Coming of Age

by Lee Henschel

“Banji Hajir.”

  “Aye, sir. That one.”

  “Very well. Lieutenant Kyle, you will leave now. Take the cask.”

  Kyle made to go.

  “May I be permitted to ask Lieutenant Kyle a question, sir?”

  The captain rolled his eyes, then nodded.

  “I was wondering, sir, the bag pipes, was it you playin’? I mean in the hill camp, sir, where Yadra was.”

  Kyle laughed. “Yes, lad. That was me. I played to draw attention so you could run. And run you did.”

  “Thank you, sir. I thought as much. But where did you get them, sir? The pipes.”

  “They were hanging outside the jefé’s hut. He stole them from General Stewart’s landing force. I saw them as an opportunity and took it.”

  The captain interrupted. “I’m sure Harriet wants to ask you now who tied the horse where he could find it. Well, Harriet, that was Lieutenant Kyle as well. Now the lieutenant must get on with his duties.”

  Kyle took the cask and left. I waited to be dismissed as well, but the captain laid a hand on my shoulder and spoke to me not as my captain, but as my uncle.

  “Owen, serving on a man-of-war is perilous duty. Still, I’d not thought you’d ever witness a beheading. It is unholy.”

  “Gottlieb told me not to look, sir. But I did.”

  Uncle smiled rueful. “Telling you not to look is inviting you to do just that.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Don’t be. It’s your nature to inquire. Someday you will grow old, and perhaps wise. And hopefully with fewer questions . . . at least questions that have no answers.” He stopped, as if to consider his next words over careful. “Gottlieb should never have taken you on that mission. Moreover, I should never have allowed you to go. Even so, I shall abide by Gottlieb’s request and deliver the cask to Hajir, although I agree with Lieutenant Kyle that this mission is nearly compromised.”

  “Aye, sir. But it was most clever of Lieutenant Kyle, sir . . . playing the pipes.”

  “He’s a resourceful officer. And as Admiral Christchurch explained when he assigned you to Gottlieb, we find ourselves in grave circumstance . . . so when one sees an opportunity he must take it. Surrender is not an option.”

  I thought of surrender then, and of my brother, John. When he was in a rage the only way to stop him from hitting me was to surrender. Fighting back only made him madder.

  “But if you’re small, sir, it’s best to surrender.”

  “Not so. Bonaparte once said that the logical consequence of defense is surrender, and even as I loathe the man I must agree with his logic. And England is small, too, Harriet. Even with our allies France and her minions still outnumber us. But it’s not logic that fires Englishmen. It is our honour. We are an island—a nation unto ourselves—we see this conflict differently than our allies, and I suspect any coalition now in the works will also fail . . . as did the first one. Then we will once more be on our own.”

  “Will England starve then, sir, and hate the queen . . . like what caused the French to make their revolution?”

  The captain looked at me sharp. “Who told you that?”

  “Mr. Lau, sir. He said that’s what caused the French to revolt.”

  “Mr. Lau is correct, of course, but there is more. Although you are still just a boy you are now a blooded warrior and you have earned the right to know more. It is simple . . . for a thousand years the French monarchy refused to share power. Finally the people were so desperate they made a revolution, and that revolution opened the door for chaos. As a result a young artillery officer from Corsica made a name for himself in battle. Now we must stand against him. We must fight on. Some would say we fight for our very bread. But I say it’s to defend the honour of living our lives as we wish to. And if any onboard Eleanor must die to preserve that honour, then so be it.”

  I think he meant to say more but just then three bells struck on the quarterdeck.

  “Enough. Go you now.”

  “Aye, sir.” I turned to leave . . . but did not.

  “Sir?”

  “What, Harriet?”

  “Where did Lieutenant Kyle take the cask, sir?”

  “To the orlop. Now go.”

  I turned again, but once more did not.

  “What now, boy?”

