Quarterdeck

by David O'Neil

  “You may call the gun crews. Both broadsides, can prepare to run-out. Signal all ships, ‘Close enemy ships and engage at will”.

  The usual clatter of the preparations seemed louder, noisier even, somehow. Martin though the sky had never seemed so blue, everything this morning seemed keener, sharper.

  Martin decided it was because he had an empty stomach, he called Acting Lieutenant Gibbs, and had Dominic roused to take breakfast with him. He guessed that Sao Paulo would be chasing the enemy.

  ***

  The sound of a distant gun brought the Commodore back on deck. Brooks reported, “I believe that to be Commodore Ramos sir.”

  Martin raised his telescope, the two sail were much closer now and showing no signs of turning away. To the East the outline of the Sao Paulo was becoming increasingly clear as she pounded along under full sail, with the wind on her bow. A puff of white smoke, followed by a bang, marked the discharge of her bow-chaser. There was no sign of the fall of the shot. Neither of the targeted ships showed any sign of changing course. The Vixen was closing the distance, and Lieutenant Cameron called from his position on the gun-deck. “Permission to try a bow shot,, sir?”

  “Permission granted, Mr. Cameron!” Martin called.

  The gunner on the bow chaser, poised and ready, waited for the bow to lift to the next wave, then struck the lock and the gun fired. It seemed the entire ship held their breath except the bow gun crew, who ran back, cleared, rammed a bag of grape shot home and ran the gun up to firing position once more. The first shot, having been willed on by the entire crew of the British ship, struck the spritsail beneath the bowsprit of the Huron. the small sail set there disintegrated and ball carried on through the hawse hole severing the anchor cable in its path.

  For the second time during action between them the starboard anchor of the Huron dropped, though this time it was no longer attached to the anchor chain or rope. Still lashed in place the anchor tipped sideways, the unattached outboard end once more in a position to interfere with the mobility of the ship, especially when the heel of the ship could cause the stock of the anchor to bury itself in a wave and drag the head round too fast.

  Abigail split with her consort, turning to meet Mohawk sailing free under American colours. Her gun-ports were open and crews prepared standing by them. A gun fired between them and action was joined.

  While the two other ships were engaged, Vixen and Huron circled each other, each warily trying to get the best advantage from nature and their ship.

  Men, working on the fouled anchor, managed to get a line on the ring at the head of the stock, a brave seaman crawling out on the extended stock, a line tied round his waist, while the ship careered though the water. Men from both ships watched as he reached the ring which still had the end of the broken anchor rope attached. Clinging for his life with one hand he tried to push the line he was carrying through the hole. He needed both hands, but he tried, and nearly fell off. Gripping the stock between his legs, he released his other hand and went to work with both hands. He managed to get the rope through and tied it off so the others could pull the anchor upright and lash it in place, out of the way but not embarrassingly lost. He sat up and waved to let the others know that the job was done. The bow hit a big wave and suddenly he was gone. There was a gasp the rope round his waist snapped tight, and the onlookers turned away. In the bow of the Vixen, a nod from Cameron, and the gun discharged sending a lethal charge of pistol balls into the gathered men on the foc’sle of the Huron. They watched the anchor rise to its normal place, where it was lashed in position.

  As the ships closed Martin called, “Port broadside, ready?”

  The answering roar indicated it was.

  “Starboard broadside, ready?”

  Another roar this time, from the starboard gunners.

  “Standby port broadside guns, only. As you bear. Fire!”

  Martin said calmly to the helmsman, “Ease across the bow, tidy now. Starboard wheel.” There was a seemingly continuous roar, the calm voice came to the helmsman through all the din.

