Where The Flag Floats

by Grant, D C

  “Nothing!”

  “Liar,” he said and slapped me hard across the face, releasing me at the same time so that I fell to the deck. I could taste blood inside my mouth. “Search him,” he said, turning to one of the marines.

  It was Private Gardner, who was rough as he searched through my clothes. He soon found the watch, holding it up in triumph. Lieutenant Amphlett took it from him and put it in his pocket while Private Gardner yanked me to my feet where I stood swaying, dizzy from the blow to my head. The lieutenant wrapped his hand around the back of my scrawny neck and pushed me forward without letting go. “Come with me, you scallywag. This time I’ll see you strung.”

  With his hand heavy on where my collar used to be, he propelled me toward the bridge where I could see the commodore, the commander and the master, all sneering down at us as we made our way through the crowd.

  “What’s going on, Lieutenant?” the commodore asked as we came close.

  “The stowaway was in your cabin again, sir. I went to investigate a disturbance below and thought to check your cabin. I found him with this.” He took the watch out of his pocket and it swung from his finger as it had done from mine, catching the light. I almost reached out to grab it.

  “Master-at-arms,” the commodore called out. “Shackle the boy to the compass stand in front of the wheel where we can see him and I shall deal with him after we have crossed the bar. I’ll not have him disrupting the ship again at such a crucial time. The men need to keep their attention on the sea, not the deck!”

  The Master-at-Arms grabbed me and took a set of shackles out of his belt. I backed away but the lieutenant held me firm, holding out my arm so that the master could put the heavy metal ring around it. My small, bony hand slipped right through it and I thought I was saved, but instead the master ordered a marine to fetch him a length of rope. He wound one end of it around my right wrist, drew my hands together around the stanchion and wound the end around my left wrist. I was tied securely to the stanchion and unable to go anywhere. All I could do was slip my hands up and down the metal, so I slid down to the deck, drew my legs into my chest and lowered my head, unable to look up into the faces of the men, some of whom wished me ill and others who had betrayed me.

  “I hope the commodore hangs you,” said Private Gardner beside me. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since you came aboard. And we all know that stowaways are bad luck. We should have dropped you over the side when we found you.”

  “Thank you, Private Gardner, you may return to your post,” Lieutenant Amphlett said sternly as he returned the watch to his coat pocket and spun away.

  The men returned to their positions and I was ignored as they again prepared for the crossing. I shivered as I sat there, filled with dread and pain. The rough handling I had received had opened up some of the wounds on my back, and I could feel blood running down my spine. My breathing was laboured as I struggled to recover after the pursuit over the deck.

  I bowed my head so that the men could not see my tears. I had failed to fulfill my mother’s dying wishes, her grave would remain unmarked and I would be charged with mutiny and left hanging at the end of a rope. I was in despair, my heart filled with sorrow and my body trembling in fear.

  At that time, I truly wished I had died with my mother.

  1.00pm

  I lifted my head at the snap of raised voices above and behind me. The commodore, the commander and the master, Mr Strong, were talking animatedly over a chart that fluttered in the wind.

  “We need to follow Mr Veitch’s instructions,” Mr Strong was saying. His hand lay flat across the chart as he traced the route. “You see, it will take us half a point further to the north than that indicated by Mr Drury’s chart, but you can see that Mr Veitch’s instructions are dated 11th October 1861. It post dates Mr Drury’s chart by nine years.”

  “But Drury’s chart is provided by the admiralty,” the commodore said.

  “There has been a history of the bank moving to the north,” Mr Strong said. “That is why the chart was amended.”

  The commodore stared forward to the stretch of water in front of them and glanced down at the chart as if confirming what he saw there.

  “It says here that that promontory there called ...” He looked down at the chart again. “… Nine Pin Rock should be in line with the southern end of the headland there.”

  “But look at the line I’ve drawn using Mr Veitch’s instructions, which say that Nine Pin Rock should have about twice its base open.”

