by Jens Kuhn
“Anna,” he cried. You need to get your cape. It’s too cold up here, you will catch a fever.”
Anna laughed. “You do not catch fevers from cold air, dear captain. But I won’t stay long. In fact I came to lure you down into the cabin. I have something to discuss with you in private.”
“Oh.” Baker took a last look at the sails and rigging of his ship and followed her down towards the comparable warmth of the great cabin.
Winther got lucky at the second place. It was a miserable fishing village without even a decent tavern. Nor a decent harbor. A few rotten fishing boats were dragged into the reeds, or half sunk, filled with snow and ice. But the sea was only covered by ice to about twenty yards from the beach. Beyond that was open water. Dark gray water with the occasional whitecap.
There must have been some easterly storm recently that broke up the ice, there being virtually no offshore islands here, Winther contemplated. It was only a shame that it would have to be this utterly desolate place. He wondered where he was to stay. Should he just break into a barn or stable? If there even were any. Slowly he walked along the row of derelict houses, trying to get a glimpse through their windows without seeming too suspicious. Surely somebody must be home?
He stopped, sensing a motion behind a window.
“Hello there,” he called. “Anyone at home?”
There was no answer.
“In the King’s name, show yourself!” he tried.
There was some shuffling noise inside, then the window was thrust open and the face of an old weathered woman appeared.
“Take you king somewhere else,” she croaked “Is the king who has taken my husband’s life and this village’s, too.”
Winther groaned. “Listen, woman, I just need somewhere to stay for the night. I will pay you.”
“I don’t want the king’s money nor you either,” the woman replied. “I’m going to die here anyway. But try Maria, she’d need both money and a man. Last house in the row.”
This starts to look up, Wither thought, walking towards the end of the road.
Chapter 17 – Trouble
Winther awoke with a smile, feeling the woman’s warm body next to him. Maria was exactly what he needed to make this stay bearable. Having lost her husband in the war, she was still young enough to feel lonely at night and gladly accepted him, and of course his money. She was a quiet woman, thin and weary, but warm and soft enough in places. Winther hugged her closer to himself under the thin blanket, hearing her sigh in her sleep.
He wondered how long he would need to stay here. His orders were clear enough, but all matters concerning the the Swedish navy, were characterized by a great deal of insecurity, mess-ups and confusion. Especially during the winter, when all naval operations normally ceased.
As soon as first light trickled through the dirty glass of the window, he pushed Maria aside and rose from the bed.
“Are you leaving?” she asked sleepily.
“No. I will be back. Just going to get some fresh air.”
The woman sighed and went back to sleep.
Winther left the house and walked the few yards to the beach. It was a gray morning and he felt some tension in the air. Perhaps there was a storm coming? At the moment it was still quiet though, the distant water almost placid. Then he realized that the wind came from the west, from the land, leaving the water undisturbed near the shore. He groaned when he came to the obvious conclusion. Until the wind shifted he would be stuck here. Might as well make the best of it, he thought and went back to the house.
“My dear captain,” Anna said as softly as she could manage. “I am worried this is taking far too much time. We have been at sea two days now. Add the two days to get out of the ice. That makes four. By all we can know, the king might be dead. The rebel troops can not be far from Stockholm. And...”
Captain Baker took her in his arms. “Please, Anna. You will not get anywhere troubling yourself like this. The weather cannot be fought.”
She sighed. “I know...I am just getting so concerned.”
“It is very honorable of you, my dear. But surely there must be others who can save the king, or get him out of the country to safety?”
“I don’t think so. Who would that be? I am the only one who has a powerful warship that isn’t full of possible traitors.”
Baker took her face between his hands and kissed her softly. “That you are.”
Smiling at her he continued. “However, the wind does not look like shifting more easterly yet. Rather more to the south I’d reckon. That means we will close the coast today, but we will not get into Norrköping. You might consider going in yourself, or with a few of my marines, by boat and...”
Anna’s body tensed, but she said nothing. Baker looked into her eyes. “Ah,” he said. “I understand. You want the ship to be in plain sight of the city, white ensign aft and atop, guns run out and marines lining the railing?”
She smiled at him then. “That’s the only way. The king would never come with me otherwise.”
Tapper sat atop the fishing smack’s cabin, looking out over the frothing water ahead. The wind had picked up, not enough to be of concern for a ship, but this wasn’t a ship, and although seaworthy, their boat labored considerably in the chop. He turned and looked at the commander who stood in the stern, a wide grin on his face. Seeing the bosun, Kuhlin waved his hand.
“Don’t worry, bosun, it’s only a few more miles and we will be under the lee of the land when it curves southwards.”
Tapper nodded. He knew this. It wasn’t really the weather or the boat he was concerned about. It was Karin. For the first time ever he did not care about himself alone. During the whole of last summer’s war in the Finnish archipelago he hadn’t be overly worried or afraid of dying. But now it was different. He still thought about her almost every minute of his time awake, and dreamed about her frequently when asleep. And while this felt utterly amazing, it also made him more aware of the dangers his life entailed.
“Bosun Tapper!” Kuhlin called.
