by Jens Kuhn
He judged the distance to the Swedish frigate. She was still one and a half cables away. At this speed that would give him only a few minutes until the ships would collide, if neither of them altered course or speed. Baker studied Camilla. Her gun ports were still closed, except the most forward one, from which the shot across their bows had come.
What would Trolle do. How far was he prepared to go. Would he really risk a fight. Baker made his decision.
“Mr. Reeman, run out the guns, if you please.”
“Aye aye, sir!”
In unison Tartar’s gun ports were flung open, and men hauled the heavy ropes that pulled the guns outwards, muzzles extending, the frigate baring her teeth like an angry animal.
Only seconds later, the same thing happened aboard Camilla. Anna gasped, clasping Baker’s arm firmly. Baker put his other hand on hers.
“I think it might perhaps be better if you went below, my dear.”
Anna frowned. “And miss the action? Oh no, I will stay right here.”
Baker sighed. “Very well. But if there is firing try to keep your head low.”
She nodded and smiled at him. Not that he’d believed she would. But one had to try, he thought. Turning his attention back to the Swedish frigate he narrowed his eyes.
“She’s falling off,” the sailing master cried.
“One point to larboard,” Baker ordered.
Camilla had changed her course first, slightly to starboard, towards the land. Baker took this as a good sign. At least Trolle didn’t want to actually lay her alongside. So as a sign of good will, if that was at all possible what with both ships cleared for action and guns run out, he had slightly changed course away from the Swedish frigate – and also, unfortunately from his intended course. Both ships were now sailing on a parallel course at about a cable’s distance. Tartar had the weather gauge, meaning she was on the windward side of Camilla, giving her more options of maneuvering than the Swede. In a battle in open waters, this would have been an immense advantage, but here, amongst islands and shallows it wasn’t necessarily the case.
“What is he going to do?” Anna asked.
Baker shrugged. “I have no idea. I still doubt he will open fire in earnest.”
Aboard Camilla, sub-lieutenant Winther stared at the British frigate. He was frightened. The ship was so near, and the guns were so big, bigger than anything he had ever seen. Being a soldier, he was used to field artillery, thin tiny barrels on carriages with huge wheels, firing cannonballs smaller than an egg, weighing six pounds perhaps eight. These monsters’ shot weighed almost a ton and the cannonballs were four times as heavy as those on land. He didn’t want to even imagine what their effect would be. They would go right through the thick planking of the ship, splintering it, send hundreds of sharp fragments into the air and bodies of the unprotected men. He shuddered.
On the quarterdeck, captain Trolle stood with a smile on his face. He had known Baker to be a stubborn bastard. The English had this thing with ruling the waves and never give in to anyone else’s orders. Still, he would stop him, one way or the other. He called up a mental picture of the chart of the inlet. The northern part, where they were sailing now, was deep and safe enough. But a little further to the south was an area of interesting shallows and partly submerged rocks.
“Two points to larboard,” he ordered.
“She is altering course,” The first lieutenant remarked.
“I can see that, thank you Mr. Reeman. We will do the same, I think. Keep her on a parallel course at all times, if you please.”
“Aye aye, sir”.
Baker wondered what Trolle would do next. Clearly he wasn’t too keen on an exchange of broadsides. Which was good. But it also made it more difficult to plan his own moves. He could not just fight his way through, like he would have done if his opponent had been, well French or something.
“How are you coping, soldier?” Trolle called to sub-lieutenant Winther. “You look a bit pale do you not? Are you well?”
Winther tried to smile. “I’m alright, sir. Just not used to the sea!” He hesitated. “By your leave, sir, what are you going to do? I mean, how are we to stop her. Do we really have to fight her?”
Trolle chuckled. “That depends on what you mean by fight. I don’t plan to sink her, you know. But there might be needed a certain amount of force, I am afraid. These English are very stubborn creatures.”
He strolled to the larboard side of the deck. Holding a mizzen shroud for support, he leaned over the side and looked ahead. Then his gaze wandered towards the British frigate, sailing on a parallel course still, about half a ship’s length behind.
