"It was perhaps six years ago, while I was First Lieutenant on the Heracles." He noticed a couple of nods at this, and recognised two crewmen who had also served on that ship.
"Our ship was part of a squadron that sailed in the Mediterranean, tasked with guarding Nelson's flank as he began his now infamous Battle of the Nile. The night before he sailed to engage the French, Nelson gathered his captains for a fine meal on board his ship, the Vanguard, to discuss tactics and stratagems. As commander of the flanking squadron, my Captain, one Thomas Maccalsson, was invited too, and I was lucky enough to be brought along as his escort."
Havelock gave a brief smile as he remembered the evening, the heady company of so many competent Captains, each of them senior enough to command a ship of the line. And then, of course, there was Lord Nelson himself.
"What a place for a First Lieutenant to be!" said Havelock, noting his crew were fixed on his tale. "I kept quiet, as you might imagine, while I listened to the captains talk over a fine roast beef. Ploy and counter ploy was raised and discarded as they argued the best way to achieve victory over the French. Through it all, I watched Nelson. While some tempers frayed, he remained calm, allowing each man to say his piece before moving on.
"Whether it was my fortune or not, he soon spied the quiet Lieutenant at the other end of the table, sipping wine and trying not to be noticed. 'Sir!' he called out to me, silencing the entire company. 'Be you an officer in the King's Navy or not?' I don't mind telling you, as all those experienced eyes turned to me, I was mortified." Havelock noticed a few of his crew chuckling at this image and he nodded candidly. "Aye, there was a time as a young officer when I did all I could not to be the centre of attention." This drew some outright laughs, which Havelock stalled with a raised hand.
"I tripped over my words, amazed that this man, already a legend in the service, was sparing the time to talk to a Lieutenant who would not even be involved in the battle. 'Speak up, Sir!' he said to me. 'Every other man here has told me how he would fight the French and yet you sit there and say nothing! Explain yourself!' Well, how does one respond to that? I tried...
"I started to say that I was but a Lieutenant while every other man present was a post-captain but Nelson dismissed that with a wave. 'Nonsense!' he cried. 'You are a First Lieutenant and hope, I presume, to make Captain one day, with a command of your own, yes? Then explain yourself. How would you fight the French tomorrow?'
"Well, I studied the charts Nelson had laid out in front of us and started to make some noise about drawing up our ships into a line and moving in close to pound the French ships. No doubt I failed on some details and this brought some sniggers from the assembled Captains. I faltered, red-faced, but Nelson rapped a cup on the table to silence them.
"He stood and faced me. 'You need another year or so at sea, lad, but you may show some promise, I'll warrant you that!' Then he said something that, I swear, I will never forget so long as I live. 'Gentlemen,' he said, though he looked at me. 'If you do nothing more tomorrow than place your ship alongside an enemy vessel, you will not go far wrong in my book!'"
Havelock paused as each sailor weighed this in his mind. "As you know," he went on to say, "Nelson won the battle, setting the tone for our Navy's war against the French right up until this day. I won't lie to you men, you all know something of the terrible nature of the enemy that chases us now. And we have all lost friends and comrades. We will soon be in battle against that dark ship and whether we die or are victorious will be down to what each one of us does. But I say this to you; if you do nothing more than carry on firing your gun or stabbing with your blade, you will not go far wrong in my book!"
The crew cheered, a ragged cry that was borne by their small numbers, as Havelock cast a glance back at the Deja, still matching their speed behind them.
"Mr Corbin," he said. "A hard starboard turn on my mark, and get the men to run out what starboard guns we have. I tire of being chased. It is time we made an end of this, one way or another."
Taking a deep breath, Corbin steeled himself and saluted. "Aye Sir, a hard turn it is. On your word."
Corbin quickly got the men working again, and as they prepared to adjust the tack of the sails, he looked back at his Captain, brow raised in anticipation. Taking one more look at the hulk, Havelock turned to Corbin and nodded.
"Now, Lieutenant."
