H.M.S Valor

by Cal Clement

  William’s thoughts kept him pinned to the forecastle well after losing sight of the Valor. He pondered over his situation, the Valor, the Governor and the American. His thoughts were interrupted by the unwelcome arrival of the ship’s doctor.

  “I am sorry to inform you Sir, but Captain Grimes has passed,” he stated flatly.

  “Right. Ok, thank you. I will see to preparations for burial at sea.” Will replied, surprising himself with his manage on the emotions washing through his mind.

  “If I could be so bold to suggest Sir, but wouldn’t Captain Grimes have preferred the frivolities of a service at sea be forgone in the effort to retake the mutineers?” the Doctor said struggling his words out.

  “You are right Sir. I can almost hear his admonishments now, we will bury the Captain just as he would have us, underway and in pursuit.” Will replied finding his resolution.

  “You’ll find your way Sir, you have a streak of Johnathan about you, it is unmistakable,” the doctor said as he patted Will on the shoulder before scuffling off to return below deck.

  The yoke of command, he had wanted a command of his own since his youth. He had envisioned it as a shining moment on his career, bestowed upon him by a respected commander such as Johnathan or perhaps a Lord Governor in some embattled port. He had even considered it would come as the result of some battlefield action or attrition, but never like this. Every bit of circumstance leading up to his current role had been either grave misfortune or the dishonorable deeds of others. He felt lost and alone, torn between doing his duty and the compelling urge to turn his ship toward England and never return. He had no family awaiting him, his father died in the service while he was still a boy and his mother of cholera shortly after he had become a midshipman himself. There was no wife waiting his return, nothing to run home to but the familiar comfort of home. Home, Will thought, I don’t even have a home. Some boarding house or another while I await orders to put to sea. No, the Navy is my home, the Valor was my home and that bastard Cobb has stolen it from me.

  “We will not be returning home. Our place is here, I will stay until I spill that mutinous cretin’s guts all over the deck of the Valor or he does so to me.” Will said aloud.

  “Well put Sir.” A sailor replied, startling the Lieutenant.

  Will turned to make his way toward the aft castle, he desperately needed something to eat and some rest. As he passed the foremast, he overheard a conversation among the deckhands, a salty old hand was spinning some yarn about seeing the mythical kraken right here in the Caribbean. Even in pursuit, even through adversity and combat and loss, sailors will be sailors, Will thought with a smirk. He remembered a similar tale he’d heard Cobb reciting to hands aboard the Valor, a ghost ship, he remembered. He’d had gullible young landsmen just taken on from the press watching for their lives and jumping at their own shadows all through the long middle watch that night. Will stopped in his tracks, that was the night they had come across the squadron of French ships. Until this point, Will had attributed them locating the French that morning to blind luck, or even divine intervention. It had been Cobb’s clever tactics and an alert watchman that saved them from being caught at the mercy of a squadron, outgunned and outclassed. It felt as though he held a thought by a thread and pulling it could somehow unravel the gauntlet before him. Lieutenant Harper was overseeing the change of watch near the helm and Will made for the quarterdeck as fast as his legs would muster.

  “Lieutenant, no bells.” Will said just as a sailor was about to strike the hour. “Douse all the lanterns, no bells and no whistles.”

  “Aye Sir” the sailor replied.

  “Sir?” Lieutenant Harper asked, looking confused.

  “Cobb is a clever man Lieutenant. We outclass the Valor in gun count, weight and manpower. But an ambush in darkness could negate all that advantage and leave us exposed and at the mercy of a crew of mutineers. Double the watch and maintain course, I will be below in the chartroom, please inform me of any sightings.” Will replied. His exhaustion hit as he had spoken, causing him to repeat several words.

  “On in darkness then Sir, as you say.” Harper answered hesitantly. Will knew the young officer’s fears, they had once been fears he shared.

  “Trust the watch lad, trust the watch and trust the charts. If I am not on deck at dawn, wake me.” Will reassured.

