by Jay Worrall
TEN
CHARLES TURNED TOWARD THE TAFFRAIL AND SEARCHED the horizon. He immediately picked out the two tiny slivers of lighter gray that would be Pylades’s topgallants. Instead of being in a line, as they had been when she sailed away from the harbor, he could distinctly see both masts, which indicated that she was broadside on and, from the curve of her sails, pushing southward. That was unusual, he thought. Given the direction of the wind, it would have been more normal for Bevan to stand farther out, far enough so that he would have been well beyond sight before coming about so he could make Cape Murro on a single tack. An uncomfortable feeling started in the pit of his stomach.
He turned his gaze northward along the line separating gray sea from gray sky and too soon found the second set of sails he had noticed before. They were slightly larger now, ship-rigged, he could tell, with three masts, also standing to the south. His discomfort became a feeling of dread.
“Sir,” Beechum said, close beside him. Charles saw that the young man had a long glass up to his eye. “Sir, I think Pylades is signaling.”
Charles fished for his pocket telescope. “What’s she saying?”
“I can’t make it out. I can’t see but the first flag or two. She’s too low down, sir.”
Charles snapped his small lens open. With the overcast, visibility was not good, but he thought he caught a flash of color on Bevan’s mizzen halyards. “Mr. Beechum,” he said as calmly as he could manage, “please take your glass up to the tops and report back to me Pylades’s signals.” Charles had to catch Beechum by the arm before he bolted. “And,” he continued, “I want to know what you can make of that second ship just to the north.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” the young acting lieutenant said and was into the mizzenmast ratlines before Charles had attracted Winchester’s attention.
“Sir?” Winchester said, coming aft from where he had been watching the progress of the work aloft.
“Stephen, I have a great fear that a French warship has taken up Bevan’s wake outside of the mouth of the harbor,” Charles said. “The wind’s dead foul for returning to port. I think Bevan’s decided to run southward. Pylades is not a fast sailer.”
Winchester quickly scanned the horizon and soon found the distant sets of sails. “Dammit,” he said.
“Captain, sir!” Beechum’s cry carried down from the platform at the tops. “Pylades is signaling Enemy in sight to the north. The second ship is a frigate. She hasn’t shown her colors yet, but she appears to be in pursuit.”
“Thank you. Please keep me informed,” Charles shouted back up. He turned again to Winchester. “Speak with Keswick, if you will. I want our sails bent on as quick as humanly possible. Draft as many men as you need, the entire company if necessary. And tell Keswick he can cut every corner in the book so long as the canvas will carry us to that warship.”
“Yes, sir,” Winchester said, and hurried forward.
Charles looked again over the rail. At this distance, it was hard to be sure, but he thought the frigate had closed on Bevan’s brig. If they weren’t already, he guessed they would soon be within cannon range. What would Bevan do if the frigate fired on him? Charles could feel his heart pounding in his breast. He hoped his friend would strike as soon as he was overhauled, but knew he wouldn’t. He heard a faint hollow boom as it reached him across the water.
“Captain, sir,” Beechum shouted down from his place aloft, “the frigate’s raised her colors and opened fire with bow chasers. She’s French.”
Charles did not answer. Instead, he called for his signals midshipman. “Mr. Sykes, signal to Pylades to strike.”
“Sir?”
“Goddammit, signal to Pylades to strike her colors, to surrender to that frigate.”
“But I can’t, sir,” Sykes said, his voice quavering. “There’s nothing like that in the book.”
“Hell’s fire and damnation. Fuck. Dammit!” Charles swore. Then he looked at the frightened boy. He knew Sykes to be correct; there was no such signal. The British navy had apparently never considered ordering anyone to surrender to an enemy. He also realized that he would have to gain control of himself if he was going to be able to do anything to rescue Bevan’s boat. He took a deep breath. “Thank you, Mr. Sykes. I am sure you are correct,” he said more calmly. “I apologize for my language.”
“That’s all right, sir. I understand,” Sykes answered.
