by L. A. Meyer
"Beat to Quarters!" I cry. "Clear for action!"
There is instant pandemonium below as the Dauntless prepares for battle. I hear shouts and orders and the sound of whistle and a drum. I whip my glass around to the right and look to the south ... can't quite see their flags yet... now ... there ... my heart sinks—they are part of the same French squadron. We are in deep trouble...
In the rush of the men to their stations below, I see Davy and shout, "Davy! Man the top! We're gonna turn north!" With that I plummet hand over hand back down to the deck.
"All topmen aloft to make sail!" bellows Davy on his way up the mainmast.
"What should I do, Miss?" asks Private Kent, confused as to where his duty lies. "I'm supposed to go into the top, as a marksman."
"Go to your station, Billy," I say. "The Jacky Watch is over." And probably for good.
The Battle-Stations Watch is now on the quarterdeck—sort of. We have the Bo'sun himself, several messengers, and a boy who had been beating on a drum waiting till the word manned and ready from all stations has been reported, but we have no First Mate and no Sailing Master.
I put my mouth to the speaking tube. "Captain! You must come up! We have the French on two sides of us, and they have the weather gauge! I am altering course to the north!"
I turn to the helmsman and say, "Left Full Rudder!"
The helmsman hesitates and looks to the Bo'sun. After all, I am a girl, and they have not yet seen me in this position, so I must realize that and not get mad even though I know we are in a desperate fix and they'd better hurry up.
The Bo'sun sizes up the situation—the French fleet to the west and to the south—and nods, so the helmsman puts the wheel over and the Dauntless turns her head, presents her tail to the enemy, and heads for Mother England.
"Steer due north, Helmsman, straight and true as if your life depends on it." As it very well might.
The wind is from the southeast and could not be better suited to the enemy—they are upwind of us and that spells disaster; they can maneuver freely, while we must claw into the wind; they can bring their broadside to bear on us while we only fire our bow chaser or stern gun. The ships to our south have already turned to cut off any chance of our escaping to the west. The south coast of England is north of us and I figure it would be best to try to escape in that direction—better to go north with the wind on our starboard quarter and run aground on good British rocks than to be taken by the bloody French.
There is no answer from the Captain. I shout down the tube again but again get no response.
"Bo'sun Cargill. Send a messenger down to get Dr. Sebastian. Tell him to bring Stritch and a stretcher. And gather a party of men up here right now."
The Bo'sun knuckles his brow, and two of the messengers go off. I lift the glass for another look at the enemy. Because of our turning they are, of course, much closer, only about three miles away. They know who we are, and they want us. It will be a coup for them to pluck a British frigate from within the very waters of Britannia herself. Well, we shall see about that.
The sails are set, the course is drawn, and we are running for all we are worth when the Doctor appears on the deck, as does a group of seamen, awaiting orders.
"Doctor," I say, "you must go get the Captain and bring him up here."
"Captain Hudson is sick...,"says Dr. Sebastian,"...and I have given him a dose of laudanum to ease his suffering. He cannot get up."
Damn! Tincture of opium. So often my friend and ally, but, oh, no, not this time!
"Listen to me, Doctor. You have been very good to me, but I know the Navy and if you do not want your friend Captain Hudson stripped of his rank or worse, you will have him brought to the quarterdeck right now! There is going to be an action and he must be on his own quarterdeck!"
The Doctor's face darkens, but he turns to Stritch. "Let us bring up the Captain."
Stritch lifts the stretcher and takes a sailor with him and follows the Doctor into the Captain's cabin.
"Bo'sun, send your men down into the officers' berth and bring them up. I speak for the Captain, and I give your men permission to lay their hands upon them."
"But—"
"But, nothing. I don't care if they are dead. Pick them up and place them at their stations. They will thank you for it later, if any of us survive this thing. Now go do it!"
He orders his men to do so and they go below.