“I think it is time,” he said to himself, then raised his voice. “Prepare to come about!”
“What’s he doing now?” Anna asked, her eyes on the Swedish frigate. On Camilla’s deck, men swarmed, seemingly without purpose, but then order returned and the big vessel started to change course once again, more radically this time, not only the rudder being turned to another angle, but also the yards that hold the sails.
“She’s coming about,” Baker explained. “Turning through the wind as to pass directly under our stern. And as she is ahead of us, very closely it will be.”
“Is that dangerous?”
“In a normal battle, yes. Very dangerous. He could rake us, shoot cannonballs right through our stern windows. They would fly all the way through the ship, there being no wooden bulkheads to stop them.”
Anna gasped.
“But I don’t think he will do that now. This is just a game of cat and mouse I would suspect.”
“But surely...” Anna hesitated.
“Don’t worry, my dear, I’ve some aces of my own,” Baker smiled. “Mr. Reeman, would you be so kind as to clew up the topsails for a minute?”
As the hands pulled on the clew lines, the lower corners of the sails rose, lessening the sail area and slowing down the ship. The Camilla, supposed to pass closely under Tartar’s stern was now pointing directly at her quarterdeck.
“She is going to ram us!” Anna exclaimed.
“Oh no, Baker replied calmly, “She isn’t. Look!”
Camilla started to turn again, more to larboard, further away from the wind. Like birds in a mating dance, Anna thought as the other frigate performed a complete turn, presenting her stern gallery, then the other side, until the two ships sailed on a parallel course again, but now with Camilla half a ship’s length behind the Englishman.
Captain Baker laughed. “That was fun,” he said, chuckling. Anna, smiling wearily, didn’t really think so. This wasn’t helping her to get the king out, and frankly, she was starting to despair.
“I am sorry to interrupt your..eh..amusement, but I really think we should hurry and...”
“Wait!” Baker said, looking at the Swedish frigate, which was altering her course again, but this time in the wrong direction. “Down!” he shoved Anna hard behind the binnacle, making her yelp in surprise. At the same instant, Camilla’s broadside erupted in smoke and fire.
Chapter 21 - Survival
The broadside took Baker completely by surprise. He stood, his mouth agape, as the cannonballs whined through the rigging of his ship, holes appearing in her sails, cordage ripping, wood splintering and men in the fighting tops screaming in agony. One sailor fell as the yard he was working on was ripped in two, landing on the deck with a soft thud, not to move ever again.
Baker shook his head. This wasn’t happening. He looked around him. Anna was crouching behind the binnacle, unhurt thank God. In fact, the decks were undamaged, the broadside apparently having been aimed high in order to damage the rigging. Like the French, Baker thought distastefully. He looked towards the Swedish frigate which now had resumed her original course as if nothing had happened.
“Sir?” Mr. Reeman looked at his captain, eyebrows raised.
“Of course, Mr. Reeman. Be so kind as to return fire.”
“Two points to starboard!” Reeman roared. “Aim low.�
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Slowly, Tartar turned to starboard and one after another the gun captains raised their hands, fist clenched, as Camilla appeared in their view. As the last gun was thus reported ready, Reeman looked at Baker, who nodded.
“Fire!” Reeman ordered. And Tartar’s broadside erupted, belching hot smoke, fire and iron. Anna gasped, her hands tightly pressed over her ears. Then she looked at the other ship. It was difficult to see the effect of their broadside. Baker had aimed low, as was the British way, in order to damage the hull and kill people, not damage the sails and clip the enemy’s wings. But the hull was the most solid part of the ship and while there were some parts of the railing clearly missing, Camilla looked exactly as she had before.
“Did we at all do any damage?” Anna asked, eyes wide.
Aboard Camilla, captain Trolle examined the damage the broadside had done to his ship. One gun had been turned over, rendering it useless and badly maiming the men who happened to end up under the heavy iron. Other men were injured by splinters, most of them lightly. But only a few yards from him lay sub-lieutenant Winther, sans his head, blood still trickling out of his neck.
