First Voyage

by David Healey

  "Give me a brace of them pistols, young sir," said Old Cullins. "I'll die here defending the wheel before I let them Napoleonists take control of her."

  Liam wasn't the only one preparing to defend the ship. Soon Captain Bellingham's voice carried above the din: "Prepare to repel boarders!" he shouted. The boatswain began to hand out more pistols, cutlasses and axes to the crew who could still fight.

  From the raised quarterdeck, Alexander had a good view of the carnage on deck. Broken and wounded men lay everywhere. Great patches of blood stained the deck. The tangle of broken spars, downed canvas and severed lines made movement around the ship difficult.

  Several of the deck guns had been knocked over, but Fowler was still managing to fight a handful of guns, keeping up a steady fire against the oncoming frigates. But it was more of a token defense, because the nearest frigate's broadside would likely finish them.

  Bellingham made his way to the quarterdeck, followed by Captain Amelia. The death of Desdemona had grounded her. She would fight on deck alongside the crew.

  There was a lull in the attack as the enemy drew closer, so Bellingham used it to address the men. Alexander thought they were a fierce-looking bunch, their faces bloody or darkened with gunpowder, and now they brandished an array of weapons: pikes, axes, swords and pistols. The remaining marines formed up and fixed bayonets.

  Professor Hobhouse had been below, helping the surgeon save what wounded they could. Now he, too, appeared on deck and armed himself with a sword. He caught Alexander's eye and nodded. What did he mean by that?

  The enemy frigates loomed closer on either side. Huge numbers of the enemy crowded the rail, waving their own weapons and shouting taunts at les Anglais.

  "We shall hold them as long as we can," Bellingham said. "This quarterdeck shall be our last line of defense and we shall sell our lives dearly. For England and King George!"

  Bellingham raised his cutlass, and the ragged band of Resolutions cheered.

  “Huzzah! Huzzah!”

  The sound stirred Alexander's heart. He might be about to die, but he would do so defending his friends, and the ship.

  On either side of them, the Napoleonist frigates moved into position for the killing stroke. The enemy sloop had reached the stern.

  "What should I do, sir?" Alexander asked.

  "Stay the course, Mr. Hope. I leave command of the wheel to you."

  The firing had stopped so that there was only the sound of wind and the lap of waves against the oak belly of the ship. Both sides, Napoleonist and English, seemed to be holding their breath.

  A gryphon came flying in under the sagging sails, and the men crouched and raised their weapons until they recognized Lemondrop. The gryphon beat his wings, hovering for a moment as he looked for a clear place to land, and then settled onto the deck. Lord Parkington slipped off and began running toward the quarterdeck.

  "Do something, Alexander!" he cried. "You can end this now! I know you can!"

  Then the Napoleonist frigate fired. Most of the cannonballs went high, doing yet more damage to the rigging. A few shots swept low over the deck. Alexander struggled with the ship's wheel. When he looked back, he saw that Lord Parkington's crumpled body lay in a clear space on deck, his bright blue uniform torn and bloody.

  Beside him, Captain Amelia made an agonized sound. "Oh, he is dead."

  Alexander stared at the broken body of his friend. He stepped away from the wheel and the ship moved restlessly in the ocean current.

  "The wheel, if you please, Mr. Hope!" Bellingham said quietly. "I know it's hard, but we must stay broadside to them if we are to defend ourselves."

  But Alexander barely heard him. He walked to the center of the quarterdeck and threw out his arms. He had no concept of what he was doing. He seemed to lose all sense of himself.

  Something snapped inside him, like a dam giving way. It was as if there had been some anchor holding him down all this time, during all these long weeks at sea, and now the anchor chain was broken. His mind had been set free.

  It had taken the sight of Toby’s torn body to do that. Emotion surged through him. Do something, Alexander! Those had been Toby's last words. Do something! He raised his arms and emptied his mind.

