H.M.S Valor

by Cal Clement

  ‘Drowned Maiden’

  22 Sept 1808

  17 Degrees 13’ N, 76 Degrees 12’ W

  The warm rays of the Caribbean sun held Lilith in their gentle grasp as she manned the helm of the Maiden. It had become her favored post on deck and as she quickly caught on needing less and less guidance and instruction from Chibs, she was often requested to the wheel. Her skill increased every day and as a convenient side effect, she was learning sail patterns more intimately and understanding them far better than when she had worked the deck or aloft in the rigging. An adjustment from the helm to the wind would work so far as the wind stayed consistent, any change of the wind relative to their course would require repositioning sails or resetting the pattern entirely. After several changes Lilith began to see a pattern to Chibs’ orders. She began to predict, often correctly, Chibs’ next order to the hands. It gave her a swell of pride and the feeling of belonging while at the same time the glorious sensation of freedom. When Lilith was not at the helm or engaged in another task she often lingered on the bow of the Maiden, looking out over the water, watching as the hull sliced through the blue green Caribbean. Gulls overhead and dolphins frolicking off the bow made an almost fantastical surrounding for a girl who had only known dirt floors, fear and suffering. Her heart soared higher than the mast tops. No thoughts of the future crossed her mind, the worries and sadness for her mother seemed to fade with each passing day. Lilith had found something she had relished after her entire life. She had a home on the Maiden, she had family with her crew and the protection of a fearsome band along with their captain.

  Gently rolling waves and a constant wind out of the southwest made their sailing almost leisurely. The fleet of three ships was tacked onto a northerly course that James had described as ‘waving the prize right under their smug noses’. He hadn’t revealed his plans to Lilith, nor did she expect he would, but Chibs seemed to have his reservations as much as he tried to hide it. The wealth they had discovered aboard the Gazelle was beyond imagining, enough for every soul aboard the fleet to live comfortably for the rest of their days. It seemed madness to tempt fate any further, Chibs had insisted, but James would have none of it. He wanted to punish the slavers, lay their ships along the bottom of the sea and wet his sword in their blood. He had devised a plan to do just that and northward they sailed, destined for another engagement. The Maiden sailed in lead with the Shepherd abreast of her, the Gazelle followed along often it was everything their prize crew could do to keep up with the pair of frigates. The Africans who had been freed from the Gazelle were quartered now between all three ships. After being fed and well treated some began to lend into the work aboard ship. James offered passage to the nearest port for anyone who wished to depart, but that seemed to Lilith to ring hollow. Even if he delivered them ashore with provisions and perhaps even weapons, it would be only a matter of time until they found themselves in the custody of slavers. Lilith knew, from firsthand experience, as she readily told all of the freed captives, their greatest hope at freedom from bondage was the Drowned Maiden.

  A slight shift of sea current prompted Lilith to make a correction, it was minor and required no sail adjustment. Looking aloft as she moved the wheel expertly, she watched and shifting her glance between the compass in front of the helm and the lofty top gallant sails she made her correction while keeping her sails full and taut. The procedure had become second nature, repeated so many times a day it no longer required active thought. After her adjustment Lilith looked over toward the starboard rail and noticed one of the Africans they had taken on. He was leaning awkwardly on a makeshift board crutch, hobbling along next to the tall wiry white man that had come aboard with him. The young man was dripping beads of sweat and grimacing in pain, but stubbornly trudging onward under his companion’s watchful encouragement. She watched as they made progress up one rail, across the stern and back along the other, walking several rounds of the deck before coming to a rest beside the helm.

  “A few more days my friend and you won’t need any help from me,” the tall thin man exclaimed.

  “I can walk with this. But I want to run, I want to climb and swim and run,” replied the one legged African.

  “No. Omi, I’m afraid running isn’t in your future. You may learn how to swim or climb without your leg, but I don’t see how you could ever run,” the man replied, adjusting a set of wire rimmed glasses up his nose and wiping his brow with a dirty, stained kerchief.

  “You did this. You took my leg from me. Now what do I do? Hobble on this for the rest of my life!” the African replied, shaking the board crutch in his companion’s face.

  “I’ve explained this to you Omi, it was your leg or your life. I am terribly sorry for the pain it’s caused you, but that’s far preferable to not breathing.”