  “Aye Sir.” Harper answered as Will descended below decks. He had intended to spend some time reviewing charts to decipher the course Cobb would likely take. But passing the door of the cabin he had made his proved impossible, his eyes were bleary and tired. The charts would have to wait, he thought, no use for them if I can’t even think straight. He entered the cabin and shucked his jacket, then sat on a stool to remove his boots, the gentle rocking of the ship only increased his sleepiness. Finally, after removing his trousers and blouse he crawled into the hammock slung through the middle of the cabin. The gentle motion of the ship was tempered by his hammock, but still gave him a slight sway and stretched out in the hammock, Will finally closed his eyes to welcome sleep.

  Even through his exhaustion, the wheels and gears of Will’s mind ground away. It was a furious thing to him, so utterly exhausted and yet even as he lay in his comfy hammock, his brain would not allow sleep to grace him. He kept wondering on what course Cobb would sail, what his destination was. What had he told the crew? Those sailors threw their wounded Captain overboard, Will thought, it makes no difference what Cobb had told them, nor how he had persuaded them to do it. They would all die a mutineer’s death, by sword, by cannon shot or hangman’s noose. Their destination wouldn’t be a British port, even if Cobb were so bold to attempt a masquerade in the effort of resupplying the ship, the rest of the crew would have none of it. No. They would steer well clear of any British port. Possibly he would take the Valor into a French or Spanish harbor, there was a chance with this though of being engaged on sight. Britain and France were locked in war in Europe, Spain being one of France’s staunchest allies made the possibility quite real in their ports as well.

  Will drifted off into sleep, the gears grinding out his plans lulling him into fitful dreams of sea engagements. The image of Admiral Sharpe’s posture withering after the American fired his pistol replayed in his mind. Will knew it was coming, he had seen it before it played out in real life. Yet he was unable to alter the course of events, like a patron in a theater watching a play. The marines fell from the roof, impacting onto the ground with a dreadful thud sending a splatter of blood into the air. The American drawing his pistol, almost in slow motion. Will’s entire body felt to be made of lead, impossibly slow no matter how much he tried. His voice made no sound as though it didn’t even exist. Bits and pieces would replay, out of order but vividly clear. The smells were present, the same taste in his mouth, even the sounds he had heard. But every sequence of dream related to that day was followed abruptly by the American shooting Admiral Sharpe.

  Chapter 10

  ‘Georgia Spirit’

  24 Sept 1808

  17 Degrees 14 minutes N, 76 Degrees 8’ W

  The instant Tim had looked over the fantail of the Gazelle and seen her name painted in golden lettering, his heart soared. He looked again, making sure his eyes were not playing some trick on him and through the fading glow of the evening he confirmed to himself, it was indeed the missing ship, containing a massive payment for which he would be held responsible.

  “Follow that vessel!” he screamed out to the helmsman, “Follow that ship, with all haste. She must not escape us!”

  The Captain paced over next to Tim, a hesitant and pained expression plaguing his face.

  “Sir, that ship is flanked by two hostile vessels, even if we can overtake her, we will be utterly exposed. It would be folly,” he began, interrupted by Tim’s dagger coming into his sight from its sheath. Tim’s eyes locked onto the Captain and his lips curled up, baring his teeth like a wolf challenged over a fresh kill.

  “I gave you a directive, Captain.
You have been paid handsomely, should you fail your duties I will see fit to relieve you, permanently, and select a more effective captain from the ranks of your crew.” Tim’s reply hissed through clenched teeth, his anger and urgency boiling through.

  “Yes, yes, we will pursue with all haste. Right to a watery grave,” the Captain answered defiantly, “But, as you wish Mr. Sladen.”

  The course change came abruptly, shouted commands bounced around the deck for a few moments and the helmsman labored at the wheel. The crew made quick work of adjusting their sails to coax every bit of speed they could from the winds. Tim’s morbid grin returned to his face as he watched the sails of the Gazelle, the Georgia Spirit gathered more speed and their approach quickened. It became obvious to Tim that they would overtake the ship in less than an hour. The last glow of daylight had faded, but lanterns aboard the Gazelle remained lit and with two more ships behind him, Tim was unconcerned about the two flanking vessels. He turned to one of the sailors who had paused working to take in the sight of their target as they approached.

  “Go get my prisoner and haul his fat ass up on deck.” Tim barked, “Dress the bastard and throw some water on him while you’re at it. I’d rather not smell his shit.”

