Coming of Age

by Lee Henschel

  Just then Towerlight called for heated shot and the sections swarmed the gun deck as ants. In the bustle I peeked over the coaming and down along the gun deck. Towerlight rolled his sleeves and trained number four gun. Opp was his powder monkey now. He brought a sabot, then stood clear as the rammer drove it home. It was a hot gun, but Towerlight deemed it safe to fire one last round. When he touched off the gun exploded and split open shrieking some eerie animal howl. The touchhole blew out slicing Towerlight’s left hand clean off and then went tearing on leaving a jagged hole in its path sizzling hot and clean through Opp—precise where his heart once beat. Opp fell to the deck. One second living—the next gone. I looked away.

  A thin, clear sac showed from Haditha. Her flanks heaved and she worked hard pushing the thing out. It came slow, and inside was her foal.

  As the smoke cleared number four section gathered around Towerlight. He was conscious so they leaned him against the gun carriage and gave him water. The gunner sent word for Mr. Starling then tied his bandana around Towerlight’s bloody stump. Someone found his severed hand and returned it. The rammer knelt over Opp, shook his head and drew a gunny over him. Soon Mr. Starling came running to look after Towerlight.

  Hoyer took charge of the gun deck. “Stand to your guns, men. We’re still in action and you will remain on station until told otherwise.”

  Mr. Starling sent word of Towerlight’s condition. The captain turned to Hudson. “Fetch down Goodwin and Lockhart.”

  They scurried down the shrouds and made their way aft.

  “Towerlight’s wounded. Lieutenant Goodwin you will stand down the long guns.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Lockhart, you are now deck officer. Assume the helm.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Mr. Lau, I shall direct carronade fire from the quarterdeck. Close now on Marat’s stern, if you will, and as we approach carronade range bring our port battery to bear.” And then to the gun sections. “Carronades! Full charge! Wad! Load shot! Ram home! Concentrate fire on Marat’s mizzen.” And then to the powder monkeys. “Bring canister on deck.”

  Haditha kept pushing and started groaning more. One hoof appeared, formed most perfect and small. Hudson raced by bearing canister rounds but stopped. To help, I hoped, but instead he only shook his head and then ran off . . . just as a second hoof appeared.

  Mr. Lau ordered the ship to come about. Lockhart relayed the order and slowly Eleanor brought her port guns to bear. At three hundred yards dead astern of Marat the captain called out.

  “Port battery! I want that mizzen shot away. Take aim! Fire as you bear!”

  One by one the carronades went off. Their rolling volley shook Eleanor from hull to staff. Haditha screamed. Her nostrils flared wide. She breathed not air though, but spent powder rolling along the deck. The foal came further, still in its sac though. Its nose started showing.

  “Not one!” Lockhart whined. “Not one bloody hit!”

  The captain frowned and turned crimson. “Wear ship, Mr. Lau. Perhaps the starboard battery will shoot better.”

  Before Mr. Lau relayed the order, the Eleanors rose up in cheer. The captain and Mr. Lau looked at each other in surprise, no doubt wondering why anyone would cheer—until Towerlight came on the quarterdeck, his arm hung in a sling. He looked pallid frail, struggling to come to attention and salute. A bulbous dressing covered the end of his arm, soaking in blood.

  When the captain returned his salute Towerlight addressed him.

  “Your gunnery is outstanding, sir. But with all due respect, sir, may I resume my duties?”

  “Are you fit, Towerlight?”

  “Mr. Starling says no. And I say yes, and damned be all.”

  The captain stepped aside.

  Towerlight cleared his throat and with all gunners and sections watching intent he filled his lungs.

  “Here this, Guns! I am displeased and angry with your performance! And if you do not shoot away that mizzen on our next pass I shall no longer just be angry. And you know you will hate that!”

  Another cheer rose up, most hearty.

  “Very well. Remember to time the roll, and fire before the pitch.”

  Haditha lie on her side panting. Her foal starting to come again then hung once more. She pushed hard, but for naught. Hudson ran by with more powder.

  “Hudson! She’s stopped having it! What should I do?”

  He shrugged. A gunner called and he ran.