  The young man slumped from his crutch onto the deck of the ship, looking exhausted and hopelessly depressed. Lilith looked on, silently admiring his tenacity while holding in a grimace for his obvious pain.

  “I think you are brave,” said Lilith. Her words floated across the deck like a strong favorable wind, filling the young man’s sails. He looked over to Lilith and then back down at the deck.

  “What is brave about not having my leg?” he replied.

  “It’s not missing a leg that makes you brave. It’s the fact that you lost your leg and yet you refuse to give up. Some of the others told me you killed your captor’s captain after he shot your father, that took courage.” Lilith answered.

  “I was not brave. Just scared and angry.”

  “Oh, but you were. In fact, all the braver because you were scared. There are grown men with both their legs who would not attack a ship’s captain. You fought one who held you prisoner and defeated him. That is courage,” said Lilith, looking over as he raised his eyes again. “My name is Lilith. What’s yours?”

  “Omibwe,” he answered.

  “I think you are brave Omibwe.” Lilith encouraged. “There are scores of sailors missing limbs. Some captains even.”

  Omibwe stood, fueled by the attention of the beauty he had admired from the moment he first saw her. Now she was paying him compliments. The doctor stayed at his side as he made his way over next to the helm.

  “How long have you been a pirate?” he asked.

  “Ahh, two months, I think. I’m not completely sure. It feels like forever since I ran away.” Lilith answered.

  “Where did you run away from miss?” the tall man in glasses asked. Lilith looked over at him awkwardly, cocking her head and giving him a sideways look. His French accent skewed her countenance against him before she even really considered why.

  “A cane plantation. In Haiti,” her reply came in a curt tone.

  “Oh lovely. I have wanted to see Port-Au-Prince and…” his rambling cut short as Lilith’s right hand drifted from the wheel to the hilt of a sword at her side.

  “I said nothing of Port-Au-Prince. Why would you? Where are you from Frenchman? Why do you have so many questions for me?” Lilith demanded. Her voice had become cold and cutting in an instant masking the flash of fear she felt that somehow this man had been sent after her.

  “No, dear, I… I only meant to say Port-Au-Prince among other places I desire to see and explore. I’ve no interest in your past beyond conversation I swear it,” the man answered, stammering out his words quickly as he backed away. He did not see Chibs approach behind him or notice until his back bumped blindly into the barrel-chested sailor.

  “What’s got you in a fit doctor? Lilith, did you frighten him?” Chibs poked, chuckling.

  “He’s asking too many questions.” Lilith replied, replacing her hand back to the helm and her eyes to the compass.

  “Not a wise thing to do aboard a pirate vessel Doc, best leave your inquiries alone until the crew gets a better feel for you. Myself included.” Chibs intoned. He turned to Lilith, “Miss, I think we ought to expand our fencing lessons, if you’re not opposed.”

  “What do you mean?” she as
ked, her eyes unmoving from the course ahead.

  “We should have a few of these new folks. We are bound for a fight at some point and I think you’ve got a good enough handle, you can help me show a few of these fine folks what I’ve taught you.” Chibs answered.

  Lilith’s eyes moved aloft, she adjusted the wheel slightly and a long pause went by. Then she pointed over to Omibwe, his eyes widening in alarm.

  “Omibwe learns to wield a sword Chib. He has the sand to fight with one leg and he hasn’t even been taught yet. If you’ll teach him, I’ll help,” she answered, a beautiful smile broadening across her face.

  “That’s a deal little lady,” said Chibs with a wide grin as he fiddled with his pipe. “But you’ll have to promise not to scare the life out of our new doctor just yet. We could be needing him.”

  “Needing me? I was under the impression I would be transported to my original destination Sir!” the Doctor interjected looking quite disheveled.

  “Now what made you think that Sir?” Chibs asked flatly, his eye never shifting from the task of filling his pipe.

  “You did. You told me I would be let off in Martinique at the earliest possible convenience.”

  “Ah. You seem to misunderstand doctor. I said as soon as we make port there. Well, I guess I did fib a bit, mostly in jest doctor. We have no intentions of sailing to Martinique, by all means, if we pass close and you desire to disembark then you are free to go. As a matter of fact, you’re free to go now if you’d like. Au Revoir, I think it goes, enjoy your swim,” said Chibs as he struggled to contain a belly laugh.