  “Now hard to port. The frigate spun hard toward the starboard side of the other ship, the swinging bowsprit just clearing the rail of her upper deck. The bowsprit took and snapped the shrouds of the mizzen and jammed on the shrouds of the mainmast. As the mizzen swayed, having lost its support from one side of the ship, three of the topmen armed with axes ran out along the bowsprit. They hacked at the shrouds retaining the bowsprit. On the Huron there was confusion for a moment. Then the burly figure of Hayes appeared, shouting orders and sending men to save the rapidly disappearing shrouds. The swinging action of the Vixen snapped more of the ropes. But Hayes’s men managed to get a line to the maintop, and were able to secure the mainmast in position. As the Vixen dropped away from the side of the other ship the guns from both were still in action. There were two guns dismounted on the Vixen and a great hole in the side of the Huron. Four men from the Huron were among the wounded laid out on Vixen’s deck.

  All three of the men from the bowsprit had survived uninjured.

  Martin watched the mizzen on the Huron fall despite the efforts of her crew.

  Like two boxers the two ships lay off, both battered, both looking for the best way to renew the contest. He had been shocked to see the familiar face of Hayes on the other ship. He shrugged. There was never going to be a career in the navy for a man like that. Perhaps this would be when Hayes achieved his revenge. Martin was still ignorant of the reason for the hatred he had aroused in the man.

  Chapter twenty-two

  The long goodbye

  Newton allowed the head of the Huron to drop slightly off the wind. Then snapped it back, almost too far, then again it dropped off the wind, and snapped back sharply. It gave the impression of a tired man trying to keep awake, or a wounded man not complaining, just trying to get on with the job regardless.

  Martin nearly fell for it. Then he remembered the Mediterranean and Captain Graham, playing on your enemy’s weakness, but remembering not to fall for the tricks of the trade.

  He had seen that somewhere before and could not really remember where or when. It did not really matter. He should not fall for it, but he should not ignore it either.

  “Mr. Brooks, haul taut and take us across her stern. Port broadside, stand by!”

  As the Vixen moved off once more, the Huron sprang into life, her sails were also hauled taut, but more carefully, the strain on the cable supporting the main mast, causing it to creak.

  On the deck of the Huron the bo’sun cursed, he was working on replacement shrouds for the main mast and, until they were complete once more, his beloved ship would be a cripple. Hayes appeared, armed to the teeth. “Have you not finished that yet?”

  The hectoring sarcastic voice was like a goad to the bo’sun, who blamed the brutal lieutenant for the condition of the rigging anyway. “If you think you can work faster or better, step in. Otherwise fuck off.”

  Hayes stepped back. The flashing eyes and knife in hand were quite compelling. But he was an officer. He must not be addressed like that by a deckhand, bo’sun or otherwise. His hand flashed out almost by instinct and clouted the man round the ear. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that. I am an officer and will be addressed as sir!”

  The bo’sun looked at Hayes, the contempt in his eyes open and obvious. “Yew are an excuse, a poor one at that, for an officer. So here is what I will do. I will get on with my work as if you never came over here this morning. When this little incident is over we can talk again. Now fuck off. Sir!”

  Hayes withdrew hastily leaving the bo’sun to his task.

  When Newton was reassured that the shrouds were reattached he started to re- establish the position he was working toward when the mizzen was taken down. The spar was now lashed down on deck and though it impaired the sailing of the ship to some extent there was no serious problem with manoeuvring in these conditions.

  ***

  On Mohawk Julia was in her element. The s
hip was handy, more agile than her own rather more pedestrian craft which were, after all, armed trading ships rather than warships. Though Mohawk had decent hold capacity she had been designed as a blockade runner. Thus both aspects of her living had been catered for. The skirmish with Abigail was showing just what a handy craft she was. She had been dodging and shooting with surprising agility, as both ships tried to gain advantage. Julia decided the time had come to put a stop to this.

  “Mr. Hobbs, Abigail is making another run. when his bowsprit reaches ours bring her head up and all guns fire. That will give her a bellyache if nothing else.”

  “It surely will, skipper. Here she comes. Pretty little ship, ain’t she.” Hobbs appreciated the schooner’s trim lines.

  “She certainly is. Trouble is she has teeth.” Julia grinned. “Luckily, so have we.”

