by Lee Henschel
Haditha cared not for my gratitude though, and instead nipped at my trouser pocket, trying for the apple I had for her. I offered it, listening to it crunch in her mouth. I always loved to hear that sound, the sound of a horse crunching its apple. It soothed, and was one of my first memories. That, and the rhythmic clacking of mum’s loom. The sounds comforted. And for a moment I was not just a pathetic cabin boy bound to live on while others died. Then Haditha stopped her crunching and swallowed her apple. I watched it go down. The moment passed, and I understood certain from that moment . . . when someone dies you’ll not see them again. Not ever. Still, there remains a horse, crunching her apple.
Part Three: Amunia
Chapter Twenty-Two
At three bells in the afternoon watch Rainey’s barge hooked on, delivering its complement of marines from shore. Kyle brought them onboard—their uniforms smudged and in disorder but all looking fit enough and pleased to have fulfilled their mission. I was most relieved to see Kyle. We’d never be friends, of course, for he was a man and I was a boy. He was an officer and I a paltry nothing. Yet we’d shared a moment on that hill overlooking the sea, signaling to Eleanor that we were still alive. He gave a wink and a nod as he passed by and, although his weak eye looked astray, I knew the wink was meant for me.
Hoyer’s cutter hooked on next and Eleanor’s blue jackets filed by on their way to the arms locker to turn in their dragons and cutlasses. Some of them looked disappointed for not having used their weapons, I think, and others relieved for the same reason.
Mr. Botherall followed hard by in the launch, looking pale but forthright as he manned the tiller. Mr. Starling stood with him, straddling the tarpaulin spread between the thwarts. Mr. Starling came onboard looking haunted and the captain met him at the entry port, rocking impatient, then pointing with his thumb.
“Who is it?”
“I believe this is the girl Harriet called Yadra, sir.”
“Why do you think that?”
“The lad told me Yadra lacked the little finger on her left hand.” Mr. Starling gently pulled away a corner of the tarp covering the body to reveal a small hand—the left—blackened now and cramped in death. The little finger was missing.
“She was hanged?”
“Aye sir, she was.”
The captain studied his surgeon. “Are you quite all right, Mr. Starling?”
“Aye, sir. Hanging’s a dark thing though, especially when it’s a child.”
“Did she suffer?”
“I fear she did, sir. It wasn’t a proper noose. The girl died slow. Asphyxiated.” Mr. Starling handed the captain a mirror. “She had this looped around her neck, I think it belongs to Lieutenant Kyle, sir. And this scrap of paper as well.”
The captain read it out. “‘Colaborar!’ Collaborator?”
“I don’t know what she was, sir. So I thought to bring her onboard. I know we’re not responsible for the civilians on Minorca, and maybe I should have left her body ashore. If you wish, sir, I’ll take her back.”
The captain turned and stared long at Nagua. The waterfront consisted mostly of wood and thatch and it had all burned most quick. The only structure left standing was a small stone chapel with its squat bell tower and crucifix.
“No. If she had any people I suspect they’ve fled. Besides, we don’t have time to return ashore. Prepare her for burial at sea. This evening I’ll say words and have her committed.”
The captain’s face coloured red then. He’d made a decision, and called now for Towerlight.
“Aye, sir?”
“Prepare the starboard battery for a broadside. Train them on the gallows. I want it blasted away.”
Towerlight beamed his pleasure. “Aye, sir!”
“Then we shall come about on a port tack and I want your best gunners on your best guns to take aim on that church.” He paused in thought, then went on. “Will your gunners hesitate if you order them to fire on a crucifix, Lieutenant?”
“I don’t believe they will, sir. They see what’s happening here. The people who built that church and erected that cross are the ones who hanged the girl.”
“Very likely.”
“And we’ve all been hoping for a bit more target practice, sir.”
The captain smiled grim. “Then perhaps you should make a contest of it.”
“Sir?”
“Have your gun sections take aim at the crucifix and fire as they bear. The first gun that smashes it has earned an extra ration of grog this Sunday.”
“Oh! That’s very good, sir!”
