Only twenty guns and a sixth-rate, but still a frigate and he’s made Post!
Formerly holding the rank of commander, though called “captain” by virtue of commanding Merlin — a bit of naval semantics that still made her head hurt a little bit — Grantham was now a full Post Captain, his name on the Captains List that dictated seniority and promotion. He’d now move steadily up it as those above him were promoted or died.
She moved on to the next result from her searches and found another name she recognized on the list of those promoted to lieutenant. Good for you, Roland, it’s about time.
Certain that there must have been an action to result in the two promotions, she searched for the ship’s name and found it. Merlin and another sloop, H.M.S. Vulture, had worked in concert to take a Hanoverese frigate. She read the account of the action eagerly for any news of her former shipmates, but for one name in particular.
Upon making fast to the enemy ship’s port side, Midshipmen Stanford Roland and Philip Easely led the boarding parties. While Midshipman Roland’s party forced the quarterdeck and with few injuries or deaths demanded the colors be struck, Midshipman Easely and his party so occupied the enemy that they were unable to fight their guns to either side, allowing the men of Vulture to board from starboard.
Alexis scanned the rest of the article and hurried on to the list of those injured or killed in the action, though the Gazette named only officers and gave but a count for the regular crew. Three dead and eleven injured of the crew — and how I wish they’d care enough to give the names. Now I’ll be forever worrying about the lads until there’s some news. But Philip and Roland are both all right, and must be so proud to be mentioned in dispatches.
She satisfied herself that the Gazette contained no more about her friends and sighed. She opened the latest letter she’d started writing to her grandfather and read.
Grandfather,
I know I should see things through and persevere, but I cannot. Life aboard Hermione is too hard. It is a living hell that you could not comprehend and I cannot bring myself to describe to you.
I’ve decided that I must leave — for my sanity and safety, for I fear what will happen if I remain.
When next we make port, I will resign my position and take passage upon some merchant vessel back to Dalthus.
The prize money I was awarded aboard Merlin will certainly cover the cost of my passage home and allow me, even should I never hold our lands, some modest life. It will surely be enough and must be better than this.
There was a soft knock at the hatchway. Alexis set the tablet aside and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bunk.
“Yes?”
The hatch slid open and Boxer, the gunroom steward, entered. He glanced once at Alexis, then down at the deck.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir.” He held out a cloth-covered plate to her. “But I’ve brought you some’at.” Alexis hopped down from the bunk. “It’s not much, sir, but …”
“Boxer,” she whispered, reaching out to raise the cloth. Underneath was a bit of chicken and a ship’s biscuit covered in gravy.
“It’s my bit, Mister Carew,” he said quickly. “No more’n would be my due, you understand.”
Alexis stared at him. There was an unwritten rule that the men who did extra work as servants for the gunroom, wardroom, and captain would pilfer a small amount of each meal, as a bit more compensation than the few extra coins they earned for the service.
“Not right what they doin’ to you, sir.”
She laid a hand on his forearm. “Nothing aboard this ship is right.” She gently pushed the plate toward him. “But you can’t do this, Boxer.”
“My bit, sir,” he insisted, his face set and stubborn. “Can do what I like with it, I ‘spect.”
“No. I’m grateful, Boxer, I truly, truly am, but if they find out …”
“Checked, sir. They’s all left the gunroom and —”
“They’ll find out, Boxer. If I accept this once, you’ll do it again, and one time they’ll find out and they’ll see it goes hard on you. I won’t have you lose your place over me … or worse.” She nodded toward the hatchway. “Off with you now. Enjoy your bit yourself … and thank you.”
Alexis waited until he’d left, then slid the hatch closed and climbed to her bunk again. She took up her tablet and reread the words she’d written, then erased them as she’d written and erased similar words so many times over, and started again.
Grandfather,
I wish you to know I am well and hope you and all those I love at home are as well.
I have not received any messages from you since boarding Hermione, but we have been traveling and patrolling so widely that I suspect they have simply not caught up to us yet. My own to you, I am certain, have a much surer route to travel, as Dalthus does not move about nearly so much as a warship.
Hermione is not so happy a ship as Merlin, and Captain Neals is certainly not so kind as Captain Grantham was, but I am determined to persevere. As with my time on Merlin, my time aboard Hermione will pass, as well. I am given to understand that she is due to pay off in some six months or a year, at which time her officers and crew will be disbursed to other ships while she is refitted. This is no more than twice or thrice the time I have already been aboard, so it can be no greater hardship to wait out my time on this ship.
The men have a saying they use when facing even the most trying of times:
‘You shouldn’t have joined if you can’t take a joke,’ they say.
I often feel that, for all their roughness and the violence of their trade, the crews of these ships must certainly be the most tolerant … and kindest … of men. I truly hope that I will one day be worthy of leading their like.
Despite the war, please do not concern yourself as to my safety. Hermione has seen little in the way of action, and that still only with lightly-armed merchantmen, all much smaller. Captain Neals is quite clever in that regard.
