by David Healey
Colonel Beauchamp shook his fist at them. "Cowards! Come down here and fight!"
Led by Captain Amelia, the Resolution's flyers spun around and went after the Napoleonists, driving them away like crows after owls. Ember was incredibly fast, speeding even beyond Lemondrop as she and Amelia fell among the enemy gryphons. Her war cry made Alexander's hair stand on end.
Spinning and swooping, the gryphons fought a running aerial battle that carried them far out over the ocean, away from the ship. Alexander strained to see who was winning, but after a while the gryphons were little more than specks. He looked over his shoulder to see that the Napoleonist frigate was gaining on them.
"They've had their fun," Bellingham said. "Now it's our turn. Cullins!"
"Yes, sir?"
"At my command, you will bring the ship about one hundred and eighty degrees."
"But we'll lose the wind, sir!"
"Exactly."
"Mr. Hope!"
"Sir!"
"Run below and tell Mr. Swann to fire as the ship comes past us."
"Indeed I shall, sir."
Alexander was only too glad to be put to some use. Everyone else on the ship seemed busy, after all. He ran below and gave the message to Lieutenant Swann, although he still wasn't sure what Captain Bellingham had planned. He saw Roger commanding his gun crews, and waved encouragement. Again, he tried to ignore the fact that Fowler had command of the guns that Alexander should have been preparing to fire at the Napoleonist ship. Fowler, however, made no effort to ignore Alexander.
"What are you doing down here, Snotty?" he demanded. "Unless I'm mistaken, you don't have command of a gun crew, although I've seen how good you are at getting girls stuck in the rigging."
"She wasn't—"
Alexander stopped himself. The last thing he wanted to do was argue with Fowler. That still didn't stop Fowler from giving him a self-satisfied smirk. Then Fowler leaned closer and said in a quiet voice: "Snotty, we all know you don't even need these guns to fight the Napoleonists. All you have to do is wave your arms to sink that ship."
"I'm needed on deck," he said.
"What's the matter?" Fowler now used a tone that was too serious for Alexander's liking. "Did you use everything up in that fight against the three Napoleonists? If you ask me, you look a bit like a sponge with all the water wrung out of it."
Alexander turned his back on Fowler and got out of there. He wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of an answer. What was worse was the nagging fear that Fowler's comment wasn't that far off the mark. Alexander did feel used up. He suspected that perhaps he had done too much, too soon—like a pulled muscle—or worse yet that he had somehow used up all his ability in one fell swoop—like hurling a bucket of water all at once when you were supposed to ladle it out.
He returned to the quarterdeck. Fowler's remarks had left him full of doubt, but he didn't have time to dwell on them for long.
"Now if you please, Cullins!" the captain ordered. "Put the wheel hard over."
Cullins spun the wheel, causing the wind to spill from the sails like water from a bowl. The sails went slack and the ship spun around perpendicular to the course it had been on. The sudden change in direction caught several of the men off guard, and they shouted in surprise and hung on to the rigging or tried to keep their footing on deck.
If the crew of Resolution was taken by surprise, the same was even more true of the Napoleonist ship. Across the water, they could hear shouts of alarm. It was only by quick maneuvering that Le Triomphant managed to avoid ramming them.
Captain Bellingham had taken a chance that the Napoleonists had someone capable at the wheel, and the gamble paid off. As the enemy ship swept past, the Resolution's guns opened up in a powerful rolling broadside.
At such close range, the 12-pounders did not miss. They had aimed for the rigging, and the cannonballs tore chunks from the mainmast and tore through the sails. Here and there a line was severed so that a sail flapped ineffectually in the wind.
"That's some fine shooting," Colonel Beauchamp remarked.
"Mr. Cullins, give her a nudge," the captain said.
"Aye, aye, sir." Cullins grinned; he had been with Bellingham long enough to know just what the captain wanted. With well-practiced hands, he turned the wheel so that the wind and tide moved the ship just enough so that the port side now faced the Napoleonist ship. These guns were loaded but had not been fired. On the gun deck below, the men moved from the starboard guns to the port guns and ran them out.
