by Jay Worrall
I must tell you that Penny Brown (do you remember her? Ha ha.) and I visit together about once a week. She is such a wonderful, wise person, my closest and dearest friend in the whole world, after you and my darling sweetheart Stevie, of course. I even went to Quaker meeting (they call it meeting, not church) with her last Sunday. There was no minister or sermon or anything! Anyway, I subscribe to the Gazette now and Penny and I read it together as soon as it comes. We always look for some mention of the Louisa and her crew, but so far in vain. She said just the other day, after we read about some of the naval battles (I forget which ones), that she didn’t realize that being in the navy was so dangerous. She asked me to convey to you her fondest thoughts and that she is still laboring with your suggestion.
So Charlie, you must do everything in your power to keep yourself and my husband, whom I love and adore more than anything, safe until he can return to me.
Hugs and kisses,
Ellie
Charles rifled through the mail satchel further, pulled out fully a dozen and a half letters from Ellie to Stephen, and set them aside. So Penny and Ellie met every week and talked about him. And they even read the Gazette, and Penny worried that he might be in danger. Charles smiled to himself. Penny’s face appeared before him, and he could almost hear her voice, almost see her. Suddenly his heart ached and he wished he were home so they could walk and talk…Then with a start he remembered his orders from Lisbon and tore them open:
Commander Charles Edgemont,
HMS Louisa
Sir,
Admiral Sir John Jervis (Lord St. Vincent) being detained, it has fallen to me to respond to your request for instructions regarding the Spanish frigate Santa Brigida. You are hereby expressly requested and required to make every effort to prevent said frigate from departing her base at Ferrol providing that you do so without endangering your ship in any way. Further, if she does present, you are authorized and required to capture or destroy said frigate so long as this will be done with every assurance of success and minimal loss to His Majesty’s Navy. You must do this with the resources currently at your disposal as no additional assistance is available.
You disregard these orders at your peril.
Your servant, &tc,
Gladwin Elphinbottom
Acting Fleet Captain, Lisbon
Charles threw the paper on his desk in disgust. “What does he expect me to do, sprinkle it with faerie dust?” he muttered to himself. He sat in deep contemplation at his desk for a time, all thoughts of Ellie and Penny gone from his head. “Pass the word for Lieutenants Bevan and Winchester,” he growled loudly at the marine sentry outside his door.
“WHAT ARE WE going to do?” Bevan said after reading Elphinbottom’s orders and passing them on to Winchester.
Charles frowned at the question. “I don’t see that we have much choice,” he said slowly. “First, we’re low on stores and are going to have to leave to resupply soon anyway. Elphinbottom didn’t mention anything about supplying us at sea. I’m not sure he realizes that ships at sea actually need to be supplied from time to time. Second, I doubt Ecclesby is returning anytime soon, if at all.” Charles took a deep breath. “To answer your question, Daniel, I’m planning to engage the Santa Brigida, at least to damage her enough so that she won’t be a threat for a while.”
Bevan whistled softly. “And how do you plan to do that, Charlie?”
Charles told him. “If the wind holds, we do it tomorrow morning,” he concluded. Bevan was not enthusiastic.
Then, remembering another duty he had, Charles picked up a three-inch-thick pile of letters from Ellie to Winchester and handed it to him.
TEN
“CLEAR THE SHIP FOR ACTION, DANIEL,” CHARLES SAID. The ponderous headlands of Cape Prior, just a few miles north of Ferrol, were well within view from the quarterdeck. The sun rising over the Spanish highlands illuminated Louisa’s sails with a golden glow that contrasted exquisitely with the clear blue of the cloudless early September sky and the deeper blue of the long Atlantic swells. The ship’s wake stretched in a wavering line, like chalk on sapphire, as far as the eye could see.