From up forward, from the hatchway above the midshipmen's berth, I spy a figure emerging. It is Joseph Jared, staggering aft, his jacket on but unbuttoned, his face a very unhealthy shade of green. His cocky grin is not in place. He manages to gain the quarterdeck stairs, and I reach down to grab an arm and help him get up.
"I heard the drumbeat ... to Quarters," he says, trying to keep his head up. He looks at me standing here in my rig. "What the hell happened ... What are you doing here ... What the hell is going on?"
Two men appear, carrying Mr. Bennett. They bring him onto the quarterdeck and prop him against the rail, and then leave to carry more officers to their battle stations. Little good they will do there, but there they must be.
"Everyone who ate of last night's fish is sick," I say to Jared. "The Captain made me Officer of the Deck, being the last regular officer standing. A French squadron has fallen upon us, to the west, you see them there? And to the south. You see them, too? Good. I thought it best to turn north toward England, and that is what I have done. We are on Course 000, due north."
He staggers to the rail and looks out across the water. Then he looks up at the set of sails. Then he nods. "You did well."
At that moment the Captain, lying on a stretcher, is brought to his quarterdeck.
"Sit him up," says the Doctor. "I want to give him some stimulants." He uncaps a vial under the Captain's nose, and when the Captain's eyes fly open, Dr. Sebastian puts a cup to his lips. The Captain looks about, amazed, but then his eyes roll back and he passes out again. It is no use. It is up to Joseph Jared and me.
"Joseph, if we can get to land, maybe we can slip into an inlet and yet get away," I say to Jared, who now that he's been out in the air for a while, seems to be recovering somewhat. I suspect, also, that the amount of that damned fish a man downed last night is in direct proportion to how sick he is today. I'm guessing that my Sailing Master ate very little.
"Right. I think we are probably due south of Penzance. The Isles of Scilly ... or St. Mary's Isle are out there, too. If we can get in sight of any of them, the Froggies'll turn back."
"Should we lighten ship?"
He nods and so do I.
"Bo'sun," I say. "Lighten ship."
He nods and gives orders to his men. The hatches are opened and all cargo, all stores, all casks of rum, all everything is thrown overboard so as to increase our speed. The bulkheads of the officers' cabins, all the long tables, chairs, anchors, chains, chicken cages, and cows if we had 'em, everything goes. 'Cause it all ain't gonna mean anything if we are caught or sunk. I'm sure my seabag goes, as well as the walls of my room, my bed, my picture of Jaimy ... All gone...
An hour later, the Bo'sun reappears. "We've lightened all we can. What about the guns?"
"Not yet, but have the men ready."
The Dauntless is a swift sailer, but several of the smaller enemy ships are even faster, so they steadily gain on us. They will soon be in range of our Long Tom stern guns. Of course that means we are in range of their guns, too, and sure enough we see a puff of smoke appear under the bowsprit of the lead pursuer, followed by a low boooommmm rolling across the water. The shot falls short, but not by much.
I sense Jared standing beside me. "You must think of yourself. I know you planned to jump ship when we spotted England. I heard the terms of your parole and I know you. Why don't we just put you in a boat and have you sail back to your little schooner?"
"I did plan that, Joseph," I say. "But then it would have been an escape. Now it would be desertion and I just can't do it. I can't leave my friends in this
fix if I can do anything to help them. Let's just go on and see what happens."
He nods and I say, "Let's show them we still have teeth. Bring her around to starboard."
"Right Full Rudder," he says to the helmsman, and the man at the wheel puts her over. The Dauntless presents her broadside to the enemy and I yell, "Starboard guns, fire!"
There is a great rippling Craaack! as the mighty cannons fire. I look out with my glass and see that one of the enemy frigates has lost its foremast. That'll slow 'em down a bit, for sure!
"Left now, Joseph," I say, and he gives the order and the port guns come to bear.
"Fire!" I screech, and the port broadside roars out.
I look through the glass at the relentless enemy and, alas, see neither great damage nor a slackening of their pursuit.
I snap the telescope back together. "Rudder amidships. Steer dead north. Bo'sun, dump the guns, all except the Long Toms."
