by Lee Henschel
“And pound us if we’re fool enough to run aground on Socabo.”
“Aye, sir.”
Captain Cedric slammed his fist on the rail.
“Damn all! I mean to have her. It galls to think she’s slipping away. If Tiverton had a Spanish brig he’d reap havoc on Cadiz. ”
“We may have her yet, sir.”
“More speculation, Mr. Lau?”
“No sir. Facts. Just last year Calypso managed to sound Socabo.”
“Calypso’s a reconnaissance sloop, if I recall.”
“Aye, sir. And she recorded that a rip tide’s cut a channel clear through Socabo.”s
“Where?”
“Seven hundred yards off shore, sir. If you observe smartly you will see the water turns colour there. Calypso ran that channel and recorded precise bearings on just where she went through, sir.”
“What does Calypso draw, Mr. Lau?”
“Twenty feet, sir.”
The captain raised a brow. “And how deep is that channel?”
“At this time of day four fathoms, sir. Perhaps a bit more in mid-channel. And it’s about thirty yards wide.”
“So you are thinking, Mr. Lau, that the brig’s captain is unaware of the channel?”
“I do, sir. The Spaniards are slow to amend their charts, sir. Very likely he’s using an outdated one.”
“Eleanor’s draft is twenty-one feet at the bow and twenty-three aft. That’s barely enough to clear. I require a safer margin.”
Rainey cleared his throat. “I believe we can provide ourselves with that margin, sir.”
“By lightening ship, Lieutenant? We don’t have time for that.”
“No, sir. We can’t lighten ship, but we can shift the ballast aft to lift the bow as we approach Socabo, then shift it forward to lift the stern as we pass. We can porpoise over the shoal, sir, and ride through the channel.”
“There’s not enough time to shift the ballast, Lieutenant.”
“Not shift our ballast, sir. Shift the men. Eleanor has two and hundred sixty-eight men onboard and according to chandlers row each man weighs about eleven stone. So Eleanor’s total weight in men is . . .” Rainey stepped to the chalk board next to the binnacle.
“Forty-one thousand two hundred seventy-two pounds, sir.” I cringed, knowing I’d spoken again without being told to do so. Captain Cedric spun around.
“Shut your mouth, boy. You will go below.”
“I’m sorry sir. But, please, sir, it’s Tate. I know what’s happened to him and . . .”
Rainey interrupted. “The boy’s exactor, sir, to the last pound.”
They all stared at me, wondering how I could reckon the numbers so quick. Captain Cedric turned away to glass the brig once more, then went on with his officers.
“So we have about twenty tons we can shift fast as a man can run.”
“Aye, sir.”
“The bottom is fine sand and silt, sir. And we’d have way. Even if Eleanor touched on the bar she’d skim over easy enough and cut that channel like a hot knife through butter.”
The captain nodded. “I begin to see it.” He pondered a moment longer, narrowing his eyes in a way I would come to recognize. He was about to make a critical decision.
“Very well. We’ll hold course to intercept that brig. Mr. Lau, you will remain at the helm and direct us through the channel. Rainey, you will leave the top men aloft and station sheet handlers for each mast. Then assemble the port watch on the quarterdeck as far aft as they can crowd. Then assemble the starboard watch below, aft on the gun deck.”
“Aye, sir.”
“When they’re in place explain to them what we’re about to do. They must understand it’s critical for them to stay in place, and be prepared to run forward en masse on my signal.”
“What will your signal be, sir?”
“I shall stand amidships to observe the bar passing under, and just as Eleanor’s about to cross midpoint I’ll fire my pistol and when the men hear me fire they must all run forward as fast as possible.”
“Aye, sir.”
Ajax handed Captain Cedric his Prélat, grinning. “Fully charged, sir.”
The captain took his pistol and turned to the flag midshipman. “Mr. Hoyer! You will show that brig our colours.”
The leadsman boomed his call from the foremast chains. “By the deep, six!”
A hundred men packed far aft on the quarterdeck and a hundred more below on the gun deck.
“By the mark, five and five!”
Mr. Lau gestured for the top men to shorten sail and clew the main course. The sheet men trimmed their lines and Eleanor plowed on.