  “I see. Well in that case, I could stay on until you pass near any French port.”

  “That you could doctor and we’re only too glad to have you. It’s handy to have a decent sawbones around when shot starts whizzing through the air and such.”, Chibs continued, “The Captain has plans to skirt the cove again and wave the ‘Gazelle’ in those slave smuggler’s faces. Likely they’ll pile out right into our teeth. We’ll keep you under good employ then Sir.”

  “I see,” the Doctor’s reply came feebly.

  22 Sept 1808

  Kingston Harbor, Jamaica Colony

  “Pull! Heave men put your backs into it! Pull for your lives!” William cried out, urging the men rowing each of the longboats. They were in a race with death itself, rowing against their own fates. The longboats pulled away from the pier under plumes of seawater spraying from the near misses of the cannon fire from the fort battery. Men screamed, screams of fear floated above the calm waters of the harbor interspersed with the pleading cried of men encouraging one another. William struck a different tone than the others, he felt no fear that morning. With the cannon shot flying through the air, sizzling and whistling far too close for comfort, amongst the thick clouds of smoke from gunpowder and flame, William felt no fear. Through the chaos of the continuing barrage, through the losses of the initial engagement earlier that morning and the ensuing whirlwind, William felt a sharp and burning anger combined with a distinct sense of purpose and direction. When the Admiral had fallen, he became the senior officer present and immediately the sailors and marines and had looked to him for direction. William had not hesitated; his decisions came to him with clarity and resolution he had not experienced before. The men surrounding him were relying on him to make the right choices, his actions and chosen course would determine all of their fates.

  The Hunter had taken the first hit from the battery. As they rowed towards the fleet in a fury several more direct hits had sent wood fragments and men flying from her deck. William looked on, helpless to stop the barrage as round after round impacted into the Hunter’s deck and along her starboard rail. As the longboats neared, he could see the Hunter’s gun ports opening and her cannon muzzles emerging to return fire. Every man looking on felt a spark of hope with each emerging cannon, knowing that return fire was the truest hope they held to slowing the onslaught. “Come on gents, run the elevation up and let fly! Come on, come on, what’s taking so long?” William muttered to himself. His words were cut short by another thundering report over the harbor and a shower of shattered wood from the side of the Hunter. The impact crunched home sending a bone cringing wave through every man in the fleet, Will hunched down low in the longboat as the men rowing paused momentarily to see the deadly result. A waft of smoke began to billow from the Hunter, first from the hole of the impact and then in great plumes and clouds from gun ports and hatches. Anywhere smoke from below decks could escape became a thick cloud of churning acrid black smoke rushing forth. Every sailor looking on knew, these were her final moments. Several men aboard the Hunter leapt overboard, fleeing the flames that were now engulfing her in a desperate attempt to survive. An explosion followed, sending massive wooden chunks whizzing through the air, lifting the deck of the Hunter and seemingly splitting the vessel in half. Her masts toppled and stay lines snapped everywhere, the shock wave that permeated the sailors in the longboats could be felt down into their bones. In a matter of minutes, the only trace the Hunter had been afloat in its position moments ago was burning lamp oil on the surface and a scattered mess of flotsam in the water she had just occupied.

  The barrage from the fort continued without even the slightest pause. Their next target was the Bayonet, who had been anchored only a few hundred yards further out than the Hunter was. William bit his lip in apprehension, watching as the Bayonet elevated her guns as high as they would go to return fire. A round from the fort impacted the surface of the harbor sending a spray into the air short of the side of the Bayonet. “That’s it lads, here’s your chance, fire! They haven’t got you dialed in just yet. Fire, boys, come on, come on FIRE!” Will found himself shouting across the water between them. A long moment of silence ensued and the men aboard the longboats, still furiously rowing toward the fleet began to wonder if the crew of the Bayonet had given up hope to abandon ship. Then, as it seemed they would never fire, the Hunter’s battery erupted in a solid uniform roar as she let loose a broadside. Will turned to the fort as their longboats were approaching the bow of the Bayonet, desperately hoping their volley would impact somewhere that would effect the battery. Shouts and cheers erupted from the Bayonet and the longboats as a cloud of smoke and dust erupted from the wall of the fort at elevation with their gun line.

