by Peter Greene
After a moment, Delain continued.
“You have thought of this, haven’t you Miss Thompson?” asked Delain, with a note of encouragement. “That women are meant for taking our part in this world.”
Barbara paused, then continued. “It is a dangerous world, Delain, and best meant for strong men with purpose.”
“We are strong women with purpose,” countered Delain, “a purpose that is just the same as a man’s: to live a full and exciting life. To do as we like, not as we are told!”
Barbara laughed. “You sound like an American.”
“I have met some,” said Delain, defensively. “The women are proud and knowledgeable. They even engage in political debate, in public!”
“That is what I would expect from them,” said Barbara with a disapproving tone. “They are uncouth and, and…”
“Free?” suggested Delain. “I would give up all this prissiness, all this ladylike pretending to be what I want to be—in charge of my own affairs. And I will be one day.”
They rode on in silence for some time, each in her own thoughts. Delain believed that she might have been too forceful in expressing her views, and she possibly could have insulted Miss Thompson. Was it right for her to even mildly suggest that Barbara should change her plans and her course in life? She was soon to be engaged to Admiral Nathaniel Moore—even the papers had printed speculation, and certainly they were in love—and if that was what Barbara thought of as her destiny, well, it wasn’t an unpleasant one.
Barbara thought, for her part, that possibly Delain did have a point, though an uncomfortable one.
Upon their turn toward home, Daffy and Daisy now rejoined them, happily wagging their cropped tails, muddy and wet, each proudly carrying in their mouths some dark and furry creature they had killed. This set both human ladies screaming in horror, then laughter, which caused the dogs to stop and wonder what all the fuss was about.
At least they can do what they want, thought Barbara as she contemplated the grizzly scene. She was prissy, she had to admit, and Delain certainly was not, though at times, the youngster was very much a lady. Was there a way to be both? What would it feel like to be even a little bit free and have a future that was completely in her own control?
“Shall we race back to the Bracknell Stables?” suggested Barbara.
“Really?” asked Delain, with a look of hopefulness.
With that, Barbara Thompson deftly swung a leg over her mount’s head, and now, riding astride as a man would, bolted onward.
“Well, ladies,” Delain said to the Airedales as she quickly swung her leg over her black filly’s head and soon was sitting as Barbara had done. “What are we waiting for?”
Delain nudged the filly, and Daisy and Daffodil followed in earnest.
9
The Bow Chaser
With two days’ sailing behind her, the Paladin had put the Bay of Biscay to her port side with the French coast more than two hundred and fifty miles beyond. Though England and France were at peace, the Paladin took no chances, keeping close to fifteen knots and almost a direct course south.
Leaving his cabin, Commander Harrison ascended the small ladder to the main deck. He observed his ship on this windy and cloudy day and considered his crew from a position a few yards behind Fawcett, who was at the wheel as sailing master. He was currently instructing a young midshipman on the finer points of piloting.
“Easy, Mister Moore. Not so jerky, eh?” he said.
“Yes, Fawcett,” replied Jonathan. “But she is so big, and the wind is not consistent in direction.”
“Big?” repeated Fawcett. “At eighteen guns and one hunnert feet, she’s not big by any standard. The one-hunnert-gun Victory—now that’s a large ship.”
“But the wind,” said Jonathan. “And the sea is a bit rough.”
“Let the ship move before ya try to correct your course, Moore. Small movements, wait ’n see, then another adjustment.”
“But what if I go off course?” said Jonathan.
“Don’t worry. Ya won’t be hittin’ nothing out here!” laughed Fawcett. “That’s enough fer today. See ya tomorrow, and we will go again.”
“I thank you,” said Jonathan as he turned over the helm to its master.
The seas came with a slight chop today, breezes strong. At times, a wave would strike her just right, and the Paladin would rock on her beam, slightly, sending a few of the novice crew to the deck, and causing them to wonder just how safe this expedition of sailing the sea could actually be.