  “It’s Yadra, sir. She wasn’t collaborate, sir, if that means spy.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “She only wanted to have something for herself, to think what’s hers is hers. And to look in a mirror and see how pretty she was. See her own face. I don’t think she ever meant to die for it though, sir.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  For seven days Eleanor ran under full sail and held a steady course—east by south east. But after making the headland at Bizerte the wind shifted due south and we wore ship to run near close hauled along the coast, still bearing for Amunia. Each night Mr. Lau continued our lessons. First lesson was always stellar navigation, how to use the sextant to determine lambda at night.

  “Where is our lambda tonight, Harriet?”

  “Thirty degrees eight minutes north, sir, by nine degrees thirty minutes east.”

  “Incorrect. That would place us on the Sahara, just north of Gadamis.”

  “The desert, sir?”

  “You’ve neglected to account for singularity. We are nearing the Tropic of Cancer, the Northern tropic, and must allow for the curvature of the earth.” He jotted down a number and gave it to me. “Here, factor in this number and try again.”

  I tried again, this time placing us off the coast of Africa, at Tunis.

  “Correct. The moon is bright this night, so we shall go aloft to the crosstrees. Bring my telescope . . . there’s something you must see, and remember.”

  He climbed with great effort, and when we relieved the lookout Mr. Lau gasped out his instructions. “Now then . . . glass the shoreline. Train on the base of that . . . highest hill.” He pointed to shore. “Just there . . . now . . . tell me what you see.”

  I expected to see some important thing, but in the moonlight I saw only rubble.

  “There’s nothing to see, sir, except ruins, I think.”

  “Ruins indeed. What you see is all that is left of Carthage. Once the center of a great empire . . . then destroyed by the Romans in the Punic Wars. We must never allow such a thing to happen to the British Empire.”

  “When did that happen, sir?

  “Long ago.”

  “Before enlightenment, sir?”

  “Long before. And how know you anything of the Enlightenment?”

  “Gottlieb, sir. He told me enlightenment and coffee . . . they were what caused the French Revolution.”

  “How civilized to think such a thing. But like I said before, more likely it was fear of starvation . . . along with hatred for Louis the Sixteenth’s expensive queen. Come you now. We must return to the deck. My arthritic complains. I do not trust it in the rigging.”

  We returned to deck and after Mr. Lau caught his breath he went on.

  “When we were aloft I felt the weather changing. This wind will soon shift in our favour . . . then we’ll make Amunia before Gottlieb’s cousin leaves. Now, onto the second lesson.”

  Second lesson was always letters. And Starky was most helpful in that, providing us with wood chips. Mr. Lau would write a single word on chip, half a dozen words for each lesson. And my task was to memorize each word, its pronunciation, spelling and meaning. And after I’d learned them we’d hand the chips to Lorca, who would fire them in his stove to cook the captain’s dinner.

  “Aye, lad. Now you’ve cooked the captain’s goose!” Mr. Lau would laugh and shoot his dentures, and then we’d go on to the next half dozen words.

  Each day Haditha behaved different from the day before. She ate not so much now, and was more affectionate, but skittish. Her rump had softened, as well. If we did not make Amunia soon I feared she might foal at sea. I asked Ajax to inform the captain of her condition. But the capt
ain told Ajax that I must hound Mr. Starling, instead. But Mr. Starling was of little help, having no experience with horses—or birthing. The only Eleanor who knew anything at all was Hudson, but he was a reclusive lad, and want to speak of himself overmuch. He was born on a farm in Wiltshire, however, and had seen farm animals birthing. He thought birthing a most horrible thing to watch, though, and always made sure to stay far removed from the awful mess. Haditha and I were on our own, it seemed.

  Then, on the thirteenth day out of Mahon, I awoke to threes bells in the morning watch. The wind blew moderate fair. The sun fired red-pink on the horizon and the last few stars winked out. The sea ran deep blue, waves cresting white. A steep swell lifted Eleanor and the lookout hailed from the crosstrees.

  “Deck there! I see royals. Dead astern!”

  Goodwin was deck officer, and he roared away. “What distance?”

  “About five miles, sir. Still hull down. ”

  “Colours?”

  “No, sir. But it looks like the same one as yesterday.”

  Goodwin turned to Mr. Botherall. “Go aloft with a glass and keep watch on it.” Then to Hudson. “Fetch the Captain and Mr. Lau.” And then to the bosun’s mate. “Tell Mr. Gleason to be ready to clear for action.”