The Napoleonist ship was maneuvering itself parallel to the Resolution, clearly intending to punish them with its own broadside.
"Steady, lads, steady!" cried Lieutenant Swann.
Silently, the Napoleonist ship glided before them, so that they could clearly see the enemy ship's open gun ports facing them. At such close range it was all a matter of who fired first. The enemy gunners had been taken by surprise by Resolution’s broadside. Had they been able to ready their guns so quickly?
They could just make out the lieutenant on the Napoleonist ship, sighting one of his own guns directly at the Resolution. He raised his arm as if just about to give the order that might sink or destroy Resolution—
"Fire!" Lieutenant Swann shouted.
The gun deck erupted in fire and smoke as the 12-pounders blazed forth. Across the water, cannonballs pounded against the sides of Le Triomphant like hammer blows.
But the Napoleonists still managed to fire a ragged broadside. Three cannonballs struck Resolution. Two bounced off the thick oak sides, but a third punched through the wood just above the waterline. One shot struck the yardarm with a shuddering blow that caused the mainsail to flap free in the wind, like a broken wing.
"Blast!" cried Captain Bellingham, glaring at the damage overhead. "That was a lucky shot for them!"
Although the Napoleonists seemed to have received the worst of the encounter, that didn't stop the crew from cheering.
Below decks, Lieutenant Swann couldn't believe his ears—or at least he couldn't believe what bits of the cheering he heard, considering the two broadsides had left him deafened. "We're not going to let them get away with that, are we lads?" he shouted.
"No!" yelled several of the men.
"Then let's give it to 'em!"
Lieutenant Swann did not mean to fire another broadside, and the crew knew just what he meant. Taking a deep breath, the men roared out three tremendous shouts of "Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!" that echoed across the water.
No more shots were fired. The French captain appeared upon his own quarterdeck and waved at the English ship. Then Le Triomphant began to sail rapidly away.
"What's happening?" Colonel Beauchamp wanted to know. "They're getting away."
"So they are," Captain Bellingham said. He glanced up at the damaged mainsail. Several hands were crawling along the yard, trying to wrestle the flapping sail back into place. "Unfortunately, without our mainsail we'll never catch them, considering that they still have the wind."
"Oh," said Colonel Beauchamp, appearing disappointed. "I thought we were going to sink them!"
"French oak is tougher than one might think," Bellingham said. "I'm afraid we didn't do much damage to them. It's curious, however, that they would run away. We were equally matched, and I fear the loss of our mainsail would have put us at a temporary disadvantage.
"Can't you just shoot them out of the water?"
"I'm afraid it's not quite that simple, sir," Bellingham said. "We don't need to aim the guns so much as we need to aim the ship, and we are a bit dead in the water at the moment."
"But they're getting away!"
"Yes, I believe we’ve established that," Bellingham said. "Also, I might point out that the other captain has ended the engagement. It wouldn't be right to shoot at him now, would it?"
"Huh! You wouldn't see me let a bunch of Indians get away like that. No suh! We'd ride 'em down."
"Then let us be glad for our sakes that we are not Indians, and that the F
rench are not you," Bellingham said, looking at the colonel as one might inspect something unpleasant found on the heel of one's shoe. "For I fear the French might have ridden us down, but they have done the honorable thing today. Now if you will excuse me, I must see to my ship."
Alexander soon found himself running below to get a report from the carpenter, who with two mates was busy repairing the hole in Resolution's side. "Nasty, but nothing we can't fix," he told Alexander. "Lucky for us it's just above the waterline, though if we run into rough weather this might cause us some trouble until we can get it properly repaired on shore."
Alexander went back on deck and reported to the captain. There had been little damage other than the hole and the loose sail. One of the crewmen below had hurt his foot when a gun carriage rolled back over it. The only loss of life was the Marine sharpshooter who had fallen from the rigging.
