Coming of Age

by Lee Henschel

  “Come.”

  She left and I ate in the dark.

  I awoke in the night shivering cold but drenched in sweat. My eye throbbed and burned on fire. I didn’t wish to die though . . . not this time. This time I begged for it. Instead, Yadra stepped through the door. She stood silent in the moonlight, then came to me wordless, touching my face. Her hand cooled me gentle. She dressed my wound careful slow, and held my face in both hands when she finished, looking deep in my eyes. I made to say her name but she touched her fingers to my mouth and shook her head.

  “Cállate,” she whispered, then lay down with me and warmed me until I slept.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I awoke. Yadra was gone. Angels. Sometimes they don’t even know who they are, but only do what’s in their heart, then leave in the night.

  I tried to sleep again, but could not, being anxious of first light. I’d not liked it one bit when Kyle said I was to be interrogated. And maybe hung! It was all overmuch, and I only wanted to sleep, and to awake in Newbury, at home with father and Albert. Even John. I tossed about, stood at the window, then the door. My eye started to burn. It itched powerful but I dared not scratch. I moaned low, but in the silence, no one heard. Then came a most hideous noise. Bag pipes!

  And voices calling out, “¡Santa madre de dios! ¿Qué es eso?” But I didn’t need to ask what it was for the shrilling came familiar now. “God Save the King!”

  Kyle! I didn’t know how he’d come upon the pipes, but it didn’t matter, for I grasped what it meant. His efforts were not just a ragged paean to His Majesty but a diversion. People ran every which way, some toward the sound but just as many away. I must find Haditha. Now! And run! Now! I didn’t need to look far for her. She was tied to a post near the trail. But before I reached her a man ran past, stopping when he saw Haditha bridled and ready to ride. I ducked behind a rain butt to see what he might do. But the pipes wailed on and a woman called to the man, urging him to join her. He shrugged, and obeyed. I wasted no time.

  The trail dropped precipitous but was full wide, and bright moonlight lay across it. Haditha rushed headlong, but I knew to trust her, for she was instinctual, and sure of foot. We made good time until a shadow loomed on the trail not twenty yards ahead. Then another. And I reined in when a third emerged. Three people came together in a small group ahead on the trail, each bent near double under steep rucks of firewood. They blocked my way, but I eased forward, hoping a horse and rider might part them. But then a shout echoed from behind them, and another figure came forth, not bearing firewood, though, but a musket. I saw instanter that the wood gatherers were prisoners, just as me, and the armed man was their guard. I kicked Haditha and she charged, knocking them away like skittles. The guard jumped aside as we galloped by. He yelled and then fired. The ball whistled passed high wide, and I prayed he was a lone guard with only one gun. We ran on hard until the trail fanned out into a gully. I slowed then, to consider the way. The gully ran east and west and was used for transport. Soon a donkey cart rattled through loaded with vegetables and crates of chickens, probably headed for early market in Mahon. As it creaked along I smiled at the driver and pointed east.

  “Mahon?”

  He nodded, watching me cautious, then went on. Haditha and I made Punta Prima in good order, and from there it was under a mile to Mahon. But first I stopped to rest Haditha at a steep bluff overlooking Port Mahon. I spotted two of His Majesty’s ships lying at anchor in the outer roads—a first-rate and a frigate. But the frigate was not Eleanor. I made sure of Kyle’s note, still tucked safe, and went on. In Mahon I found a public fountain and asked after Fornell’s. While Haditha drank everyone stared at me curious. It made me feel uneasy and I left. Haditha would need rest soon, and a stall as well. And now I was most certain. She was bagging up. She was in foal.

  Fornell’s Pub was in chandlers row, at one end of the rope walk. It was a dreary place, seedy and run down. I tied Haditha out front, sure of where I could see her, and stepped in. It was mid-morning by then and custom was slow—only one patron passed out at table, likely from an early start. A woman sat behind the bar, watching me chary as I approached. She was fifty or so. Most fat. Not a Spaniard. Her greasy thin hair was red and she had no brows. I was not surprised when she harped at me in English.