It’s going to be a beautiful day, he thought. The air had just a hint of the crispness of the coming autumn. The wind blew steadily for now from the southwest, but would probably diminish as the day wore on and the landmass heated up. He hoped to get his business done before that happened. He watched as a solitary bird, a tern, he decided, soared toward the foretopgallant masthead and lighted effortlessly on the truck at its very top. There it perched like some kind of talisman while the masthead swayed lazily in its great circle across the sky.
“The ship’s cleared for action,” Bevan reported, breaking into Charles’s thoughts.
“How long did it take?”
“Nineteen minutes, near enough,” Bevan answered. “Best so far.”
Charles nodded his satisfaction. “You may put her on a starboard tack to weather the reef in front of Ferrol and then beat to quarters.” Charles didn’t like to use the name for the reef on his charts: “Dientes del Diablo.” It sounded too foreboding, too melodramatic.
“Aye aye,” Bevan responded, then turned to issue the orders.
The Louisa came about smartly and started south by southeast, leaning moderately as she sailed into the wind. “Reef ahead, four miles off the starboard bow,” the lookout in the fore crosstrees called down. Charles could just see the white surf boiling over the black rocks from the quarterdeck. He felt his muscles tense at the thought of battle. He couldn’t tell whether he was anticipating or dreading it. The little marine drummer began his roll, and the cry “All hands to quarters” sounded across the deck. With a flurry of scurrying feet, the men rushed up the ladderways to their battle stations. As Louisa skirted the reef about a mile to leeward, Charles turned to Eliot: “When we get to a point a mile south and west of the rocks, I want you to swing her head around and heave to under topsails. We’ll wait there and see what happens.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Crosstrees,” Charles yelled upward. “Can you see into the shipyard?”
“Yes, sir,” the lookout called down. “I see the frigate. Her yards are crossed. She’s moored just past the fort. There’s a power of activity on her.”
At the place on the sea Charles had indicated, the topmen once again rushed into the rigging while the waisters heaved on the braces. When Eliot shouted “Wear ship” and spun the wheel, the Louisa turned full circle. “Back the foretopsail,” the master roared, and she lost what little way she had, becoming more or less stationary three miles from the mouth of Coruna Bay.
Charles climbed partway up the mizzenmast shrouds with his glass to better see his adversary and consider the position, its advantages and liabilities. He hoped to lure the Santa Brigida out of her protected anchorage. She would have a long slow tack into the wind to get at him, her course options limited by the Ferrol promontory and the reef on her starboard and the direction of the wind over her larboard bow quarter. From the time the Spanish frigate came into extreme range of Louisa’s guns until she beat up enough to present her cannon at close range, his guns could get off five or six broadsides. If they were skillful or lucky enough to carry away a few yards or even a mast, they might cripple her so that Louisa could close, lay across the Spaniard’s bow, and rake her till she sank or struck. If they weren’t able to damage the Santa Brigida sufficiently during the time she would be unable to present her broadside…well, Charles didn’t want to think about that. The Spaniard’s more numerous eighteen-pounders could do a lot more damage a lot faster than Louisa’s twelves. Another liability seemed to be that Louisa was drifting with the wind and current toward the shore—and under the guns of the forts—more quickly than he had expected. It was something he would have to watch, but if he could induce the Spaniard to come out soon enough they should be all right. Satisfied, he climbed back down to the deck.
“Run up the colors,” he said to Beechum. Almost immediately the
Union Flag of Great Britain broke out above the taffrail at the stern. “Any movement?” he called up to the crosstrees.
“Naught, sir. She ain’t moving.”
“Run out the guns, Daniel, and fire one,” Charles said. He was beginning to worry that the Santa Brigida would refuse battle. The firing of a gun in these circumstances was a calculated insult, a challenge to fight every bit as personal as a slap in the face. He was in effect calling the Spanish captain a coward if he stayed at his moorings behind the harbor’s fortifications. The roar of the gun sounded, then echoed back from the mainland’s heights.
Charles waited expectantly, hardly breathing.
“She’s putting on sail!” the lookout shouted. “She’s coming out!”