  “Yes sir,” he replied, quickly scrambling to his new task.

  Tim’s eyes were immovable from the silhouette of the Gazelle, cast along the water by soft light from its lanterns. The dim light from the lanterns cast an odd glow up onto the Gazelle’s main sails, outlines from a web of rigging splayed across. They looked like arms reaching up from a fiery hell, reaching toward some salvation that would not come. The smell of the salty sea air suddenly seemed like perfume to Tim’s nose, the wooden deck at his feet no longer seemed as foreign. This setback would be just that, he thought, a setback. He had feared his undoing, but as long as he recovered the payment hidden within the hold of the Gazelle, he could secure his own future. Governor Alton would be another matter entirely, but Tim had never been beholden to Alton, much less loyal. When the time came, he would offer Alton up to the Order and rid himself of the ineffectual swine forever. Perhaps, he could even restart this endeavor.

  Governor Alton stumbled along as the sailor who was sent to retrieve him pulled at his bound hands. He had been given ill-fitting clothes that looked to Tim’s eye to be something very near burlap in texture. Alton wore the look of a disgraced man, his station in life had deteriorated from statehouses and fine dining to wearing rags and sitting in a pile of his own feces.

  “Un-hand me you son of a bitch, I am a Lord by rights!” Alton screeched furiously.

  “There’s no Lords in America, to me you’re just a whiny fat man, stinking of shit,” the sailor replied with a laugh.

  “I’ll take it from here sailor.” Tim said elevating his voice slightly. The sailor gave a shrug and let go of Alton’s shackles.

  “Thank you Tim.” Alton huffed, “Now could you get them to remove these? Please, Tim, I’m not escaping you with or without them.”

  “No, Lord Governor. I think shackles suit you for the time being and I would hate to have to kill you to prevent your escape. I’m afraid they are going to remain. Besides Governor, it’s a good look for you, perhaps if you stay a prisoner you may even lose some of that excess weight.” Tim jested, smiling broadly at Alton’s misery.

  The Governor groaned and grumbled something under his breath, unintelligible but still annoying to Tim.

  “Alton, if you look just ahead of us, you will see, the Gazelle is within our grasp. I will have the Order’s promised payment. Do you know what that means?” asked Tim with words dripping in condescension.

  “No, Tim, I have no idea what that means. Why don’t you stop clowning around with me and just bloody tell me what in the hell is going on?” Alton shouted angrily, shaking his shackles in a flare of rage.

  “Calm down Governor. There is no need to be that upset, I’ll have you back down in your cell in no time. I just thought you would like to see the instant you become unnecessary.” Tim quipped, smirking as he spoke.

  “Un, unnecessary?”

  “Yes, Governor. If I have the payment for the Order, I won’t need to ransom you. In fact, they will probably greet me with open arms. I may even be able to rebuild this effort.” Tim gloated.

  “Whatever. Do what you will, do what you want. I don’t give a damn anymore, just do it! Kill me, toss me to the sharks, drown me, whatever. But bloody well do it, I have had enough of sitting in that cell…” Alton raged, until Tim raised a finger as he looked out to the Gazelle. They were just yards from her now.

  “In due time, Governor.” Tim replied, “Why is there no crew on her deck?”

  As they approached the Gazelle, Tim noticed the ship’s wheel had been tied in place. No hands were about the deck, none aloft in the rigging. Nothing but the eerie glow of lanterns gave any clue that there was any life aboard the vessel. “Grapple lines!” the Georgia Spirit’s captain called out and a half dozen sailors began tossing their grapple hooks over to bring the ship in closer. The metal hooks hit deck boards with a hollow thunk and Tim braced, waiting for the crew to storm on deck. Nothing. Sailors aboard the Georgia Spirit hauled on their lines and brought her in close. A crossing plank was secured. Tim had all but forgotten about the other ships until he heard the Captain give orders to the watch, “Be ready on the guns when we board boys, those hooligans out there aren’t likely to give up their target so easily.” It had never crossed Tim’s mind, until that point, that perhaps the pirate vessels weren’t trying to capture the Gazelle. Maybe, he thought briefly, they had already taken her.

