Until the Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead

by Sean Thomas Russell

  Childers steered them faithfully out on to the dark sea and, when it was believed they were just beyond the distance where their darkly painted boats might be seen, the rowers slacked their pace to hold position; and glad they were of it, for towing the mine was difficult work.

  They waited for the sight of fire drifting down on the French ships.

  From where they lay in the dark, Hayden could easily make out the lanterns on the nearest ship’s stern, and through that light marched a sentry every few moments. One of these made a brief stop and a second figure appeared. It took a moment for Hayden to realize that the first man was the stern sentry and he had likely been wakened. Unfortunate timing, he thought. If the man were asleep when they arrived it would make their task much simpler.

  A light appeared within the master’s cabin, illuminating the transom-gallery windows, which would certainly be open on such a close night. He thought he could see someone moving about in the light, and prayed this man would make his nightly toilet and fall asleep easily. Hayden reminded himself that this hardly mattered – once the fire boats were discovered, everyone should soon be awake … with their attention fixed forward.

  The rowers worked their sweeps in utter silence, and the depth of that silence told him how frightened they really were.

  ‘Where are Mr Wickham’s boats?’ Childers muttered, perhaps unable to remain silent a moment longer.

  ‘Be patient,’ Hayden whispered. ‘If they had been discovered, there would be firing and noise, so they are not yet to their places.’

  Hayden glanced back to be certain their strange tow had not turned over and drowned the powder barrel or broken loose to bear down upon their own ship. Hayden himself had coiled down a short length of match cord into the powder hole on top and then pressed in a bung to keep all dry.

  There had been a lively debate about how much powder would be required to damage a rudder beyond repair and the side that argued they would only get one chance at this, better make it count, won, so there was powder enough to do the job, Hayden was quite certain.

  Childers touched his arm and pointed. Far off, before the anchored ships, a flicker, which then disappeared. But then it appeared again and began to swell. Somehow it then split in two and began to burn in earnest. Hayden was just wondering how long it would take the privateers to discover fire bearing down on them when a cry went up, carried over the open water.

  Hayden held his men in check for a moment longer – until he hoped all eyes aboard the ships were focussed on the burning boats – and then he sent them away, as stealthily as they could row.

  It would be a matter of timing, he thought. The attention of the privateers would be drawn forward to begin with but, at some point, he was certain, some man who had his wits about him would think to look around to see if their enemy could be found on any other quarter. The English sailors needed to have their mine in place before this occurred.

  Fixing his eyes on the transom of their intended target, Hayden tried to gauge the reaction aboard this particular ship. There was both consternation and confusion, of that he was certain. Men were rushing on to the deck and all seemed to hurry forward. There were calls for poles to fend off the fire boats, though he suspected they did not yet quite know the nature of the threat drifting down on them. In the darkness and at distance, they might be actual ships.

  Orders were called out aboard the privateer. Men were sent to stand by the anchor cable lest it need be cut or let run. Others were sent out to the tip of the jib boom with poles to prepare to protect that delicate spar from collision or fire. Others soaked down the deck forward and even the topsides. All the while, Hayden’s black boat crept nearer, as though he and his men were crawling through the undergrowth to surprise their prey. He even felt at that moment like a heartless predator.

  The stern of the ship took on height and then loomed over them. Aft, Hayden could see no sign of sentries and hoped they had been sent off to soak down decks, or to some other task to protect the ships from fire.

  Childers could not bring the boat neatly alongside – the tow being dragged back by the current would not allow it – so he nudged the bow up to the ship’s transom so that the men there could grasp hold of the rudder. Hayden scrambled forward through the rowers, a rope from the tow in his hand. There was very little purchase on the rudder, and the men attempting to hold on had it slip free of their grip. Without a thought, Hayden shrugged off his coat, pulled free his boots and went over the side as silently as he was able.