Charles could just see the tops of the frigate’s masts moving on the other side of the promontory. They were lost from view as the Santa Brigida passed behind the fort, and soon her bow appeared as she emerged into the bay.
The fort looked closer to him than it had when Louisa first hove to. “Mr. Eliot, take a bearing on those two forts. I want to be notified directly when we are about to come within range.”
“Yes, sir,” the master replied. He passed the wheel to two of the mates and went to collect his transit.
Charles watched tensely as the frigate wore around Ferrol point and her masts slowly came into line, pendants standing out sideways at every masthead. She looked powerful and menacing, her black hull cutting meaningfully through the water. Doubts began to creep in that would not go away. What if he had miscalculated the wind or the tide or the Spaniard’s speed, or made some other mistake in his planning, or overlooked some vital fact? What if Louisa lost the encounter and he was killed or captured? He would be written off as a failed commander, incompetent and stupid. They’d say he was promoted too young; that he was inept. What would Penny think? He might never see her again. Would she remember him? And his friends Bevan and Winchester, the entire crew, they all relied on his judgment. The image of young Billy Bowles being smashed to pulp by a cannonball on Argonaut flashed before his eyes. The same thing could happen to him, to any of them. And he was responsible. He remembered Jervis’s words to him: “…be careful…use discretion…don’t do anything unusually foolish.” What could be more foolish than a twenty-eight-gun frigate with an inexperienced crew and captain challenging a veteran forty-gun ship of war? What if he had no idea what he was doing and no business doing it?
On the other hand, he considered as he tried to force some order on his thoughts, he had the weather gauge, and he would get his broadsides before the Santa Brigida could respond with anything but her bowchasers. That was advantage enough. Charles felt his fingers tapping against his thigh. He clasped his hands firmly behind his back and began pacing deliberately up and down the quarterdeck, only occasionally glancing over the railing at his opponent. In this way he hoped the crew might see how confident and unconcerned he was.
The Santa Brigida emerged from the mouth of the bay with all her sails set, from topgallants to courses. She was close-hauled, her canvas stretched drum tight, and heeled well over, running as close to the wind as she could lie. She seemed to inch toward them, and Charles supposed that Louisa’s leeway was inching her toward the enemy frigate as well. Both ships would be uncomfortably close to the reef when it began. The Santa Brigida looked to be about a mile away.
“What do you think?” Charles said to Bevan.
“A few minutes,” Bevan said, intently studying the slowly approaching opponent. “Then it might be worth a try.”
“Try a shot anyway,” Charles said.
Bevan crossed to one of the nine-pounder gun crews on the quarterdeck and talked for a minute with the gun captain. Together they removed the quoins for maximum elevation and spent a little time making sure the cannon was laid directly at its target. Both men stepped to the side. Charles heard Bevan say, “On the up roll,” and then, as Louisa’s side slowly rose on the swell, “Fire.”
The gun barked and leapt backward in a cloud of smoke. Every eye looked for the fall of the shot. The telltale splash came on line and fifty yards short. That was close enough. Bevan looked at Charles, who nodded wordlessly in return. The lieutenant then walked forward to the quarterdeck rail and called down to Winchester commanding the twelve-pounders on the maindeck. “Fire on my command.”
Charles heard Winchester’s “Aye aye, sir” come from the waist. A shrieking noise passed through Louisa’s rigging, and a hole appeared in the mainsail. He saw the smoke billowing across the Santa Brigida’s bow before he heard the sound of the report.
“You may fire when ready, Daniel,” Charles said.
Bevan balanced on the balls of his feet, measuring Louisa’s roll. The deck slowly canted back. “Fire!” he yelled, and immediately the ship’s side erupted in flame and smoke in a thunderous roar.
“Sponge out,” Charles heard the midshipman in charge of the quarterdeck guns order. He strained through the smoke to mark the fall of the shot and saw that many fell short, but at least some were alongside. He saw no signs of damage.
“Load with cartridge,” the midshipman yelled.
“Load with shot. Wad your shot.”