Trolle sighed and turned back to the task at hand. Baker had reacted as expected, of course. Perhaps firing on him hadn’t been the best move, but after the failed maneuver he needed a way to distract Baker and, preferably, cripple his ship.
“We will try again, he told his first lieutenant. Prepare to come about, and warn the starboard gun crews. It will be their turn next.”
“She’s turning again,” Reeman observed as Camilla’s foresails started to flap.
“Yes,” Baker replied. “And this time she even might succeed. As she is behind us, we cannot block her by slowing down.”
“We could alter course to starboard and give her our broadside as she turns?”
“We could,” Baker grunted. “But we would then lose the weather gauge. What that’s worth in these waters. Still, we will do no such thing, we will come about as well and meet her on the same tack.”
And Tartar started to turn southwards as well.
“What now, Mr. Pope?” Baker narrowed his eyes at the sailing master who had come running from below, where he probably had been hiding under his charts, Baker thought.
“Captain, sir, on this course, there are shallows ahead. I am not sure we will pass over, sir.” Pope was sweating heavily.
“Calm down, Mr. Pope. Our Swedish friend is on the same course, is he not? Surely he must know his waters?”
“But, sir, the Admiralty charts...”
“Sod the Admiralty, Mr. Pope. I am certain, the Swedes have perfectly reliable charts over their own waters. That captain over there, Trolle, he is no fool. He has sailed these waters all of his life. So I suggest you just go back down to your charts and correct them.”
“But sir...”
Dismissed, Mr. Pope,” Baker hissed, turning his gaze back to the Swedish frigate just in time to see her broadside erupt in smoke once again.
“Fire,” he shouted and as the Swedish cannonballs once again whined through the rigging and showered the men on deck in splinters, broken cordage and blocks, their own guns boomed their reply.
Anna stood at the binnacle, eyes wide, too stunned to move when she heard someone shout a warning. Looking up, she saw the big mizzen boom bulge and splinter, the aft end toppling down towards the deck and her. She threw herself out of the way, ending up at the lee bulwarks, staggered against them for support. There was a bit of the railing missing, but she caught a grip on the wood next to the hole and pulled herself up slowly. Just as she began to look around her, a shudder went through the ship, wood creaked and then it came to a sudden stop, flinging everything forward, breaking spars as the masts strained against already half-broken shrouds and stays and Anna was cast off her feet again, finding no support now, tumbling through the hole in the bulwarks and into the sea.
“Cease fire,” captain Trolle ordered. “Secure guns, and close gun ports.” The battle was over, his goal achieved. Best not to give Baker an excuse for more bloodshed. Sure, there was a risk the Englishman would continue to fire as Camilla slowly passed, but Trolle didn’t expect it. Baker, after all, was a gentleman and would accept his defeat.
“Prepare to dip the ensign,” he ordered.
Gracefully, Camilla drew past the British frigate, passing over the very shallows that had stopped Tartar dead in her tracks, with several feet of water to spare. When she was level with the other ship’s quarterdeck, the big Swedish flag flying from the mizzen gaff boom, was slowly lowered half way down in greeting. As a bewildered looking midshipman scurried aft aboard Tartar and did the same, Camilla’s ensign rose to the top again. Slowly, she sailed past and disappeared between the islands, carefully threading her way back to the main channel towards Norrköping.
“Good God,” af Klint exclaimed as the fishing smack finally made it past the islands and they had a clear view ahead. There was HMS Tartar, sitting at an odd angle, bows too high, fore-topmast hanging in its shrouds over the starboard bow, mizzen boom splintered, shortly, she was a complete mess. Her gun ports were still open, her guns still run out, but yet she did not look menacing any longer. Men were working on her, cutting away broken cordage, clearing the decks of tattered sails.
Kuhlin steered the boat towards the frigate, while Tapper and af Klint stood in her bows, frantically trying to get a glimpse of Anna on the ship’s deck. But she was not to be seen, not even as the boat sailed closer and hove-to under the stern of the frigate.