  Eleanor closed to within range and the starboard carronades let fly. The first three rounds spouted low and to aft. And then the battery fired a salvo and struck the mizzen just below the fighting top. Her marines fell from the top, some to the water and some to the quarterdeck. Shrouds and stays parted, streaming on the wind.

  The first full salvo punched a hole in the wind and Eleanor’s sails went limp. She rose on a swell and hung there for a moment before the wind took her again she heeled near beam end. Haditha panicked, her eyes staring wide then blinking in terror. Her flanks heaved, but she breathed nothing but the spent powder rolling along the deck. She kicked lame and struggled weak on her side, trying to shift herself.

  The next salvo came more ragged and smashed direct on the mizzen topmast. It crashed on Marat’s quarterdeck, bringing the topsail and spanker with it.

  The men cheered wild, but Towerlight quieted them. “Gunners! On our next pass concentrate fire on her rudder. You will . . .”

  But Towerlight did not go on. He waxed most pale and collapsed on the deck. Ajax carried him below.

  We came about for another pass. Marat drifted in the swells now, her after guard rushing to clear the mizzen and gain control. Among them two men stood together, one short, one tall, both motionless, both following Eleanor’s progress through their telescopes.

  Captain Cedric glassed Marat. “Mr. Lau, I do believe that’s Oignon standing there.”

  “Wearing the epaulette, sir?”

  “Aye.”

  Mr. Lau squinted through his own glass. “It may be so.”

  Haditha regained strength and started pushing again. Two hoofs came along—and with forelegs attached! She panted hard and doubled her efforts and next a little nose appeared—and then no more. I waited, calling Haditha’s name and speaking soft. She relaxed. The starboard battery commenced firing and Hudson ran by with more powder.

  “Hudson! It’s all stopped again. What can I do?”

  “You must cut open the sac. Grab both hoofs and pull it out slow.”

  “But I can’t do that!”

  “Pull down I think, down toward her back legs.”

  “No! You do it, Hudson.”

  He ran off. I took my knife and cut the sac.

  Eleanor closed and the starboard battery fired three more salvos. Marat shook under the salvo and even at a distance I heard her moan. Men cried out in fear and howled their anger. Her sails and shrouds smothered her deck. The Eleanors took no time to cheer though for the captain took control of the guns once more and ordered them to load with grape and canister.

  Rainey mumbled to the captain. “I must admit it—grape is my favorite thing to serve a Frog.”

  “Starboard battery! Prepare to fire on my order!”

  The captain turned to Rainey. “Your French is passable, Lieutenant?”

  “Impeccable, sir.”

  “Good. Starboard battery! Fire!”

  Eleanor near jumped as her broadside went off. The two officers stood at Marat’s shattered taffrail as Eleanor fired her full broadside of grape and canister. The smoke cleared and only one officer remained. When he saw Eleanor was about to fire again he waved a white flag. The captain called to his gunners. “Load more canister and stand ready to fire.” Then to Rainey. “We’ll not have another incident like Santa Isadora.”

  “No, sir.”

  “We shall haul our wind a hundred yards off Marat’s stern and you will hail Captain Oignon. Demand unconditional surrender or we will sink Marat with all hands onboard.”
/>   “Aye, sir, unconditional, sir.”

  Rainey hailed the officer standing on Marat’s ravaged quarterdeck. After a long discussion, he turned to Captain Cedric.

  “That’s Marat’s first officer, Lieutenant Nélaton. He says Captain Oignon is dead, sir, and he wishes to surrender the ship. But first he wants to negotiate.”

  “Negotiate what?”

  “He claims to have a passenger onboard—the spy who worked for Oignon on Minorca. Nélaton claims the spy has valuable information and he’s willing to deliver this man to you personally. But only if you agree to spare his men. Otherwise he will kill the spy himself.”

  “Tell Nélaton to come aboard Eleanor immediately. He will bring Captain Oignon’s body with him, along with this man he claims to be a spy. Tell him to comply this instant or we’ll resume firing. The choice is his.”

