by David Healey
One of the sailors tugged at his elbow. It was almost impossible to hear anything in the noise and confusion, so the man leaned close enough that his whiskers scraped Alexander's ear. "Beggin' yer pardon, young sir, but the captain wants you on deck."
What could Bellingham want? Roger took command of Alexander's guns as well as his own, and Alexander ran up on deck. He reported to the captain on the quarterdeck.
"There you are," Bellingham said. His face looked drawn and worried, which was unexpected. "Let me explain the situation, Mr. Hope. They have taken us quite by surprise through their trickery. Let it be a lesson for us all. Now, I would expect they shall try to board us shortly. If that should happen, I will work with Lieutenant Swann to repel the enemy. If I am so engaged, I want you to take command."
"Of the guns?"
"Of the ship, Mr. Hope. The other ensigns will be busy elsewhere, but you and Cullins will steer the ship and defend the quarterdeck as necessary. The marines will be at their own work, so pick another man to be stationed here with you—I might suggest Jameson, who is handy in a fight."
"Yes, sir."
Alexander's head was spinning. Command of the ship? It was more than he could have expected. He suspected that circumstances must have been grim for Captain Bellingham to give the order. He ran and got Jameson, telling him to fetch a brace of pistols and a cutlass whilst he was at it.
The enemy ships had drawn closer, but they kept their distance, still wary of Resolution's guns and the marine sharpshooters who peppered their decks with musket fire. He looked up and saw that the gryphons had launched and were forming up. Captain Amelia and Desdemona flew about the rigging high overhead. Then Toby and Lemondrop joined her, along with Rigley and Biscuit. With the ship's other gryphons and flyers, they formed a V formation and swept toward the enemy.
But the French also had gryphons. Alexander saw their dark shapes emerging from the smoke and fog. To his surprise, the Napoleonists' gryphons seemed to ignore Captain Amelia's formation and fly right under them, going straight as an arrow for the Resolution, winging in tight and low to the waves.
There was a reason the enemy gryphons did not fly higher or engage the British flyers. As they flew closer, Alexander saw that they were heavily laden, carrying four or five men apiece. A gryphon could not fly far or maneuver well with that kind of weight. He soon saw that the enemy intended only to reach the Resolution. It was an advance boarding party, meant to gain a hold over Resolution's deck.
The enemy gryphons did not land but hovered over the bow, flapping their enormous wings and hanging above Resolution's deck just long enough for the French flyers and marines to leap down. The enemy’s gryphons did not land. Freed from their burdens, they suddenly swept up into the rigging and lashed at the red-coated marine snipers with their talons and long beaks, all the while keening their frightening battle cries.
The morning sun flashed on the polished metal armor of the French flyers, who shot down the marines with pistols and slashed at them with sabers. Torn from the rigging, the marine sharpshooters fell screaming to the sea. One or two unfortunates landed on the deck with a deadly thud.
"Confound those beasts!" cried Bellingham, snapping off pistol shots at the gryphons. But the gryphons flew too swiftly to make an easy target. Having decimated the marine defenses, the gryphons plunged down and pounced upon the Resolutions defending the bow. None of the French boarding party had fallen, and the half dozen or so fighters were now reinforced by the gryphons and their flyers. They quickly occupied the Resolution's bow.
Ensign Fowler had charge of the bow guns and he was trying to get them turned to use against the French attackers, but the guns were heavy, awkward things. Alexander was surprised to see Fowler draw his sword and fend off an attacker who tried to interfere. He would have thought Fowler would be the type to skulk off and hide during a real fight. Yet he seemed to be everywhere at once, his sword blade flashing in the rising sun.
Then a movement caught Alexander's eye. He looked up to see Desdemona and Captain Amelia sweeping in to join the fight. They had broken away from the attack on the French to return and defend the Resolution from the enemy gryphons. The pair landed on the bow among the Napoleonists. Cut off from any reinforcements, Captain Amelia was set upon from all sides.
"Amelia!" Bellingham cried out in despair. "What in the Seven Seas is she doing!"