Gathered in a small group at the starboard rail stood Sean, along with Marshall, the gun captain, experienced and just recently assigned from HMS Orion. He had assembled a group of seasoned men to assist him in checking guns as the seas tossed, assuring they were secure. In these rough waters, a gun breaking loose could not only damage itself, but also the ship and, most dangerously, the crew.
As Jonathan joined the group, the Paladin was once again struck by a wave coming from the starboard side, and she rolled once again on her beam, side to side. This caused the bell, usually secured with a series of ropes tied in knots, to mysteriously ring. Dong, dong, dong!
“Is that bell ringin’ by itself?” asked Marshall.
“It is,” said Bowman, an experienced seaman of many years.
“A bad omen, that is,” said Welty, also new to the Paladin from Orion.
“And why is that?” asked Jonathan.
“Yes,” said Sean nervously, petting Stewie quickly, as if to use the good luck of the cat to ward off the bad luck that was surely caused by the lone bell.
“A dead man’s hand rings it,” said Marshall, ominously.
“Aye,” said Welty, shaking his head in fear. “I ’ave ’eard it before. Never a good sign.”
“It was the tossin’ of the ship,” said Jonathan, with a laugh. “Nothing more.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir,” said Marshall. “I was aboard the Argo years past. The bell, it rang just like this one did. Lonesome it sounded, like the dead calling us to join them.”
“The dead?” said Sean, now furiously stroking the cat. Certainly, a bell ringing with no human hand to blame, at least not a live one, well, that was reason for concern.
“Aye, the dead!” said Marshall. “An’ the Argo, she went down, didn’t she, Bowman? You were there with us!”
“I don’t want ta talk about it,” said Bowman, returning to his work.
“I was on ’er as well,” said Welty, staring off into the distance as he remembered the scene. “She went down in the North Sea, and many of us tossed overboard in the tempest. The bell rang, and within minutes, we ’ad hit something—a reef or a sand bar. It was so dark. Many didn’t live.”
“I said I don’t want ta talk about it,” said Bowman, aggravated.
“Yer not! I am,” said Welty. “It was all we could do to get the boats loose before she was smashed by ol’ Poseidon and his fury. Some said it was because we had that Irishman aboard, him bein’ bad luck and all.”
“Irishman?” said Sean nervously as he looked to Jonathan for some reassurance that his Irishness wouldn’t jeopardize the ship. Stewie began to whine as he was now being almost roughed by Sean’s attention.
“Sean, this is not true. It’s all superstition,” Jonathan said.
“Yer fine, Flagon,” said Marshall. “Yer a blond Irishman—thank God yer not a redhead! Then we’d be in a fix!”
“Plus,” added Welty, “You’ve been past the equator! An’ that gold ring ya got fer doin’ so? It will bring us luck!”
“Gold ring?” asked Sean, now frightened. “What gold ring?”
“The gold ring! In yer ear,” said Welty. “The one ya got for crossing the ’quator!”
“I never got one!” exclaimed Sean, moving his hair to show his naked ear. He looked from man to man, hoping for some assurance that there was some way to right this oversight.
“Ya didn’t?” asked the chorus of men.
“Oh, dearest Lor
d!” said Marshall. “We might be on a cursed ship.”
“With a cursed captain!” added Welty.
Jonathan held up his hand and scowled at Welty and the others.
“What is this talk?” he said forcefully. The men froze. “Now hear this! Who here thinks we have a cursed captain?”
The men fell silent, embarrassed and unwilling to upset Jonathan by calling his friend cursed.
“Speak up now!” shouted Jonathan.
The men looked to each other, not wanting to speak. Finally, Welty looked up, face red and worried. He nervously held his hat in his hands, fidgeting with the brim.
“So sorry sir, it’s just that—”
“Just what?” asked Jonathan, obviously upset.
“It’s just that Captain Harrison…” continued Welty slowly. “Men have been talkin’. It’s true ’e has lost every ship he’s been on.”
Jonathan laughed.