  Haditha tried again. This time I grabbed the hoofs and pulled slow, and down toward her legs like Hudson said. The muzzle showed more and then the entire head came through. She rested a minute, then pushed again and I pulled steady slow until the shoulders came along. Another brief rest—then of a sudden it all happened and there was a foal! Lying there on the deck. Breathing!

  Hudson came by. “You’ve made a mess on Gleason’s deck. He won’t like that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The captain and Mr. Lau stood on the quarterdeck observing Marat.

  “A fine prize, sir. A pity we can’t spare the men to crew her.”

  They followed Nélaton’s slow progress as a boat rowed him to Eleanor. A shape lie in the scupper—dead still—and covered with a bloody sack. Another man sat in the bow, tied and blindfolded, his left arm in a sling.

  The captain nodded. “How far to Lampedusa?”

  Mr. Lau thought it over. “Twenty miles. Lampedusa has an off-shore island, sir. Conigli. It’s barren, sir . . . in case you were considering putting Marat’s men on the beach there.”

  “What would you have me do, Mr. Lau? Sink Marat with all hands onboard? To be sunk and settle on the remains of Defiant?”

  “It would be just desserts, sir. If inhumane.”

  The captain declined to respond but only watched Nélaton’s boat hook on.

  “Keep Eleanor up wind of Marat, Mr. Lau, and broadside to her stern.” He turned to Rainey. “Pipe Nélaton aboard as a captain and bring him to the waist. Have Marley take charge of Marat’s passenger, if indeed that’s what the man is. And have that body brought onboard for identification.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Haditha cleaned and nuzzled her new born foal. It was a grey, with a woolly black tail he flicked happy. Certain Tarif was this foal’s sire. It lie on the deck, its long legs sprawled in the new expanse of light, dazzling and over bright. The captain passed by on his way to meet Nélaton. He saw the foal and raised a brow—but said nothing.

  The bosun’s whistle shrilled. Captain Cedric and Rainey stood by while Marley searched Nélaton.

  “Very well. Lieutenant Rainey, you will begin by asking how many officers and men are onboard Marat.”

  Nélaton responded in English. “Your lieutenant’s French is quite good, captain, but not necessary. To answer your question, Marat has nine officers, and three hundred nineteen men. Four dead. Many wounded. I wish them to be taken care of immediately.”

  “Is that Captain Oignon’s body you have with you?”

  Nélaton bowed his head, nodding.

  “We’ll not do anything until we confirm that the dean man is Captain Oignon.”

  “Unfortunately, sir, your last round of grape took my captain full in the face. There is nothing left to identify.”

  “A pity.”

  Coutts brought surrender documents, a quill and a pot of ink.

  Nélaton took the quill in hand, but before he signed he spoke once more.

  “I wish to complement you, sir, on the extreme range and accuracy of your artillery. It was unexpected and took us by surprise.”

  “Sign.”

  Nélaton dipped the quill but went on talking.

  “The unexpected is to be expected in battle of course, but Captain Oignon was nonplussed when you hauled your wind over Defiant’s last coordinates. I think you were aware that Captain Oignon engaged Defiant at nearly this exact place last year and sunk her. So your maneuver caused Oignon to hesitate, wondering if your actions might be a strange foreboding.”

  He signed, bowed and surrendered his sword, then presented his own documents.

  “I wish to present Marat’s letter of marque. Consider the signature . . . it was signed personally by Robespierre. Our mission is to conduct lawful operations under this license.”

  “Robespierre is dead. And isn’t he the one who said no one likes armed missionaries?”

  “It does not matter if he is dead. You must still regard me and my men as legitimate prisoners of war, or someday you will have to answer to the Directorate.”

  “Enough! Marley! Escort him to the taffrail.”

  They stood at the taffrail within easy view of Marat. The captain drew his Prélat and pressed it against Nélaton’s skull. He cocked it back full.

  “Now, Lieutenant, be so kind as to order you men to stack arms in plain view on Marat’s quarterdeck. I remind you that if you don’t comply we will fire broadsides into Marat until we sink her. But before that I will blow your brains out for all your men to witness.”

  Nélaton gave the command and the captain set his pistol’s hammer to half-cock and lowered it.