Orders rang out as sailors scuttled throughout the rigging and across the deck as they heaved and tied the sails to new positions while the helmsman spun his wheel. The Elita lurched for an instant under the strain of the manoeuvre, then her prow lifted from the waves and swung round to face the direction she had just come from, the whole ship tilting as it turned.
"Two points to larboard, helmsman!" Havelock called out, setting a course that would keep the Deja on their starboard side.
Now they sailed towards the hulk that had chased them, few crew could avoid looking up from their work to see their enemy as the two ships rapidly closed. However, Havelock fancied that the feeling of certain doom had gone from them. There were perhaps few who expected to win the coming battle, but he thought they might at least trust him not to send them to their deaths unnecessarily.
For several minutes, Havelock and Corbin watched the distance between the two ships slowly shrink. On the main deck, Kennedy nodded up to Corbin, who turned to his Captain.
"Crew reports the guns are ready, Sir."
"Very good, Mr Corbin. Now we will see what this ship is capable of, though she be only half fighting fit."
The Deja continued to close until there was little more than a couple of hundred yards between the two ships. The hulk then seemed to rear out of the water, its deck canting backwards as jets of spray were thrown upwards past the prow. It surged forward with unnatural speed, appearing to make a lunge for the Elita. Seeing this, Havelock smiled.
"She'll never turn on to us in time, not at that speed," he said. "Mr Corbin, on my word, fire our guns."
Though the hulk had cleared the remaining distance to the frigate, Havelock was right. It was now going far too fast to make any reasonable turn and the Elita, travelling slightly off angle to the vessel, would be carried by the wind straight down its flank. As the ships passed within just a few yards of one another, the British sailors got an all too close look at their enemy, the chilling cries of zombies screaming through broken throats made an eerie sound. All made crude gestures at the crew of the Elita, seeming to perform a macabre dance as they clawed the air and bared rotting teeth. Havelock eyed the Deja carefully, noting the stinking seaweed dressing the masts, the crumbling railings and various forms of sea life littering the decks. He also watched the gun ports lining the hull of the hulk begin to open but he could already see the cannon would not be run out until his ship had passed them by. Keen to strike the first blow, Havelock gave the order to attack.
"Fire!"
The order was relayed down to the gun decks several times before a massive blast and billowing smoke erupted from the Elita as the whole ship shuddered with the recoil. Large holes were blasted into the decaying wood of the Deja, and more than a few zombie crew spilled out into the sea. The cheers of the crew on the main deck were quickly overwhelmed by a staccato series of more gun fire, the sporadic shots smashing into the other warship one by one, this time aimed at the upper part of the hull and masts. The dirty sails rippled as shot passed through them and several zombies were annihilated in an instant as a combined quarter ton of metal tore through their massed ranks. Havelock looked quizzically at Corbin.
"What happened there? Why the delayed shot?"
It took Corbin just a second to guess. "Limited crews to man the guns, Sir. Someone must have readied the crewless cannon to fire, running down the deck to touch off the fuses after they had fired the main guns."
Havelock smiled at the ingenuity of his crew. "A pint of rum after the battle to the man who thought of that!" he said. "Still, we won't have enough time to do that again. We'll have to rely on the cr
ewed guns alone."
"Aye, Sir." Corbin stared at the Deja as it passed them by. "Did we do any significant damage?"
"The fight is just beginning, Mr Corbin, there will be no miracle shots here. Bring us about behind her stern and tell the crew to fire when ready."
The Elita dipped its prow into the water again before turning, a trait that was beginning to irritate Havelock, as it robbed the ship of a few seconds of manoeuvring. Then it swung round beautifully, presenting a broadside to the rear of the hulk, the rotting wood still sporting the marks of their previous duel in the Whirlwind. Once again, the Elita's few manned guns roared, and this time Havelock was glad to see large chunks of blackened wood blown clear of the Deja, one large section of the upper hull spinning gracefully through the air before it landed in the sea with a large splash.
"Reload, Mr Corbin," said Havelock. "Tell the crews to aim at the waterline. We'll try holing her. If nothing else, it should slow her down on the turns."
