Peregrine

by Aye, Michael

Before he could speak, Buck ordered, “Go below and change.”

  Gabe knew the order was for his sake. Clean fresh silk was thought to cause less infection if one was wounded. Once his uniform was changed, Hex clipped on his sword and handed Gabe his hat. Hex had seen Gabe clutch the leather pouch around his neck and whisper, “Faith.”

  On deck Wesley was nervous; it was obvious in his speech. “He intends to engage,” he said.

  “What would you expect?” Dagan answered.

  “Th…that’s a sixty-four and two forty-fours.”

  “Would you run?” Dagan asked. The question seemed to calm the man as if he resigned himself to whatever fate may bring.

  Gabe had just made it back on deck when the French sixty-four bearing their commodore’s flag fired. Orange flames erupted from the double line of black muzzles.

  “My God, the Frenchy is headed toward the brigs.”

  Seeing this Gabe called out, “Mr. Gunnells, alter course to yonder brig.”

  “Aye Captain. Two can play this game.”

  Generally a small ship was left out of battle but with the French commodore headed after the cargo ships Gabe felt his only course of action was to go after the French brig. The commodore would have to allow his brig to be sunk or come to its rescue. Gabe felt he’d do the latter.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Gabe watched the ships as they closed.

  “Look at the fresh paint,” Dagan volunteered. “They’re not long out of port.”

  “We’ll have to fire on the up roll,” Buck stated, neither man hearing the other.

  The French sixty-four seemed to tower above Peregrine. She had done as Gabe expected. As Gabe headed for the smaller French vessel, the French commodore turned away for the British brigs.

  “He thinks he can scoop ’em up at his leisure he does,” Gunnells said.

  He might be right, Gabe thought. Watching the approaching French squadron he could see the frigates were less than two miles and the sixty-four less than a mile. Calling to the signal midshipman, Gabe ordered signal ‘independent action.’ Hazard must have been expecting the signal as he immediately changed tack.

  “He intends to go between the frigates,” Gunnells stated.

  “Aye,” Dagan responded. “He knows it puts them at a disadvantage. The French will fear hitting their own ship if the guns aren’t aimed precisely.”

  “We are almost up with the brig,” Hex volunteered.

  “Take in the courses,” Gabe ordered. It was time to shorten sail. “Prepare to engage to starboard, Mr. Davy.”

  “Aye sir.”

  “Mr. Druett, I want those smashers speaking loud and often today. They may make the difference.”

  “Aye Captain, we’ll sing ’em a tune they’ll not likely forget.”

  “Mr. Davy.”

  “Sir.

  “I want that brig’s mast cut down.”

  “Aye sir.”

  “Mr. Gunnells, bring her up to pistol shot range then bring her across the stern.”

  “The Frenchy looks like she’ll overreach us,” Hex volunteered.

  “It’ll be close,” Dagan replied, “but Gabe will put the brig between us so she will only be able to use the guns on the upper deck.”

  “I knew he was a smart one,” Hex said.

  “Aye,” Dagan replied with a smile. “I taught him well.” This brought a general chuckle from the crew within hearing.

  Watching as the distance and gap closed, Gabe thought Davy had waited too long but gun by gun the starboard battery fired. Smoke and flames belched forth and a loud crash was heard. As the smoke cleared somebody could be heard cheering wildly.

  Both of the brig’s masts had been hit. Only the stays kept the forward mast from toppling over the side. The mainmast was shattered with only a splinter of itself holding on. It was already leaning and once the stays parted the whole thing would be down. The ship was listing to starboard. A mass of tangled rigging lines and broken spars dangled precariously. Any type of wind and it would all be in the ocean.

  Gabe didn’t have time to survey more of the damage. “Now, Mr. Gunnells.”

  The deck tilted sharply and Peregrine crossed the brig’s stern. The sixty-four tried to follow suit but someone yelled, “She’s in irons, by God.”

  Buck stood next to Gabe and excitedly yelled, “The Frenchy cut it too close. Without sails or headway they’re going to collide.”

  Gabe was afraid to hope. Could their luck be this good? Then it happened; the two French ships ground together amid the downed riggings. The bowsprit impaled the brig and was tangled in the mass. Buck swore.