“By the mark, five and three!”
Mr. Lau shot his dentures half out, studying the wind. It shifted a point, he nodded, and the helmsman answered.
“By the mark, five and two!”
The gathered men stood apprehensive, listening for the call that would commit Eleanor.
“By the mark, four and five!”
Mr. Lau knitted his brows, squinting at Eleanor’s long white pennant flying north-by-west. When satisfied, he calmly ordered the helmsman to bear on to Eleanor’s channel approach. We all held our breath, rolling with her motion.
“By the mark, four and three!”
The water turned aqua and the sea ran small and smooth over the shoal.
“By the mark, four and two!”
A tremor. A shiver. Eleanor’s hull rubbed and complained, yet hardly paused as she slid through. A backstay parted. A topman ducked away just as the stay lashed through the rigging, wrapping tight around the topmast just inches from his head. But Eleanor’s keel and timbers were made of oak, still green and lissome. At midpoint in the channel she carried and the captain fired his Prélat. Both watches cheered hearty, charging headlong for the bow, celebrating as in victory until Gleason started them quick, thundering at them to bloody well stand to.
The captain’s maneuver took the brig by surprise. She laid on sail and tacked away but too late, Eleanor came within range for her bow gun. Towerlight had already assigned his best gunner to the bow chaser and the brass nine-pounder banged away smart, hitting the brig’s gaff rig with the chaser’s third round. At five hundred yards it was a lucky shot, and most unsettling, for it threw the brig off the wind, slowing her enough to bring our port guns to bear.
Our first salvo threw high and the brig returned spirited fire with her twelve pound deck guns. One round struck our port anchor with an alarming clank. The Eleanors cheered as one for her first battle scar. Our second salvo fell short, but close enough for Towerlight to order the battery to fire at will. Again we registered no hits, but the barrage was most convincing and the brig knew we’d soon find our range. She struck, still two thousand yards off Cabo Pentoncito. We closed to within fifty yards before hauling our wind, and stood off her stern with our starboard guns bearing.
Captain Cedric ordered me off the quarterdeck. I beat feet for the magazine. I saw Reggie on the spar deck and stopped. We watched as the brig swung around to reveal her name scrolled in gilt on her transom.
“Is it her, Reggie? Isadora?”
“Yes.”
“Reggie, please listen to me.”
“All right, Harriet, but you must tell me fast.”
“Something awful’s happened to Tate and . . .”
“Look out, she’s running out a gun!”
A split second later Isadora’s stern chaser fired off, shattering our outboard rails, and with a sodden hollow thump the thing tore Reggie in two, his legs flopping at my feet and his body smearing across the deck. Eleanor fired her broadside direct. Then all went silent as the wind swept yellow-grey smoke from Eleanor’s guns. Isadora’s crew screamed and moaned.
“Por el amor de dios!”
Our gun sections ran out once more. White flags waved from Isadora’s rigging and the gunners held their fire. My arms felt wet and warm—blood running down my arms, dripping off my fingers and on to the deck, its smell burning
hot in my nose. Not my blood. Reggie’s. I looked down at my mate, his blue eyes staring vacant at the sky.
A shimmer. A mirage lifted slow from Reggie. Drifted, departed. Borne on the steam of . . . chicken rice soup. Not chicken rice soup. It was grace . . . his life borne now on a last measure of grace.
A hand on my shoulder turned me away. Mr. Starling. He took my face in both hands. His hands felt warm. Steady. He stared into my eyes.
“Say your name, boy.”
“Grace.”
“Are you wounded, boy?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think not. But you’re covered in blood, so let’s have a look.”
He walked around me and when he finished put something in my mouth.
“Medicine. It’s sweet. But don’t chew. Let it dissolve.”
He called for Botherall.
“Take Harriet below. Keep him standing, walk him about. The medicine will take hold soon and he’ll be unsteady. Take him to his hammock then, and let him sleep. He’s not wounded, but I’m taking his name off the watch list. Go you now.”
Botherall held me firm, yet kindly as he guided me below.
“You’re blood from head to toe, Harriet.”