“Thank you again. If you would go forward and convey my respects to Lieutenant Winchester. Ask if I might speak with him when he is free.” That was a much better tone, he thought.
“Yes, sir,” Sykes said, and departed.
Charles looked around the nearly empty quarterdeck. His eye soon rested on Talmage, staring over the far rail. “Mr. Talmage, a word, if you please,” he said.
“Yes?” Talmage said, crossing toward him. A pair of reports of cannon fire sounded, distant and menacing.
“I would appreciate your thoughts,” Charles said.
Talmage glanced over his shoulder at the distant sails. “I think Pylades will soon be overhauled, sir.”
“And then?” Charles said.
“I hope she strikes. Otherwise the frigate will employ her broadside. The brig hasn’t a chance.” Talmage seemed genuinely concerned about this outcome. “Either way, she will be taken,” he added. He didn’t look pleased about this result, either.
“What do you think our response should be?”
“We should run them down as soon as we can make sail,” Talmage replied firmly.
“I agree,” Charles said. “Should we rely on our armament or come aboard her and attempt to take her by main force?”
Talmage paused in contemplation. “I believe we should board directly and try her that way. There will be the frigate and the brig, though. Have we enough men to carry both?”
“I don’t know, but I’m bound to try,” Charles answered. “Are you with me?”
Talmage smiled grimly. “I’m with you, if only for Mrs. Edgemont’s sake.”
Charles looked at the prickly lieutenant. “That’s good enough,” he said. “If you would please find the armorer and have him bring his wheel onto the deck. We will sharpen all of the cutlasses, axes, and boarding pikes.”
“Yes, sir,” Talmage said. Without further comment, he went forward.
A distant roll of cannon fire, more intense and drawn-out, reached Charles. He saw Winchester hurrying aftward. A glance into the masts told him that the fore and main topsails were nearly in place.
“Captain,” Beechum shouted down. “The frigate has fired her broadside. Pylades has lost her foremast from the tops up and all her mizzen. I think the Frenchman is about to go alongside.”
“Thank you, Mr. Beechum,” Charles called back.
“Fifteen minutes, Charlie,” Winchester said, coming to a halt. “We’ll be able to make sail in fifteen minutes, not more.”
“Thank God,” Charles said. “Send two men with axes to the hawse; we’ll cut the anchor cable the instant we’re ready.”
It seemed an eternity before he heard the ax blades begin to chop into the cable … five, six, seven strokes. He heard the heavy line fall into the water and felt his ship, freed from the restraint, fall off with the current. “Sheet home!” he heard Winchester order as Louisa turned and made for the harbor mouth. He felt vastly relieved to be under way. It occurred to him that he had never been involved in boarding an enemy ship before.
As soon as he saw that Mr. O’Malley had set up his grinding wheel in the waist, Charles went down and had his sword honed to an edge that he could cut his finger on. Talmage, he noticed, stood waiting his turn.
“You do know that this may be your one chance to redeem yourself before a court-martial,” Charles said in a low voice.
Talmage nodded and scowled. “I’ve thought of that, but it doesn’t matter. I would do the same in any event.”
“I know that you would, Mr. Talmage. I want you to know that I appreciate it.”
�
��Thank you, sir.”
Sykes appeared with his midshipman’s dirk, making his way through the crowd of sailors gathered around the wheel with their own weapons. “Sir,” he said, “I’ve heard that a French thirty-six carries a crew of three hundred or more. Won’t that make a difference?” Every man on board knew that Louisa’s complement, marines included, barely exceeded two hundred.
Charles frowned at the boy, then looked around at the body of men watching him closely. He shook his head. “Not with these men it won’t,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Perhaps we’ll only take half across to make it more sporting.”
There was laughter at this, and a cheer went up, deafening in the middle of a hundred men or more. Charles slid his sword back into its scabbard and raised his hat in acknowledgment. The crowd parted as he passed through to make his way to the quarterdeck.
“Stephen,” he said, “I’ll take the deck. Make sure all of the officers have their weapons prepared, and then ask them to attend to me here.”