  “Bring us around, Mr. Gunnells. Cross the big Frenchy’s stern. Mr. Davy, fire as you bear. Mr. Druett.”

  “Aye Captain, we’re ready.”

  Shots crashed overhead as the French sixty-four was able to get some of her guns to bear. A few balls hit the hull making Peregrine shudder.

  “We’ll receive more before we are in position!” Buck bellowed.

  Gabe nodded but didn’t speak. The voice of the bosun could be heard as he had men swarming aloft to repair damage.

  “Look,” Hex yelled, calling Gabe’s attention to the bow of the sixty-four. Men with axes were trying to cut away the mess that locked the ships together.

  Gabe wiped smoke from his eyes. More shots erupted from the Frenchy tearing away part of the poop and cutting down two men. The air was filled with curses as the gun captains urged their crews to reload and run out.

  Severed standing and running rigging hung down and waved in the wind. Forward, Gabe heard the unmistakable sound of the smasher firing. As they passed the last gun to bear, Gabe bellowed for Gunnells to put down the helm. Peregrine answered and the stern of the sixty-four was exposed.

  Decking exploded around the wheel and Gabe saw Gunnells go down. As the sixty-four’s stern guns fired the helmsman was still at the wheel and it was intact. Davy had trained his gunners well. Each gun was laid perfectly and shot after shot poured into the unprotected stern. The smasher had silenced the French stern guns and the cannons fired round after round into the ship.

  “That did it for her rudder!” Druett shouted.

  “Come about and another broadside,” Gabe ordered.

  The quartermaster acknowledged Gabe’s order and, without being hit by another French ball, another broadside poured into the sixty-four’s stern.

  “Bugger the bastard good!” Hawks shouted.

  Once the smoke cleared, the whole stern of the once beautiful sixty-four was shot away and the rudder was gone.

  “You don’t want to take yonder ship?” Wesley asked.

  “No,” Gabe replied. “Lady Luck was good to us and she’s out of action. To press it may mean losing this ship and our cohorts. No, we’ll make for the frigates and lend a hand. We still have not won this battle.”

  “Aye Captain,” Wesley replied thinking, I should have known that.

  * * *

  The battle between Drake, Fearless, and the remainder of the French ships was definitely favoring the French.

  Thinking back on the Romney, how her mast and decks had been riddled with canister, Gabe called, “Mr. Davy, Mr. Druett, I want canister on top of ball for every round.”

  The men acknowledged Gabe’s order.

  “Lieutenant York.”

  “Sir,” the marine answered.

  “Have your men man the swivels. I want to pour as much grape as possible over the Frenchmen’s deck.”

  “Aye Captain.”

  Hazard was working both starboard and larboard batteries as well as he could. One of the corvettes was now falling down wind. The mast and rigging was shot away and stays parting letting it fall over the side.

  However, Fearless was taking a beating. Gripping his sword, Gabe prayed as he watched the ship keel over from the onslaught of the large French frigate.

  “We must get closer,” Buck stated, knowing Gabe’s need to come to their friend’s rescue.

  “Look
there!” Hex shouted.

  Against orders, Jepson poured a broadside of his tiny pop guns into the French frigate.

  “He’s distracted them!” Buck yelled.

  “Aye, now get away,” Gabe said. “Get away, Jep, now!” He realized he was shouting but could not be heard above the noise.

  The entire broadside including the smashers fired, the deadly mixture of ball and canister sweeping the Frenchy’s deck. Men were falling everywhere on the French frigate. The wheel was shot away, parts of the bulwark were flying in the air, all mixed with the thud of iron tearing into the wooden ship. A bright flash was seen as a gun exploded.

  “Must not have swabbed the barrel,” Dagan volunteered.

  Not surprising, Gabe thought. Peregrine now shuddered as balls from the other forty-four pounded into her deck. One of the midshipmen collapsed in front of Buck. Most of one arm had been shot away. Buck quickly tied a piece of rope above the boy’s stump.

  “Get him below,” he ordered a couple of seamen. As he rose, his hands were wet and sticky from the boy’s blood.

  Another broadside slammed into the ship and the wheel was shattered. One of the helmsmen tried to rise but fell dead, his life’s blood pouring over the deck. Hex and another hand grabbed the broken wheel.