“Ahoy, Tartar,” Kuhlin called.
A young officer appeared, looking down at them a worried expression on his face.
“Do you need any assistance?” Kuhlin asked.
The officer shook his head, but there was a look of uncertainty in his eyes.
“Can I speak to your captain? I am an acquaintance of his, my name is Kuhlin. Commander Kuhlin?”
“I’m sorry, sir, the captain is...indisposed. And we are aground and have been fired on by one of your ships and...”
Clearly that officer was in a state of shock, Kuhlin thought. “Are you in command, then? Do you know anything about your passenger, Miss Anna?”
The English officer looked startled.
“I don’t know...I mean, yes, I’m in command, I am the first officer...”
“Is Miss Anna alright?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t seen her since we ran aground.”
“Christ!” af Klint exclaimed.
Kuhlin took a deep breath trying to keep calm.
“Could you send someone to look for her, please? Or let us aboard?”
The officer hesitated. “I will send someone to look for her. Can’t let you aboard, we are...um...in a bit of a mess here.”
So they waited, impatiently, nervously. Eric af Klint was nearing a state of despair, when the officer came back to the railing, shaking his head. “She seems not to be aboard any more,” he said.
Eric groaned. Sitting down on a thwart, he took his head between his hands.
“She must have gone overboard with the impact,” bosun Tapper observed in a low voice.
“We will conduct a search,” Kuhlin said. Raising his voice he addressed the English officer. “Can you spare a boat’s crew to look for her, lieutenant?”
Reeman, for it was he who now had the command of HMS Tartar, with Baker having been injured in the head by a falling block, shook his head.
“I am sorry, but we need our boats to deploy kedges...you see...we must get the ship off...”
Kuhlin started to get angry. “Listen, lieutenant, that can wait. Your ship is fine. There are no tides here, so you won’t be getting either higher or lower water. You can get off or not get off, whenever you want. But there might be a woman in the water and there is not a minute to be lost. Lower a boat and help searching, now!”
Reeman shook his head slowly. Then he disappeared.
“I can’t believe it,” Kuhlin growled. Then he ordered the sails to b
e sheeted in, and the fishing smack started to move, slowly circling the waters around the frigate.
The cold water clutched around her like a giant iron fist. She could not breathe, she could not move, she could not even think. When she surfaced, propelled upwards by the air trapped in her clothes, Anna gasped for air. Blinking away the salt water out of her eyes, she tried to look around her, but she could not move her head. She tried to swim, but she could not move her legs. She still could feel her arms, though, so she tried to move them, to turn herself around. Every move was an immense effort, exhausting her, making her gasp. Slowly she managed to turn around until she saw the ship. It was about fifty yards away. Too far to swim to, she realized. She wondered why she didn’t feel cold. Shouldn’t she be freezing? Instead she felt almost warm. Her brain was working so slowly, she felt like she was going to fall asleep. Couldn’t do that, surely. She would die then, would she not?
She thought about Eric. What would he feel if she died. Would he be angry? Or sad? The thought made her almost smile. She felt a burst of energy, some last effort of her brain...or was it her heart? She tried to move her arms again, paddling, she even felt her legs, faintly. Concentrating, she tried to move them. But they would not obey.
Anna felt a short sting of despair, then her mind started to drift away. She felt sleepy. Nothing did really matter, did it? And actually, it was quite warm.
Kuhlin knew that their chances of finding Anna alive were minimal. In these temperatures a human body does not survive many minutes. Lots of clothes as well as body fat could prolong the time, but only with a few minutes.
“Eric?” he said softly. af Klint was still sitting on the thwart, head in his hands.
“You are not much help just sitting there,” Kuhlin continued.
Eric lifted his head. “I doubt there is anyone who can help now.”
Kuhlin nodded. “We must still try.”
And they resumed their search. Tapper, standing in the bows, watched the starboard side while, the two fishermen kept their lookout to larboard. Kuhlin was at the tiller, steering the boat.
