Gentleman Captain

by J. D. Davies

  I shouted to our crew, 'Hold fire, lads! Once she's up with us, we'll give her a good Cornish broadside!'

  The men on the larboard guns cheered feebly. They all knew this bravado for what it was. They all knew what they could do with a broadside. They all knew what the Republic's gun crews could do with theirs.

  As her bow came by our stern, Republics foremost starboard guns fired, wreaking further havoc in the remains of my cabin. We were shrouded in smoke now, the acrid fog that obscures all naval battles. Our trumpeters and drummer kept up their warlike symphony, but there was fear in their eyes. One of Skeen's mates came up with reports that we already had three men dead. Three more were mutilated, one by a great splinter of oak in his guts. One of Penbaron's crew reported that the rudder was damaged, but would still answer the whipstaff. As the smoke swirled, I looked down on the upper deck, and saw Vyvyan. He was tireless, shouting at the gun crews, encouraging the men, bending to assist. As he worked forward, his companion worked aft. It took me a moment to recognize him. Sword in hand, encouraging the crews and swearing defiance with the foulest of oaths, was the Reverend Francis Gale.

  We had to fire first. We had the smallest of hopes against a greater ship and a better crew. If we fired first, and high, with a mix of round and chain shot, we might just bring down one of her masts. Better, a lucky shot might take the head off Godsgift Judge.

  I could see him, at last, on his quarterdeck. The fine clothes and the face paint were gone now. He stood there, dark and impassive, in a plain tunic, his head bare. He seemed to be giving no orders, but then I supposed he had no need to. The Republics men had been well trained for this moment. Judge knew what was to come.

  He saw me at that moment, and seemed to smile. I lifted my voice trumpet, and shouted, 'Give fire!'

  The after half of our larboard battery fired. It was better than our dumb-show practice off Islay. Our fire was almost together, and a grey cloud of smoke drifted back over us. The shroud parted a little, and Roger d'Andelys called out eagerly.

  'You have hit her, Captain! Bravo, mes braves!'

  But Kit Farrell was studying the Republic too. 'A little damage to her rigging. Some shot through her mainsail. A couple of balls in the hull. She's hardly scratched, Captain.'

  I could see Godsgift Judge with his sword raised. I looked down at my deck, at the men of my ship. They, and I, were about to die. Judge's sword arm fell, and with one almighty roar, the gates of Hell opened.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I was blind a moment before I was deaf, and that a moment before I was dead.

  The Republic's starboard broadside, fired all in unison, was truly a thing from Hell. Flame and smoke bellowed from twenty-two great guns. The roar of their fire outdid any thunderclap I have ever known. I felt the breath of God, rushing past my face. There was pain as my ears perished, sending their death throes burning down my throat. My senses fled. I could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. This was death, and I was gone. The arms of two angels were bearing me to heaven.

  A bald, familiar angel said, 'He's not hit.'

  A French angel said, 'Stunned by the ball, Monsieur Musk. Missed him by a breath.'

  The angels carefully lifted me and leaned me against a saker. Slowly, my vision cleared. Musk stood over me, le comte beside him. Behind them, I saw nothing but carnage. Our maintopmast leaned at an impossible angle. Much of our rigging was torn. I looked down, and through the smoke I could see our larboard rail broken. There were great holes in the upper deck. At least three guns were gone. The deck was red with fresh, thick blood. Polzeath and Treninnick were attending to Trenance, or what was left of him, for I recognized only the head and torso of the tall, thin man who had once helped save my life. James Vyvyan stood amidst it all, bloodied from a great gash in his head, giving orders.

  I propped myself up a little higher, and through the largest gash in the decking peered down into the steerage. Half the whipstaff was gone, and the helmsman with it. Kit Farrell held what remained of the whipstaff, and cried that despite all, including Penbaron's forebodings, our rudder still answered. I saw an arm lying in its own blood, a little way from a severed leg.

  Musk noticed my gaze. His voice was muffled–for my ears refused to hear as they had–but I could make out the words. 'All that's left of Master Landon, God rest his canting soul.' Thus were realized Malachi Landon's dire forebodings from his reading of the heavenly charts.

  I stood, staggered a little as my balance returned, and called out to my lieutenant, who was ordering men to clear fallen rigging and thus free our battery.

