching forty-fours had a bead on him, and it was only a matter of time before he was surrounded.
Must I strike colors? Surrender? Walker thought.
“We will be surrounded in a few moments, Captain,” said Koonts weakly. “We have taken more damage by splitting the forty-fours than we expected. I beg you, William. It is time to strike colors. We have lost.”
