Castle of Fire

by Peter Greene

  Walker knew that it was now undeniable. They had been trapped by a superior force. He could take on one, maybe two, of these enemies, but not all five. And at what cost?

  The newest forty-fours did not go unnoticed by the shore party in the Castelo de Fogo.

  “Jonathan!” Sean called. “Two new ships! In the strait!”

  “They obviously do not know about us! They must have missed our sinking the two small frigates!”

  “And it is too dark to see the surviving men and flotsam in the water!” added Sean.

  “What are we waiting for?” called Delain, who was already running back to the cannon. “The Castle of Fire has one last punch to throw!”

  “Or maybe eight punches to throw!” said Sean as he ran after her.

  Within minutes they had re-aimed the cannon and stood at the ready. Jonathan gazed into the failing light. In the center of the strait he could see the tip of a mast breaking the water, certainly from one of the frigates that had been sunk. He moved his scope wider. There were the two new forty-fours, heading directly towards the wreck, right where the target raft had once floated.

  “Steady!” said Jonathan. “Steady . . . ”

  “If we were any steadier, we’d be statues!” said Sean.

  “Fogo!” Jonathan called.

  Once more the Castle of Fire erupted with eight deadly shots. Flame belched forward and the sound was like thunder, echoing booms and cracks across the waves. For a moment, the French aboard the two new forty-fours looked up at the Castle and believed it was on fire, spewing lightning at them.

  As dark as it was, Jonathan, Sean, and Delain could see that at least a few masts were hit aboard one of the enemy ships; however, little damage was done.

  On the Danielle, Walker and Koonts stood at the wheel by Mr. Watt and tried desperately to invent a solution. It was soon apparent that with the introduction of the latest two French ships, it was hopeless. “It is suicide,” Koonts added. “Mr. Moore has done all he can. Our luck has finally run out.”

  “Very well,” said Walker, almost breaking down, unable to accept the hard pill of defeat. “Harrison, please strike our—”

  Suddenly, Garvey called again from the tops: “Captain! Sails! Directly astern! To the north!”

  Walker ran hastily to the stern, outpacing his much younger lieutenants, and turned his glass to the north along the coast of the continent. By now, the sun had completely set, though a rising moon was clearly visible, low in the sky. And there, in a mist that rolled across the cool sea, he saw masts. At least six, possibly seven, then more.

  The other officers joined him at the bow, and soon they saw the ships as well.

  “Good Lord! I hope there is a Union Jack on the top,” said Holtz.

  As the ships came closer, there could be seen one, then two, then many colors gently waving in the breeze. And in an instant, Walker caught a clear sight of the first ship’s colors as its flag unfurled: a red Saint George's Cross on a white field with the Union Jack in the upper canton—the flag of the Royal British Navy.

  “Our sisters!” cried Harrison.

  “The first is . . . the Trident!” said Holtz.

  “Langley, bless his heart!” exclaimed Watt.

  All turned and marveled at the outburst.

  “He speaks!” blurted Harrison.

  “And I was convinced, quite honestly, that he was mute!” exclaimed Holtz.

  “Captain!” came Garvey’s voice from above, “I see the Proteus, the Erinyes and the Drake, heading in our direction! And two fast brig-rigged sloops, breaking from behind the pack, heading . . . for the French seventy-four!”

  “I think,” Steward said to Harrison, “That your girlfriend ‘as arrived and is about ta need some rescuin’!”

  “Pardon?” said Harrison. “My girlfriend?”

  “The sloops are the Echo and . . . the Periwinkle!” called Garvey. “Look at them fly, sir!”

  “Oh dear!” shouted Harrison as he stared through his telescope at the racing Paladin, her crew visible on deck at her eighteen guns. “She will be cut to ribbons!”

  “Turn us hard to assist the young ladies, Mr. Watt!” called the Captain with renewed energy and determination. “I believe Mr. Langley and company will take care of the four frigates.”

  Watt muscled the great ship to port and cut deftly before the two British sloops, who immediately cheered as they recognized their sister ship. Together, HMS Danielle, escorted by HMS Echo and the famous HMS Paladin, pursued the now-panicked French seventy-four, Bordeaux.