  “But that will take us a quarter of a mile to the north of Drury’s line,” the commodore protested. “Surely we’re not meant to be so far north on entry.”

  “That’s what Mr Veitch’s instructions say.”

  “We will follow Drury’s chart,” the commodore declared, and he marched away as though he wanted nothing more to do with the discussion. The master looked after him, a little startled; then saw me watching him and scowled, so I averted my eyes.

  Not many men had overhead the conversation on the bridge and, if they did, they were not about to say anything against their commodore. The men on the deck appeared calm, as were the men hanging on the yardarms, their feet on the footrope below the spar, knowing that land was in sight and within an hour they would be safe within the harbour. For my own part, I dreaded entering the harbour, as soon afterwards my fate would be decided.

  “Yes, Mr Mallock,” I heard Mr Strong say and I noticed a midshipman standing to my right, just underneath the bridge.

  “My compliments, Mr Strong, but Mr Oliert reports that the signals are telling us to veer north.”

  “Thank you, Mr Mallock,” the master said as he turned to the commodore. “A veer to the north brings us in line with Veitch’s instructions,” he said triumphantly. “I advise a change of course, sir!”

  The commodore conferred with the commander, a conversation I could not overhear. At length he sighed. “Very well, sir, we shall follow Mr Veitch’s instructions.”

  Orders were relayed to the helmsmen who turned the helm to starboard to bring her head around to port. Men on the sails adjusted them as the yardarms swung on the masts and the ship settled down into her new course. I could not see anything from my position on the deck, just the blue sky above me with the white clouds scudding across it. A single seagull weaved overhead and I drank in the sight. I could feel the swells beneath the ship, making her rise slowly and driving her forward, while the sun shone down brightly from above. I could smell the saltiness of the air and the tar on the ropes around me. In the rigging the wind whistled, making it hum eerily while the seagull above me let out a haunting cry as if calling to the dead. The officers above me went silent, as if they were holding their breath as we approached the bar.

  I did not hold mine. I breathed in deeply, enjoying the taste of brine on my tongue and hoping that my punishment was not going to be as severe as Lieutenant Amphlett had led me to believe. Maybe the commodore would spare me if I convinced him to find my aunt – but would they give me that chance? I had no way of knowing. I was a stowaway, unwanted and unwelcome. A burden. What’s more, I had stolen from the commodore’s cabin. Would they hang me first and ask questions later? I closed my eyes and I prayed that they would not.

  1.30pm

  I opened my eyes at a slight jolt as the ship slowed sharply. The commodore called out an order and the engine room boy ran forward, repeating the shouted order down the companionway; I could faintly hear the message being repeated again down the engine room ladder. The vibrating increased as the engines beneath us throbbed with power.

  Up forward, Fred was talking to the First Lieutenant, Mr Mudge. From his gestures I saw that he was very excited but I did not know why. Maybe he was pleading for my life, but it was too early for that. Mr Mudge waved Fred back to the forecastle but the men around him pushed him forward, and he walked past the lieutenant and approached the bridge quickly.

  “Excuse me, sir, but we’re on the wrong course.” His words had be
en directed to Mr Strong, the master.

  “What say you?” said Mr Strong, puffing out his chest.

  “Sir, I’ve crossed the bar in the Harrier. The course is further north. We have to change course, sir, immediately, sir.”

  A marine came up to take Fred back to the forecastle but Mr Strong waved him away while the commodore came to stand alongside Mr Strong. He looked down at Fred, his expression serious. “What was your position on the Harrier?” he asked.

  “I was quartermaster, sir. And I took the Harrier over the bar.”

  “And you say the course is further north?”

  “Yes, sir, without a doubt.”

  “Mr Amphlett,” the commodore called and the lieutenant about-turned smartly. “You’ve been over the bar before. Do you concur with Mr Butler?”

  “I must admit, sir, to being ignorant of the navigational instructions of these parts, but I would defer to Mr Butler’s observations as I do seem to recall that the rock was in a more open position on approach.”