  Water rushed into the emptiness. The thought of water.

  He suddenly sensed the sea all around him, its vast depth and coldness. He felt its every current. Its power.

  A shout of rage escaped him. Then those on deck felt a ripple of energy go through them, like a clap of thunder without the sound. The shockwave was so strong that it knocked men down.

  The sea began to rise around the wounded ship. Water boiled and frothed. Alexander raised his arms higher, and two great waves rose from the depths of the ocean, rising higher and higher on either side of the Resolution. The men on deck dropped their weapons in fear. Old Cullins pulled himself upright and took the wheel as best he could, making the sign of the ancient gods. Under his capable hands, the Resolution rode out the ocean's fury as the sea churned around them.

  Two solid waves now reached higher than the mainmast, stretching toward the sky, water streaming down the sides in foaming white rivulets. In his mind, Alexander held the water in his hands, felt it running between his fingertips. The water wanted to be let go. He could hear the sea roaring inside his skull.

  Then he brought his arms down. The waves smashed upon the Napoleonist ships. The massive weight of the sea crushed the frigates like matchsticks. Like an afterthought, he flung one arm behind him and a wave rose up and capsized the sloop at their stern. The Resolution bobbed and shook, but no harm came to her.

  And just as suddenly, the sea was calm again. Only a few gentle waves stirred the surface, which was now marked by debris from the wrecked ships and Napoleonist sailors crying out to be saved.

  Captain Bellingham turned to Alexander, his eyes wide as both fear and amazement played across his face. "What have you done?" he asked gently.

  Alexander tried to answer, but a crushing pain filled his head, and he sank to his knees as a rushing black void swept over him.

  ~ End of Book I ~

  Bows, sterns and other nautical notes

  The Sea Lord Chronicles takes place on a Royal Navy ship during a fantastical version of the Napoleonic Wars, so it does help to understand some of the nautical terms and history involved.

  Bow The front of the ship.

  Stern The back of the ship.

  Starboard Looking at the bow, the right side of the ship.

  Larboard Looking at the bow, the left side of the ship. Today, the left side is generally known at the port side. It’s helpful that both “Larboard” and “Left” both start with the letter “L.”

  Mainmast The tallest, central mast of the ship.

  Foremast The mast closest to the bow.

  Mizzenmast The mast closest to the stern.

  Yard or Yardarm The cross members that are perpendicular to the masts, from which the sails are suspended.

  Quarterdeck In The Sea Lord Chronicles this is an important locale. Generally located at the stern, this is the command center of the ship. In some ships such as Resolution, the quarterdeck is elevated slightly from the rest of the deck. The wheel, compass, ship’s bell and marine sentry are located here. Only officers and certain personel such as the helmsman and marine sentry are allowed on the quarterdeck. In a modern ship (or on Star Trek, for that matter), the quarterdeck has been replaced by the “bridge.”

  Frigate (rhymes with diggit) A war ship that typically carried 32 guns and was often used for independent cruises.

  32-pound gun Cannons are labeled according to the weight of the cannonball they fire. The bigger the gun, the farther it could fire and the more damage it could do. Loading and firing a cannon was hot, heavy work, and almost as dangerous for the gun crew as for those on the receiving end of the cannonball.

  Ensign (pronounced en sin) This is the lowest-ranking officer in our version of the Royal Navy, though in actuality the rank would ha
ve been equivalent to midshipman. Ensign is a rank found in the army and in the United States Navy of that era. It was not uncommon for boys to go to sea at age 12 or 14 as junior officers. Typically, officers came from upper class or at least “respectable” families and had to provide their own uniforms and equipment, plus pay for their own food.

  Prizes The Royal Navy kept up a tradition that was as old as warfare itself, which was that captured enemy merchant ships and cargo could be sold for a profit. The money was then divided among the crew, with the captain getting the largest share. It was a great motivating factor for the crew and ship’s officers could make a tidy sum on a lucky ship.