“Aye, yes sir?”
“Take the tiller for a while?”
“Of course, sir.” Tapper made his way aft. Taking over the tiller he saw that Kuhlin was smiling at him.
“Sorry, sir?” he blushed.
“Still in love, are you, bosun?” Kuhlin chuckled.
“Well, yes, sir I guess. Why do you ask?”
Kuhlin laughed. “I called you back here twice before you even heard me, bosun. You’d better pull yourself together in case there will be some action further ahead.”
Tapper swallowed. “Of course, sir.”
Further north, on the Åland sea, the ice was still solid. And two weeks into the month of March, the Russian attack on Åland began. General Döbeln had prepared his defense best he could, considering the circumstances. He had also, perhaps slightly in defiance of his orders, prepared a line of retreat. Or it had been anticipation. Because, when the Russians came, so came new orders. Orders, not signed by the king – who never would have given up Åland without a fight – but by those who had removed him from his powers.
Döbeln, who was loyal to the king, was both furious and relieved. Furious, because he had not been able, or allowed, to prevent the king from being overthrown. Relieved though, because he now could evacuate these islands and probably save thousands of lives in the process.
Thus, without any more serious bloodshed than the occasional skirmish ever happening on Åland, the Swedish army retreated over the ice towards the mainland, and the town of Grisslehamn. Thanks to a great deal of subterfuge on Döbelns initiative, the Russians were led to believe the Swedish army would stay, negotiate and finally surrender, giving Döbeln the necessary time to get most of his equipment off Åland without even having to fight a proper rear-guard action.
However, the Russians had their own orders. To bring this war to an end quickly and conclusively, they advanced themselves, following the Swedish army over the ice once again, towards the Swedis
h mainland itself. Döbeln, using deceit rather than force, however, succeeded to prevent them from getting ashore. Fearing the ice breaking up, the Russians went back to Åland in the end, exactly as they did much further north, where another trek over the ice proved similarly unsuccessful.
Only in the far north, Russian troops managed to actually get their feet on Swedish soil, and there they stayed until the war eventually ended more than six months later.
Chapter 18 – Camilla
Two more days Winther repeated his daily routine. He walked along the beach, looking out over the sea to the east, looking up into the sky, judging the wind and weather, feeling quite at a loss. After all, he was a soldier, not a sailor and what did he know about things nautical – or meteorological.
The evenings and nights he spent with Maria, savoring her warmth and affection. He knew that this was utterly temporary, and so did she. Still they lived together almost like a couple, giving each other the kind of imaginary security people only seem to appreciate during times of war or extreme personal distress.
Every morning, at first light, he left the cottage, went down to the beach, trying to penetrate the grayness in search for what he so wanted to see. Because it would be the end of this desperate mission. On the other hand, he did not want it to happen, imagining an eternal bubble of bliss, living here, with Maria, and forgetting loyalties, wars and politics completely.
The third morning, though, when he went down to the sea, he felt the change directly. The wind blew in his face, from the southwest instead of west, and it wasn’t even cold. The sky wasn’t blue by all means, but it wasn’t the dense grayness of the last days either. And about 200 yards off the edge of the ice, lay a ship at anchor. It was one of the Swedish navy’s proudest vessels, not at all the biggest, but one of the most well kept and widely used. Drawn by Fredrik Henrik af Chapman, the same man who invented the gunboats Kuhlin and his men had served on during the last summer, Camilla was of a design, especially adapted for the Baltic sea. Carrying forty 24-pounders, she was as heavily armed as any comparable frigate of her time, but Chapman had given her much finer lines and a shallower draft than anything else afloat of that size – less than ten feet. This, he achieved by allowing much less room for storage and provisions, the frigates of the Bellona class, not at all being intended to roam the oceans of the world. In fact, Camilla had never been farther than the Mediterranean, while escorting merchantmen and fighting Barbary pirates.
There were other things that made her special as well. Her great cabin for one, was situated below the quarterdeck, like on an East Indiaman. Thus, she could carry an extra main battery gun port on each side, as well as proper stern ports, a great advantage if attacked by gunboats in a calm.
Sub-lieutenant Winther, of course, had no idea about all of this. Still, even being a soldier, he could appreciate beauty when he saw it. Camilla rode high, having been ordered to sea out of her winter sleep far too early, there hadn’t been time to provision her completely. Her rigging was all newly tarred and the hull freshly painted, despite the lack of resources at the main navy yard at Carlskrona.
Still, Winther could admire what he saw. He was amazed by the contrast of man-made wooden beauty against the gloomy winter sky. The white sails, prettily furled, the gleaming black of the Stockholm tar and the gilded paint of the hull. While he stood there, gaping at the sight, he realized that a boat had been on its way towards him for quite a while. He straightened up and started to walk back to the cottage in order to retrieve his despatches.
When he returned, the boat had reached the edge of the ice. Winther walked awkwardly towards the waiting men. A very young looking midshipman greeted him and helped him into the boat. As soon as he was seated in the stern sheets, the boat’s crew lowered their oars and started to pull. Winther felt cold immediately. Out on the water, the wind was much more tangible, penetrating his clothes and making him shiver. But the pull to the ship did not take long and soon Winther faced his next obstacle.