The captain turned to Mr. Lau. “Plot a course for Amunia, if you will.”
Coutts whined shrill, refusing to release a hammock from ship’s stores to shroud Yadra’s body. He complained the girl was not listed on his register and never would be since females were never permitted on His Majesty’s Ships when at sea. Therefore she could not be committed. Even more, the ceremony was sure to be logged, and since it was he who had signed for the original purchase of the hammock it would be he who was held accountable for the expense when Eleanor paid off. And that was a hardship he could never bear. But, as I now slept on straw bales stored in the stall next to Haditha and had no use of a hammock, I offered Wat my own sling to use for Yadra’s shroud. Even that did not satisfy Coutts, though, until Mr. Starling interceded.
“Your parsimony is known to us all, Mr. Coutts. It’s your salacious odium for this lad that comes forth now though, and I must insist you not stand in the way of a Christian burial for this girl I’ve brought onboard.”
“You’ve no business in this matter, sir. I will have my way.”
“No. You will not have your way in this matter. Cease and desist. Or I shall take away your laudanum. And that, sir, you would not like. Not one bit.”
Coutts meant to respond, then only narrowed his eyes and slipped away. Wat wasted no time sewing Yadra’s body into my hammock, and at the end of last dog watch Eleanor hauled her wind and several Eleanors gathered in the waist. Mr. Starling and Mr. Lau, Gleason and Lorca, and most strange—Cookie—coming to standing by Lorca. Captain Cedric conducted the ceremony, reading once more from Maccabees, more war and all that. It seemed his favorite yarn . . . Maccabees, and he read each verse staunch, pronouncing every word distinct. ‘He and his companions lived like wild animals in the hills, continuing to . . .’ until his words were interrupted by McFerron hailing the deck.
“Deck there! Ship dead astern. Under full sail.”
The captain called out immediate, “Colours?”
“No colours, sir. And no pennant.”
Captain Cedric turned to Mr. Lau. “Get us under way, sir. Lay on studding sails and make to keep that ship dead astern. I will not have that ship gain the weather gage.”
“Aye, sir.”
The captain replaced his silk marker, closed his Bible and nodded for Gleason to commit Yadra. She slipped into the sea quiet and steep.
“Dismissed.”
The Eleanors had all heard of a powerful corsair sailing in these waters—one that flew no flag—and its sighting roused them to action. No one lingered at Yadra’s ceremony and I had no time to say goodbye, or even say a prayer, but instead made back to Haditha’s stall direct. The captain ordered Rainey aloft with his telescope and Rainey leapt on to the main chains running near hand-over-fist up the shrouds. Towerlight hurried from the gun deck and stopped before the captain, panting.
“Shall we clear for action, sir?”
“No, Towerlight, we will not. There will be time, when the time comes.”
Towerlight stood mortified, and then relieved when a gunner called his name. He made to leave but the captain stayed him. “Remain on the quarterdeck, if you will.”
At the helm the captain called for Mr. Hoyer. “Take a glass and relieve the First Officer. You must watch that ship constant and report every evolution. Go.”
Rainey came down to report. “I see no markings, sir, and it’s on our bearing.”
“What do y
ou make of her Rainey?”
“Three masts, sir. Likely a big frigate.”
Mr. Lau approached. “I doubt that she’s an outlier for Bonaparte’s squadron, sir . . . unless the squadron is lost, or Bony’s changed his mind. Likely it’s Marat.”
“If that is so then we are outgunned, outmanned and we cannot outrun it.”
“Perhaps we should hoist enemy in sight, sir. That ship won’t know who we are signaling, or what we are saying . . . a bit of confusion to the enemy.”
“Indeed. Now then, have you more information about Marat’s captain?”
“I do, sir . . . found in the log of the first officer aboard Zebra, Lieutenant Nash.”
“I am unfamiliar either with Zebra, or Nash.”
“Zebra’s a tender, sir. And to this point in his career Nash has not distinguished himself. However, his log entries while serving on Zebra mention the Onion in some detail.”
“Proceed.”
“I’m sure you remember Defiant, sir.”
