The Seahorse

by Michael Aye

  “Aye,” Anthony replied. “It is to be conducted at sunrise tomorrow morning. There is a hill between here and the Penn plantation. The parties will meet there.”

  “Is there nothing you can do?” Ragland asked.

  “No. If it were two of my officers I would intervene,” Anthony said. “However, if I put Lieutenant Davy under arrest and restricted him to the ship, I’d lose a good officer. He’s already told Gabe…Captain Anthony he’d resign his commission if need be. Besides, if he didn’t show up, he’d be branded a coward throughout the West Indies.”

  Sighing, Lord Ragland stood up and walked to a window and peered out. “Well, Lieutenant Davy will get no thanks from Sir William if he does defend his daughter’s honour. He needs Winston Penn’s money.”

  “Maybe he should talk to Lieutenant Davy,” Anthony responded. “With the prize money Lieutenant Davy has tucked away over the years and it drawing three percent annually, he could possibly buy his own plantation.”

  Anthony knew this was not exactly the truth but it didn’t hurt to plant a seed if it would help Lieutenant Davy’s cause.

  As Anthony made ready to leave, Lord Ragland spoke once more. “I wish your lieutenant luck, Gil. I hear Penn is a crack shot. He’s won most of the island’s shooting competitions.”

  “Aye, but has he ever faced a man who was shooting back?” Anthony asked in a solemn voice.

  ***

  The two parties met the following morning. A borrowed carriage stopped on the top of a small hill. Sugar cane stalks stood higher than the carriage and rustled in the dawn breeze as Gabe, Lieutenant Baugean, Davy’s second, Isreal Livesey, Peregrine’s surgeon, and Lieutenant Davy arrived.

  Benjamin Briggs was Penn’s second. He walked over to greet Lieutenant Baugean. In the half light Gabe could see Penn’s party consisted of three men, four if you counted the man holding the bag standing by their carriage. He was obviously the Penn’s physician. The elderly man, probably Penn’s father, was whispering into the younger man’s ear. The younger man replied in a somewhat heated manner then turned his back on the older gentleman.

  “Let’s be about this,” he shouted. But that was a false bravado. His voice cracked with an unmistakable tremor.

  “Gentlemen!” the elderly man cried. “Can we not call this thing off?”

  Lieutenant Davy bowed respectfully to the man and said, “He has but to apologize to the young lady, sir.”

  “I’ll see you in hell first,” Penn retorted.

  Speaking quietly, barely above a whisper, Briggs said, “We’d best get on with it then.” He then opened a case of beautifully matched dueling pistols. “You’ll inspect these if you please, sir.”

  Lieutenant Baugean lifted both pistols, felt the weight, and checked the priming. More shot and powder was available if the gun was not to his satisfaction. Briggs then offered Davy his choice of weapons. After a last plea for reconciliation was declined, Briggs called the two men together.

  Davy could feel Penn’s back touch his. For all his swagger, Penn’s shirt was soaked with sweat. Reaching up with his free hand, Davy quickly felt the front of his shirt. It was dry. He’s scared, Davy thought to himself, realizing that he was not. He’d faced death too many times to not know it could come at anytime. But he was at peace with it.

  “Commence on one,” Briggs said, giving instructions. “Take ten steps on my count, turn and fire. Any man firing before the count of ten will be shot down. Is that understood?”

  Both men nodded their understanding.

  “One, two…”

  Davy walked slowly feeling the hard packed road beneath his feet.

  “Three, four…”

  Did I put everything in the letter that I should before I gave it to Gabe?

  “Five, Six…”

  That’s a cool breeze I feel but it’ll get hotter.

  “Seven, eight…”

  Davy felt the buzz of the ball pass his ear before he heard the shot from his opponent’s pistol. Standing there, Davy realized Penn had turned and fired early. The coward. Still where was the man that was supposed to shoot him down if such a thing happened?

  “Foul, sir,” Baugean cried out. “Foul. That was a cowardly thing to do.”

  Briggs stood there silent, obviously sickened by his party’s actions. After a pause he resumed counting, unable to fulfill his obligation to fire on his childhood chum.