“You men and your superstitions! Based in ignorance and fear! And it is not true besides! Thomas Harrison was on the Danielle, and she still sails. He was also aboard the Drake, and captured her! He sailed the Annie from the Battle of Fire!”
“Well, sir,” said Welty. “He’s not totally cursed then.”
Jonathan stood upright and tugged his jacket tight about him to show he was upset and would now exercise his rank.
“I will have no more talk of this idiotic superstition, especially about Captain Harrison. This is a direct order. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir,” came the meek reply.
As Jonathan turned about and walked to the stern, the men watched him go, embarrassed.
“Just the same,” said Marshall, “we need ta get Flagon ’is gold earring.”
“Tonight,” added Bowman.
“I got an extra,” said Welty. “Not real gold, but it will do the trick.”
Sean nodded his acceptance, continuing to stroke Stewie, to the cat’s growing discomfort.
Within the hour, the wind had died down, the surrounding seas became more composed, the tossing stopped, and the sun appeared warm and inviting. On the stern, unaware of the previous discussion about curses and luck, Harrison observed his realm and the approach of Patrick Jenkins.
“You called for me, sir?”
“Ah, Jenkins, yes!” said Harrison. “Thank the maker for an experienced hand. I have a letter for you here.”
“Aye, sir, and thank you,” Jenkins said. He took the letter—a large envelope actually—and stood at attention.
There was a brief moment of silent awkwardness.
“Don’t you want to read it?” asked Harrison in an amused tone.
“Yes sir,” said Jenkins, and he immediately began to open the packet.
“I believe it is from the Admiralty,” added Harrison.
Jenkins considered the envelope quizzically, as if to say, “What would the Admiralty want with me?” The envelope was slightly larger than the typical correspondence one received on a ship, and that meant it was no mere letter. He opened the wrapping and held it out. A look of surprise came over his face.
“I must say, Jenkins, that I was made aware of this order last week,” said Harrison. “Congratulations! You are to go before the Navy Board upon our return and be examined for warrant officer, to become boatswain, to use the correct title, of HMS Paladin.”
Jenkins appeared shocked. He had figured that holding a warrant in His Majesty’s Navy was not in his future. He had thought that, yes, maybe years ago it was possible, but a series of unfortunate events and captains had moved the promotion further and further away. A seaman first class was as far as he could have hoped for. Yet here, at the age of forty-five, he had finally been given a chance.
“T-thank you, sir,” said Jenkins. “I-I don’t know what to say.”
“No need to thank me,” said Harrison. “Just make sure you do us proud and pass the examination! As a warrant officer for this ship, you were the natural choice. In anticipation of your most assured promotion, I have a surprise for you, actually from Captain William Walker. Your pipe!”
Harrison produced a small box, wrapped in plain brown paper, tied with yarn. Jenkins reverently opening the package, saving the wrapping and string. Once opened, he held up a fine silver pipe, small enough to fit in one hand with a bell-like buoy on one end and a long pipe, or gun that one was to blow into. The shackle, or ring attached to the keel-like structure that ran along the bottom of the gun had a sturdy chain of links attached to it. Jenkins immediately looped it around his neck, then removed it quickly, as if it had stung him.
“Jenkins?” said Harrison, surprised.
“Bad luck, sir, to wear it before I-I am tested!”
Harrison furrowed his brow.
“Jenkins! Hogwash! Do you know who the examiner will be? Admiral Moore!”
“Oh,” said Jenkins. “I believe he is favorable to me?”
“Indeed! To not test the pipe, well, that would be bad luck!”
“May I then, sir?” asked Jenkins, like a proud child who had just received exactly what he wanted for a present. His eyes glowed, and his teeth shown in a wide smile of anticipation.
“Do you know how to play it?” asked the commander.
“Yes, sir! Maybe…something simple? A ‘still’?”
The ‘still,’ of course, was the call to attention. Anyone hearing it aboard the ship would stand at attention immediately until the ‘carry-on’ call was piped.
“By all means,” granted Harrison, now adjusting his coat and standing perfectly erect. “Proceed!”