  The watch fell quiet, tense and eager. The wind thrummed in Eleanor’s rigging. Her bows drove on, and trailed a hissing wake. The captain and Mr. Lau arrived on the quarterdeck and wasted no time.

  “Beat to quarters! Send word for Lieutenant Towerlight.”

  Towerlight came at once.

  “How many sabots have you made?”

  “Sixty-eight, sir.”

  “Bring two dozen on deck but hold off loading for now.”

  Towerlight acknowledged, and was off.

  The captain looked astern. “She gains, Mr. Lau. We must assume it’s Marat.”

  “Aye, sir. It seems she’s been trying to find us. Maybe the Onion has known all along where we’re headed. Perhaps even our mission.”

  “Do you mean to say his agents on Minorca found out and told him as much?”

  “Aye, sir. That’s what I mean.”

  “Where, exactly . . . was Defiant sunk?”

  Mr. Lau gave the coordinates.

  “How far?”

  “Approximately fifteen miles, sir. East-by-east.”

  “Very well.” He studied the wind, and the foil in Eleanor’s sails. “Lay a course for those coordinates, if you will.”

  Mr. Lau set Eleanor on a port tack while the captain observed Marat. Her royals glowed pink in the sun, not so distant as before, and now her topgallants topped the horizon, as well.

  “She gains fast now, sir, but we still hold the weather gauge.”

  “In your opinion, Mr. Lau, if we stay this course will we arrive at Defiant’s final coordinates before we come within range of Marat’s long guns?”

  He knit his brows. “I believe we will, sir.”

  “Outstanding.”

  The captain sent once more for Towerlight and this time Rainey and Kyle, as well. They hastened to their commander as he stood resolute on the quarterdeck. They all gathered around. First officer, gunnery officer, officer of marines, sailing master—the captain’s council of war.

  “Gentlemen, soon we will engage that ship astern of us. I have reason to think it is Marat. Her captain is Théophile Oignon. The Onion. By now you are aware of his deceptions and his treachery. Surely he knows we are out gunned and out manned, so I believe he will come straight for us—to pound us into submission. And if that fails, board us with superior numbers. But we will deny him the opportunity to do either, for we will haul our wind to come broadside and destroy him at extreme range long before he fires a single gun.”

  The captain’s war council grinned hungry.

  “Lieutenant Towerlight, load your starboard long guns with sabot and at a range of sixteen hundred yards you will open fire on Marat. Sixteen hundred yards. Understood?”

  “Aye, sir! I shall lay the battery personally!”

  “See that you do. Go you now and charge the gun deck with your zeal!”

  “Lieutenant Rainey?”

  “Aye, sir!”

  “You will assemble and lead a boarding party. Select your hardest men and arm them with dragon and cutlass.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  “Lieutenant Kyle, secure the gangways, then send snipers and swivel guns to the fighting tops.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Now, Mr. Lau, you will remain with me on the quarterdeck, if you please, and sail the ship. Your decisions will be crucial, subject to constant amendment and, I expect, to your instinct and intuition.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “When we arrive at Defiant’s final coordinates you will haul our wind and wait for Marat to come within range . . . sixteen hundred yards.”

  “Diversion! I see it now, sir. Surely I do! He will know the place, question your intent, and hesitate.”

  “Aye, and his questions will deepen when we open fire at such long rang and inflict unsustainable damage.”

  My station was to stand with Haditha, and she knew something was afoot and stomped nervous when the Eleanors beat to quarters. Hudson passed by and I stopped him.

  “Hudson, tell the captain I think Haditha’s about to foal.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Why?”

  “He hates it when I tell bad news.”

  “Well you must tell him, anyway.”

  Someone yelled at him and he ran off.

  I tried to soothe her with a good brushing, and to make all seem in order, and she settled a bit when the men quieted and the captain ordered noon meal to be taken at action stations.

  Then, at one bell in the afternoon watch, Towerlight sent word Marat would be within range in ten minutes. Bows on, sixteen hundred yards. The captain sent Goodwin and Lockhart aloft to serve as spotters, and Mr. Hoyer to relay their information down to the gun deck.