  “Captain, the Governor and I will let you handle this. The cargo I am after should be in a forward cabin on the gun deck. Let me know when you have it,” said Tim closely guarding the concern that had dawned on him.

  “Ok, Mr. Sladen, well, the boarding party will let you know whe…”

  “You’re not going over Captain?” Tim interrupted.

  “Well, no Sir. A Captain stays with his ship Mr. Sladen, if something should happen, I need to be here, with the crew aboard the Georgia Spirit.” The Captain explained apologetically. The Captain’s answer visibly displeased Tim, but the Captain stood firm, offering no further explanation.

  The boarding party moved methodically over the crossing plank, fanning out and searching over the Gazelle’s deck. From the forecastle, Tim watched as the sailors slowly moved across the deck, carefully checking under her longboats and peering into her hold wells. His unrelenting stare remained as the boarding sailors opened the Gazelle’s weather hatch and carefully, one by one descended below her deck. Moments drug by, Tim had to remind himself to breathe, the empty deck of the Gazelle stared back through the dancing light of the lanterns on board. The sails above flopped and snapped lazily in the wind, the wheel strained back and forth sporadically against the rope binding it.

  A shout from deep within the Gazelle sent Tim’s heartbeat into a race, his mouth went dry and he stretched his spine, leaning over the rail in an attempt to hear what was going on. Running footfalls preceded a scream of “ABANDON SHIP!!” Tim wheeled from the rail, looking behind to where Governor Alton was slumped against the opposite side of the ship. Running as fast as his feet would carry him, he screamed at the Governor, “Jump, go, jump!” Alton, unaware of the unfolding events began to ease himself off the rail he had been leaning on when Tim collided with him, shoving him violently. Alton’s rear hit the rail just as Tim savagely shoved him again screaming, “Get off the ship!” Both men sprawled over the edge limbs flailing into the night air, the pair hadn’t broken the surface of the water when the darkness erupted into a massive explosion sending jagged shards of wood and hunks of metal flying. The force of the explosion from the Gazelle was so great it sent the Georgia Spirit reeling sideways with flames stretching high into the air licking at masts and sails. As Tim and Alton surfaced a deadly rain of debris fell, chunks of wood large and small, cannon shot, chain, ropes and planks fell all around
them. Tim looked skyward to see flames spreading rapidly through the Georgia Spirit’s sails and rigging, shadows of the chaos played through the smoke spilling over the rail as sailors fought against the spreading blaze. Screams could be heard from on deck and Tim attempted to call out for help, but his voice was choked out by seawater and smoke. A low whistle grew in pitch and volume until its source, cannon shot from the Gazelle ejected into the air by the force of the explosion, came crashing into the deck of the Spirit. Another, louder crash caused by a falling cannon hulk smashed through sails and yards before crashing into the deck, sending even more debris flying.

  Through the pandemonium going on all around him, Tim looked around, to find Governor Alton clinging to a half-broken chunk of barrel. Light from the flames stretched out illuminating the side of the lurking pirate ship. One by one, he watched in compounding horror as its gun ports opened and the menacing snouts of its cannons protruded from each in turn.

  “Governor, we need to get away from the ship!” he cried, choking on smoke, “Swim man, go!” His plea was punctuated by the first incoming cannon shot. A plume of water shot skyward as the round impacted short of the Georgia Spirit, mere yards from where Tim and Alton floundered and scrambled in their attempt to swim away from the ship. Another shot thundered over the water, its shrieking whistle piercing into Tim’s ears before impacting against the side of the Georgia Spirit. He and Alton paddled in desperation, clinging to debris for their lives. They moved along the side of the ship as it took several more impacts from cannon fire, pausing with each shot to shield themselves from the flying wooden shrapnel of obliterated timbers. Once they passed far enough behind the fantail of the Spirit to see the other side the scene was horrifying. Flotsam and flames dotted the plot of sea once occupied by the Gazelle but that was all that remained of the vessel that had just moments ago been sailing next to the Georgia Spirit. It sent a fury through Tim though he remained stone faced at their current predicament. He and his prisoner were overboard, one ship had been sunk and very soon, without intervention from the rest of his fleet, the Georgia Spirit would be following.