  “What’s wrong with your eye, boy?”

  The question brought me up short and I felt for my bandage. My eye had bled, and the patch was crusted over. I could not yet live with the truth of it, so I lied.

  “A bee, ma’am. It stung me.”

  She squinted doubtful.

  “What do you want?”

  “I would like to speak to Sergeant Fish, ma’am.”

  “He’s dead. Now move along.”

  “But I have a note for him. It’s from Lieutenant Kyle.”

  She frowned. “How do you know Kyle?”

  I didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t act friendly, so I just showed her the note and she snatched it quick.

  “I’m Fish’s widow.” She looked at it some, then gave it back. “I can’t read good. Tell what it says.”

  “The lieutenant asks Sergeant Fish to put me up until my ship’s back in port.”

  “What ship?”

  “HMS Eleanor, ma’am. She’s a frigate.”

  “I know that one. She’ll likely be back this evening.”

  “Then may I wait here, ma’am?”

  “You can sit over there in the corner. But only for a while. And keep your mouth shut.”

  “But I have a horse, ma’am, and I was hoping you had a stall, and some hay, and some oats.”

  “Who’s to pay?”

  I didn’t know the answer to that, only that I best say something quick or she might chase me off. “The horse is to go aboard Eleanor, ma’am. So the captain . . . he’ll pay.”

  “Is that so? What’s so special about this horse that a ship’s captain would pay its keep?”

  The answer to that was overlong, so I shortened it from both ends. “The horse belongs to His Majesty, ma’am.”

  “I’ll squat if any horse on this island belongs to the king.”

  “Not belonging direct, ma’am, but it’s owned by someone important to His Majesty. She was stolen, though, and I’ve just now retrieved it. And she’s in foal.”

  She poured three fingers of rum into a dirty glass. A staggering portion, as her fingers were plump as bangers, but she knocked it back stiff none-the-less, then countered.

  “Well if she foals here the foal belongs to me. Majesty or no.”

  “She won’t, ma’am, not for a month I don’t think.”

  She pursed her lips, making a decision. “Very well. There’s a stall out back. But if you lie once more I’ll turn you out.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “You’re a scrawny one. I suppose you’re hungry.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She pointed to a hard crust and a chunk of cheese on the bar. “Eat that.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  I ate, then led Haditha around back and tied her in a small court yard. I brought water and hay, and brushed her some, then looked for oats. There weren’t any, but I did find a rasp and a hoof knife. Her hoofs were still in good shape, so I just saw to her frogs. I cleaned out the stall, put down fresh straw, and led her in.

  My eye burned and stabbed sharp. But there was nothing for it. I was tired as well, but there was nothing for that either. I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, and didn’t want to. Instead I stayed awake for Haditha, to keep her company so she might relax and take her nap. I brushed her more and soothed her with light words. She’d not heard much of English, I don’t think. But it’s the tone that soothes—the smooth of it. Soon her withers relaxed and I felt her forelegs lock. She was about to sleep. I lay down in the stall then, and meant to close my good eye for a minute. Just one minute.

  I didn’t awake until that evening when Haditha snickered, and the woman banged on the stall.


  “Wake up, boy. Eleanor’s entering the roads.”

  I stirred. “Thank you ma’am. I’ll be on my way.”

  “Where?”

  “I’ll lead Haditha to the quay and wait for someone on Eleanor to see us.”

  “It’ll be dark soon. They won’t see.”

  “I can wait until morning.”

  She scoffed. “You’d not last half the night on the waterfront.”

  She dug in her apron and brought out a coin. “Here. This will hire a boat to carry a message to your ship. I saw you read some. Can you write some, too?”

  “Not overmuch.”

  “That will serve.” She fetched a scrap of paper and a pencil stub. “You best write it here, though, before you leave.”

  I smoothed out the scrap, wetted the lead, and went at it.

  I AM OWEN HARRIET I AM HEER THE DOKS

  I was most proud of my note. My first note ever! I read it aloud, and then asked her if she wished to read, too. She did not.