Her sword whipped back and forth, beating back the French blades—but there were too many of them. She backed up a step and lost her footing, falling to the deck. An enemy flyer raised his sword to plunge down for a killing stroke and Alexander felt his heart stop.
It would have been Amelia's last moment, but suddenly Desdemona was there, knocking the man down with a swipe of her talons. Still, the French flyers and their gryphons moved in from all sides. Desdemona reared up on her hind legs and slashed at them furiously with her claws and beak.
Alexander turned to look to the captain for help, but Bellingham was gone. Alexander was astonished to see him leaping across the deck as if he were crossing a flooded stream, jumping from an overturned cannon to a barrel to a broken spar. Then he grabbed a dangling rope and swung over the French barricade to land beside Desdemona.
Roaring with battle rage, he fired pistol after pistol into the French attackers at point blank range. Then he swung his cutlass with such power that it knocked his opponent clear off his feet. The captain was a big, powerful man and his face was contorted with fury. One attacker turned and leaped into the sea rather than face the captain. Captain Amelia had regained her footing and was fighting back again with Desdemona beside her.
Then one of the Napoleonists stepped forward with a blunderbuss and fired at Desdemona. The gryphon collapsed onto the deck and lay still. Bellingham ran the man through with his sword, and the fight for the bow was over.
A cheer went up from the men once the enemy’s airborne boarding party had been defeated. No sooner had that victory cry died away than someone shouted an urgent warning.
Alexander looked around with the others, toward a bank of fog touched by the rising sun, and was horrified to see the sail of a third Napoleonist ship bearing down upon them.
CHAPTER TWENTY
"It just gets more an' more interestin', don't it?" Old Cullins remarked. "Give me a storm any day over fighting not one, not two, but three ships!"
He spun the wheel to catch the wind and better align Resolution to meet this new challenge. The ship stood at least some chance against one Napoleonist frigate and the sloop—if they were lucky. Against a third enemy ship, however, they were almost certainly doomed. Combined, the ships would have more than twice as many guns and could encircle the Resolution. As if to emphasize the thought, a bullet sang past Alexander's ear.
He looked toward the bow, where Captain Amelia was bent over Desdemona, stroking the dying gryphon's head. Once or twice, Desdemona made a weak attempt to struggle to her feet as if to join the fight again, but the flyer captain soothed her. Finally, the gryphon shuddered and lay still. All at once, the color seemed to go out of her fur and feathers. The breeze ruffled them but they had a peculiarly lifeless look.
Alexander felt a pang of loss. After all, it had been Desdemona that carried him into France and back again. She had been such a loyal creature and an agile flyer. He could only imagine how Captain Amelia must feel; she would be heartbroken because she had raised Desdemona from a hatchling.
Captain Amelia did not move until Captain Bellingham took her by the elbow and helped her up. All around them lay dead or wounded French and English sailors. One of the enemy gryphons also lay in a heap—the other two had flown off riderless when the last of the French fell.
The rest of the deck was similarly littered with wounded men and broken debris. Alexander was so used to the sight of the orderly, well-scrubbed deck that the current state of affairs was utterly astonishing to see. And yet the fight was far from over.
"Death and dying is a sad business," Old Cullins remarked, though
he never stopped working the wheel. "There's going to be more of that before the day is through, mark my words, young sir!"
Captain Bellingham's voice cut through the din as he hailed the quarterdeck. "Bring her about!"
"Aye, aye, Cap'n!"
Cullins had been doing just that, working feverishly to get the ship turned so that the Resolution's port broadside would face the oncoming French ship. They had just as many guns as the Napoleonist frigate, but several had been knocked out of commission. Still, a few shots from the Resolution would give the French ship something to think about.
The wind was not cooperating. Even though the sailors not engaged in operating guns trimmed and hauled what was left of the sails to catch the breeze, it escaped the Resolution. The wind, however, seemed to favor the newly arrived Napoleonist ship. First, the fog lifted and cleared almost in an instant, revealing blue skies and sunshine. It was such a beautiful morning that it seemed incongruous that a battle was being fought and that men—and gryphons—were dying.
