Rakestraw had not been idle as these events were transpiring. More sail had been added, including a set of studding-sails that were rarely used except during fine weather, and more of whatever manner of fuel Asha had brought with her from the island. We drew away from the battle apace, until Traveaux’s glass was much in demand to maintain sight of the details of the exchange. He narrated to Rakestraw quietly, and we hung upon his words as he described the circles de Lôme made about the slower ironclads. Twice he circled them, no doubt giving their gunneries fits attempting to keep their sights upon him. Then Traveaux’s voice fell.
“What is it?” Dahlgren cried, for he was in a state of raw nerves over the battle and I realized with surprise that he had not been part of a naval action before. Rakestraw cleared his throat roughly and I saw the tension in his jaw. Traveaux was slow in replying, but I saw the black smoke even before he lowered the spyglass from his eye.
Asha gave a strangled cry and rushed to the rail, staring over our wake at the columns of smoke rising behind us.
“He fired no shot,” Traveaux said softly. “But when his ship passed between the two ironclads, one attempted to fire on him and struck the magazine of the other ironclad. Both are afire, and one sinks even as I speak. I...” He paused for a long moment, and I wondered if even the ice-veined Traveaux had found a heart in the cold, dark cavity of his breast at last. “I do not see de Lôme’s ship.”
We five stared out over the stern and watched the columns of smoke rise for a long time, even after L’île Oubliée was lost to our sight. I placed a hesitant arm about Asha’s shoulders and after a tense moment she drew close to me, accepting the comfort I offered, yet still her dark, tear-stung eyes watched the smoke upon the waters.
“I will never leave this island, alas.” He had told us. Would that we had listened, and understood what he had truly meant. He had fired no shot on the Union ironclads; he held his dream of peace even when he knew it would cost his own life in order to preserve ours.
And I—I, who had damned him for his inaction. Had I understood his final message?
Perhaps I had, after all. I wondered if Traveaux, when we arrived in France and he discovered that the steamer trunk of gold had not crossed over the Atlantic with us, would understand it as well.
Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange...
The Tempest, William Shakespeare
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About the author
Peter A. Smalley kicked off his writing career at the tender age of seven with the aptly-named elementary school thriller A Second Grade Tragedy. After dabbling in science for the next twenty-odd years, Peter returned to writing with his debut fantasy works The Burning Times and Grimme. A longtime fan of costuming and historical fiction, he took to Steampunk with dash and aplomb; his latest work, the anthologie 20,001: A Steampunk Odyssey, is a fantastical tour of Victorian technologies and science-run-amok. Peter lives near Seattle, Washington with his family, two cats and a dog. He plans to locate some free time Any Day Now.
Discover other titles by Peter A. Smalley
20,001: A Steampunk Odyssey
The Burning Times
Grimme
Connect with Peter Online
Kindling Press: http://www.kindlingpress.com
Kindling Press blog: http://kindplingpress.blogspot.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/Peter_Smalley
Facebook: http://facebook.com/peterasmalley
Google Plus: http://www.gplus.to/petersmalley
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