  “Nine, ten…you may turn and fire.”

  Penn stood there shocked, smoking pistol still in his hand. Fear overwhelmed him and his bladder let loose, staining his white pants. Sweat poured from his brow. His hands were shaking. The arm holding the pistol out fell limply to his side.

  Davy was disgusted at the sight before him. “You, sir, are a braggart and a coward,” he said. “Your actions speak louder than words.”

  As he raised his pistol and took aim, Penn fell to the ground whimpering. He lay there in a balled up heap. Davy could not bring himself to kill the man so he shot into the air then threw the pistol at Briggs’s feet.

  In doing so he asked, “Where is your honour, sir? You were to prevent any cowardly foul.”

  Briggs hung his head and muttered, “You have my deepest apology, sir. If you require more I will stand for you to shoot.”

  “Apology accepted,” Davy hissed as he made his way to his party.

  Suddenly there was a scrambling noise behind him. Penn had crawled passed his father and took a pistol from the family carriage and was now aiming at Davy.

  “You bastard!” he screamed.

  The stillness was shattered by the explosion of two pistols. Penn crumpled and fell face down in the hard dirt. A crimson color was spreading over the back of the white silk shirt, his gun still unfired. Standing behind the fallen man, both Briggs and Penn’s father held smoking pistols. They had both fired to prevent another cowardly act.

  “Which bullet found its mark?” Davy asked his fellow officers.

  “Only God knows,” Gabe said. “But I thought Briggs fired an instant after the boy’s father.”

  After a moment Davy spoke again, “Maybe it will spare the old gentleman some grief not knowing which ball took his son’s life.”

  “That would have been my thoughts,” Gabe replied.

  “Aye,” Baugean joined in. “Mine as well.”

  The surgeon sat quietly, thankful his services were not needed.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The days following the duel turned into weeks and suddenly it was Christmas, then New Year’s Eve. Parties were given and balls were held that were attended by all of the island’s prominent citizens, even the Penn family, though they were adorned in black. An attempt was made to offer his condolences but Penn turned and walked away before Anthony could speak.

  Lord Anthony and Lady Deborah had been invited to dine aboard each of the ships in the squadron, starting aboard Viper the week before Christmas and finishing aboard the flagship on Christmas day. Gabe, Captain Markham, and Lum joined the ship’s musicians and played one joyous song after another.

  At the noon meal, the officers of SeaHorse and the captains of the other ships joined together to eat. When everyone had been seated, Lord Anthony rose. The group quickly quieted themselves to hear what their admiral had to say. Each one of them expected some sort of Christmas speech or discussion with regard to being away from home, doing one’s duty for King and country. What transpired surprised everyone…except Bart and Lady Deborah.

  “Gentlemen,” Anthony said. “I thank each of you for being here today…for joining Lady Deborah…and my staff for such a joyous occasion. None as special as the celebration of the birth of Christ. It is with understanding the sacrifices of Christ who gave his life as a gift to all mankind that I would like to take the time to honour one among us today. A man who acted without considering the possible consequences to himself…” Anthony paused and gave a small chuckle. “If he had I wouldn’t be standing here today.”

  This brought a chuckle from the
group.

  “A man who I’ve…who Bart and I have known for years. A man who has served his King and country most diligently. A man I’m proud to call a friend. You’ve all guessed who I’m talking about, I’m sure. Our ship’s master…George Jepson.”

  The group started clapping. A few were shouting and whistling. Jep turned red, embarrassed that he was recognized so. When Anthony was able to get the group’s attention again, he called Jepson up to the head of the table.

  As if on cue, Bart appeared holding a box. Taking the large box from him, Anthony said, “No…no, it’s not a year’s supply of cards.”

  This brought hoots and laughter again as the master’s ability at whist was well known throughout the squadron.

  “George,” Anthony continued, using Jepson’s first name, “this is but a small token on behalf of Lady Deborah and me.”

  Taking the box, Jep opened it to find a beautifully tooled leather case. Handing Bart the box, he opened the case to find a gold sextant.

  “My Lord…” Jep said, trying to constrain his emotions.