“Yes, a fourth-rate of some fifty guns or so. Nearly obsolete, if I recall. Along with her old captain, Josiah Sunderland.”
“Aye, sir. According to Nash’s log, Zebra was tending Defiant on Sixteen November of last year but broke off when Defiant was engaged by none other than Captain Oignon. The Onion still served in the French navy at the time . . . in command of Limoges, a twenty-four gun sloop. It was an independent action off Pelagie. That’s a small island off Lampedusa . . . about eighty miles west of Malta. Actually. It’s on our way to Amunia, sir.”
“Go on.”
“The engagement didn’t fare well for Sunderland, sir. And here might be the reason . . . Nash’s log states that Limoges was flying no colours. So perhaps Sunderland felt no need to clear for action. And as Limoges carried less than half the guns of Defiant, Sunderland allowed her to close on him. That’s when the Onion ran out and opened fire. He shot away Defiant’s mizzen in the first broadside and then grappled on.”
“But he did not board, as I recall.”
“No, sir. He used his grappling cable and Limoges’s own momentum to sweep around Defiant’s transom and rake her stern to stem. Sunderland and his first officer were killed on the quarterdeck in the first salvo. When Defiant caught fire Limoges broke away. Defiant’s magazine blew up in short order . . . before she’d fired a single shot, and with all hands lost. Zebra barely managed to slip away.”
“Mercurial—that one. He flies no ensign, and he engages with unexpected maneuvers.”
“All privateers are unpredictable, sir.”
“Aye. And this one is bold, as well . . . attacking a much larger ship.”
“Perhaps he’ll continue to do the unexpected, sir. And that may be to our advantage.”
“How do you mean?”
“If he’s inclined to the unpredictable, then perhaps we can eliminate the anticipated.”
“That is too clever by half, Mr. Lau. No, there’s only one thing for it.” He faced aft to survey the horizon. “That could be Oignon out there. And if so then we already know he may do the unforeseen. But he has no idea what I might do.”
“And what will you do, sir?
The captain frowned. “For now we will lose him in the cover of darkness and be on our way. We have other fish to fry. But if we cannot be rid of him . . . I wish you to find the exact coordinates for where Defiant was sunk. Is that possible, Mr. Lau?”
“Quite possible, sir.
The captain turned to address Towerlight. “Now then, Lieutenant, I’ve kept you here to tell me of your latest experiment, this sabot you’ve designed for your long guns. Have you made progress?”
Towerlight brightened. “Oh yes, sir! In Mahon I took the opportunity to glaze twelve dozen ballistics with Cumbria clay, fire them in a kiln for twelve hours and temper them slowly, then use my calipers to shape them into a perfect roundness. These rounds are exceptionally hard, sir . . . they have superior smashing power.”
“Go on.”
“Well sir, after I had my rounds I fashioned several dozen grommets of oakum and tar. That’s a sabot round! Don’t you see?”
“I do not. But never mind that. What I want to know is . . . will your sabot rounds extend our range and improve our accuracy?”
“Oh, yes, sir! I tested some of them back on Minorca . . . and with very fine results, I might add. Impressive velocity and maximum penetration. And best of all, sir, they are very accurate at extreme range.”
“What range, Towerlight?”
“I was hitting consistently in a ten foot radius at sixteen hundred yards, sir.”
“Sixteen hundred! Bless my soul, man! That’s six hundred yards better than any artillery in the fleet! Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”
“Well sir, there’s a slight problem.”
The captain eyed Towerlight suspicious. “What is it?”
“The guns, sir. They can’t withstand the back pressure of a sabot round. They tend to blow up after six rounds or so.”
“What do you mean they tend to blow up?”
“Well sir, what I mean to say is they don’t just tend to blow up. They in fact, do blow up. The twenty-four pound long guns I tested in Port Mahon all fractured after six rounds, sir. The gunnery officer on Illa del Rei was quite upset.”
“So five rounds then . . . you say a gun is good for at least five rounds? Yes?”
“Three rounds, sir, to be safe, sir. Four at the most. I’d not guarantee a fifth round. I will say this, though, if one limits the gun to no more than three rounds per fire mission then it’s safe to fire the gun later. Once it cools down, of course.”