  'Mister Vyvyan! Return their fire, each gun as it bears!'

  Julian Carvell's gun crew responded to the command at once, along with two guns on the deck below. I heard Stanton screaming exhortations to the men and thanked God that my officers proved themselves better in a fight than they did over the dinner table. But they were the only guns that fired from the Jupiter, and Godsgift Judge had his sword raised once more. We could not bear another broadside, not so soon...

  Republic fired again.

  There was the same stench of gunpowder, the same great flash, the same thunderous noise. But no shot came close to me. The Republic had made a little headway since her previous broadside, and this next was fired on her downroll as she rocked a little in the breeze. The best part of twenty-two cannon balls struck our hull lower down, at the main deck.

  I sent a boy to report on the damage, but he did not return. I cried my next set of orders to Vyvyan, then ran down to the main ladder from the steerage to the main deck.

  If my immortal fate is to spend all eternity there, then I have no fears of Hell. For I have seen worse.

  The main deck of the Jupiter was a world torn asunder. Four or five great holes had been smashed through the hull, and the wood thus displaced had turned into the most hellish of weapons. A man staggered toward me, a great shard of oak protruding from his throat. He fell, and blood gushed at my feet. Beyond him, I could see only dimly through the smoke, but I could hear the groans of the dying and the wounded. Men called for help, for their mothers and sweethearts. Cannon lay across the deck at unnatural angles. Trapped beneath the nearest one I could see three men; or parts of them, anyway. Hands and heads lay in pools of blood. Entrails spread across the deck. One of Stanton's mates came to me, saluted properly, reported that the entrails belonged to the gunner, and burst into tears.

  I vomited onto the deck.

  A carpenter's mate came up, saluted, and reported that we were holed more than once between wind and water. Penbaron had men at the pumps, but someone would have to go overboard to stop the leaks with a plug doused in oakum and tar. I recovered myself and sent the man back with his captain's word that when the fight was done, and a man could be spared, the leak could be plugged. Inwardly, I was not confident that in an hour there would be any men left to spare, nor any ship to mend.

  Francis Gale appeared at my side, I know not whence. He was streaked with blood and dirt, but his bearing gave off strength and purpose and I was glad to see him. 'We have still enough men standing to fight this deck, Captain. But another broadside or two, and we'll be finished.' He was all warrior now, sword in hand; Gale was fighting his enemy once again, and glad he was of it.

  I nodded and tried to summon the breath to say something, but he was already gone from me, barking commands at our gunners as though he had been born to the task. Just then, one of Malachi Landon's servants ran up to me, gave me Mister Farrell's compliments, and passed on his suggestion that I should return to the quarterdeck.

  I climbed back into daylight. Republic was alongside us, perhaps fifty yards away. She had backed her sails and dropped her anchor. Her guns were still inboard for reloading, but when they ran out again, she would surely fire until there was nothing left of the Jupiter or her men. At any moment, we would face another of her murderous broadsides. Only one thing you can do, Kit Farrell had said to me, when we had talked of this situation–but it was already too lat
e for that...

  I looked around the quarterdeck. For some reason, Farrell, d'Andelys and Phineas Musk were all looking astern, not at the Republic. I joined them at the remains of our stern rail, above which our ragged ensign still flew. The smoke from the Republic's last broadside was still thick, for in light winds and in that sheltered channel it lingered about us like a shroud. I could not see what it was that they stared at.

  Then the smoke parted a little. There, turning into the channel on the same course that the Republic had taken, was my mystery ship. Black-hulled and tall, the great vessel tacked towards us. Men sheeted home her sails with a speed and precision that not even Judge's crew had managed. Only the Dutch could do such a thing. The Dutch, our enemies, as my treacherous lady, the Countess of Connaught, had told me. So a second ship in her cause, bearing down to join Godsgift Judge and finish us off...

  But she had been as shocked as I when we sighted the black ship.

  Not all of the Dutch were our enemies. That had been my argument to the Lady Niamh, and now it was the final, best argument to her lover, the father of the child that was meant to be a king. Thou givest not away the battle to the strong...