  Gabe bellowed, trying to make himself heard above the din of battle. “Mr. Druett, can you work both smashers?” It was no use; the noise was too great.

  Another hand had been grabbed to help with the wheel, so Gabe sent Hex to speak to Druett. They needed both forward guns working. If he needed hands there were enough guns out of action their crews could be sent to help.

  “Damme, but it’s a hot one!” Buck exclaimed as he picked up his hat. Some sharpshooter had nearly found his mark but only succeeded in putting a ball through the admiral’s hat.

  Where’s Drake? Gabe wondered; had Byrd lost his nerve? Fearless was in a bad way. The momentary reprieve given by Peregrine’s onslaught had been forfeited with the arrival of the other forty-four. Another broadside slammed into Peregrine. The entire larboard bulwark was hit sending exploding timbers and splinters flying into the air. Beside him, Dagan flinched as a quill size splinter impaled itself into his arm. Hex was down but seemed to be rising; no visible injury could be seen. We can’t take much more of this, Gabe thought.

  The bang of swivels along with the uneven roar of Peregrine’s guns showed they still had some fight left… but to what end? The sound of a full broadside was heard but it took a moment for it to register in Gabe’s mind that they didn’t take any hits. However, he didn’t have time to consider the implications at the moment.

  Feeling a gust of wind Gabe yelled to the helmsman, “Hard over!” If somehow he could escape from between the two forty-fours there might be a chance. A quick glimpse of Fearless as they inched ahead of the French frigate was heartbreaking. The ship was doomed. The main topgallant staggered and plunged to the deck as Gabe watched. The forward mast was gone. Only a couple of figures could be seen moving on deck but amid the smoke and carnage her remaining guns still fired. They had no chance, Gabe thought. They never did.

  “Dagan,” Gabe called. He’d have to stand in for the master. “Man the braces! Put up your helm.”

  Peregrine gathered speed despite her torn sails flapping in the wind. Gabe was oblivious to the shrieking balls from the French sharpshooters that thudded into the planks beneath his feet. The blast of the swivel from the fighting top stopped the rain of balls. The scarlet coat of one of the marines flashed before his eyes as the man fell from aloft. Men were firing down from the taller forty-four. Peregrine’s deck tilted as the men held the wheel and suddenly they were on a collision course with the forty-four.

  “Ease your helm,” Gabe ordered. Dagan nodded and spoke to the helmsman.

  Realization suddenly came over Buck. “You’re going to ram her.” It was a faultless decision but one that would likely cost Gabe his ship.

  It would give the brigs time to escape. Too late the French realized Gabe’s intention. They’d been so caught up in their battle with Fearless that only one gun fired before they were rammed. However, its effect was devastating. Several men from the starboard carronade were cut down, canister shot raking the entire crew and cutting them to bloody ribbons as it toppled the smashers. The screams and cries of pain were drowned out by the crashing timbers as Peregrine rammed into the side of the forty-four. Water gushed into the opening created by Peregrine’s bow. The sound of firing aft caused Gabe to turn and see Drake delivering a broadside up the other frigate’s stern. The French captain in his haste to punish Peregrine forgot about Drake. Too late, they paid the price. A terrific explosion rocked the ship and a ball of flames rose into the sky.

  Gabe could feel the furnace-like heat reach his ship. “Douse the sails,” he ordered.

  “Sir…sir,” Wesley was calling. “The French is sinking. We have to cut away or they’ll pull us down with them.”

  Men stepped over the strewn bodies to chop away at the bowsprit and timbers that locked the two ships together as if in a death grip. A shout from the French ship made Gabe look up. The French captain, his coat stained in blood, raised his sword in salute. As Gabe watched the man fell to his knees then toppled forward onto the deck, his sword clanging down, landing a foot or so from Hex. Picking up the sword he made to give it to Gabe.

  “No,” Gabe said refusing the offered sword. “Give it to our admiral. It should be his.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  The remainder of the voyage was slow. For the first week burials interrupted the daily routine. Fearless had been lost along with many of her crew. Miraculously, Hazard had come through unscathed. While in the process of freeing Peregrine from the sinking French frigate, Drake had come alongside to offer assistance. Gabe was shocked to find Jepson had boarded the ship and took command.