  What was not seen by any of the officers of the Danielle, or by the shore party on Isla Sello, was the lowering of the jolly boat, the expert dive into the water performed by Midshipman Wayne Spears, and the completely ungraceful flop performed by Walter Kozak. Spears had crept with the pirate along the deck, and amidst the confusion and noise, he chopped both ropes holding the small craft, watching it fall to the water below. Next, he shoved Kozak overboard, then performed his dive. Both men swan madly to the boat and scrambled inside. They raised the small mast and sail and, as a fair wind caught them, it pushed the two escapees steadily towards the coast of the continent. Within a minute, they had disappeared into the night.

  Aboard HMS Trident, Captain Langley stared into his telescope and looked hard at the deck of the Danielle. His second-in-command, Lieutenant Joshua Gray, stood ram-rod-straight by his side, awaiting orders.

  “Odd,” said Langley. “I know that to be HMS Doggard, as it was renamed. I see William Walker aboard. However, the plaque reads the original name, HMS Danielle.”

  “Are we to engage, Captain Langley?” Gray asked as he took up his glass and surveyed the positions of the many ships now in play.

  “In a moment, Lieutenant,” Langley said. “I have been sailing with Captain Walker for many a year and as I owe much of my present position and fortune to him, it is only polite that I should allow him to choose his quarry first. Ah, there he goes! He has chosen the seventy-four! The Bordeaux, I believe it is. Well, it won’t be for long.”

  “He is preparing to fire, sir!” said Gray.

  “I see,” said Langley as he lowered his glass, watching as the Danielle closed alongside of the Bordeaux and loosed a blistering broadside of over thirty guns. The two British sloops also poured a broadside each into the sails of the French seventy-four. As the smoke cleared, Langley saw the French ship strike her colors, surrendering by taking down her flag.

  “Mr. Gray, signal the Drake to engage the two damaged frigates directly ahead,” commanded Langley. “I am sure the Dani and the two sloops will assist. We will take on the two forty-fours emerging from the strait, with the help of the Erinyes and the Proteus.

  “That is, if they don’t run away, sir,” replied Gray. “It looks as if they are trying to come about.”

  “Add sail! Ready both sides!” called Langley. “Let’s give them what for!”

  The battle that raged on that early evening was witnessed in absolute splendor from the fort on Isla Sello. At first, it was difficult to see, but Jonathan, Sean, and Delain took turns with the telescope, and as darkness fell, the explosions of the various guns illuminated the battle for brief moments at a time. Jonathan was near tears of joy as he watched his friend, Captain Langley, and the crew of the Trident, come to the rescue of the Danielle. Sean cheered as the Englishmen and their wonderful ships battled on until, one by one, the French ships struck their colors. The loudest cheer was for the Drake, as she put on all sail, ran past the Proteus and the Erinyes, and engaged the first of the damaged forty-fours, now seen as the Avignon, destroying her mainmast and damaging the foremast severely. She sailed onward and headed for the merchant ships that were now approaching to the south of the island. Seeing the mayhem ensuing in the strait, and changing course, the merchants were attempting to come about and flee.

  “I wonder,” said Sean as he watched, “which of the merchant ships has the cannon and which has the generals?”

  “Mr. Holtz!”
called Walker. “You are senior Lieutenant. Take the large jolly boat with Steward and a handful of stout men and marines and take command of the Bordeaux. We will stay alongside and pour our starboard guns into the damaged frigate drifting by the island.”

  “Yes, sir!” he said, and happily ran to gather his boarding party.

  Harrison stood at attention but was certainly taken aback, as he was almost sure he would have received the honor of commanding the captured vessel. It was true that Holtz was a senior officer, yet not by more than a few weeks, and it was Harrison who had previously sailed with Captain Walker, and that should count for something.

  As if being able to read the youngster’s mind, Walker turned to Harrison and smiled.