The enemy had laid its trap carefully so that the newcomer had the weather gauge—the wind at its back—thus giving the other ship more maneuverability and speed in a fight. While the battered Resolution was still trying to work itself around, the Napoleonist ship spun neatly and positioned itself at an angle to the Resolution much like the top of a sloping capital letter T, which meant that it could bring all its guns to bear on the British ship.
Alexander saw the first burst of smoke from the gun ports and threw himself flat.
While there is no safe place to be on a ship receiving the full broadside of an enemy frigate, not being upright is a good way to avoid being hit by flying cannonballs and jagged splinters of wood. Whistling metal singed and scorched the air. Yet more sections of Resolution's rigging rained down.
Quickly, Alexander jumped to his feet. Several more men were now wounded, and their mates helped them below to the surgery. He heard a moan nearby on the quarterdeck, and was astounded to see Old Cullins slumped over. He ran to help him.
"Take the wheel, lad!" Cullins said. "It's me arm. A piece of shrapnel went right through. I've survived worse, but I cannot steer the ship with one arm. Take the wheel and steer the ship like Old Cullins showed you!"
The ship was now out of control, with the wheel spinning wildly and with such force that when Alexander grabbed it, his arms felt as if they were being wrenched loose. He held on and wrestled the wheel back around, so that the Resolution would be in position for a broadside against the Napoleonist ship.
It was a curious thing. With his hands on the wheel, it felt as if he could sense the sea all around him once more, gurgling under the battered oak planks. The water felt agitated and stirred up, as if it could tell that a battle was taking place. He could almost feel some of the old power he had briefly enjoyed. Where had it gone? How could he ever hope to summon it again, if ever? He was sure they could have used some of that power today to even the odds against the Napoleonists.
The sensation of being connected to the sea did not last long. As the Resolution finally warped around, the broadside was brought to bear. Faintly, he could hear a voice cry out, "Fire!" Was that Liam? The mighty guns roared, rocking Resolution and sending forth a great cloud of smoke to mix with the departing fog.
The broadside had been well aimed. Several shots struck the enemy ship, knocking loose rigging or splintering the wooden sides. A great cheer rose up from below. “Huzzah!”
Alexander spun the wheel, keeping the Resolution parallel to the Napoleonist ship. It was a classic battle position. They were now in a race to see which crew could reload and fire its broadsides the fastest, and with the greater accuracy. From now on, each second—and each shot—might decide the outcome of the battle. All the gunnery practiced that Captain Bellingham had ordered now made sense.
Ship against ship, it would have been a fair fight. But out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other two ships gliding toward them, like wolves to the kill, ready to tear into Resolution's unprotected flanks.
"What about them?" Alexander asked Old Cullins, nodding over his shoulder at the other two approaching enemy ships.
The sailing master raised his good arm to point at the sky. "Gryphons!" he exclaimed. "They'll try to hold them off."
Leading the way was Lord Parkington on Lemondrop, so close that Alexander fancied he could see the gryphon's yellow eyes narrowed with battle fury. With an eerie screeching, Lemondrop charged through the rigging of the Napoleonist ship. His lordship's sword flashed in the morning sun as he hacked at the enemy's sharpshooters. Then he spiraled higher and flung open a bag of bomblets to rain down on the enemy's deck.
Right behind him came Rigley on Biscuit. The sight of the furious, massive gryphon swooping down on them with talons outstretched caused two of the sharpshooters to jump for the sea—or maybe they fell after being paralyzed with fear. Then Rigley let loose his own bag of bomblets. The razor-sharp, spiked bomblets—sharp enough to slash sails—caused confusion on the deck below as sailors scrambled for cover. The other ship was now so close that Alexander could hear the bomblets thunk into the deck or ping off a cannon.
The attacking Napoleonist ship veered off course and the smaller sloop beside it had to steer hard to avoid a collision. On the enemy's deck, the French sailors cursed and shook their fists at Lord Parkington and Lemondrop.