  An ensign ran up the staff of the black ship. They were colours I knew well, for I had lived under them for long enough. They were the colours I had seen when Cornelia and I came out of church after our wedding. There they flew, the red, white, blue of the province of Zeeland. At the mizzen flew the black-white-black flag of a town I knew so well, the town that had once been my home.

  She was the Wapen van Veere.

  It was Cornelis.

  On the deck of the Republic I could see Judge, watching and weighing up this new opponent. His men were already moving to run out the larboard guns. Why should he concern himself with the shattered and dying Jupiter ? Dispose of Cornelis first, then finish us off at leisure. He would have known of the other ship, of course; his lady would have told him of it. I thought of Judge's words to me, the first time I dined with him. He had faced the Dutch before, and beaten them. The Wapen van Veere would hold no terrors for him. Perhaps, safe in his fanatical arrogance, he would look on her as a worthy opponent. A better enemy by far than the poor, feeble Cavaliers on the Jupiter and their raw, ignorant young captain.

  Four guns of the Republic's starboard battery fired at us, and did some damage to the forecastle. Enough to keep us entertained, Judge would assume, while he tackled his true enemy. I turned to Kit and James Vyvyan, whose head wound had been staunched with a bandage. Musk, ever at my side with his pistols, drew closer to listen.

  'Well, Mister Farrell,' I said, almost light-heartedly, 'you remember what we discussed yesterday? How the captain of an inferior ship can turn this situation around? And Mister Vyvyan–you remember what you told me of the fighting method that your uncle and his men preferred? Gentlemen, I take the advice of you both. It's time to chastise Captain Judge for betraying his king and murdering Captain Harker.'

  James Vyvyan nodded at my acknowledgement of his uncle's fate. 'But, sir,' he said, 'are we certain that the Zeeland ship is with us? And even if she is, will she have enough searoom to engage Royal Martyr?'

  'As for that, Lieutenant, I leave it to her captain. But yes, he's with us, or else he'll have to answer the lash of his sister's tongue. His sister, my wife.'

  For the first time in all the years that I knew him, Phineas Musk looked at me in utter astonishment.

  Wapen van Veere came on. Cornelis's course seemed to be set for the other shore, opposite Ardverran. If he had enough depth of water there, he could come up on Republic's larboard side and fight it out broadside to broadside.

  'Captain! They're loosing their sails!' cried Kit, then. I saw it. The men in the Vere's yards were letting her sails flap free. Even I could see that she would lose momentum long before she came up alongside the Republic. 'No. No, no ship would do that,' continued Kit, looking on with an anguished expression. 'No captain would order that–he doesn't have the sea room for it, the channel's too tight. It's the blackest madness. She'll run onto the lee shore...'

  Despite the chaos and pain, it seemed that everyone on board the Jupiter stopped to watch, holding their breaths. Slowly, slowly, the bow of the Veere began to point towards the Ardverran shore. Like all large ships, she took an age to turn. Like all large ships, she was vulnerable as she did so. The Veere was doubly vulnerable, for with her sails loose Cornelis could steer only by his rudder. His ship would be out of control. She would come up short of the Republic and run aground, or else her vulnerable bow, swinging round so painfully slowly, would be exposed to the full force of Judge's larboard broadside.

  The four guns of Judge's starboard battery fired on us again, and shattered our bowsprit. Whatever Cornelis intended, or whatever mistake he had made, we had to make our move. We still had a little headway, and it was time to give orders.

  'Mister Vyvyan!' I cried. 'Arm the men for boarding! Mister Farrell! Port the helm!'

  Slowly, slowly, the Jupiter began to answer the remnant of her whipstaff. Judge's murderous fire into our hull had at least spared enough of our sails and rigging to keep our momentum. Slowly, we closed the gap to the Republic. Judge must have realized our intent, for his four starboard guns began to fire more briskly. Two more guns joined in. As I watched our men on the upper deck take up cutlasses, half-pikes and knives, a shot took the head clean off the last of the master's mates. His body stayed upright for a moment, then fell to the deck.

  We inched closer to the Republic. Judge had put his helm to larboard, too, and she was starting to move away.

  Too late. The Veere had completed her turn. Cornelis had judged his distances, the wind and the tide, with greater science than ever old Newton employed. The Dutch ship came in hard and close behind the Republic, full across her stern, forming a 'T'. No, Cornelis had made no mistake. He was running out his double anchors. His own sails were turned as far as they could go to starboard, backing him down even closer towards the Republic.