As the frigate turned starboard once more to this time race alongside the Deja, Havelock could hear orders to reload and aim being relayed to the lower decks. It was with some alarm that he saw the gun ports down this side of the hulk begin to open, one by one. However, they did not fire as the cannon were rolled out and instead seemed to be waiting for an order. Havelock gritted his teeth, knowing a full broadside from a ship of the line could be telling, even to an outsized frigate such as the Elita.
He was gladdened to hear his own guns were ready to fire and he nodded at Corbin to proceed. Yet again, explosions and smoke poured from the frigate's broadside and the shots found their mark below the triple line of gun decks on the hulk. Spouts of water were thrown up across its length as some of the fire thudded into the hull below the waterline and elsewhere, massive holes were gouged into the side of the Deja. Undismayed by this damage, a few zombies leered from their gun ports until an order silent to those on the Elita instructed them to fire.
The titanic roar that belched from the hulk deafened Havelock briefly, and he staggered from the concussion while wreathed in filthy smoke. Men screamed as they were rendered limbless or blasted overboard, while wood splinters flew through the air with equally lethal results. Beneath his feet, Havelock could feel the frigate groan under the battering, its wood shifting in ways it had never been designed to accommodate.
Gasping, Havelock staggered to the helmsman who, thankfully, was still on his feet. "Hard to larboard!" he said. "Take us back around!"
The Elita seemed sluggish in the turn and reluctant to pull away but once the deck crew saw what their Captain was trying to do, they rushed to the rigging to reposition the sails. Havelock watched their efforts but his eye was quickly drawn to the main mast in the centre of the ship. Likely nicked by a shot from the Deja, it had an inch wide crack running vertically up its length. Though it seemed to hold, he knew it would not last long under the strain of the sails as they filled with wind.
"Mr Corbin, furl the top'sal and topgallant. Just keep the main'sal flying."
"Aye Sir, but that will rob us of any advantage of speed."
"Regrettable but if the main mast gives, we may be dead in the water. Literally. And run out the larboard guns!"
Continuing its turn, the Elita came about as the crew on the gun decks ran from one side of the ship to the other to run out cannon that now faced the hulk. Havelock knew that constant switching of broadsides could not be kept up during battle without exhausting his men but he had dared not risk trading shot with the Deja after its initial attack. His first instinct was to get out of its line of fire, then to swing back behind it for another attack on the hulk's wounded stern. If he could throw enough metal into that part of the ship, he would not be able to avoid dealing some serious damage. While the last exchange had dealt his ship a grievous blow in terms of men and guns, his more carefully planned attack would hurt the Deja in its mobility. At the end of the day, if he could reduce its ability to make sharp turns, he could pound it at a safe distance until the hulk sank to the bottom of the ocean once more.
The hulk continued to sail away from the Elita, and Havelock guessed that Dubois was trying to put some distance between them in order to protect his stern. You have not reckoned on the accuracy of British gunners, he thought.
Once more the frigate found itself passing astern of the Deja, though at greater range this time and in the opposite direction. The larboard guns kicked the Elita as they sent more burning metal through the air, and though some shot missed its mark, creating great geysers of water just behind the hulk, others were aimed to perfection. More debris spun off the back of the Deja and Havelock eagerly raised his telescope to inspect the damage.
He barked a short laugh in delight as he looked on to see what his crew had accomplished. The stern of the Deja was a complete mess now. Though this insult to its Captain cheered Havelock a great deal he was far more interested in the rudder, which had been shot away with the last volley.
Smiling, he waved Corbin over to his side. "We have her, Mr Corbin," he said, passing the telescope. "Rudderless, she is no longer a match for us. We'll stay in her rear quarter and sink her at our leisure. Pass the word to the crew - we'll take no prisoners for what they have done to us!"
"Shall I get more crew to the gun decks? We can increase the weight of fire with more guns being manned,"
"Yes. But make sure the wounded are tended to first. We now have time on our hands."