All my love,
Alexis
She sent the message off and lay back to try and sleep. She should, she sometimes thought, be grateful to Captain Neals for the time he gave her on the mast. At least when she’d slept earlier, there had been no dreams. Ever since she’d come aboard Hermione, she’d been haunted by dreams of the pirate leader Horsfall. Merlin had taken his ship and Alexis had been sent aboard to head the prize crew, but a storm had come up and the pirates had retaken it.
Alexis and the remainder of the prize crew had managed to surprise the pirates and take the ship back, but not without great cost, as all but Alexis and a single spacer had been killed or severely injured in the fighting. Horsfall had demanded she negotiate with him, as there was only himself and one other pirate who could pilot the ship. But Alexis, furious at the deaths of her men and knowing Horsfall would never negotiate in good faith, had shot him.
Defenseless and in cold blood, she admitted to herself. She would, she thought, always remember the feel of the trigger and the way his head had jerked backward. The fine mist of blood that had covered the bulkhead and the other pirates behind him. Oddly, she could not remember the sound of the shot — in her memory, the entire thing played out in absolute silence.
At the time and immediately after, she’d had no regrets, and no one had even suggested that she’d not done the right thing. She’d gotten the rest of her crew home. But the cost came later, and she’d come to question whether she wouldn’t have been able to do it some other way.
Please not tonight.
Three
“Sail, sir.”
“Where away, Youngs?” Alexis turned from her place at the navigation plot, a large, round table at the center of the quarterdeck, and stepped over to the tactical console. The spacer there pointed to a bright spot on his monitor. The spot, blurry and indistinct after being brought inboard through a series of optics, the path protected by a series of fine gallenium mesh to protect the interior of the ship from darkspace, was small and clearly far away.
“Fine on the port quarter, sir, down fifteen,” he said.
Alexis nodded and patted his shoulder. “Good work, Youngs.”
She returned to the navigation plot and sighed. It was two bells into her watch, the Middle Watch again, and she’d just been starting to relax. She knew that Captain Neals considered it a punishment, but she rather enjoyed the quiet hours late in the ship’s night, followed by the bustle of the crew waking, cleaning the ship for the day, then going to their breakfast at the start of the Morning Watch. Neals himself rarely left his cabin before well into the Forenoon Watch, and Alexis was quite willing to give up a few hours’ sleep for the pleasure of some hours without the other officers about. She could almost, for a time, pretend it was the quarterdeck of some other ship entirely.
But not with a sail sighted.
“Wake Captain Neals,” she said, not taking her eyes from the plot, “the lieutenants, and the sailing master.”
“Aye, sir.”
Alexis brought the image of the other ship up on the navigation plot and expanded it, studying the fuzzy blob of light in the distance. Behind us and below. She switched back to the plot that showed their course. Hermione was close-hauled, running as close to the wind as she could, with her keelboard fully extended. The other ship seemed to be on a similar course.
Could be three masts, she thought, studying the image of the other ship. A large merchantman or another frigate. She’d spent a good deal of time studying images of other ships at varying distances and angles, working to improve her ability to identify them and to pick out their signals. She narrowed her eyes at the plot, thinking of the size of the other ship’s sails and its course, so close to the wind. Another frigate, I think.
With Hermione to windward of the other ship, she had the option of continuing on as she was or dropping back to close. The strange sail, on the other hand, would find it near impossible to close with her upwind — even another frigate would be unable to sail closer to the wind or faster. She heard the quarterdeck hatch slide open and footsteps as Neals entered, followed closely by Lieutenant Dorsett — the others would not be far behind. She half-smiled at the image of the other ship before closing it and leaving the navigation plot for the captain. And so we’ll never know for sure what you are, will we? For we’re about to run.
“Sail, sir,” she said, turning to face Neals. “Youngs spotted it — fine on the port quarter and down fifteen.”
Neals grunted acknowledgment and crossed to the tactical console without looking at her. A moment later the two other lieutenants, Williard and Roope, along with the sailing master entered the quarterdeck.
“Thank you for finally joining us, gentlemen,” Neals said. He stepped to the navigation plot.
The others joined him there and Alexis stepped back, hoping to go unnoticed.
“Mister Carew,” Neals said, giving her a narrow look. “You’ve had the most time to study this Sail, what do you make of it?”
Alexis felt her stomach sink. She looked from the plot to the captain. What I think or what he wants to hear? She bit her lip — there’d been so many compromises to make aboard Hermione that she constantly questioned what was right.
She squared her shoulders. “A frigate, sir.”
Neals looked back at the image. “Lieutenant Dorsett?”
Dorsett leaned over the plot, staring intently. “I am … unsure, sir.”
Neals straightened. “Yes, it is a difficult identification — and one should not speak until one is sure. A lesson Mister Carew would do well to take to heart.” He tapped the image. “This is a merchant vessel.”
“Yes, sir,” Dorsett said. “I see it now.”
“Do you other gentlemen concur?”
Alexis shared a glance with Youngs, the spacer at the tactical console, then he looked down, face blank and impassive.
The two other lieutenants and the sailing master all nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Do you see it now, Mister Carew?”
“I … defer to your experience, captain. Thank you for correcting me.”