Still, Alexander and the others waited anxiously for several minutes until the gryphon squadron reappeared. He counted three beasts and six riders, which was a good sign. They flew low over the deck and waved, indicating that all was well, then spiraled down to land on the gryphon port.
Lieutenant Swann came up from the gun deck, his face black with powder residue, his teeth flashing white in a smile.
Bellingham clapped him on the shoulder. "Nicely done, Mr. Swann! That was some fine gunnery, by Ares’s armpit!"
"I'd say we got off rather easy, sir. They might have had us, had they been a bit faster on the trigger."
While the atmosphere on deck was generally upbeat, with men laughing and talking about what they had seen and done, they were interrupted by an angry shout. To Alexander's ears it sounded more like a bellow, the sort that might come from an angry bear. It was so at odds with the atmosphere on deck that it was like a lone storm cloud passing across an otherwise bright blue sky.
"What on earth?" Bellingham wondered. "That sounds like Colonel Beauchamp. Mr. Hope, do go see what he's going on about."
But Alexander had scarcely taken a step toward the companionway when Colonel Beauchamp came stomping toward them.
"Thieves!" he shouted. "Rascals!"
"Sir, what on earth in the matter?" Bellingham wanted to know.
"I've been robbed, that's what! Someone has gone into my cabin just now and taken something."
"What have they stolen?"
The colonel hesitated. "My signet ring, that's what!"
Captain Bellingham lowered his voice. "These are serious charges, sir. Are you certain you haven't mislaid your ring?"
"No, I left it in my cabin, just before the fight. It gets in the way if I have to use a sword or a pistol."
"I see."
"You have a thief on your ship!" Colonel Beauchamp shouted, loud enough for the entire deck to hear, and possibly for the French as well, though their ship was already some distance away.
"Please calm down, colonel," Bellingham said. "I can assure you I will get to the bottom of this."
"When you find the thief, I want him hanged!" Having made his wishes clear, the colonel turned and stalked away.
CHAPTER 10
Later that day, Captain Bellingham summoned Alexander to his cabin. He supposed that he would never get over the feeling that being called to the captain's cabin was not a good thing—there was always the nagging feeling that one had done something wrong.
Going in, he tried to read the expression of the Marine sentry at the door, who stood guard with a loaded musket and a fixed bayonet, but the man's face was stony as a statue. The Marines were expected to be aloof, after all, because their job was to guard the officers of the ship. They were not encouraged to mix much with the sailors—or the junior officers, for that matter.
"Ah, here you are, Mr. Hope," said Bellingham. He paced about the cabin, hands clasped behind his back. Of all the spaces on the ship, the captain's cabin was the finest, because it offered an expanse of windows in the stern, letting in the clean sea light. The wood was whitewashed to increase the brightness of the room.
"Sir."
"How are you feeling?" the captain began awkwardly. "I hope this day has not been too taxing for you?"
"Not at all, sir. It's good to be back aboard the Resolution." Alexander meant that with all his heart.
The captain smiled. "It doesn't take long for it to feel like home, does it? It's good to have you back aboard."
“Thank you, sir.”
The captain paused. He seemed to be working toward something, like a boat beating into the wind. "Well. What I wanted to do Mr. Hope, was to have a private conversation with you, the kind that could not really take place on the quarterdeck, with many ears to overhear."
"Yes, sir."
"I will speak plainly, because it has been several weeks since I have been able to do so. What you did in sinking those enemy ships was extraordinary. But the truth is that the men have been uneasy about you since then."
"You might think they would be grateful."
Bellingham shook his head. "You expect too much, Mr. Hope. Sailors are a suspicious bunch. You can't blame them, really. Myth and legend grows on one after long nights at sea. It has been an age since there has been a true sea elemental, of which you appear to be one."
"I don't know that I still am, sir." Alexander felt drained. He doubted he could make water swish in a cup. He certainly didn't feel like trying so much as that. "I believe I used it all up."