  The commodore turned to Mr Strong. “Change course immediately, Mr Strong; veer away to the north.”

  “Yes, sir.’ Even from my position I could see the relief in Mr Strong’s face, but the relief was short-lived as Mr Mallock approached the bridge.

  “The signal tells us to ‘stand off shore’, sir.”

  “Yes, we’re trying to do that, Mr Mallock,” Mr Strong replied.

  It was true: the helmsman was straining at the wheel while one of the other helmsmen stepped forward to assist him. But before he could reach the wheel, the ship struck something softly, so softly I believe that very few of the seamen were initially aware of it. The breakers, before which we had been running, now carried forward to the shore without the ship and she slowly slid to a stop, settling as gently as a lady sitting down upon a chair.

  We were aground – and much, much too far from shore.

  2pm

  “Full astern!” the commodore ordered and the engine room boy again ran across the deck to holler the command down the hatchway. “Lower the topsails and reef in the sails as much as the ropes will allow.”

  This was followed by another order to batten down the hatches. Around me, men scrambled about as they ran to obey the orders, knowing that their work was crucial. I could feel the boards beneath me shudder and groan as the engines reversed and I, like the men around me, waited for the ship to lift and continue on her way.

  She did not.

  Instead a wave struck her, breaking across her stern. The ship shifted sideways until she was broadside to the waves. The action was sudden, knocking several men off their feet and sending them sprawling across the deck. I clung to the stanchion as she lurched to port, side-on to the oncoming waves, and the seas thrust against her side with a tremendous boom that shook the whole ship. Water surged across the deck, smashing the two boats that had hung on davits on the port side and taking the port bulwark with it. Waves cascaded over me; I lost my grip on the stanchion and slewed sideways so that I hit a coaming. I could not register the pain as I was struggling to breathe, the volume of water so great that I could not raise my head above it. It tugged at me as it drained away but my hands were held tight by the rope that now dug into my wrists, and my arms felt as though they were being torn from their sockets.

  “Lighten the ship – get the port guns overboard!” I heard the commodore shout. Water was in my nose, throat and ears and I shook my head to clear them all. The deck was in chaos. Some of the supplies had moved, sliding across the deck to land up against the guns and suppliers on the port side. Men scrambled across the deck too, officers trying to direct their men while the seamen in the rigging struggled with the sails that now thrashed, unclewed, in the wind. I tried to call out but another rush of water engulfed me, filling my mouth with water. I heard a cry and saw a man carried along by the retreating waves towards the space where the port bulwark had been. He disappeared through the space and a seaman threw a lifebuoy to him, but I doubted he’d ever reach it.

  The deck was at a tilt towards the port, the seas rushing over the bulwark with every broaching wave, flooding over the wood and knocking men off their feet as they laboured at throwing the guns overboard. As I watched, a hatch was thrown upwards by the violent bumping and was carried away by the sea. The next wave flooded over and into the opening left by the absent hatch.

  I scrambled up against the lean of the deck until I could hook my legs around the stanchion to which I was tied. I tried to shout out but my throat was raw from the seawater I had swallowed. I would drown if I was left tied to the stanchion, but the men were too busy to be concerned for me.

  “Look, sir, smoke!” Lieutenant Amphlett called. On the bridge above me, the lieutenant was pointing landwards. “A steamer, sir, making its way out of the harbour. It may be our salvation.”

  “Hands out boats!” the commodore ordered. “Mr Fielding, man the starboard cutter. Take the ships records; ensure that they are passed into safe hands and then return.”

  I knew then that the ship was in peril. When the ship first struck, I was sure that the competent sailors would soon have us afloat and moving again, heading towards the safety of the harbour but, by giving this order, I realised that the commodore believed that there was a chance the ship would sink and take the ship’s records with it – unless they were swiftly removed.