  'He's taken the wind from Republics sails!' cried Kit, jubilant now. 'Oh, God in heaven, I've never seen the like! To bring her up so exactly, in so little water–and now he'll rake her, by God!'

  The Veere's first broadside was as mighty as that of the Republic. If they had been side by side, it would have been a fair and equal fight. But raking is neither fair nor equal. The broadside tore into the weakest part of Judge's ship–of any ship: her stern. The gallery and windows of the captain's cabin shattered like matchwood. The two stern chasers, the only guns on the ship bearing in that direction, must have been destroyed at once. With the Republics main deck cleared for action, there was no obstacle to the Veeres cannonade passing the entire length of the ship. It was slaughter.

  Republics fire against us fell away. We were close now, just yards away. Leaving Kit Farrell on the quarterdeck in effective command of the Jupiter, D'Andelys and I ran down to the forecastle where my crew was massed. The Republics starboard side loomed above us. I could smell the stench of death on her main deck, where the Veere had done her work. Above me, half of a man's head was lodged in one of her gunports, one eye staring blankly into oblivion.

  Then the remains of our bowsprit crashed into the Republics forecastle. The two ships locked together in a morass of tangled rigging and broken wood. Each vessel seemed, to my exhausted mind, to scream in agony as wood sheared against wood. I raised my sword, climbed on our rail, and cried out, 'With me, Jupiters!'

  A hellish roar told me that Cornelis had raked the Republic once again. I seized the moment, grabbed a rope, and pulled myself up the ship's side. Jupiters swarmed after me, shrieking for blood and revenge. Lanherne, Polzeath, Treninnick and Carvell were at my back. Francis Gale was at my side, a long cavalry sword in his hand. Heads appeared at the ship's rail above us. I heard Vyvyan command a volley of musket fire and cried for my vanguard to crouch down. The heads above us disappeared, and I led my men over the rail and onto the upper deck of the Republic.

  Judge's men were
massed in the middle of the ship. Our fire had not touched them. They were drawn up in the three lines of the New Model Army, front rank kneeling, second rank stooping, third rank standing. Each rank levelled a row of thirty or more muskets toward us. They would fire by rotation, each rank in turn, until they had swept our bodies back into the sea.

  One thing to do, boy, an almost familiar but impossible voice in my ear seemed to say. I levelled my sword at the enemy lines, and charged.

  The first rank fired and I felt a searing pain in my thigh. I stumbled but caught myself and ran on into the smoke of the muskets, wielding my sword right and left. I felt the blade strike flesh, and knew I had reached the first rank. I looked down the musket barrel of a man in the second rank. Gale knocked it aside with his sword, and I stabbed the man with mine. Our lads were up with us, and the line of musketeers broke. They looked like the New Model, but at bottom they were simply sailors with guns. Judge must have thought that the mere sight and prospect of rotation fire would have been enough to cow the Jupiters. He had to despatch us quickly if he was to stand any chance of manoeuvring away from the murderous fire from Cornelis's guns. But we were too close to them, and if we held our nerve and charged before the reload, we could prevail. As, it seemed, we had, for no men were better to rush into point-blank fire than a hundred or so blood-crazed Cornishmen.

  It was ugly, close fighting now. Wapen van Veere fired another raking broadside into the deck below–had she seen the Jupiters on board?–and I heard the screams of the dying. Smoke clouded our business of murder on the upper deck. Judge's men had their dirks and cutlasses drawn, and Cavalier fought Roundhead with undiminished passion. I slashed at men, left and right, seeking to cut my way through to the quarterdeck. I saw Francis Gale, ordained of God, slice the head off a man with one stroke of his sword. Through the pungent cloud of powder-smoke, I caught a glimpse of Treninnick and Polzeath stabbing a man time after time in the guts. There was young Macferran, wielding a fearsome dirk with a viciousness that belayed his years. Warm blood splashed onto my face and shirt, I knew not whence, I knew not whose. It could have been mine. I heard scream succeed scream, and the distinctive sounds of metal striking metal or carving into flesh. The deck was slippery from blood and the very air seemed to glow red. The stench was like that of an abattoir.