"Aye Sir." Corbin turned to enact Havelock's instructions but then stopped, standing absolutely rigid.
Havelock noticed the strange posture in his Lieutenant and frowned. "Something, Mr Corbin?"
At first, Havelock could not hear Corbin's whispered reply. The man then cleared his throat and spoke again.
"Sir... She's turning... "
"Impossible," said Havelock, though he sounded less than certain. He took the telescope back from Corbin and raised it to the hulk but he could already see the ship was indeed beginning to come about, for the first time seeming almost graceful in its movements.
"How can she do that?" said Corbin but Havelock had no good explanation. Instead, he thought furiously.
"Lieutenant," he said but Corbin continued to stare at the hulk, now bringing its prow to bear on the Elita. "Lieutenant!"
The shout stirred Corbin and he spun round, eyes wide. "Sorry Sir!"
"Make sure the larboard guns are ready. We'll give her a blast at point blank range."
"But then she'll be on us!" said Corbin and Havelock could hear a thin strain of hysteria begin to edge into his voice.
"And then we'll fight! We have beaten her once in an attempted boarding, we'll do it again! Only this time, we have been pounding her steadily. Who knows how many of her accursed crew we have destroyed already?"
"Not enough. It will never be enough!"
Havelock began to notice that more than one sailor was looking up from the main deck and he gave them a meaningful glare that encouraged them to get back to work, before he returned his attention to Corbin. He had fought too long and too hard on this voyage to be scuttled by a shaken officer. Taking a step to put Corbin in-between himself and the rest of the crew so no one else would see what he was about to do, Havelock grabbed the Lieutenant by the collar and pulled him within inches of his own face.
"Pull yourself together, man," he said, voice low but laced with an unmistakable undercurrent of threat. "Remember where you are." He held onto Corbin in this fashion until sanity began to return to the younger man's eyes.
"Now, prepare the larboard guns and ready the men for boarding," Havelock said, slowly and carefully as he released Corbin.
"With respect, Captain," Corbin said as he straightened his jacket. "We hole her and she will not sink. We attack her crew and nothing short of placing them in front of a cannon will kill them. We cannot fight this enemy!"
"And what would you suggest we do, Lieutenant?" said Havelock angrily. "That ship will overhaul us if we try to run. What does that leave? A
re we to just lay down here and die?"
Corbin opened his mouth but found he had nothing to say in reply.
"No!" said Havelock. "We will stand and we will fight, and if this battle is ever remembered, history will be our judge! I, for one, refuse to go down without my sword in my hand and a pile of enemies at my feet!"
"This is the doom of us all," said Corbin mournfully.
Havelock bit back his immediate response and took a deep breath before speaking. "Lieutenant, I do not require your consent or your hope. All I require is that you obey my orders and fight!"
Slowly, mechanically, Corbin drew his sword and, after a brief pause, raised it in salute to Havelock. His voice was quiet, almost inaudible as he spoke. "I'll fight, Sir."
"Good. Now make the preparations." Havelock spun away and walked to the railings of the quarterdeck overlooking the sea between the Elita and the rapidly oncoming Deja. He thumped a fist on the wood in frustration, partly at Corbin's loss of nerve but, most of all, because he cursed the fate that had brought both him and his crew to ruin.
He knew Corbin had been right, in his facts if not in attitude. They faced an enemy ship that could not be sunk, crewed by sailors that were all but impossible to kill. What captain had ever been matched against such an enemy before? All he knew was that if they were to die, what mattered was the manner of their departure, whether they died as brave heroes or craven cowards. If only there were some other means beyond fighting or running, neither of which promised success against the Deja.
Havelock blinked. Of course there was a third way, an answer to the horror that could vanquish his enemy, sending Dubois and his nightmare crew back to the bottom of the ocean. It was an unthinkable course of action but that, in itself, gave him an advantage. Dubois could not see it coming, for it bordered on the suicidal. He turned back to Corbin who was just descending the stairs to the quarterdeck, a twinkle in his eye as he started to smile.
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