  Seeing his friend so, Bart chided, “Well these ain’t gold but they’s good. Straight from Havana they be.” He then handed Jep a box of cigars. Bart then leaned over and whispered, “We’s a jug o’ good rum chillin in the bilges when the dinner is done.”

  ***

  The New Year came and went and now a convoy had arrived. Gabe, Markham, and Ambrose Taylor, of the ship Alert, had been chosen to escort the convoy ships to Halifax.

  “It’ll be damned cold,” Markham declared upon hearing the news.

  “Aye,” Lizard’s Captain Culzean had replied. “And it’s damn glad I am to be staying here.” The last convoy still on his mind…Lizard had been mauled badly by privateers when they last had escort duty.

  It was then that Lieutenant Jem Jackson, captain of Viper, and Ferrets Hallett entered the tavern and greeted their fellow ship’s captains.

  “Did you hear about the new guns being transported to Lord Howe?” Jackson asked. When the officers indicated they hadn’t, he continued, “The brig, Britannia, has several of them.”

  “What kind of gun is it?” Markham asked.

  “A carronade,” Hallett replied. “It’s supposed to be hell in close action.”

  “Have you seen one?” Gabe asked.

  “Aye, a squat little monster it is,” Jackson exclaimed.

  “I’d like to see it,” Gabe said, very curious.

  “Aye, so would we,” the rest chimed in.

  Seeing Dagan, Gabe excused himself for a moment and went to him. “Go aboard SeaHorse and see if Captain Buck is there if you will. Tell him about the brig with the new guns. I’m sure he’ll want to see them himself and it may be he can arrange for us to see one.”

  “Aye,” Dagan replied. “What about His Lordship?”

  “I’m headed there now. We, Faith and I, are to have lunch with Gil and Deborah.”

  “Don’t eat to much,” Dagan said, patting Gabe’s belly. “It looks to me like it’s the size of a nine pounder.”

  Gabe sucked in his stomach and swore, “It’s the holidays.”

  ***

  Captain Ford of the brig, Britannia, was more than willing to play host and lord his knowledge of the new carronade over the gathered naval officers. The admiral’s presence did make him a tad nervous however.

  “You do me honour,” Ford said when Anthony boarded the brig. “No one of such a lofty status has ever stepped foot aboard my humble ship, sir,” he exclaimed. “Not even when they were loading the smashers.”

  “Smashers?” Buck repeated.

  “Aye,” Ford replied. “That’s the nickname that’s been given to these little beauties.”

  “Damned ugly if you ask me,” Captain Fletcher from Intrepid declared.

  “Ugly she may be…but it’s a heavy ball she flings I’m thinking,” Bart volunteered.

  This brought a stare from Fletcher. He was not used to anyone other than an officer speaking without being spoken to. However, Markham spoke up and agreed with Bart, which was further acknowledged by the others. Fuming, Fletcher thought, Treat him as an equal they do.

  Seeing Fletcher’s reaction, Buck thought, I once had to take a lieutenant aside. Now am I going to have to speak to a captain. Humph, he thought, better me than His Lordship. He’d not likely recover if His Lordship was to get involved.

  The laughter broke Buck’s reverie. Likely comparing the gun to someone’s personal artillery, Buck thought.

  When the group controlled their laughter, Ford said, “The carronade was developed for the Royal Navy by the Carron Company in Falkirk, Scotland. It was created to serve as a devastating short range weapon that would wreak utter havoc to ships and crews at short distances.”

  “Who invented it?” Fletcher asked. “Some naval gunner?”

  “No,” Ford answered. “I was told it was a lieutenant general in the Army. A Robert Melville.”

  “Humph. It’ll never work aboard ship,” Fletcher responded after hearing the gun was invented by an Army man, lieutenant general or not.

  “I’m not so sure,” Anthony said speaking for the first time. “I’ve heard Howe speak of the guns. He’s at least impressed with them enough that he’s talked Lord Sandwich into buying several.”

  When Anthony had finished, Ford continued, “Well, while it was General Melville who invented the gun, it was Mr Charles Gascoigne at the Carron Company what developed and perfected it.”