  In two strokes he had his hands on the rudder. Feeding the rope in around it took a moment, as it was not a small timber, but he managed, and then, bracing his feet against the hull, he pushed with all his might, hauling in a length of rope, and then another. It was almost more than he could do, the current’s drag on the tow was that great. Four times he did this, and then had to pause a moment to recover. The boat was unmanaged now, the men pulling the mine along its starboard side, but, with no oars in the water, it was quickly being swept aft.

  Again Hayden braced his feet and pushed. And again. The mine was not two yards off now. Another heave and it was all but home. A final push, and it brought up short. Quickly, he made it fast and then clung to a barrel a moment, gasping and shaking from the effort. Childers got the boat under control and brought the bow up to Hayden.

  The lamp, closed to let no light out, passed from hand to hand forward, and the man in the bow held it, waiting for Hayden to regain his strength. He forced himself to put a foot on one of the narrow boards that made up the frame, and very, very tentatively put his weight upon it, hoping all the while the mine would not turn over. It heeled to his weight, but all the ballast in the barrels resisted him and it stayed more or less upright.

  He was dripping wet and dared not open the bung or handle the match cord for fear of getting it wet. As he perched there, trying to think how he would dry at least one hand, a cry came from directly above his head.

  ‘Les Anglais! Les Anglais!’

  Immediately, a musket fired and the man in the boat’s bow fell back, his lamp falling into the sea with a splash, and disappearing. Fire was returned from the boat, which began to drift aft on the current. More men came running to the transom rail and began firing, and Hayden crouched low and pressed himself up against the transom planks, the overhanging stern hiding him from the men above.

  Childers ordered the rowers to take up oars, and the desperate men sent the boat off to larboard, seeking the protection of darkness. Hayden did not know how many had been hurt – and they were being fired on yet.

  Footsteps came thumping across planks almost overhead and a man leaned out of the transom-gallery window a few feet above Hayden’s head and fired. With all haste, he set to reloading and, when his gun emerged again, Hayden stepped up on one of the barrels, grabbed the startled man’s arm, hauled him half out of the window and clubbed him several times over the head with his drowned pistol. When he was utterly still, Hayden reached the sill and pulled himself up and then swiftly in. There was no one else in the cabin and Hayden dried his hands on the abandoned bedclothes in a swinging cot and snatched down the lantern.

  For a second, he hovered at the window, listening. Childers had steered the boat to larboard, and most of the men on the deck above had moved to that quarter, where they were still shouting and firing muskets. Even so, Hayden hesitated. He was about to go out of the window, bearing a lantern, which would almost certainly reveal him to the enemy. He would have to carry the lantern in one hand and climb with the other, which he realized would be all but impossible.

  Hayden looked around the cabin in desperation, and his eye lit upon a pistol, lying on the floor near the man he’d clubbed to death. It must have fallen from his belt. He seized it, checked that it was loaded, made certain the flint was both new and firmly in place and went to the cot. He tore a piece of sheet free and wrapped the pistol in it before shoving it into his belt, then went again to the window.

  He glanced up to see i
f anyone looked his way, but could not be certain. No one had spotted the English mine, it seemed, and, with a deep breath, he lowered himself out of the window. It was far enough down that he was forced to drop the last foot on to the centre barrel, which held the powder. Half falling from that, he landed on one of the lower barrels and managed not to go into the water altogether. He paused there a moment, still, but when no cry went up he went to pull the bung from the powder barrel, when he realized he had left too much water there.

  Carefully, he unwrapped his pistol and used the cloth to dry the barrel head, then pulled the bung. He fished out the match cord, positioned the bung so that it covered most of the hole, and then added the damp cloth to this, covering the hole completely, but for the tiniest hole where the match emerged. Balancing himself, he held the cord in one hand and the cocked pistol in the other. For the briefest second he hesitated, took a long deep breath, then aimed the pistol at the cord, which dangled a few inches from his hand, and pulled the trigger.