  “That should slow their battery! Keep firing! Keep firing!” Will shouted up to the deck of the Bayonet as his longboat passed on the far side. Two of the boats with them had been sent from the Bayonet and those men climbed aboard with reckless abandonment to aid their crew in counter firing against the fort.

  The remaining longboats rowed on, beating exhaustively toward the Endurance and the Valor. Only a few hundred yards of open water stood between them and the Endurance, which was now adding her gun line to the fray sending a succession of single shots at the fort. Her fire was precise and effective, erupting clouds of dust and debris from the fort. William, elated to see effects on the target from her gun fire, realized quickly that their efforts would be in vain if they did not make sail out of the harbor and soon. Another crashing impact sounded behind them as the longboats approached the Endurance announcing that the fort’s guns were still operational despite the counter fire. William looked on to the Valor and saw she was under sail, grudgingly turning to exit the harbor before the firing of the fort turned on her as well.

  “Look there boys! Lieutenant Shelton has the idea, let’s get aboard the Endurance and get the ever-living hell out of here!” William called out for all the longboats to hear.

  “Sir! The Bayonet! We can’t just abandon them!” a sailor replied, looking up at Will with a forlorn expression.

  “It’s likely that they are lost already man. The best we can do for them is not to squander the time they are buying us,” said Will. His voice fading into a tone as low as his spirit, he looked back to the Bayonet. Still standing their ground in the harbor, the Bayonet defiantly returned fire with another broadside against the fort battery. She was listing hea
vily, and smoke was rising from her decks, it would not be long before the fort battery no longer considered her a worthy target. They would shift their firing on the Endurance soon and Will did not intend to remain by idly like a sheep for slaughter.

  The longboats clattered against the Endurance’s hull as the men aboard scrambled to board her. William wasted no time, issuing a bevy of orders to get them underway.

  “Cut away those anchor lines and let fly the main and foremasts. Main sails, top sails and tacks, hard larboard until we can tack her over.” Will shouted on deck over the sound of firing being exchanged between the fort and the Bayonet. He leaned over the ladder well leading below deck and yelled down to the gun crews, “Starboard batteries, larboard batteries, make ready!” The answering echoes of his orders being repeated sounded back up from two decks of cannon crews. Will shifted his attention up to the bow, watching closely as the sails filled to his orders. The helmsman expertly came across the wind and just as Will had hoped, filled their sails. The ship lurched forward as she came under the force of her filled sail building speed slowly but surely. When the Endurance reached the midpoint of her turn, Will walked to the ladder well and waited. As soon as she completed her turn and the larboard battery aligned with the fort he screamed below to fire. The reply came back in an ear shattering roar as the full broadside fired. The Endurance rocked as two decks each fired fourteen guns sending twenty-four-pound cannon balls hurling toward the fort. A pattern of smoke and debris erupted from the fort wall eliciting a wave of victorious shouts and jeers from the deck of the Endurance.

  “That’ll fix the bastards!” Lieutenant Harper cried.

  “It will be a disruption, little more. Get the hands ready, I want every stitch of canvas ready to fly when we reach the mouth of the harbor. The Valor is in no shape to be going alone and she has a lead on us.” Will sharply replied, cutting the young officer’s celebratory tone. “Get to it Lieutenant, we haven’t a moment to waste and each moment we have was purchased in blood.” Will almost did not recognize the words coming from his mouth as his own, it felt as if he spoke for the late Admiral and Captain Grimes as well as himself. His decisions were framed only in light of the survival of his crew and their effect on the enemy. He looked out over the fantail at the Bayonet in her final moments of defiance against the fort and its guns. Her listing had worsened, in her state she would be unrecoverable. Thick clouds of black smoke were the harbinger singing her death as desperate sailors resigned to abandoning ship. She did not explode as the Hunter had, Will thought it likely her magazine had been engulfed by seawater slowly invading her hull. As the Endurance, ran out of the harbor Will witnessed the agonizing end of the Bayonet, both burning and drowning while her hull resigned into the sea.