  Mr. Lau stepped forward. “I believe we are at Defiant’s last coordinates now, sir. She lies below with all hands.”

  “Very well. Bring us into the wind, if you will, with our starboard battery bearing on Marat.”

  Eleanor luffed thunderous and we lost way. Towerlight waited patient, measuring Eleanor’s rise and fall, then fired gun number one. The thing barked loud, near leaping from the deck, and but two seconds passed before Lockhart called down.

  “Oh! Bloody marvelous! The round spouted not fifty yards short and went smash on the dolphin striker.”

  But Haditha didn’t think it was so marvelous, and her eyes searched wild. On his errands Hudson yelled to me, “Captain Cedric says it must stop instanter.”

  “But won’t you help me see if . . .”

  A gunner screamed out, “Hudson! Bring the bleedin’ powder!”

  “See to it yourself, Harriet. I’m too busy running the powder you should be running.” And Hudson ran on with my pleas drowned out by Goodwin.

  “Confirmed!” he shouted, “Her downhaul is afoul and they’re shortening their jib. Adjust on that round and you’ll hit home every time.”

  Mr. Hoyer relayed the information and Towerlight laid the second gun, taking aim careful. We were still distant at fifteen hundred yards. Once more the gun rang sharp.

  Haditha flinched, searching for a place to bolt. Or a place to lie down and foal. It seemed too soon and maybe coming on too fast. But certain the guns upset her, and I think made it come untimely. I guessed she wanted to lie down. But she couldn’t in her stall, so I cleared a place for her in the waist, spreading clean straw all around. Once I watched a farmer tie a mare’s tail before she foaled, to keep it clear from everything. So I did that, too, then led her out just as another round went off.

  Lockhart failed to see the round strike home. But Goodwin saw it, and cried out. “It throws high . . . and makes a hole in the foresail. No damage. Drop ten yards.”

  At thirteen hundred yards Towerlight fired the third gun, and his observers cheer
ed mad from the crosstrees.

  “Bang on, that one!” Lockhart called down. “You’ve shattered her foreyard and hung it in the shrouds.”

  Then Goodwin called down, “She’s trying to come about!”

  “Range!” Towerlight demanded.

  “Still thirteen hundred.”

  Mr. Lau turned to the captain. “She’ll turn broadside, sir, but still three hundred yards beyond her own guns.”

  “Then get us under way, Mr. Lau. After Towerlight’s fired three sabot rounds from each gun in the starboard battery we will come about and give Marat three more each from the port battery.” He turned to Opp. “Boy! Repeat what I just told Mr. Lau.”

  Opp told it proper.

  “Good. Now relay that information to the gun deck. Go!”

  Haditha lie on her side and water came gushing immediate. Hudson ran by again, and stopped to gawk as a wet sac emerged slow from Haditha. She grunted and panted and I didn’t know if I should be where she might see me.

  “Hudson! It’s coming. What should I do?”

  He groaned disgusted and ran off.

  Towerlight finished with the starboard guns, instructing the sections to cool their guns slow and proper. He shifted to the port battery then, and laid the first gun. At eleven hundred yards Marat fired a ranging shot with a long gun. The Eleanors cheered as they watched it spout a hundred yards short. Towerlight opened fire, and even from Eleanor’s deck we saw the results immediate and cheered more as Marat’s fore topmast broke away in the rigging and sails all shredded and flailing. She fell off rapid then and Towerlight fired regular, and to good effect, for the main course soon ripped free and covered Marat’s waist in canvas and rigging. She drifted helmless, rising and falling in the swell until she presented stern on to Eleanor.

  Haditha pushed and panted and groaned. I remembered that’s what a mare does so I knew she wasn’t dying. I thought to remain where the foal would come out and call her name over and over to let her know I was still with her. I didn’t know what else to do. Not at all. Except I knew she was a horse . . . and that a horse knows instinctual what must be done. Hudson ran by again and yelled without stopping.

  “Captain Cedric says you must push it back in! Back in!”