Looking forward, he could easily see the rectangles of the Frenchman’s sails on the horizon. If the frigate hadn’t noticed Louisa’s approach yet, she soon would. What would her captain do? He thought it likely that she had come from Toulon on her way to Malta or Egypt, had run into Pylades by chance, and had snatched her as an easy prize.
If he were the French captain, Charles thought, he probably wouldn’t be too worried by Louisa’s appearance. The Frenchman would have the superior broadside. He might see it as an opportunity to take a second prize. Probably he would keep the captured brig close, thinking that the Englishman would be more intent on retaking one of his countrymen than a prolonged engagement with a superior ship. If he dropped his anchor and put on a spring, he could turn his guns in any direction he chose, and wouldn’t have to worry about handling his sails or being out-maneuvered. The smaller enemy would have to come to him. Charles doubted that the captain would expect the English ship to bear straight down on him and board, although that would become clear soon enough. He guessed that Louisa would be within long range of the Frenchman’s guns within the half hour. As he watched, her topgallant sails vanished from their masts. That confirmed his speculations.
“Sir,” Beechum yelled, “the frigate’s let go her anchor and is taking her sails in. Pylades appears to be tied alongside just behind her.”
Charles smiled a smile he did not feel. “Thank you, Mr. Beechum,” he called. “You may come down now.”
As they finished with the armorer, Louisa’s officers began to report back to the quarterdeck one by one: Winchester, Talmage, Beechum, even Sykes. They waited only for Sergeant Cooley; Charles had passed the word for him, but he was still attending to the preparations of his marines. Of those present, Charles realized, not one of them had ever boarded an enemy ship. He didn’t think Cooley had, either, although he wasn’t sure.
“Sir,” Cooley said, resplendent in his red uniform coat and a shining saber. To the others, he touched his hat and said, “Gentlemen.”
“Sergeant Cooley,” Charles said, “have you ever gone aboard an enemy ship and carried her?”
“No, sir,” Cooley answered comfortably. “I’ve heared tell about it often enough, though.”
“Please share with us what you’ve heard.”
“It’s not complicated,” the marine said. “Gain control of her quarterdeck, if you want to get it over with in a hurry. Chase the rest of the crew belowdecks. Armed or not, they can’t do nothing from down there. All you have to do is guard the hatches.”
“That’s it?” Charles said, expecting some closely held secret to be revealed.
“I said it wasn’t complicated, sir.”
“All right, thank you,” Charles said. He turned so that he faced them all. “This is what I am thinking; please feel free to add your own thoughts.” He looked around hopefully and received equally hopeful stares in response. “We will run directly up to the frigate without turning to fire off our guns. It’ll be a long run, and she’ll have her broadsides trained on us. We’ll just have to take what she sends our way.” He half expected an objection but received none.
“In deference to Mr. Cooley, we will try to run our bow aboard her quarterdeck and board from there. We will fire our main armament as we make contact, grapeshot on ball. Gun captains only at the cannon. Everyone else forward, the captains to follow as soon as they’ve pulled the lanyards. I hope to catch the majority of her men on deck readying to repel us, and so we might expect to do the most damage. Our purpose is no less than to carry both the frigate and Pylades, and to do it as quickly as can be done. It all hangs on the first rush.” A silence followed as Charles studied their faces, looking for doubt or hesitation. He found none. “Questions?” he said. “Objections?”
An expectant silence came from his audience.
“We are agreed, then,” Charles said. “Mr. Beechum, you will command the forecastle guns. They will be the most critical. Have both carronades charged with a double load of grapeshot. I rely on you to aim them where they will do the most good. Fire ahead of the boarding party. Is that understood?”
“What am I to do after, sir?”
“When the guns are emptied, you may come across and do as much mischief as you can.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” Beechum answered. “I understand, sir.”
“Mr. Cooley,” Charles continued, “as we close within musket range, line your men along the forward rail and keep up a steady rate of fire on her decks. After we make contact, you may board and support Lieutenant Winchester as he directs.”