"Many of us feel that way, Alexander, after a battle or a trial of wits or strength. And yet when the need arises, after a bit of rest, we find that we rise to the occasion once again."
Alexander felt somewhat chastised. What the captain was telling him was that it was perfectly normal to feel tired, and Alexander was no exception, so he had better toughen up. "I understand, sir."
"Regarding your power, what I would advise you, Mr. Hope, is to follow the same course of action that one might use on a dark night at sea to pass a dangerous enemy battery: keep your lantern shuttered and your oars muffled."
Alexander realized this was the same advice he had been given by Lord Parkington. "It may be too late for that."
"The crew will judge you by your actions, Mr. Hope. The men will likely feel more at ease with you over time. But most important of all, there may be enemies we don't entirely understand. When I put you ashore with Professor Hobhouse and Ensign Rigley to recuperate, partly it was to get you out of sight. And yet someone found you and tried to kill you."
"Thieves," Alexander said, venom in his voice.
The captain seemed taken aback. "Surely you don't believe it was simple thieves."
"Then it was the Napoleonists, worried I might do the same to more of their ships."
"Perhaps it was Napoleonists," Bellingham said. "Or perhaps it was someone in our own government, whose motivations we can only guess at. Great power brings great enemies, Alexander. Seeing what you could do unsettled the men. Just imagine how it might unsettle someone more powerful than a sailor?"
For the first time, what Bellingham had been sailing toward finally began to sink in. A tingle passed down Alexander's spine. It was an icy touch of fear. "A shuttered lantern it is, sir."
"Good. Now, I understand that you are still recuperating, but it was an unpleasant business to relieve you of your gun crew. I have little choice, though, with Fowler's return. Senior Ensign Fowler. Unfortunately I seem to find myself with more ensigns than I need." Bellingham sighed. "However, I do have a special duty for you."
Alexander straightened up. He realized how much he would welcome having something to do, rather than being a sort of de facto errand boy. "That would be most welcome, sir."
"Good, considering you haven't even heard what it is yet. I like that sort of eagerness, Hope. You know that our esteemed passenger, Colonel Beauchamp, has had something stolen from his cabin. What I want you to do is investigate, find the thief, and return his stolen possessions to the colonel."
Alexander's heart sank. Investigating a theft seemed to have precious l
ittle to do with being a Royal Navy junior officer. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know where to begin."
"Nonsense. You are perfect for the job. I absolutely can't spare anyone else for this sort of matter. There's also the issue of propriety—giving it to you makes the matter seem important enough for an officer's attention, without making it so important that it requires the attention of a lieutenant—or a captain, for that matter."
"But Professor Hobhouse would be so much better—"
"The professor is a civilian and does not have Naval authority, but you do." Bellingham smiled. "Make use of his help, though. I daresay Hobhouse has more cleverness than a barge load of London lawyers."
Captain Bellingham folded his arms across his chest, which was a sign that their rather one-sided conversation had come to an end.
"Thank you, sir," Alexander said half heartedly.
"Oh, Alexander, don't look so dejected," Bellingham said. "If I were a young man your age, I would make it a point to interview that lovely Miss Scarlett that you managed to nearly strand in the rigging." Alexander felt his ears redden at the observation. "Finally, keep in mind that you should not take this duty lightly—I shall have to hang the thief who broke into Colonel Beauchamp's cabin. It is a grim business, Mr. Hope, so do your job thoroughly. A man's life could hang in the balance, so to speak."
• • •
The smallest theft on a ship was considered to be a very serious crime. A community of sailors who spent months at sea could not tolerate any sort of theft because it eroded all trust. Even pirates frowned on thievery aboard one of their own ships—the penalty among pirates was having one's nose and ears cut off before being put ashore. Thus, a thief was marked forever by this gruesome punishment. In the Royal Navy, the punishment was even more harsh. Thieves were hanged from the yardarm.