  “Don’t fret so, Thomas,” the Captain said. “There will be at least one or two more before the evening is done. Have Spears and Lane instruct the men to prepare guns for another engagement. Command the men in the tops. Mr. Watt, after we engage the damaged frigate, let us come about to the east and finish the damaged forty-fours!”

  “I wonder,” said Harrison, “which ship has the generals aboard?”

  “That is easy,” said the Captain, smiling. “It is the one that is running away the fastest.”

  “Then that one has my name on it, sir!” said Harrison with a laugh.

  As they sailed on, the Paladin and the Echo came astern of the Danielle and all men on the decks of all ships cheered aloud. The two smaller ships, beautiful in the moonlit night with their large white sails and combined thirty-six golden guns, raced onward, passing the Danielle as if she were standing still. They moved swiftly to engage the almost gunless, defenseless merchant ships, with the Drake momentarily in the lead, before their quarry disappeared into the darkness.

  20

  The New Marine and the New Commander

  As predicted, there were enough French ships captured that night for Harrison to become a captain once again, and for certainly more than the few hours he commanded the Fiero.

  Though the going was difficult due to the darkness and expanse of the ocean, the merchant ships, in their haste, had forgotten to extinguish all the lanterns on deck until it was too late. The Echo followed one such light and was rewarded with capture of the French merchant Orléans after only a few shots across her bow.

  Also that evening, Captain Langley, commanding the Trident, along with the Proteus and Erinyes, had made quick work of the two forty-fours in the strait. Only one, having been severely damaged by the Proteus, had to be scuttled—sunk on purpose—as she was not fit to sail. The Trident and the Erinyes then moved on to the two drifting frigates that had been hammered by the Drake, the Paladin, the Echo, and finally by the Danielle. Both French ships struck colors immediately.

  “We will run out of lieutenants soon,” said Langley. “Who will captain these French prizes?”

  “I am willing and available, sir,” said Lieutenant Gray.

  The Paladin had a more difficult time. She had found the large French merchant Rodez fleeing the area. Paladin engaged the French ship with a warning shot; however, Rodez failed to surrender. After a long barrage from the circling Paladin had inflicted severe damage upon the near-defenseless merchant, Rodez was done, descending directly to the bottom, no doubt filled with heavy cannon.

  It wasn’t until the early morning of the next day, after zigzagging in the night, that the waking beams of sunlight illuminated the sails of a four-masted merchant, the Saint Annie. As Walker moved to engage, he could see military men, French generals as it turned out, scrambling for cover on deck. He fired a starboard broadside into their sails and the French merchant captain immediately struck colors. As promised, it was Harrison that received the new command, escorted by Gorman and a detachment of all the remaining marines to guard the unruly French generals. Some insisted on fighting a bit, just to make a good show of it, though Hudson and Hicks, along with their friends, quickly disarmed the few who resisted, and Harrison took command of the Annie with dignity after the formal surrender. In a quick survey, they had counted over two hundred cannon belowdecks and almost the same number of French generals and high-ranking officers.

  “Such a beautiful ship, the Annie is,” Harrison commented. “She will bring an admirable price as many will desire to own such a smart-looking barky!”

  It was at approximately nine bells after dawn that HMS Trident, with a captured French merchant in tow, rendezvoused with HMS Danielle, just a few miles southeast of Isla Sello. After a call from captain to captain, Langley was invited aboard the Danielle for breakfast, and within minutes, he was seated at his familiar spot to the right of his mentor, Captain Sir William Walker.

  “Interesting,” said Langley as he sampled the toasted cheesebread and scrambled eggs immediately after Claise had placed them on the already crowded table. “The entire time I was your first lieutenant,” Langley continued, “I never took command of a captured vessel. Today, after four French frigates have been taken and a handful of merchants to boot, I still have never commanded a captured ship!”

  The two captains, along with Koonts, laughed heartily.

  “Some things never change,” said Walker as he reached for his coffee.

  “And gladly, some do,” said Langley. “I see that the name of the ship is back to the Danielle, as the plaque now reads the original name. I could have sworn I saw the idiotic name, the Doggard, affixed as we warped out of London. Was the name changed back?”