  The head of the Mohawk spun round to parallel the racing schooner. The side and view between the ships disappeared in a cloud of stinking, choking gun-smoke as both ships fired their broadside guns.

  Both ships lost way. The breeze took time to clear the smoke. Meantime the gunners on the Mohawk were not waiting for orders, they were still loading and running out, the thunder of the explosions, followed by the squeal of the wheels of the gun carriages on the deck.

  The tall mainmast on the schooner swayed, and, shattered at the base, dropped base first through the planking of the upper deck with a horrendous crash. From there, snagged and trapped it leaned drunkenly to one side and was still.

  Through the thinning fog it was now possible to see the results of the two broadsides. Julia had been aware that there had been damage done to the Mohawk. One of her broadside guns was lying on the deck at her feet. Elsewhere there were shattered timbers which had left a swathe of splinters on the once-pristine deck. Through the holes in the bulwarks, it was possible to see the sea washing into and out of a large hole in the side of the schooner. She watched fascinated as the ship rolled sluggishly and a body was disgorged from the interior. As it flowed into the open sea, a shark rose lazily half out of the water and selected the arm and shoulder of the body and bit, burying its teeth deep, then with a shake, separating it’s selection from the body and disappeared below the water.

  She shook herself and stood upright, realising she had leaned back against the deckhouse. She put her hand to her mouth to stop herself being sick at the sight and looked about properly. Two guns had been dis-mounted. All the masts were safe and undamaged. There were plenty of dockyard pennants about, broken ropes to be repaired and replaced. With a shout she got the attention of the crew and life restarted on the Mohawk.

  ***

  Across the water, at the scene of the encounter between Vixen and Huron, the guns were still blazing. Then the ships fell apart, though there was little to be seen through the thick smoke. As the smoke cleared there appeared to be damage enough on both sides, to keep the crews well occupied just keeping the ships afloat. Vixen still had her masts intact, one of the guns which had been dismounted, was now ready to go back in action. The other would require a completely new carriage. It was lashed securely to the base of the mainmast to prevent it being lost or interfering with the crew’s actions on deck. There were seven dead, and twelve wounded. Naomi was working with the doctor on the wounded, both were wrapped in sheets bloodied from the need to deal with wounds and shattered limbs.

  ***

  Julia was weary, though the battle had not really lasted that long, so far. Judging from the look of the other ship there was still more to do. A boy ran to her with a big mug of beer that she gratefully drank, the spillage tracking through the dirt that marking her face from the dust and smoke of the battle. The gun captains on the reduced broadside raised their hands to let her know they were ready.

  Julie stirred herself and called for the helm to come round to bring the guns to bear. The schooner was down by the head Men were running back and forth on the deck clearing the raffle of gear from the smashed mainmast and lashing the leaning spar to the rigging to stop it overbalancing. Meanwhile the guns were being reloaded and run out. Mohawk got the jump on the Abigail because her superior mobility made it possible.

  Above the cloud Julia could make out the top’sls of the Sao Paulo, approaching from the west.

  ***

  The fore mast of the Huron fell to the disciplined gunners of the Vixen. It was evident neither ship would escape unscathed. The guns of the Sao Paulo managed one broadside, before the gunfire stopped.

  As the smoke drifted away the full horror of the intense encounter could be seen. Scarcely a gun remained mounted in Huron. The shattered bulwarks left little to the imagination, bodies, dismounted cannon, splinters and broken timbers painted with blood.

  Turning to Vixen, it was in better state but not much. More guns still in their carriages, but dead and wounded men everywhere. There were men moving about on the naval vessel, crewmen attending to the dead and wounded.

  ***

  Julia spotted the boat from Sao Paulo coming around the stem of the Huron. Another boat had obviously boarded from the other side of the ship as men appeared on deck.

  The approaching boat came alongside the Vixen and the occupants climbed aboard to give aid to the men needing it.

  Julia left them to it. There was plenty to do on her own ship, and. from the look of it, for the crew of the Abigail.

  The message came across from the flagship. All wounded and dead to the shore use Absolom’s house for a hospital. All help gratefully received.