  “No doubt,” Fletcher said, salvaging a bit of something after everything else he’d said had been challenged.

  Cutting his eyes at Fletcher, Ford once more continued. “This baby,” he said patting the gun’s short barrel, “has a low muzzle velocity and needs only a small crew to work it.”

  Hallett was puzzled about the significance of the muzzle velocity and asked Ford to explain.

  “The lower velocity of a carronade’s round shot was created to inflict more damage to a ship’s hull, creating many more of the deadly splinters when fired at the enemy vessel. That’s where the nickname smasher comes from.”

  After a pause, Ford started again enjoying his role as schoolmaster. “They’ve discovered that with the short barrel and short range there’s a risk of ejecting burning wadding. This was then thought to add to the benefit as the most likely ship the wadding would land on is the one being fired at.”

  “How much does it weigh?” Gabe asked.

  “Depends,” Ford answered. “Carronades were manufactured using standard naval gun calibers including twelve, eighteen, twenty-four, thirty-two, and forty-two pounders. Now the weight of a standard thirty-two pound long gun is about three ton. A carronade of thirty-two pounds would weigh one third or about a ton.”

  “I don’t see any trunnions,” Jem Jackson put in, not wanting to be thought dull by not finding something different to inquire about.

  “It’s mounted on a slide so it doesn’t have trunnions,” Ford replied. “It also has a turn screw like a field gun instead of quoins (wooden wedges) for elevation.”

  In summing up his discussion, Ford said, “This gun in close action will be a distinct advantage over our enemies.”

  “Aye,” Bart said. “Till they gets their hands on a few.”

  Fletcher fumed again but had to agree with the admiral’s cox’n.

  PART III

  The Gun Captain

  The cap’n yells, “Fire!”

  The guns leap as one.

  Round after round,

  We worked ’um ’till we’s numb.

  I smells the stench o’ powder,

  I’s blinded by the smoke.

  It hurts me chest to breathe,

  It makes me cough and choke.

  I felt the ship shudder,

  They’s scored another hit.

  A gun be overturned;

  The mainmast is split.

  Broadside after broadside,

  That last un were the worst.

  I see the chaplain
praying,

  I ’urd the bosun curse.

  I steals a look about me,

  So many mates lay dead.

  The thunder from the guns,

  Echoes thru me head.

  I ’ear the word, “Cease fire.”

  Yonder ship ’as struck.

  I give a sigh and wipes me face,

  A victory cheer goes up.

  Michael Aye

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Josiah Nesbit stepped from the pantry and peered at the untouched breakfast on the cabin table. Strewn next to the empty coffee cup were sheets of paper discussing the new gun, the carronade. The captain seemed to be much impressed with the guns. He’d spent a lot of time pouring through the sheets. He’d explained to Sir Victor how they could really be an advantage to a frigate.

  Well, Nesbit knew nothing of naval warfare. He was, however, very pleased with his present position…berth. Paco had said it was a berth, not a position. Captain Anthony was an easy taskmaster. Once one got used to all the bells and pipes it seemed to grow on you. He wouldn’t care to be a jack tar mind you. No, that was not his sort. However, being a gentleman’s gentleman it would be rare indeed to improve on Captain Anthony. I must remember to thank Dagan, he thought. He certainly rescued me from the illiterate lout I’d been working for.

  Overhead the air was alive with the noise and hustle bustle of a ship getting underway. It all seemed so strange to Nesbit that out of such apparent utter chaos and confusion order actually existed. Paco had said it was because I’m a landsman…meaning I’m the opposite of a seaman. Nesbit had asked and Paco had confirmed.

  The miles of cordage, each mast, spar, and sail played a different yet distinctive and important part of the ship’s ability to sail and maneuver. He was learning under the polite tutelage of Paco, Dagan, and even the captain at times.

  Standing beneath the skylight, Nesbit could hear the unmistakable sound of the fiddle blaring out a shanty. The men are going to raise the anchor so it’s time to leave…to get underway would be the seaman’s term he thought, trying his best to get a firm hold of the lingo that was so much a part of his new world.