Alexander cheered, then took off his hat and waved it. Toby swept low over the water, returned Alexander's wave, and then spun around to run at the Napoleonist ship again. He almost wished he was up there, fighting as Lord Parkington's stern rider. But at the moment he reminded himself that he had other duties, such as steering a Royal Navy frigate in the midst of a sea battle.
The enemy frigate had used her own gryphons to land the boarding party aboard the Resolution. At least one had been killed, and most of the others had been wounded, so that the frigate was now almost defenseless against an air attack. But not for long. The newly arrived French ship had a fresh squadron of gryphons. The gryphon port opened and one by one the ship's squadron launched. They swarmed around the mast of their own ship, gathering their forces, and then formed a V-formation to launch a counterattack.
A gryphon fight in mid air is a spectacular thing to watch. The two formations flew toward each other at impossible speed and then rushed through one another's ranks. From the deck of the Resolution, Alexander held his breath as he observed the smoke and flame of pistols firing, then the flash of swords. The gryphons lashed out with their brutal talons. An enemy flyer clutched at his shoulder and slumped in his saddle, prevented from falling by the flying harness that held him in place.
Then the gryphons broke off into individual battles. Biscuit was set upon by a Napoleonist gryphon that was almost as large, but Rigley skillfully dodged the talons. Biscuit surprised his opponent by being so nimble for his size. The flyer and gryphon maneuvered so that Biscuit came up behind the enemy flyer. Rigley then peppered the Napoleonist with shots from the pistols slung in bandoliers across his chest.
Rigley and his stern rider were distracted by the chase. They did not yet see another enemy flyer swooping up from beneath them. Like a rocket, the Napoleonist gryphon flew straight up between Biscuit and the gryphon he was pursuing. Biscuit bucked wildly in surprise and Rigley fought to regain control—but not before the other flyer had managed to turn and fire on them. The enemy fire had a telling effect. Biscuit veered off, favoring one wing.
When gryphons withdrew from battle, it was customary to let them go. Most would consider it the honorable thing to do, to let a wounded enemy fly off to fight another day. The Napoleonist flyers did not seem willing to follow convention. Though Biscuit was clearly wounded, both enemy flyers went after him. They seemed intent on forcing him to surrender and land on the enemy ship, or perhaps they sought his utter destruction.
"Leave them alone!" Alexander shouted at the skies, and shook his fist at the enemy. Of course, they could not hear him. Rigley was doing his best
to keep Biscuit airborne, but the enemy gryphons flew close and cut at them with swords. Thankfully, their pistols seemed to be expended. Biscuit sank lower toward the waves.
All at once, there were Lemondrop and Toby to the rescue, flying head-on at the enemy gryphons and scattering them. It was enough of a diversion for Biscuit to come plodding back toward the Resolution.
Now Lemondrop and Lord Parkington were having to fight both enemy gryphons at once. His lordship was more than a match for them. He soared almost straight up, but then as the French began their pursuit, Lemondrop whirled and dropped on them like a stone. Again, the Napoleonist gryphons scattered, but it would not be long before they regrouped and attacked Lemondrop and Toby once more.
The gryphons' attack on the second Napoleonist ship had slowed it down, but it was still sailing steadily toward the Resolution, clearly intending to bring its broadside to bear. The smaller sloop had swung around to Resolution's stern and was positioning itself to fire. Any ship was most vulnerable at the stern because a lucky shot could rip the length of the ship's interior, wreaking all sorts of havoc.
Ordinarily, the Resolution would have worked her way out of danger, but there were two frigates to be dealt with, both intent on delivering their own broadsides with deadly effect.
Roger and then Liam came barreling up the quarterdeck ladder. Behind them were several of the sailors who ordinarily manned the guns below. The men stopped short of the quarterdeck, because only officers were allowed there.
"Our guns are wrecked," Roger said, trying to catch his breath. "That last broadside knocked most of them over. Many of the men are hurt something terrible, and we're taking on water. Lieutenant Swann sent us up here to see what good we could do."
"We'll be boarded, if we don't sink first," remarked Liam. He took out a powder flask and a bag of pistol balls. "Give me your empty pistols and I'll start loading them. We'll be needing them any minute now."