  Naomi appeared in time to hear the message. “I go now and prepare. Sadie will help and I know others ashore who will be happy to assist.

  Julie nodded immediately. “Mr. Hobbs, a boat for the ladies, direct to the big house, if possible.”

  “Yes, Skipper.” On the shore side of the ship there were several boats moored. He called two of the men, “Get the ladies ashore and help them set up a place for the doctor to use to operate and look after the other patients. Stay and help. Don’t run off and leave them. You understand me?”

  Both men took one look at the man towering over them and answered fast, “Yes, Sir!”

  By the time the boat reached the shore there were three other boats coming from the ships involved in the battle. More were loading up. From Vixen, the Doctor and his boxes were already being loaded. Another of Sao Paulo’s boats was coming from the Huron, loaded with wounded from the looks of things.

  ***

  Newton’s battle had gone rather the way his life had gone over the past few months, from bad to worse. As he had approached the ship of the English Captain/Commodore he had realised the man was no fool. Their earlier encounter could have gone either way. It worried him that he had somehow allowed the man to get the advantage of numbers on this occasion.

  As the ships had approached each other, the ranging ball from the Vixen had cut the anchor cable on that same anchor. Newton could feel the immediate effect on the trim of the ship.

  “Get that anchor secured!” He shouted and two of the seamen forward ran to the task.

  They were not in time to prevent the terrible impact of the Vixen’s first broadside, guns firing in succession rippling down the portside of the attacking ship.

  Its effect was shattering. The mizzen mast was shot through and started to fall, until snagged by the tangle of rigging. Through the smoke Newton was able to see the Vixen spinning round, her bowsprit slashing through the shrouds of the mizzen and catching then at the mainmast shrouds on the starboard side of the Huron. Roger Newton could feel the pain as his ship was wounded, He was aware that the guns of his own ship were firing, but the agony….? He looked down at his hand clutching his stomach. There was something wrong. His hand was red, bloody even. There was blood leaking through his clothes, between his clenched fingers. The hand would not move. He tried to see what had caused all the blood and his hand would not move. Something was stopping it.

  Lieutenant Hayes appeared, “What are your orders, sir?” Hayes eyes strayed do
wn to Newton’s waist. His face paled. “Sir, you are hurt!”

  Newton looked at the man and grinned, “Keep firing, Mr. Hayes. Send the doctor and keep firing. Remember we have guns on both sides of the ship, Mr. Hayes.”

  The laugh that followed this comment was ghoulish to Hayes’s ears. “Aye, aye. Sir” He managed and ran off to give orders. The bo’sun, working at the broken shrouds, spat and told his mate, “I’ll take my chances in a boat, I reckons. Ain’t no hope here, now the captain’s gone.”

  “Captain’s still alive, Bose,”

  “Just take a look at him and tell me how long?” The sardonic tone said it all.

  His mate looked at Roger Newton standing there beside the mainmast, the ramrod from one of the enemy guns had him pinned to the mast, the swab end standing clear by two feet. The remainder driven by the gun’s charge through Newton’s hand and stomach, leaving him impaled like a specimen upright against the mast, his life draining from him as they watched.

  One of the last balls fired from Huron nearly ended Martin’s career. A large splinter from the shattered bulwark caught him high in the shoulder, throwing him to the deck beneath the imminent threat of the damaged main-spar, now dangling by its sheets and the remnants of its sail.

  Peters was there, carefully dragging his Captain clear of danger and calling for the doctor.

  Roger Mills took one look and shouted to Lieutenant Brooks. “She is all yours, Mr. Brooks. I need to get the Commodore ashore.”

  “Right, Doctor. There is a boat there.” He pointed to the shoreward side of the ship and left it to the doctor and Peters to get on with things.

 

  ***

  They carried Martin into the main bedroom of Absolom’s former house, and stripped his clothes off. Whilst he was still unconscious, the doctor removed the splinter, taking care to find every scrap of wood within the torn flesh.