  “Lieutenant Rainey, you will lead a reinforced boarding party aboard Marat to dispose of their arms overboard and spike their guns. Spike all but one long gun and two carronades.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The captain ordered Nélaton taken below, then looked around. “Where is Opp?”

  “Dead, sir.”

  “Then someone else fetch Mr. Gleason.”

  The bosun arrived prompt, wiping spent powder off his face.

  “Gleason, how long will it take to jettison our blown gun and replace it with one from Marat?”

  Gleason pondered. “That depends, sir. If her gun mounts fit our carriages we just shift the piece onto our own train. That would take three hours or so.”

  “And if the mounts don’t match?”

  “Then we transfer the whole thing, sir, gun and carriage both. That would take about another two or three.”

  “I see. And after that . . . how long would it take to transfer two of Marat’s carronades and secure them on the spar deck? Tied down and out of service.”

  “That would go quicker, sir, about two hours each.”

  “Very well. Get started.”

  I rigged boarding nets so Haditha and her foal might have room to shift about in the waist but still be contained. She was tired, hungry, and thirsty. I brought oats and water. As she fed her foal it sniffed for the teat and all seemed as it should be. I left her with her foal and I slept. But not for long. Haditha blew, and I awoke. Standing! Her foal was standing now, and nursing hearty. I watched proud. Not for me, and not for Haditha, but for the foal. A hard start to be born on a man-of-war, yet already standing on its own. A horse born with sea legs. I smiled at that idea just as Hudson stopped by.

  “It looks well set up.”

  “It does, Hudson. Good of you to help me.”

  “The Captain saw me helping. And now he says I have to spell you.”

  “Thanks. I’ll eat, then go below and rest in my hammock.

  “No. You’re to report to the great cabin.”

  The gallery windows stood open wide and the sunlight poured in stabbing at my eye most fierce. It throbbed painful. Mr. Starling’s ointment had soothed, but he’d dressed my wound hours ago and now it was caked dry and covered with dust and straw. The captain, Kyle, and Pillow stood around a man tied to a chair, his left arm in a sling. He dripped soaking wet and smelled most awful of bilge. The captain stood behind the prisoner while he questioned Pillow.

  “Corporal Pill
ow. This is the man Nélaton claims was Oignon’s spy on Minorca. He’s been stowed in the chain locker and brought up for interrogation. Do you recognize him, Corporal?”

  Pillow walked around the prisoner, brought his face close to look the man in the eye, then stepped back.

  “It were night, sir, and he weren’t none too close so I can’t say as I recognize him. But the one I shot back on Minorca though—I shot that one in the left arm and this here one has his left arm in a sling. So maybe it’s him. ”

  “Very well, Corporal. Leave us.”

  The captain turned to me. “Is this the man who shot you at Artesian Gate?”

  For the first time I looked at the prisoner close up. Thin. Forty or so. Long black hair tied back loose. Thick, weathered brows set low over eyes scowling most dark.

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Marley, take the prisoner away.”

  The captain waited for them to leave, then went on. “I’m sure you have more to say, Harriet.”

  “Whoever shot me and Gottlieb fired from some bushes, sir. We never saw him. Gottlieb guessed the man was wounded though. He took over long to load his pistol and shoot us.”

  Before the captain replied the marine sentry slammed his rifle butt on the deck to announce Gleason. The bosun stepped in and came to attention, eyes forward but searching a bit, no doubt in awe of the great cabin. It was the captain’s private quarters and rarely seen by a bosun.

  “Report, Mr. Gleason, if you will.”

  “Aye, sir. The long gun’s in place now, sir, and we’ll bring the carronades onboard shortly.”

  “Those were your orders, Mr. Gleason. Why do you come to report that you’ve done what I told you to do?”

  “I’ve come to report Marat’s gun mounts, sir. They all fit our carriages exact.”

  “That’s unusual.”

  “Aye, sir. It’s ’cause them’s all English guns, sir. Forged at Woolwich Arsenal.”

  “I see.” The captain turned to me. “Fetch Marley and have him bring Nélaton. Go you now.”

  I found Marley and followed behind as he brought Nélaton.

  The captain pointed his thumb at Marat. “Why is Marat’s ordnance all English?”