The Santa Brigida gave off another puff of smoke and a ball tore through Louisa’s rigging, severing a topmast shroud. “Splice that,” Bevan shouted at someone.
“Ram home,” the midshipman ordered.
Bevan stood, measuring the roll. “On my command. Fire!”
The Louisa bellowed out another cloud of gray acrid smoke and Charles felt the recoil of the guns through the deck. He saw splashes all around the Spaniard. There must have been some hits. The frigate was less than a thousand yards distant and still advancing.
“Fire at will,” Charles ordered. The next broadside was a rolling thunder as the quicker gun crews fired before the more deliberate. A hole appeared in the Santa Brigida’s foretopsail in line with her mast, but he saw no serious damage. Some of the other shots were long, others short, and most were wide, a few well wide.
“Cease fire!” Charles shouted angrily. The ship fell silent except for the scream of a passing Spanish ball. He stepped to the forward rail and yelled, “Aim your guns for Christ’s sake,” at the top of his voice. “You’re shooting all over the goddamned place. Resume firing.”
The next salvo rained shot all around the Spaniard in a relatively tight pattern, and in the closing distance between the two ships he clearly saw several stays part and her foretopmast crack and sway. Still she came on—six hundred yards, five-fifty. The Spanish captain had courage to endure this. The frigate fired its bowchasers again, and Charles heard a crash forward and an unearthly scream as a ball struck someone. He looked quickly over the stem to check on the reef and saw that it was much closer; not close enough to cause immediate concern, but he wouldn’t have much more time.
“Beg yer pardon, sir,” a voice said at his shoulder. Charles turned and saw it was Eliot. “You told me to say when we was nearly in range of the fort.”
“Yes?”
“We’re nearly in range of the fort, sir.”
“Thank you,” Charles responded, his words drowned out by the explosion of Louisa’s guns. This time he saw several hits and the jibboom split, throwing the frigate’s jib and foretopmast staysail into confusion. The Santa Brigida immediately lost way, turned into the wind and, at four hundred yards, presented her broadside.
“Set all plain sail, Daniel,” Charles said quickly. “Pile on sails, it’s time to leave.” As Bevan raised his hand to his mouth to shout out orders, the Spaniard fired. Round shot shrieked and howled across Louisa’s decks, thudding into her hull and sending up geysers in the water all around. A gun in the waist overturned, a yard overhead cracked with a splintering crash, and several gaps appeared in the railing. The hands rushed aloft to loose the tethered canvas. The Louisa slowly gathered way as her head fell off with the wind. Charles’s eyes riveted on the reef, now very close on the starboard bow. He clearly saw the jagge
d rocks, which did indeed look like the Devil’s own teeth when one saw them close up. He heard the Santa Brigida fire again, but didn’t turn to look.
“Helm hard over!” he yelled at Eliot.
“It is hard over, sir,” Eliot responded, anxiety in his voice.
The black stones seemed to race toward them, white surf boiling at their base. They looked like some unholy monster from the deep, baring its fangs and rising to swallow its prey. It would be close, too close.
The whole ship heard and felt the grinding scrape of her hull against granite. And then they were past. Charles saw several shiny sheets of copper flashing in the tossing surf as they sailed on and felt his heart pounding in his breast. He looked to see what had become of the Spanish warship. With relief he noted that she had gone about and was limping back toward Ferrol.
Bevan had Louisa’s guns housed and secured, her bulwarks and other furnishings replaced. The ship’s bell struck seven times; it was just 11:30 in the morning. Once again the sky was a perfect blue and the seas running a gentle swell. The winds became variable and intermittent, soon to die away altogether. It was a stunningly beautiful day.
“How badly are we damaged?” Charles asked as Bevan emerged from belowdecks, where he had been conferring with the carpenter.
“All in all, not badly,” Bevan answered. “There’s some small damage above the waterline. The only real problems are the snapped main topsail yard and a few strakes stove in under the hold midships. It’s nothing that the pumps can’t handle, but it would be best to be taken care of in a yard.”