  He turned away from the smoke for an instant, and then opened his eyes, which were swimming from the flash. The match burned! Gingerly, he pulled the cloth away, expecting all the while that the powder would light and blow him to his final glory, but it did not.

  He slipped into the water, took a few deep breaths and then submerged, swimming as far as he could dead down-current and then surfacing as silently as he was able. He floated on his back, breathing and not letting his feet break the surface as he kicked. He went under again and swam until the need for air drove him up. He then began to swim quietly, desperate to get away. He glanced back once and, though there were men on the quarterdeck firing into the dark, it did not seem to be at him, nor was there any sign that the mine had been discovered.

  Hayden had not swum very far when there was a flash and then an unholy explosion. He was propelled forward briefly and felt as though a massive fist of water had landed a blow to his entire body. He spun around in the water, holding up an arm to protect himself, and saw what appeared to be the entire transom of the ship explode in a monstrous moment of fire.

  Hayden could not tear his eyes away, and hovered there, treading water, watching the stern of the ship heave up and then settle and immediately start to go down.

  ‘My God!’ he muttered. ‘We have done for her.’

  Fire consumed the transom and burned in the rigging and furled mizzen sails. Hayden could see men on the deck picking themselves up.

  ‘You must launch boats,’ he heard himself say.

  But the French did not yet seem to comprehend their situation. And then there was a mad rush to the boats. The ship, however, was going rapidly down by the stern, sinking ever lower as water rushed in. Hayden was certain they would not have a single boat over the side before the ship slipped beneath the surface.

  He watched in fascinated horror as a gun, broken loose by the explosion, rolled and then tumbled down the slanting deck, taking with it men who could not get clear in the press. The ship began to roll on to her starboard side, a great wounded animal going to ground, but this one would never rise again.

  Men began to slip into the water as half the deck went under. One of the boats was manhandled upright and floated off from the sinking vessel, with men leaping aboard and others clinging to the gunwales. The mizzen rigging burned yet, the flame casting a stained hellish light over the scene.

  ‘I never meant to do this,’ Hayden whispered to no one. It was, he realized then, the truth of war – men endeavoured to bring destruction to the enemy, but, once achieved, they then looked in horror upon their own accomplishments. One looked in horror upon one’s self.

  He trod water, floating high above the earth, watching as a hundred men or more began the slow fall toward the earth’s surface. What kind of man could murder a hundred of his own kind?

  Only the forecastle of the sinking ship remained, and there was enacted a scene of such chaos as he had never witnessed, men climbing over their fellows to keep from the sea. Others were shoved over the bulwarks, and then those were pushed over behind.

  A burning ship’s boat came drifting by the stricken ship and he realized it was one of their fire boats, still afloat, carried by the sea. It was a macabre sight, sliding by the sinking ship, as though it had come to cast light on Hayden’s own handy work, like a rebuke from some higher power.

  Aboard the ill-fated ship there was such keening and howling, as though these were not men at all but some wild beasts trapped and about to give up their lives. And then Hayden saw two small boys, holding hands, leap down into the sea, where they disappeared beneath the surface. For a long moment he watched, but they never surfaced again. Hayden realized that he wept, silently.

  ‘Captain Hayden!’ came a cry out of the darkness. ‘Captain Hayden …’

  ‘Here!’ he called back. ‘I am here.’

  ‘Where away, sir?’

  ‘South! Row south!’

  A moment later, a boat came gliding out of the dark and he was being helped over the side by many hands.

  ‘It worked, Captain,’ Childers pronounced, as Hayden tumbled down on to a thwart.

  For some few seconds Hayden could not reply. ‘I never meant to sink her with so many souls aboard.’

  ‘They are privateers, sir,’ Childers replied. ‘They have been raiding our commerce and causing all manner of mischief.’

  ‘For which we might send them into our prisons and later exchange them for our own people. but we would not execute them.’