  Mutiny This was a constant danger aboard a ship. The rank-and-file crew members were sometimes so unhappy with conditions on a ship that they would try to seize control. It was the role of the marines to protect the ship and ship’s officers from mutineers. Only officers were allowed to carry weapons. Pistols, cutlasses and boarding axes were kept locked away and given to the crew before a battle.

  The Spanish Armada In 1588 the King of Spain launched a fleet of galleons loaded with troops to invade and capture England. In our story, the armada was defeated by the sea elemental Algernon Hope, who was later knighted for his heroism.

  Napoleon Bonaparte In 1792 the French people overthrew their king and established a republic. Unfortunately, the revolutionaries were vindictive and bloodthirsty. A young general named Napoleon Bonaparte stepped into the leadership vacuum and announced that he would lead the government. He would turn out to be one of history’s greatest military geniuses. In this story he is mad with power and ambition, crushing anyone who questions his right to rule, bringing world war to Europe and North America. He plans the invasion of England. He is the despot of his age, seen as an enemy to all things English.

  King George III One of England’s longest-ruling monarchs, George III was much-loved by the English people. American history often paints an ugly picture of George III because he was king during the American Revolution, but as it turns out he was very pious, loved his wife and family, and led a rather quiet life dedicated to his country. Much of the daily operation of government was left to ministers and members of parliament, who like most politicians were not to be trusted. He was followed on the throne by Queen Victoria.

  Napoleonic Wars For a period of 23 years, England, France and many other European nations were at war. (The American War of 1812 is sometimes seen as part of the Napoleonic Wars.) This was an era of tremendous battles on land and sea, the names of which are still well-known today, including Trafalgar, the Nile, and Waterloo.

  About the author

  David Healey grew up on a farm, ran cross country in high school and was an Eagle Scout. He has a degree in English from Washington College and a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from the University of Southern Maine. He has worked as a newspaper reporter, a librarian, and as a college professor. Family legend says his great-great-grandfather was a ship captain who drowned in the Irish Sea. He lives with his family in an old house on the Chesapeake Bay waterfront. Visit him online at www.davidhealeyauthor.com.

  Also by David Healey

  Civil War novels

  Sharpshooter

  Rebel Fever

  Rebel Train

  Historical thrillers and mysteries

  Ghost Sniper

  Winter Sniper

  Time Reich

  Beach Bodies

  The House that Went Down with the Ship

  Non-fiction

  1812: Rediscovering Chesapeake Bay’s Forgotten War

  Delmarva Legends and Lore

  Great Storms of the Chesapeake

  In the pages that follow, please enjoy the first few chapters from Ship of Spies, which continues Alexander Hope’s adventures. The story is now available at Amazon.

  Ship of Spies

  CHAPTER ONE

  Dreaming of gryphons and the sea, Alexander Hope woke up and knew at once that something was wrong. It was hard to tell how long it had been since the sinking of the Napoleonist ships that attacked the Resolution, but he was aware that since then he had drifted in and out of a kind of fever or stupor. The rage he felt while summoning the sea to crush the enemy had wrung out his mind and body like a mop. The last thing he recalled was standing on the quarterdeck of the Resolution, watching the wave crash down.

  For the first time in a long while, his mind was clear, in the same way that fog lifts off the sea to reveal the horizon. But this was not why he had awakened. Alexander always had been a light sleeper, and he was sure it had been some noise that roused him.

  It was very early morning or perhaps dusk—his sense of time was discombobulated—and long shadows filled the unfamiliar room. Where was he? He was certainly not in his hammock aboard the Resolution, or even in the ship's surgery. He did not recognize this room with its whitewashed stucco walls, the brass bed in which he lay, or the view of shadowy mountains through the arched window.

  His ears strained into the silence, trying to determine what had awakened him. Then he heard it. Footsteps. In the hallway beyond the closed door of his room.