  “When you see Kyle tell him it was Fish’s widow what foot your bill.”

  “Aye, ma’am. Thank you.” I tucked the note. “Were they friends, ma’am? Lieutenant Kyle and Sergeant Fish?”

  “Officers and sergeants aren’t never friends. But Kyle saved Fish at Quiberon. He was shot in the eye and Kyle dragged him off the beach and sent him back to Adamant. Fish said he owed for that. Now he’s paid.”

  She studied my face. “Boy?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “You weren’t stung by no bee.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I think you was shot in the eye . . . like Fish.”

  The very words, “shot in the eye . . .” they made my eye throb angry hot, and I sobbed of it.

  She laid a hand on my shoulder. “My Andrew’s eye pained him, too. It become less after a few years, though, and started to heal good before he died.”

  “It hurts, ma’am. Over bad sometimes.”

  She reached in her apron again and pulled out a small vial. “Here. Andrew used to say this helped.”

  “What is it, ma’am?”

  “You ask too many questions boy, but I’ll tell you anyway. It’s an ointment of knitbone and marigold. It’s almost gone, though, so smear your eye with what’s left.”

  It felt good. “Thank you, ma’am. Is that why he died, ma’am? From his eye getting shot?”

  “No. He was drinking himself to death . . . until the typhus took him.”

  Haditha and I stood on the quay watching a dory man row across to Eleanor. He shipped oars just long enough to hand up my note, and then shoved off. In the last rays of the sun I spotted the faint glint of a telescope on Eleanor’s quarterdeck. Soon the jolly boat set off. A towering giant manned the tiller. Ajax!

  Oh! How grand it will be. Ajax shall boom out my name and bound up the ladder and thump me hearty and ask where I’ve been and say they all feared I was dead and it was most good to see I was not.

  Good indeed. But that was not the way of it. Ajax did call out my name, but not so inspired as I’d wished. And he did come up the ladder, not in bounds though, but deliberate, and with no great joy. He simply ordered me to report. So I did.

  “Very well, Harriet. It’s too late for Eleanor to lay alongside and transfer the horse tonight so a squad of marines will patrol on the quay until first light. We shall make the transfer tomorrow morning.”

  Haditha started to fuss. She saw the water passing beneath the quay, I think, and it made her skittish and unstable. I tucked her reins and stroked her, then took off my shirt and covered her eyes.

  “She’s nervous, sir. And she’s in foal.”

  “When?”

  I told him.

  “The captain won’t be pleased to hear that.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s conferring with Admiral Dauntin aboard Foudroyant.” He pointed to the first-rate anchored in the roads. “He’ll be back late tonight.”

  “I’d best stay with the horse tonight, sir. If I may.”

  “Yes. That would be best. And I’ll stay, too.”

  He sent off the jolly boat, then stood with me.

  “Harriet?”

  “Aye, Ajax?”

  “I’ve sent word for Mr. Starling to come with the marines. Your wound needs attention. And here,” he reached in his waistcoat, “Lorca sends you a cold joint of chicken.”

  It didn’t take long for the jolly boat to bring Sergeant Archalatta and a squad of marines. Mr. Starling came with them and he went to work immediate, unwrapping my soiled dressing and examining my wound under a lantern held high by Ajax.

  “You say it was a pistol shot, Harriet?”

  “Aye, sir. At close range, but glancing.”

  “Whoever treated this knew what he was doing.”

  “They were women, sir.”

  “Women?”

  “Aye, sir. First the old one . . . then her granddaughter, Yadra. She’s pretty.”

  “I’m sure she is, lad.”

  “And then widow Fish . . . she gave me knitbone and marigold.”

  “Well, you’ve had bad luck and good.”

  “Sir?”

  “Bad luck to be shot. And good luck to be shot not so bad.”

  “My eye, sir. Will it . . .”

  “You won’t lose it if that’s what you mean. But how well you see from it again . . . that I don’t know. Certainly not as well as before, but only time will tell. And it will leave its mark. So will you have two scars on your young face. The old one above your right eye and this new one. As for now I’m placing you on restricted duty. You must take care not to strain your good eye. That will be your main problem.”