“Chicken grace soup.”
“You speak gibberish. It’s blood . . . so you must wash up and switch out your rig.”
“This is my only spoon, Mr. Starling.”
“Botherall. I’m Mr. Botherall. And it’s not your spoon, Harriet. It’s your ships rig. If you have only one set I will request you a new rig from Mr. Coutts.”
“No! Not him!”
“He’s purser. Who else do you suppose would sign for it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look here, Harriet, you must get a hold of yourself. I know Reggie was your mate and seeing him done in like that . . . well, it’s no good. Not at all. But this is a ship of war. We are expected to carry on.”
“Reggie!”
“Shut your mouth, boy, and listen to me. We shall go directly to the galley now, and you will rinse yourself clean under the pump. Come.”
I don’t know how we made it to the galley. I just found myself there standing with no clothes, pumping cold sea water into the cistern and trying to rinse away Reggie’s blood. His blood had blackened now, and was crusted. I sucked on the sweet slow, like Mr. Starling told. It was gone by the time Mr. Botherall brought new togs. Made small, but still overlarge for me.
“You’ll grow into them.”
“Aye, Mr. Botherall.”
“That’s not an order, Harriet. It’s just what happens. Now then, you went looking for Tate.”
“I nodded.
“Did you find him?”
“No.”
“Well I wonder where the lad is.”
“I know what’s happened to him.”
“Tell me.”
“He . . . he was . . .” I broke down, trembling and stricken, gasping and bent over double. I fell to my knees and Botherall dumped a bucket of water over me.
“You will stand at attention when addressing me, Harriet.”
I stood stiff, focusing on Botherall.
“Better. Now tell me. What’s happened to Tate?”
I didn’t tell him about the Sukiyama. He’d not understand that. Or the last thing—what Coutts wanted from me . . . for the shame of it. I told all else, and when I finished Botherall stared at me.
“You don’t believe me, do you, Mr. Botherall.”
“You’re a little unsound at the moment, Harriet, so I’m not sure what to believe. Certain you have one thing right. I did see Mr. Pogue throwing a gunny over during the storm. At the time I thought it a bit odd. But then Mr. Pogue isn’t half odd to begin with, so I thought no more of it. Now I begin to wonder. Did anyone else hear them talking?”
“No, sir. I was alone down there. Except for them.”
“And you’re sure you heard right?”
“Most sure.”
“Honour bright?
“Aye, Mr. Botherall.”
“Very well. If this really did happen then it’s a serious matter. We must see the first officer at once. Come.”
As we went forward Ajax stepped in our way.
“I’ll take charge of him now, Botherall.”
“That’s Mr. Botherall. And you will not take charge of him. We have a matter that must be reported directly to the first officer. So if you will step aside.”
“Of course, Mr. Botharall. But if it’s concerning Harriet’s failure to take his station in the powder magazine it can wait. The first officer’s very busy just now. I advise staying out of his sight.”
“This does not concern Harriet’s action station, Ajax.”
“Then what is it?”
“That’s none of your business. And hear this, Ajax, you may be coxswain and have more sway than me. But I’m an acting midshipman now, with duties and responsibilities above your station, and you will not interfere. Do I make myself clear?”
Ajax stepped aside, nodding respectful. “Aye, Mr. Botherall. You’ll find Lieutenant Rainey on the quarterdeck. But even an acting midshipman must wait his turn this day.”
Botherall escorted me to the quarterdeck where Rainey stood listening to Starky’s report.
“Isadora ain’t damaged too severe from that broadside, sir. It’s good thing Lieutenant Towerlight thought to load canister. And she’s got some good lumber in her hold. I can use it to build them two stalls and have plenty left over. I’d like to bring it aboard and get started.”
“Proceed.”
Rainey saw Botherall and scowled. “This better be important, Midshipman.”
“I believe it is, sir. Harriet reports there may have been a murder committed onboard Eleanor.”
The statement gained Rainey’s attention. “Murder, Mr. Botherall?”
“Aye, sir. The ship’s boy, Tate. He’s disappeared. He may have been beaten and his body thrown overboard.”