“Yes, sir,” Cooley said.
“Stephen,” Charles said, “you will lead the assault on the frigate. Get your men across, and take control of her quarterdeck by whatever means you think desirable. If she doesn’t strike then, work your way forward and press the remainder of the men below. You will have every able-bodied man available except the foremast topmen and a half dozen to be left on board with Mr. Sykes. Mr. Sykes, you will have command of the ship. Is that agreeable?”
Winchester nodded with a sober “Yes, sir.” Midshipman Sykes assumed his own serious expression and said the same.
A rippling explosion came from across the water, and Charles looked up in time to see the smoke blowing clear of the distant Frenchman’s decks. Shot churned the water forward and along both sides of Louisa’s stem. One ball crashed into the head at the bow of the ship. He took his watch from his pocket and looked at it.
“Lieutenant Talmage,” Charles said carefully, “I am in hopes that you will lead the retaking of Pylades. You will have the foretopmen under your command. It will mean forcing your way across the French quarterdeck to get there. I will accompany you.”
“It will be my honor, sir,” Talmage replied.
“Are there any questions?” Charles asked. “None? Collect your men and make sure they know what they are about. I suggest you keep as many as possible belowdecks until needed.”
The quarterdeck soon cleared except for Samuel Eliot, two quartermasters at the wheel, Midshipman Sykes, and Charles. He turned his mind to Penny and what she must be enduring.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” the master said, approaching him.
“Yes, Mr. Eliot?” He noticed the sword hanging from Eliot’s hip, which he seldom wore.
“I couldn’t help overhearing your plan to go aboard Pylades, ” the master said. “I would like to accompany you, if I may, out of consideration for Mrs. Edgemont, sir.”
“Thank you,” Charles said. “That would be welcome.”
“My two mates, Mr. Cleaves and Mr. Withers, are of a similar sentiment,” Eliot added.
Charles nodded his agreement, thinking that if he wasn’t careful, the entire crew would rush straight across the frigate’s deck to save Penny, leaving the French to do as they pleased.
He saw Attwater making his way up to the quarterdeck just as the Frenchman’s broadside roared out, closer now. Round shot screamed through the lower rigging and close a
longside, punching holes through the sails and striking a port side carronade on the forecastle. They’re not firing at our masts this time, he thought. Charles looked again at his watch: two and a half minutes from one firing of the frigate’s cannon to the next. He noticed almost as if it were an abstraction that his hands were shaking violently. He dropped the watch back into his pocket and clenched them behind his back. The French warship loomed larger in his vision, a cable or a cable and a half’s length forward of the bow.
“Here’s your pistols, sir,” Attwater said, holding one out in each hand. “They’re charged and primed.”
Charles had forgotten to ask for the weapons but took them without speaking and stuck them into his belt. His mind turned again to Penny. Was she safe? Was she alarmed by the cannon fire? Did she know that it signaled his approach? Had the French mistreated her? Would they when he came aboard? What about little Claudette, and Molly, and Bevan? Charles felt his heart hammering in his chest, his breath rapid and shallow. God, he hoped nothing had happened to them.
A cable’s length, less now. The passage of time seemed to have slowed to a crawl. He saw a line of redcoats starting toward the forward rail with their muskets held in front. He noted the heads of his crew just inside the hatchways to the deck below. The marines reached their place and raised their weapons to their shoulders as the French frigate clouded itself in smoke at a hundred yards. Shot ripped along the decks, one into the rail by the marines, throwing several backward onto the deck like broken furniture. Two balls screeched past Charles, taking his breath away completely. He forced himself to gasp in a lungful of air.
The marines’ volley popped along the forward rail, an insubstantial sound compared to the frigate’s broadside. Louisa angled to port at the last minute, her bowsprit aiming at the Frenchman’s mizzen shrouds. Charles could see the mass of packed men on her deck waiting for the impact, and the rush of his own crew pouring up out of the hatchways and running forward. He started down from his quarterdeck toward the bow, followed closely by Eliot and his mates.