  “I could see she had no guidance so I boarded to offer help. I found Byrd leaning against the mast clutching his chest. Seeing me, he uttered, ‘Thank God’ and slid to the deck. He was dead.”

  Gabe couldn’t help recalling Gil telling him about Bart’s words: He’s got the smell of death on him that one does. Bart was right. Gabe thought of Byrd’s last words: Thank God. That had been truer than anyone could have imagined. Had it not been for Jepson’s quick action the outcome would have been far different.

  “You never fail to come to the Anthony’s rescue, do you,” Gabe had said in all sincerity to Jepson.

  “I’ll see you a captain yet,” Buck promised Jepson.

  Had the French commodore not signaled for the remaining corvette to close with the flag and protect it, things might have gone much differently. They had been lucky and they all knew it. If the brig and the sixty-four hadn’t collided there was little doubt in Gabe’s mind that his wife would be a widow now…his child fatherless.

  * * *

  Gabe, Jepson, and Hazard were sharing a glass at the George Inn when the messenger arrived. “Sir, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. The admiral requires your presence.” By that, he meant the port admiral.

  As Gabe rose, the lieutenant looked down at the glasses on the table and at the paper the men had been reading and discussing. Motioning for the serving girl, Gabe ordered a glass for the lieutenant.

  “Oh, no sir, I couldn’t. I’ve been searching for you for awhile. It was your mother who said you could be found here.”

  “It’s getting cold out,” Gabe said. “You sure you don’t want a glass.”

  “Yes…well, a quick glass wouldn’t hurt.” Seeing the paper the lieutenant spoke again, “The Gazette did you proud, sir. A wonderful article, I read the report. It was kind of Admiral Buck to give you all the credit. You and your fellow captains that is,” the lieutenant added, not wanting to offend any of the other men at the table.

  The headline had read, “Captain Gabriel Anthony, son of Admiral Lord James Anthony and brother to Vice Admiral Lord Gilbert Anthony met and defeated a much superior French squadron.” The
end of the article had projected Gabe would be knighted for his acts. What the paper didn’t say was how many good men were lost. Some killed, others maimed. Gunnells had lost an arm. It would be some time before he would walk another quarterdeck, if ever.

  The drink came and the messenger downed it in one swallow. Arriving at the port admiral’s office, Gabe was greeted by the admiral then told he had been summoned to Whitehall by Lord Sandwich himself. “They must have something in store for you, Captain, as the First Lord personally signed the order and sent a special courier to deliver it.”

  * * *

  A brisk wind shook the coach as it rocked along the cobbled streets to Whitehall. As soon as the coach stopped, a doorman opened the door and assisted him down. “This way, please.”

  Did the doorman know who he was? Gabe wondered. Had some signal been passed to him by the driver? Gabe wasn’t sure but followed the man as he opened the door. Walking down the hall he couldn’t help but remember his first trip here in company with his brother. A lot had changed since then. He had been lucky, maybe more so than he deserved.

  When handing the secretary his papers, the man spoke in a loud voice. “Captain Anthony, sir. It’s good to see you. The First Lord has been awaiting your arrival.” The man’s voice carried and Gabe could feel the stares of the other captains, lieutenants, and workers in the great hall. He overheard one man swear, “Damme, he’s only a boy.” Before Gabe could sit down, the secretary was back.

  “Lord Sandwich will see you now, Captain.”

  An angry appearing captain gave Gabe a cold look as they passed outside the First Lord’s door. “You interrupted his visit,” the secretary said in a whisper.

  “Gabe,” the First Lord greeted him. “My God, sir, but you’ve set England aflame with your heroics. This damnable war has gotten everyone down so. Your acts have raised spirits. Damme boy how did you beat an entire squadron?”

  “I wasn’t alone,” Gabe answered, not comfortable with all the accolades.

  “Just like your father and brother,” Lord Sandwich quipped. Walking to his desk, he picked up a few sheets of paper. “A letter from my friend, Lord Ragland; he states he sent a similar one to the Prince Regent. He has stated…nay, demanded you be knighted. I’ve no doubt you will be.” Pouring two glasses of claret, Lord Sandwich handed one to Gabe. “I hear your ship is in a bad way.”