“Tate? I made out Eleanor’s watch list. There’s no one on the watch list by that name.”
“No, sir. He most likely came onboard as a stowaway and overlooked through the good graces of Mr. Starling. We were trying to bring him along as a ship’s boy before submitting his name for the watch. He may have been beaten by . . .”
“As you were, Mr. Botherall. Any further discussion of this matter will be taken up with Captain Cedric. Come.”
Before we cleared the quarterdeck Gleason called to Rainey.
“Sir! We’ve found Isadora’s war chest.”
“Well let’s have a look, then. Mr. Botherall, you will bring Harriet to Captain Cedric and explain to him you’re under my orders to speak to him directly. Do you understand?”
Botherall understood. I did not. I was seeing most blurry now, words and sounds all running together. I do not recall making our way to the gun deck. Yet there we stood before Captain Cedric as he conferred with Kyle. When we stopped I felt I was still moving. At first I thought it was Eleanor’s motion but this had a different feel. I tried to concentrate on what Kyle was telling the captain, but his voice came out muffled and distant.
“Sir. We’ve taken twenty-six prisoners off Isadora. Seven wounded. Two will likely die.”
“Place the wounded in Isadora’s long boat and send the wounded ashore. Take the others below.”
“Aye, sir.”
“What else?”
“Five men onboard Isadora claim they are from El Serrón. I’ve questioned them, sir. They were more than willing to say what they knew, but they knew very little. They’re just fishermen. Four wish to go back to El Serrón and one asks to serve on Eleanor. He says he can cook.”
“Take him. No doubt he’ll regret his request once he meets Cookie. For now he’ll cook for Gottlieb. As for the others, put them on Isadora’s long boat with the wounded. Pay them each a Gibraltar real to row the wounded to Fisterra. They’re on their own after that. Dismissed.”
The captain called Lieutenant Goodwin over. �
��You will command Isadora’s prize crew. You may have Mr. Gleason and twelve men. We won’t remain on this coast for long so I will send over a work party to help with repairs. The damage report is light so you should be ready to get under way within the hour. You will remain under our lee until we reach the Cadiz blockade. I will release Isadora then to Admiral Tiverton. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to assign her to his in-shore squadron. And keep in mind that Santa Isadora is a Spanish brig. The blockade might fire on her, so take two English ensigns from the flag locker and fly them at all times. Any questions, Lieutenant?”
“No sir. I’ll be ready to sail.”
“See that you are.” The captain finally noticed Botherall and raised a curious eye. “You’re Mr. Botherall.”
“Aye, sir, I am”
“You’re the one who plays a horn.”
“Aye, sir. A trumpet, sir.”
“Do you play Rule Britannia?”
“Aye sir! It’s my favorite.”
“Excellent! Lieutenant Goodwin, you will take Mr. Botherall here to serve as your midshipman. It’s time he’s given more responsibility.”
“Aye, sir. Come along, Mr. Botherall. No more standing about.”
The captain held him back. “And Mr. Botharall, make sure you take your trumpet with you.”
“Aye, sir.”
Botherall looked at me, he eyes saying I was on my own now, and he was off.
The captain finally saw me. “What are you doing here, boy?”
My thoughts came slow, my tongue thick and my words muddled. “Sir, you . . .”
Before I got any more out Marley pushed me aside, dragging a tall Spaniard by his arm.
“Isadora’s captain, sir. Mr. Starling says he ain’t hurt too bad. A few minor cuts and bruises, sir.”
“Very well.”
Even in my dazed condition, Isadora’s captain gained my attention. He was about forty. He towered over Captain Cedric. But Captain Cedric stood most stout and might have bowled the man over easy for the Spaniard was delicate thin. Long hair red-blond, and a narrow, weathered face. Peaked brows, dark eyes set narrow over high cheek bones. A thin, rust-red mustache and goatee. He wore a pale green frock, silk, most likely, and a high ruff with lacy cuffs dark green. Dainty hands. And fussy, each manicured finger adorned with a gold ring. His waistcoat was white, and a stain of blood ran down the left side. His pants were also white, and tied in careful white bows over pale green stockings and sequined, black pumps.