  “But I must tend Haditha, sir, she . . .”

  “Haditha?”

  “The horse, sir. It’s all new to her and she’s most nervous. She expects me to be the one. And she’s in foal.”

  “When?”

  I told him.

  “Problematic, to be sure.” He patted me on the back. “But you’ve done well and now you must rest. We’ll see to the horse while you sleep. So lie you down.”

  I slept fitful and awoke at dawn when Sergeant Archalatta formed his marines for muster. He swore lively and most creative as the men slammed their musket butts on the quay and went stomping about. I worried for Haditha—the marines were a clamorous lot—and I doubt she’d ever heard such a commotion. But they mustered at the far end of the quay though, and they didn’t set her on edge overmuch. Soon their formation marched off purposeful, just as Captain Cedric arrived. When Mr. Starling addressed the captain I meant not to listen, but they stood nearby, so I heard them without much effort.

  “Good news, sir. The lad’s eye responds to light. He will regain his vision.”

  “He was too young for this mission.”

  “He did well though, sir.”

  “I should not have let Gottlieb take him.”

  “The boy says Gottlieb is dead. Is there any way to confirm that?”

  “We’ll try. But we’ve not much time. We must get under way for Amunia by tomorrow. I dined with Admiral Dauntin last night. He has new orders for Eleanor. We are to complete our mission as soon as possible and join Admiral Nelson’s squadron in the Levant. Nelson intends to intercept the French fleet conveying Bonaparte and his army bound for Egypt.”

  “A squadron of first-rates goes slowly, sir. I’d not wish to arrive before Admiral Nelson.”

  “Dauntin says we will not. He informs me that Bonaparte has just recently reduced Valletta . . . and that Nelson is already far east of Malta. He may have already passed Bonaparte without knowing it. And there’s another matter that makes our departure even more urgent. One of Dauntin’s sloops has sighted a powerful ship operating off Minorca. It flies no ensign or pennant, but the admiral suspects it’s Marat . . . a corsair.”

  “French then?”

  “Aye. And heavily armed . . . built along the lines of those new frigates the Americans have recently launched. If th
is ship is indeed Marat then we are dealing with a very fast vessel . . . nearly twelve knots on her best quarter.”

  “A bit faster than Eleanor, then.”

  “Aye. And Dauntin believes her commander is formidable, a navy captain named Théophile Oignon.”

  “Oignon? That’s French for onion. A peculiar name, sir.”

  “Dauntin says the name is apt. The man discards a layer of deceit each time he engages an enemy. We do know a few things about him, though. Oignon was cashiered out of La Royale for unspecified reasons. But . . . and this is very curious . . . at the same time he was cashiered he was awarded a letter of marque, then offered command of Marat. Dauntin suspects the man maintains a network of contacts on Minorca, and conducts raids as far east as Malta.”

  “Then do you think he knows our destination, sir? And our mission?”

  “We must assume he does, and expect him to try and engage us. We are to avoid him if possible and proceed with our mission.”

  “I see. But would Oignon wish to encounter Eleanor, sir? Corsairs are mostly out to disrupt commercial trade.”

  “Perhaps. But Dauntin says to be wary of Oignon. So we must move things along. Tomorrow we’ll call at Nagua. I’ve made arrangements with the mayor there . . . some local named Artà. He holds seven of the marines that were taken on the beach at Nagua and he’s willing to bring them to the pier in exchange for seventy Gibraltar reals. He also wants remuneration for the damages the marines inflicted at Otra Nova.”

  “Will you pay it, sir?”

  “At first I threatened to sail Eleanor within range of Nagua and raze the place if he didn’t return the marines immediately. But the man only scoffed at my threat. He said if it came to razing Nagua he’d do it himself before I ever had the chance.”

  “Do you believe him, sir?”

  “I do. Minorca is very small, but rich in resources and strategically placed within easy grasp of the warring factions in this conflict. Now it seems everyone wants to occupy the island, and the locals feel they have only one recourse . . . to burn everything and retreat into the hills.”