  Childers was struck dumb by this. Clearly, he had been elated by their success – which had been far greater than they expected.

  ‘It is a war, sir,’ Childers said, almost under his breath, glancing at the men who lay upon their oars.

  ‘Perhaps mankind’s most wicked contrivance. Row me back to our ship,’ Hayden demanded, and then, more softly, ‘How did our crew fare?’

  ‘Four lost, sir. Three wounded.’

  ‘I am mortally sorry to hear it.’

  ‘Look!’ One of the rowers pointed toward the stricken ship.

  A boat appeared then, and a second. The boats from the other privateers had come. Hayden did not want to see what happened next and turned his head away. The oarsmen set to their sweeps, and Childers put his helm over to take them back to their Spanish prize.

  It seemed to Hayden then that, if he managed in the end to have Angelita back, all the joy and goodness of their marriage would be fouled by this one act – to have murdered so many to have her returned. It was unspeakable.

  They were soon alongside the ship, and passed up the wounded first, before Hayden climbed over the side, a puddle forming about him where he stood, watching the hands come up on to the deck.

  Gould came hurrying up. ‘We have done for that privateer! Congratulations, Captain!’

  Hayden gave the smallest nod in reply. As he turned to make his way down to his commandeered cabin, he found Hawthorne before him.

  ‘An accident of war,’ the marine said, as though he knew Hayden’s thoughts. ‘Nothing more. Never was it intended. Just misfortune – almost freakishly so.’

  ‘I do not think the French will believe it so innocent. Our names will be black among those people – my mother’s people. Even my own family will turn away from me. It was a monstrous act, Mr Hawthorne, a monstrous act, and it will haunt us until the day death knocks at our doors.’

  Sleep did not come to Hayden that night. He wanted nothing more than to remain in his cabin, alone, and speak to no one, but he was afraid the French would desire revenge upon them for this terrible act, and he returned to the deck and paced his private section.

  So distraught did he find himself that he was left muttering to no one.

  ‘Never was it my intention to sink them,’ he whispered. ‘To disable them, yes, but never to murder so many.’

  This thought seemed to possess him, and he repeated it over and over as it echoed in his mind. ‘An accident of war’, Hawthorne had called it, but Hayden wondered now how
he could not have realized what would occur. Had not Reverte even suggested as much? To ignite so much powder so near to the ship’s weakest point … What other result could it have had? Why had he not comprehended that? Was his mind so clouded by emotion that he had not been able to perceive that obvious truth?

  Ransome and Reverte prepared the ship for an attack by boats, but the stars blew into the west and no attack came. It left Hayden and perhaps others to a long night of self-recrimination.

  Wind and a thin, grey light reached them at the same instant, as though the morning were pressed on by the breeze. Pennants began to stir, flutter and then stream. Hands were called to make sail and to break out the anchor.

  A short distance off, the privateers did the same. Hayden more than half expected the three remaining ships to turn and come after him, for the odds were very much in their favour, but they did not. Instead, they returned to their previous course, along the Old Channel, as though they had not noticed what had occurred the night before. Indeed, Hayden half wondered if it had not been a nightmare.

  The wind, almost from the north, remained, throughout the day, froward and moody. For a time it would blow and hurry the ships on, but then it would die away so that they all but lost steerage-way, then, for a few hours, it would be but a breeze, falling away and coming back like a soft breath. And then it would make with a vengeance, howling among the rigging so that the ships heeled and were in danger of carrying away spars. Sails were set and handed, and then set again, until the men were exhausted from the work.

  The three enemy ships were kept always within sight, but Hayden could not now imagine how he would take one of them, let alone overcome three to find Angelita. He wondered if she knew what he had done? What would she think of a man who murdered a hundred to have her back? Would she have even the slightest desire to call such a man her husband again?

  The Windward Channel was reached at dawn and, though Hayden expected the ships to continue on, passing through the Mona Channel as they had come, they instead turned down the channel.