Jenkins held the pipe in his right hand and covered the small hole in the buoy with his index finger. He blew firmly, creating a single note, held it for eight seconds, and then ended it abruptly. Harrison watched as all on deck, and he assumed all below who could hear, immediately snapped to attention, ramrod-straight, arms at their sides. He chuckled.
“Spa-len-did!” he said.
Jenkins then took another breath, blew a second-long high note, then released his finger from the hole, causing the note to drop in pitch. He cut it immediately. The crew resumed their duties.
“Sir,” asked Jenkins, excitedly. “Would you like ‘hands to dinner,’ or possibly—”
“No, no, Jenkins,” said Harrison, smiling. “That was a fine example of your abilities. No more piping, except as dictated. You will soon be an officer of this vessel, and I expect you to perform your duties to the letter and with all dispatch.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jenkins, snapping to attention and staring out to sea, somewhere to the left of the commander’s head.
“Jenkins, you are my eyes and ears aboard this ship. I rely on you. Tell me everything you see. Everything.”
“Aye, sir!” said Jenkins formally. “Just as Steward was to Captain Walker, so will I be to you!”
“Well, let us have a little less of Steward, for the glory of the king, and more of Jenkins, eh?” suggested Harrison.
“Yes, sir,” said Jenkins.
“Now, on to less exciting business,” said Harrison. “Complete a full evaluation of rigging and sails after sending my lieutenants, my midshipman, and Sergeant Hudson to my cabin.”
Now would come the true test of the captain’s quarters. As Harrison knew, the space was small for what he needed by himself, and it would certainly be too small for five people to attend. No matter how he moved items—his large table that was to seat six full-grown men, chairs, tall dresser, lamps, locker—the available space remained the same.
A knock came at the door.
“Enter,” he said, and in came his two lieutenants, his marine sergeant, and his midshipman. “Gentlemen, please have a seat, if you can find one. I have arranged and rearranged this room numerous times, and still, it is too confining. Let us try to fit the best we can.”
“I wonder, sir, if the carpenter could arrange something for you, short of an addition?” suggested Alexander.
“Possibly,” said Harrison. “A capital idea. Ask Streen to s
ee me when we are finished.”
“Yes, sir,” said Alexander.
“Is Fawcett aware of our position?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Alexander as he found a spot to stand between the captain’s chair and the lamp on the dresser.
Quinn moved to the windowsill—actually only a small piece of wood trim by the bottom of the center window that protruded less than three inches, just enough to take some of the weight off a man’s feet in exchange for, literally, a pain in the rear. This left Jonathan with no option except to stand in the center of the room, with Hudson acting, more or less, as the door.
“Men,” Harrison began, “three orders of business. First, upon our return, Jenkins will be tested for his warrant.”
“Sir!’ Jonathan exclaimed, his heart swelling with joy and surprise. Hudson had the same reaction.
“He is long overdue and certainly more than able,” added Harrison. “A shame it has taken so long. Makes no sense at all; however, it will be righted soon.”
“Indeed, sir!” said Jonathan, smiling. He had always been fond of Jenkins, and now he was more than happy for him. It was as if the universe were finally recognizing that a good man must be rewarded.
“Next topic,” continued Harrison. “I received a large crate that I had placed amidships just fore of the mainmast. You may have seen it. A gift it is, from none other than Captain Blake.”
“Sir? Our Captain Blake?” Jonathan asked, smiling at Hudson, who returned the grin.
“Yes, indeed. The one who owes his command of the Drake to us!” Harrison said as he too smiled. They had captured the Drake less than a year prior. Then under the name Fiero, it was captained by rumrunners. Along with Miss Delain Dowdeswell, Sean, Hudson, and Hicks, they successfully took the ship off the shore of Conception Island.
“As a fine thank you, Captain Blake has sent us one of the deck guns. I believe, Jonathan, it is one of those that you actually fired at the approaching boats.”
“It was Miss Dowdeswell, actually, who did the firing,” added Jonathan. “I had my hands full at the time. Might I suggest we name it after her?”