The hull of the frigate towered above him like a castle. The gun ports were all closed black squares against bright yellow paint. And the entry port, two decks above him seemed as far away as an unreachable bird perched high up in a tree. There was some sort of wooden steps extending out of the hull, and rope handrails on either side of them, but it all looked awfully unstable. Not to speak of the fact that in order to get to the lowest step he would have to almost jump onto it from the boat – and the boat was bobbing around all the time.
The young midshipman, sensing Winther’s unease, smiled at him and, judging the right moment expertly, gave him a healthy shove, yelling: “off you go!”. Winther jumped, gripped the man ropes for dear life and found himself clambering up the side of the ship like a monkey. Still, he made it all right, and found himself, gasping, in front of an older officer right inside the entry port.
“Welcome aboard Camilla,” the lieutenant said.
Winther, clasping his despatch bag, tried to smile. “Thank you, sir.”
“If you have regained yourself, I will take you to the captain,” the lieutenant continued, a smirk on his face.
Anna slept uneasily, dreaming weird dreams about sleigh rides, storms and fierce rebel troops chasing her through a forest. It did not help, either that captain Baker left her several times during the night in order to check Tartar’s moorings. The wind was shifting and increasing, and the small island that had sheltered them did no longer do so. Still, Baker wanted to wait for first light before he had the frigate moved. When he finally ordered all hands on deck to unmoor ship, Anna rose as well, put her furry cape around her and went on deck.
The weather did look a lot nicer, but it did not feel the same, what with the wind being stronger and more chilly and the water having become more choppy and restless. She sighed. Hopefully the wind was blowing from a direction now which enabled them to get into this cursed inlet. She was quite near despairing, that much she could admit. Most probably everything was over already and all her efforts were of no use whatsoever. A pleasure cruise on her own frigate, that was what this probably was by now. The thought still made her smile. She had never been on a pleasure cruise before.
She looked out over the water, her thoughts wandering to Eric and their time together at his estate. That had been special. She sighed, trying to pull herself together. Whatever her feelings for him, she knew now that she never could live like that. Well, perhaps for a while longer, or for extended periods of time even. But not for the rest of her life. She turned around, looking over the quarterdeck. Captain Baker stood next to the big wheel, giving orders to his first lieutenant. Anna liked the Englishman, she decided. Not only because he had power and commanded a ship, but also because he seemed to care about her in an unselfish manner she hadn’t met in so many men before. In Eric, yes, he was the same. But would he really risk his career for her, like Baker apparently did without even thinking about it? Probably not. She wondered why he did it. Sometimes she really did not understand men at all.
Aboard the fishing smack conditions were deteriorating. The wind chill made the men cold to the bone, the warm soup was gone and the small cabin did not provide more than temporary shelter. While the wind still wasn’t too strong for the boat to be sailed, it had shifted enough to force them to tack into it, increasing the apparent wind speed and thus the chill. To sail the boat, two men were needed on deck at the same time, while the rest huddled together in the cabin. Kuhlin, who did not stand a watch himself, was permanently occupied with navigation. They only had a primitive chart of the area and he was very much depending on visual observation of the water and the surrounding islands. Fortunately the boat had a very shallow draft, so shoals could often be seen before they hit them. Still, they touched rock several times, bringing frightened expressions on the two fishermen’s faces.
“Sir?” Tapper touched Kuhlin’s sleeve carefully.
“Yes, bosun?”
“May I suggest we take ashore somewhere and rest, sir? I think we are
all getting pretty exhausted...and...”
“I know, bosun.” Kuhlin sighed. The first night they had been sailing through without stopping, three men at a time trying to get some sleep on the wooden berths in the small cabin. They all knew that time was of the essence what with the frigate sailing so much faster. But Tapper was right. They were no use to anyone if they lost too much of their strength. He looked at the chart.
“Alright, bosun, we will put ashore and rest for four hours. We might even get a fire going.”
Tapper smiled wearily. “Thank you, sir.”
Winther entered Camilla’s great cabin with careful steps, clutching the despatch bag. He didn't have any idea a ship could feel so big. All he had been on before were open boats or ferries, a gunboat even. But this was like a house, actually much bigger than the cottage Maria lived in. In the middle of the cabin stood a wooden desk, and in front of it was a man, wearing a full captain’s uniform.
“Ah, sub-lieutenant Winther?”
“Yes, sir.” Winther stood to attention.
“At ease, soldier,” the captain said, smiling. “This isn’t the army. My name is Trolle, by the way. Please take a seat. Do you want a glass of something? Actually, I even have some wine...got it from a Danish brig we took on our way here. You have orders for me I trust?”
Winther handed the despatch bag to the captain, the sat down on a chair next to the desk. Trolle opened the bag and produced a sealed envelope. Putting the bag on the desk he carefully examined the seal. Then he looked at Winther.
“Did you say you wanted some wine?”
Winther nodded.
Captain Trolle called to his servant and ordered two glasses of wine. He sat down behind the desk, holding the envelope into his hands.