  The sound of someone in the hallway might not have been so unusual, but what echoed down into Alexander's subconscious was that these were stealthy footsteps. Someone was inching his way along the hall toward Alexander's room, trying desperately not to be heard. The sound made the hair on the back of Alexander's neck stand on end. He would have liked to move, to get out of the bed, but found that he was frozen with fear.

  That's when the door of his room slowly swung open. Still paralyzed, Alexander could see a man dressed in dark clothes, the lower part of his face masked with black cloth. Something gleamed in the man's hand, and Alexander realized it was a razor-sharp dagger.

  The man edged into his room.

  Alexander sat up. "Get out of here!"

  He had meant to shout, but his voice was so rusty with disuse that it barely came out louder than a squeak.

  The man did not answer, but approached the bed and raised the dagger.

  Alexander gasped.

  In the next instant another figure came plunging through the door, a tall man armed with a sword. Professor Hobhouse! The assassin lunged at the professor, the double-edged dagger so sharp that the blade made a hissing sound cutting through the air, but Hobhouse knocked it aside with his sword. The assassin spun and leaped toward the bed, the dagger aimed at Alexander.

  "No you don't!" the professor shouted, and with lightning-quick footwork managed to get himself between Alexander and the assassin. His sword flashed again, and the assassin grunted in pain. "Surrender now, while you still can!"

  But the assassin slashed at Hobhouse, who only just managed to dodge away in time. Two buttons from his coat, cut free, clattered across the floor.

  For all his bookish ways, the professor was deadly with a blade. Hobhouse thrust his sword at the assassin, sinking the blade through his heart. The would-be killer gasped his final breath and collapsed to the floor. Hobhouse kicked the dagger under the bed, then shut the door and began to pile furniture against it.

  "Praise Neptune that you're awake," Hobhouse said. He was panting from the effort of the fight. "We must be off at once. There are some clothes for you in that chest of drawers there."

  "What's going on? Where am I? Who was that?" A dozen more questions cluttered Alexander's mind at once as he recalled his last lucid moments during the fight against the Napoleonist ships. He had seen his friend Lord Parkington shot down. Was he still alive? Had the Resolution survived the battle? Was Captain Amelia all right? What about Roger and Liam? He wasn't even sure if it was night or day.

  "There will be time later to answer your questions," Professor Hobhouse said. "But right now, we must leave this place. There's no telling how many assassins were sent."

  Alexander swung his legs to the floor, surprised at how rubbery and weak they felt. Even with fresh adrenalin coursing through his veins, he could barely walk.

  "How
long have I been in bed?"

  "Three weeks, more or less."

  "Three weeks!"

  "Long enough for your leg muscles to atrophy somewhat. Here, let me help you."

  Leaning on the professor's shoulder, Alexander was able to cross to the chest of drawers. He found dark trousers, a white shirt, a plain black coat and boots. He saw with relief that his wristling lay on top of the clothing, its delicately wrought silver glittering in the light. He slipped it on and pulled the sleeve of the coat down over it.

  His naval uniform was nowhere to be found. "I don't understand," he said. "Where is my uniform?"

  "We'll be traveling as civilians," Hobhouse said. "The uniform is much too obvious under the circumstances. I thought we would have more time, but we have been found out."

  "Where are we going?"

  "I'll explain later. We'll be leaving by the window. There may be others in the house at this very moment."

  Hobhouse opened the window and climbed out first. There was a low porch roof immediately below. Alexander followed on his wobbly legs. "I can't believe I can barely walk," he muttered.

  "Do hurry, Mr. Hope. We haven't any time to lose."

  Below them was a kind of courtyard paved with stones. It was perhaps a twelve-foot drop to the ground, which Alexander didn't even want to think about attempting with his weakling's muscles. But Hobhouse whistled, and out of the gloom came two great winged beasts. Gryphons. They were led by a man wearing the clothes of a Spanish shepherd.