There is nothing a man-of-war hates to do more than throw its guns overboard, but there are some times when it is necessary. There are twenty-one guns along each side and each of them weighs two thousand pounds. If we can fly faster and get to safety, we can get more guns—after all, they are but dumb iron brutes and there are many forges that make them, but the ship and its crew are much more difficult to replace. There are seven enemy ships and one of us, so it is not even a contest. We must run, and run as swiftly as we can.
The gunports are opened and the cannons are tipped out to disappear under the waves. Without all that weight, the Dauntless leaps forward.
"Let's see them catch us now," I exult as we pull away. As soon as this ship is safely tucked in Britannia's waters and we spot the land and my parole is over, then I will take Jared up on his offer of a lifeboat that will take me back to the Nancy B.
"On deck there!" comes the call from above. "Ship dead ahead!"
Good God, what's this?
Again I grab the glass and head to the top to stand next to Davy, who is looking very worried.
"I think she's Dutch," says Davy, a long glass to his own eye. "And we are in a fine mess. Give Annie my regards if you ever see her again."
"Damn!" I mutter, letting fly a string of curses. The Dutch are close allies of the French, and we are once again in a fine fix—now cut off to the north, as well as the east and south and with most of our guns gone. I race hand over hand back down to the quarterdeck.
"Joseph, there is a Dutchman dead ahead. I say we charge right through her. Maybe take her by surprise."
"I don't see as we've got any other choice," he says. It seems he is fully recovered, and his cocky grin is back in place even in the face of this disaster. "Full speed ahead, Puss, and the Devil take the hindmost."
"Who's on the bow chaser?"
"Hutchinson. He's good."
"Um. Well, tell him to get ready, and to fire when the Dutchman comes in range."
"He's ready, believe me," says Jared, and he sends a messenger forward with the order to fire.
"All right. Here we go." And the Dauntless surges forward to whatever awaits her.
Half an hour later, our bow chaser barks out its first challenge. The shot goes wide and Hutchinson and his crew quickly reload and fire again, as the Dutchman gets within a hundred yards of us. She does not respond with her own bow gun, but instead turns her head slowly, almost leisurely to the left, and then fires a full broadside right into us.
Four hundred and fifty pounds of metal tear into the Dauntless. Men scream and fall from the rigging as the top of the mainmast shears off and falls to the deck. From behind us, one of the Frenchmen gets off a broadside of its own and our rudder is shattered.
We are helpless.
"It's over," I say to Jared and leap back to the flagstaff. The colors wrap around me as I haul them down.
I surrender the ship.
Chapter 10
Three days later we are in the French prison at Cherbourg, at the mouth of the Seine, the river that flows past Paris as well as past the Emperor Napoléon and his legions.
After I had struck the Dauntless's colors, one of the French frigates came alongside with grapples and made us fast. French sailors and Marines swarmed aboard and began stripping our crew of their weapons and herding the men down into the main cargo hold—those who could walk, anyway. The wounded were taken to the Doctor's surgery. The dead were thrown overboard without proper ceremony. Private Marsten was one of them, and it saddened me greatly, for I had grown very attached to my Marines. Go to God, Adam. I hope good quarters are waiting to welcome you.
But the time for grief would have to be later, as things needed to be done.
Jared and I stood on the quarterdeck and waited for the French Commander to appear. While we waited for him, I sent for the Captain's sword to be brought up, and so it was. I took it and laid it across his chest. I also ripped all the lieutenant's gold braid from my lapels and flung it over the side, demoting myself once more to midshipman.
Mr. Jared observed me doing this so I explained to him, "Joseph, this is serious. I must be known as Midshipman Jack ... er ... Kemp, as my cheeks are too downy to pass for any lieutenant. The French must not find out that I am female, else I am lost. They will examine me and put two and two together and figure out that I am their Jeune Fille sans Merci, the cruel girl pirate, and when that happens my head will soon fall into a basket. You must help me."