“Man the signals console, Mister Carew. I will remain on the quarterdeck and we shall maintain our course. This merchantman is too far behind to pursue — she would take us on a long stern chase into Hanoverese territory and to little benefit.”
“Yes, sir,” Dorsett said.
Alexis took the place of the spacer at the signals console. The other ship was too far away for signals, but she brought up its image anyway.
“Pass the word for the bosun, Lieutenant Dorsett, let us have the royals bent on,” Neals said.
“Aye, sir.”
Alexis watched the sequence of images again, wanting to be absolutely certain of what she’d seen. There’d been no call from the spacer on the tactical console. She looked over at him and saw that his shoulders were hunched and tense. Captain Neals was engaged in conversation with Lieutenant Dorsett, neither of them watching the navigation plot or its inset image of the other ship.
She ran the sequence again, looking carefully. It was there, a thin, brief line of light flashing away from the other ship on the far side, the leeward side. It could be nothing but the firing of a single gun — the distinctive, bolt of a laser, behaving so different in darkspace than it should. She turned toward the plot and started to speak, but Lieutenant Williard caught her eye and gave his head the smallest of shakes. Not entirely sure she’d understood his meaning, she opened her mouth, and he, quite clearly, mouthed the words “do not”.
Confused, she turned back to her console. Could she truly be the only one on the quarterdeck who’d seen the ship fire a gun, and a single gun to leeward, at that? It was a sure sign that the ship was both a warship, not a merchant, and of the enemy. It was a challenge to come out and engage that even she recognized.
“This merchant’s lookouts must be blind to have not seen us and turned away,” Neals said loudly.
“Yes, sir,” Dorsett agreed.
Alexis turned and stared at the officers in shock and sudden realization. She’d noticed early in her time aboard Hermione that Captain Neals preferred to engage the Hanoverese merchant shipping, rather than their warships. In fact, Hermione had not fired her guns in anger, save a warning shot or two across a ship’s bow, in all the time she’d been aboard.
Thinking back, though, she realized that even those merchant vessels had all been much smaller than Hermione. Sloops, pinnaces, cutters – never a ship of similar size, and no warships whatsoever. There was always a reason, of course, supplies low, poor conditions for a chase, and more.
Alexis had thought Neals simply greedy and lazy, preferring the easy prize money of a merchant and her cargo to the effort of engaging another ship of war. Now, though, with another warship not only pursuing them, but throwing a challenge in his face, he maintained some fiction that he hadn’t seen.
He’s a coward.
The other ship had been losing ground for some time and was barely visible. Whether Hermione was more lightly-laden or had more sail area or for some other reason, Alexis didn’t know, but it was clear now that Hermione would soon be out of sight of the other ship.
Alexis watched as the image of the other ship changed as it turned aside and then away, taking the wind on her stern and sailing almost directly away from Hermione’s course. There was a larger flash and lines of light streamed away from the other ship’s sides, shot after shot in quick succession.
Both broadsides – emptied her guns.
It was a clear gesture of contempt, a message that Hermione wasn’t worth even the precaution of keeping the guns loaded and ready.
Surely he can’t ignore that?
“Put us on the port tack, Lieutenant Dorssett, and make for Penduli Station, I should like to resupply.”
“Aye, sir.”
“And I’ll have the royals brought down at five bells.” Neals paused and Alexis could sense the tension on the quarterdeck as the crew anticipated his next words. “I am displeased with the men’
s speed in raising them – see that they’re brought in more quickly and twelve lashes for the last man down from the yards.”
Four
The streams of people parted and passed Alexis on both sides. The corridors of Penduli Station were filled, with seven Navy ships in-system and enumerable merchantmen delivering stores to the station. Stores that would be taken on by the warships and, thence, back to the border systems and the war.
She noted that the marine sentry posted outside the hatch to the Port Admiral’s offices was staring at her. She couldn’t blame him, she supposed, with that she’d been standing in the corridor for some time. Her realization of Neals’ cowardice and the subsequent flogging of Brownlee, a skilled topman, but the last man down from the yards after Neals’ order, had resolved her to do something, and speaking to the Port Admiral was the only thing she could think of to do.
I can barely count the number of men he’s flogged just since I’ve come aboard. Surely they’ll not want a man of his cruelty and cowardice in command of a Queen’s Ship?
She straightened and stepped forward, just as a hand grasped her elbow and spun her to face down the corridor.
“Ah, there you are, Mister Carew,” Lieutenant Williard said, keeping a tight grip on her arm and fairly dragging her away. He leaned close and whispered, “Not a word and come with me, Carew.”
Without another word, he was off, dragging her alongside. She was too shocked by his sudden appearance and actions to protest, and could do nothing in any case. Though she was certain she could break his grip on her arm, he was still her superior officer, both in rank and in Hermione’s chain of command.
Williard led her through the crowd and up several levels until he finally guided her into a small pub. Or, at least, she thought it was a pub until they entered and found a liveried servant waiting to greet them behind a podium of dark wood. The man raised an eyebrow at Alexis, then looked enquiringly at Williard.
Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3 Page 32