“Very good, Lieutenant. You will make me all the sabots you can. Begin now.”
The captain turned to Mr. Lau. “It feels we’re on Eleanor’s best quarter.”
“We are, sir.”
“And how does our course hold for Amunia?”
“It holds well, sir.”
“Steady on then.” He studied the sky. “I believe these clouds will build in the night and cover the moon. Then we shall loose that ship.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Now . . . I’ve inherited Lorca for my cook and he’s roasted the capon Ajax bought for me in Mahon. I would be obliged if you and Lieutenant Rainey join me for dinner. First Watch. Mess kit.”
That night we tacked several times to lose the unidentified ship, and tacked once more to make sure of our efforts. As we were still running Haditha moved easy with ship’s motion. She ate her oats and drank her water, and she was bagging up more with every watch. I tried to recall what I’d seen back in Newbury when a mare foaled. I knew little, and couldn’t recall a mare ever foaling so near fall. But one thing I knew certain—I’d never seen a mare foal onboard a ship. I did think to bunt her some. Gentle though, and then feel her teats patient slow with a soft cloth, wet and warm so to test their fullness and for her to get used to the touch. She allowed, and I always stopped short before she might fidget, and then gave her a reward. An apple. I listened to her crunch the thing, and watched her eyes. Dark pools. Mysterious deep. What must she be thinking?
“Oh Haddy, you’re the good ’un, girl.” I looked away before she did, to give her the dominance, but kept talking to her. “I know what. It’s a fine night to walk some around the mainmast.” I threw sand stored in a bucket along the deck where I’d walk her. Mr. Gleason wouldn’t like that overmuch. He wished his decks always to be in good order. But it kept Haditha’s hoofs from skidding about, and I always made sure to wash it away and even holystone the deck where Haditha made water or left her road apples. And so we walked a dozen turns clockwise and a dozen anti. I led her to her stall then and I tried for sleep.
I awoke at two bells of the middle watch when Mr. Starling came to check on me. He unwound the dressing and removed the patch careful slow to examine it.
“How does your eye feel, Harriet?”
“Better, sir. My eye is always better at night, sir, in the dark.”
&nbs
p; “Yes. And even in the dark I see improvement. Try to follow my hand as I move it.”
I followed, and my damaged eye saw his hand blurry dim, yet better than before.
He nodded, mumbled a bit, then patted me on the shoulder. “Your eye tracks well, lad. In a few days we will expose it to sunlight.” He applied an ointment and changed my dressing. The salve felt cool, and it comforted.
“What is that, sir?”
“Aloe vera. I found an apothecary in Mahon. She sold me her last jar.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He left. I tried for sleep again but could not, and remembered Yadra instead. I saw her dark eyes watching me deep, felt her gentle touch and her body warming me in the night. Saw her swinging on the gallows. I loved her and sobbed mournful of her wretched end—tears scalding my wounded eye. I must have fallen asleep then, for I jumped when Hudson called my name sharp.
“Harriet! The Captain says report to the great cabin.”
The watch had extinguished all of Eleanor’s lanterns and I made my way aft in the dark. I’d not been in the great cabin since Otra Nova, but knew the captain had moved back in now that Gottlieb was no longer our passenger. I knocked twice.
“Come.”
One lantern still burned in the great cabin, its wick trimmed low as it swung in a bulkhead gimbal and the gallery windows draped in black to contain the light. The captain stood with Kyle, with a cask placed between them on the deck. I recognized the cask straight away drew breath quick, and could not help but stare.
“Harriet, this is the cask Lieutenant Kyle brought from Otra Nova. He suspects what’s in it, but says you likely know for sure. Do you?”
“Aye, sir. A head, sir. I saw Gottlieb him cut it off the man he called Kafir and then dunk it in that cask. It was most awful, sir.”
“No doubt it was. But it seems Gottlieb neglected to tell anyone what to do with it once it came onboard. Did he tell you?”
“Oh, I forgot that, sir. He wished to give it to his cousin, sir. I can’t remember his name.”