"Aye. I will spread that word amongst the crew when I am put down in the hatch with the rest of them, which is sure to be soon, and I'll let them know that I will kill any of them who would give you up. And that goes for the officers, too, when they recover," he said, turning to me with the old cocky grin back in place. "And I would take a kiss right now for my troubles, were it not for the fact that we are sure to be watched by that Frenchy standing right there, and it wouldn't look good for me to be bending a midshipman over and..."
"No, it would not, Joseph."
"A pity, Puss, for it will surely be the last kiss I'll ever receive from anybody for a good long while." I know the truth of this, for while captains and senior lieutenants are routinely freed in prisoner exchanges, mere warrant officers almost never are. Jared is looking at confinement till the end of the war, and that does not seem to be coming soon.
At last the French Squadron Commander bounded aboard, a short, pudgy little man who could scarcely conceal his delight. A prize! I knew he was thinking, A British warship! How this shall benefit both my pocketbook and my reputation! I shall surely be made Admiral!
As I advanced to meet him, I bowed and said, "Midshipman Jack Kemp, à votre service, Capitaine."
He looked at me in wonder and said, "What is this? A mere boy?"
I swept my hand toward our recumbent Captain and continued, "Permettez-moi à vous présenter, Capitaine Hannibal Hudson, le Commandant du HMS Dauntless."
"Le pauvre homme!" said the Frenchy, seemingly concerned with our Captain's well-being. That's how it goes with these things—you try your best to murder each other when the action is ongoing, and then, when it's over, it's back to good manners again. "J'espère que..."
"Your hope that the expert gunnery of your ships did not bring our Captain low," I replied in French, "that is most gracious and kind. Mais, non, you may set your mind at ease—it was a fish."
"Du poisson?"
"Oui, Monsieur, du mauvais poisson," said I. "The ship's officers were overcome with a sickness after having partaken of a fish that had turned against us. HMS Dauntless, distinguished in many a heroic battle, was brought down by a fish. Had the officers been at their best, you would have had a much harder time taking us. As you say, I am but a boy, and I did what I could, but..."
He looked me over. "You did well, young man. You have nothing to be ashamed of," he said, giving me a curt bow. "I am Captain Jules Renaud, at your service."
I returned the bow and went over to Captain Hudson to pick up his sword to present it to Captain Renaud. He took it but shook his head and laid it back down on
the Captain's chest.
"No, let the poor man keep his sword. It may give him some comfort when he awakens to find his ship and his command gone," said this Captain Renaud, who did not seem to be a bad sort. "Ha! So, a fine kettle of fish it was, as you English say. You should have carried a French cook, my lad." He laughed, shaking a pudgy finger in my face. "He would have known how to tell a good fish from a bad one!"
After the pleasantries were over, I, too, was put down into the hold.
Both the Doctor and I were by the Captain's side when he woke up deep in the darkness of his own hold. He took the bitter news a lot better than I would have, had I been in his place. He recovered quickly from his sickness, as did the other officers over the next few days.
All of us had been crammed into the hold, officers and men alike, but, as always, accommodations are made, and territories are mapped out—the Captain and the senior lieutenants aft, and the men spread out forward. I sought out Davy and found him to be safe, thank God, and rejoiced in his company during the day, but I spent the nights curled up next to Joseph Jared, his arm about my shoulders and my face upon his chest, giving me great comfort in my distress. I was so close to gaining my freedom, and going back to my life, and now this. The fortunes of war is how the Captain put it in his philosophical way, and I am forced to agree, but I have a lot more to lose than any of the rest of them if I am found out.
I woke up each morning of our journey, from seaborne captivity to a land prison, with my face buried in the nape of Joseph Jared's neck, a fact not missed by a certain member of the Intelligence Service. Bliffil was never far away, he who had hidden during the battle and had emerged only after it was over, wearing a lieutenant's jacket and hat to keep from being branded a spy. He considers me a prize, I realize, as he sits propped up against the hull of the ship, always, always watching as if he owned me. And, as it turns out later, he does.