  I watched as the men loaded the cutter with the ship’s records, the commodore’s desk and a small tin case in which, I presumed, were valuable papers. But the ship was lurching badly, the men could not keep their footing for more than a few seconds at a time and I saw some of the records lost overboard before they ever made it into the small boat.

  It took a great deal of effort from the men to lower the cutter into the sea and the rest of the men gathered to watch as it left the ship. I was unable to see anything from my position at the compass and could only hope that the brave men had made it clear away.

  “Lieutenant Hill!” the commander shouted. “Launch the pinnace and go to the aid of the cutter.”

  It appeared that the cutter was already in distress.

  “And Mr Hill,” the commodore called. “Take Mr Amphlett with you for he is acquainted with this place and will know where to get assistance.”

  “Aye, sir,” the lieutenant said and I saw him approach Lieutenant Amphlett. Together with about two-dozen men, they manhandled the pinnace to the side of the ship and lowered it into the water. Both lieutenants jumped into the boat, landing in it safely in spite of the rush of water that caused it to slew about. Several other men got in too, and the last I saw of them was as they pulled away from the ship, the oarsmen straining to row against the strong push of the water.

  As the pinnace disappeared from my sight, I realised that my watch had now gone with Lieutenant Amphlett. I was trapped on the ship, and, though I shouted at the men who rushed past me to release me, I was ignored.

  If the ship sank, then I would go down with it to my death.

  3pm

  “Attention all hands!” the commodore shouted. “Any of the men wishing to save themselves must be ready at the starboard side of the ship to jump into the launch.”

  Another boat had been prepared. It was the big one in the centre of the ship; it had taken thirty seamen to get her over the side and now she hung by both aft and forward lines as men jumped into her.

  “Hey!” I called out again, trying to get someone’s attention, so often now that my voice was hoarse. “Someone let me loose!”

  I had been straining against my bonds since the pinnace had left and all I had managed to achieve was chafing of my hands and wrists. Blood mixed with seawater was running down my arms. I had called to the seamen as they ran past but not one had noticed. I sagged against the stanchion, cold and exhausted and certain that I was going to die.

  “Sam,” a familiar voice said as a firm hand grabbed my shoulder. “Do you live?”

  “Aye,” I said wearily. I raised my head and tried to smile at Fred
.

  “Right, let’s get you off this ship.” He produced a small knife and began to saw at the sodden rope around my wrists.

  “I thought they had left me to die.” I could not keep the anger from my voice. “Why didn’t you come sooner?”

  “Sorry, Sam, the officers kept us busy and I couldn’t get away. But now there’s not much more that can be done – the ship is doomed. We’ve hit the middle bank and the ship’s settling in. The sea is rushing in below and soon the tide will turn and she’ll be under water. If we don’t leave soon, we’ll have no chance.”

  “What happened to the steamer?”

  “I don’t think it’s seen us – it turned to the south and is almost out of sight.”

  “How could it not?” I asked but Fred did not answer, intent as he was on cutting through the rope. I looked over at the waiting launch and saw John there, poised to jump, timing his departure such that he landed in the middle of the thwarts and was steadied by the crewmen.

  The wet rope around my wrists was resistant to the sharp edge of the blade and Fred had to work hard to cut through the strands. It was slow work and I constantly looked over as the launch filled with men. Finally the last thread was cut and I stood unsteadily as another breaker rocked the ship, grabbing at the stanchion to prevent myself from being thrown off my feet. My wet and bloody hands slipped on the metal and Fred steadied me as I stumbled.

  “Wait, Sam, there’s a set of rollers coming.”

  I looked seaward and saw the black blocks of waves charging towards us.

  “Hold on!” Fred shouted as the first wave in the set hit, and the ship groaned and shuddered before another wave hit soon after. Forced by the surge of water, the ship began to roll to her starboard side and I could hear men shouting and screaming as they were dislodged. The receding wave rolled her back again, back towards port. There was a grating, roaring noise and I had a glimpse of the launch flying through the air before it was lost to sight.