  “This breakfast is exquisite, I must say!” said the Captain quickly, ignoring the question.

  “Yes,” said Langley with a laugh, figuring out that Walker knew exactly what had happened to the plaque; however, he did not want it known to others. “I understand Steward is captain of the Lyon. Who is responsible for such an outstanding meal?”

  “That would be myself, Captain Langley, thank you,” Claise said somewhat nervously as he set down a platter of custard-filled puffs. “It is nice to have you aboard again.”

  “Though we are all spread far and wide, we will soon be reunited once again,” said Koonts. “We are en route to collect Midshipman Moore, Sean Flagon, and Miss Delain Dowdeswell. “

  Langley was aghast.

  “Miss, did you say?” Langley blurted, almost spitting out his coffee. “Dowdeswell? As in Governor Dowdeswell’s daughter of Nassau?”

  “It is a long story and we will all have to recount the tale for you at a later time, possibly over dinner if you can attend.”

  “Since the Trident received no damage in the dancing last night,” Langley said, “I will gladly appear. I would not miss any tale involving Jonathan Moore and the trickster Sean Flagon. Not even for a chance to captain a captured French frigate!”

  “Then assist us in collecting him on Isla Sello,” said Walker. “I am sure he will be glad to see you.”

  “Ah, I think I know a little of the tale already. As we closed in on the strait, I saw cannon fire from above the horizon. The light was fading; however, I could ascertain that the barrage came from the old fort on the island.”

  “That was Jonathan Moore’s surprise, and to be honest,” said Walker, “I do not know all the details, but we will soon hear all sides.”

  With that, a knock came at the door and Midshipman Lane appeared. He marched in after being welcomed and stood at attention, staring out the rear window of the Captain’s cabin.

  “Report, Mr. Lane,” said the Captain, retaining his good mood.

  “Yes, sir. I, ah, the ship is in excellent shape, considering,” he stammered, “a-and repairs are p-proceeding nicely on the d-damaged m-masts and rigging.”

  Walker looked up from his plates and quizzically stared at Lane for a moment before speaking.

  “Midshipman Lane? Is there a problem?”

  Lane looked like he was about to either be sick or cry. The Captain wanted nothing of either.

  “Speak up, boy!” he snapped.

  “It’s Midshipman Spears, sir.”

  “What of him?” asked the Captai
n, now concerned.

  “Ah . . . he . . . is missing, sir.”

  Walker stood immediately and wiped his chin of some stubborn egg and coffee.

  “Could he have been lost during the battle? Blown overboard?” asked Koonts, also standing.

  “Can’t be sure, sir,” answered Lane, “But, oddly, his gear is missing. His sword and telescope. A few blankets.”

  “Lord,” said Walker.

  “Also, sir,” continued Lane, “two other things are also missing.”

  “And what would they be?” said Walker, now irritated and getting angrier by the moment. It was obvious that a dead midshipman doesn’t run to his locker, take his valuables, and then jump ship. Something was unsavory here. “What else is missing?”

  “The small jolly boat, sir,” said Lane, taking a deep breath. “And the pirate, Kozak.”

  On all three decks of the Danielle, and in the tops high above the busy sea, all hands heard the roar of the dragon.

  By noon, a longboat from the Danielle was launched, and Langley, along with Lane, Smith, Jones, and the brothers Stredney, rowed to the rock landing on the north shore of Isla Sello. There they were greeted by none other than Jonathan Moore, Sean Flagon, and a slightly more svelte-looking Miss Delain Dowdeswell.

  After a hearty greeting and congratulations, all returned to their assigned ships and proceeded directly along the West African coast. The Danielle sailed in the lead, followed immediately behind by HMS Proteus, HMS Erinyes, the captured French frigates including the Lyon, with Steward at the wheel, the Avignon, captained by Lieutenant Gray, and the Saint Annie, captained by Acting Commander Thomas Harrison. They were in turn followed by the other merchant vessels, then HMS Drake, formerly known as the Fiero. The Bordeaux, with Holtz on the poop, was followed by the Trident, last in line and protecting their rear.