Paladin's War

by Peter Greene

“Yes! Of course!” said Lady Wilder. “We attended the Swedish School together.”

  “A joy to see you again, Alina,” said Barbara.

  “Barbara is my dear friend and sister to Sylvia Walker,” added Lady Bracknell. “You know of Captain William Walker, her husband, I am sure?”

  “Yes, of course!” Lord Wilder said. “A hero of the Crown!”

  “Let me introduce my brother’s children,” said Lady Bracknell. “Rebecca, Penelope, and Delain.”

  “So you are Delain Dowdeswell!” said Lady Wilder. “I have heard much of your adventures. Barbara, you must bring Delain to tea! I would love to hear all the details of her escapades. I have only read what I found in the papers.”

  “I would be delighted,” answered Delain, trying to sound excited at the prospect, though inside she felt that another stiff and boring tea was the last thing she desired. As she thought of this possibility, her eyes wandered. She observed Lady Wilder’s wonderful manners, and her perfect posture. She and Barbara Thompson appeared to be the embodiments of proper ladyhood in British society: their clean and proper looks, their almost statuelike demeanor at times. They were perfect. Except—there was something different about Lady Wilder. After a few more moments, Delain had ascertained the defect: it was her clothes. Stylish, yes, but of a style that even a newcomer to London could see was a tad bit out of style. And her necklace was simple and plain, not adorned with gems or even polished chain. Her clothing, at the edges, showed signs of wear, though just slightly. A loose thread here and a scuffed sleeve there. Maybe, thought Delain, she is not as well-to-do as most nobility. The poor dear.

  “Which one is the Paladin?” asked Lord Wilder. “I should know, of course. Yet I am still new to all things naval, and honestly, I know nothing of ships. My responsibilities at the Admiralty, luckily for all, involve things of a secretarial nature.

  “That one!” exclaimed Rebecca. “The one with the tilted masts! It is captained by our special friend, Commander Thomas Harrison!”

  “Oh! I see it!” said Lord Wilder excitedly. “It looks fast even when at anchor! I have heard of her, of course; however, this is my first actual sighting.”

  “Yes,” said Rebecca, “it is the fastest ship in the fleet.”

  “I have seen her at sea a few times,” continued Delain, “and I can say that she moves faster than the wind, using sails that are larger than most ships and made of a secret type of cotton. Only the Echo can come close to her, but not really. I have seen both ships in action on the Horn of Africa.”

  “Indeed?” said Lord Wilder, impressed.

  “Yes,” said Lady Bracknell, sourly. “A series of unfortunate events led her to that experience.”

  “I found them quite fortunate,” said Delain.

  “The Paladin. Fast,” murmured Lord Wilder.

  Aboard the Paladin, newly appointed Commander Thomas Harrison gazed into his telescope as he looked to the south and west. At his side stood Lieutenant Chad Alexander, his second-in-command, and Midshipman Jonathan Moore. Alexander was a new acquaintance, a year younger than Harrison at nineteen, and a few years older than Jonathan. Alexander had come recommended by several other captains, and he was known as a kind, gentle, and thoughtful young man. He took extra care in doing his duty correctly, and because of this, he had an exemplary record. Alexander was tall and lean and had deep-set dark eyes and a stern countenance, until he smiled. Then his entire face lit up, his eyes squinted, and his laugh was accompanied by a head nod and easy chuckle. Harrison felt fortunate to have him.

  Of course, Jonathan and Harrison were not only accustomed to each other, but they had become as close as brothers, sharing missions at sea, and in London they were rarely apart. Along with Sean Flagon, the three were a common sight in and about town, studying maps and history at the many schools, fencing, and being together in general. It was odd that Sean was not with them now. He was in training, and both wondered if, possibly, some of the fantastic luck they had become accustomed to might be slightly diminished by Sean’s absence.

  “I see them now,” Harrison said, looking through his glass. “Maybe four miles away.”

  “How many, sir?” asked Alexander.

  “The whole lot, all bunched together like peas in a pod! With this wind being at least twenty knots, why, it is a near gale! The Paladin would attain close to fifteen knots, and we are three their size! They are barely eight knots if I know my sailing. Slow coaches to a one!”

  “And we are to sit here and wait, sir?” asked Jonathan.

  “Yes,” said Commander Harrison with a sigh, “and each of these lead-bottomed, worm-rotted, brick-hulled scows must circle us, then head with the wind at their backs almost due north toward the beach, past the reviewing stands by the Parade. That’s the finish, there—that raft. It’s insulting.”

  Jonathan was puzzled. It seemed easy enough to sit and watch the race from this vantage point. What is the insult? he wondered.

  “I see, sir,” said Alexander. “When we have such a fine mare, it seems a waste to…keep her in the barn.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Harrison. “Especially with all these people watching. There are many admirals and the like.”

  Jonathan thought about this for a moment. Yes, it was true that sitting here like a buoy, as Delain had described it, did nothing for the crew or the crowd. It was a shame not to race. And that gave him an idea.

  “Captain Harrison,” he started, “our duties end when the last ship rounds our stern—is that correct?”

  “Yes. Then we are to sail back to the Port of London at Wapping and enjoy our last evening in the great city before we sail tomorrow morning.”

  “As an exercise for the men, sir, we could just add all sail when the last yacht passes,” said Jonathan, “and then take a closer look at the Parade. On our way to Wapping, of course.”

  At first Harrison and Alexander had confused looks on their faces, not yet understanding what Jonathan was suggesting; however, it didn’t take long before smiles slowly appeared.

  “I see why you have Mister Moore around, Captain,” said Alexander.

  “Ah! Ah! I am with you!” said Harrison excitedly, taking the telescope from his eyes and putting it in his pocket. “Mister Moore? Lieutenant Alexander? Have the men to the tops and ready all sail. Jenkins?”

  “Aye, Cap’n?” said Jenkins. He had sailed with Harrison on both the Poseidon and the Danielle and knew most of the men now assigned to the Paladin. Almost an officerlike figure aboard the ship, he was seasoned, one would say. Not that he needed any more reason to be loyal to this captain, but Patrick Jenkins recognized he was getting older, and if there was any chance for promotion, it would be through Commander Thomas Harrison.

  “Get a crew together,” instructed Harrison. “More men than you need—and man the anchor. When that last barge passes our stern, haul the cable as if Satan himself were whipping you. I want that anchor up and secured in less than thirty seconds.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” Jenkins replied.

  From the stands, many began to rise as they spied the yachts through their telescopes. Barbara Thompson lowered the glass she had borrowed from Nathaniel. Then she leaned to Delain and motioned toward the Paladin’s position.

  “Dear, you know more about nautical procedures than I,” she said. “What are they doing aboard the Paladin? There is much activity.”

  Using Admiral Moore’s glass once again, Delain could just barely make out men running up the rigging and positioning themselves on the yards, the mast’s cross beams, of the Paladin. They seemed to finally get into position and then stopped all movement. They looked like birds, resting on a tree.

  “I believe, Miss Thompson, they are readying to bend the sails, as if they mean to be underway.”

  “Bend?” asked Lady Wilder.

  “Yes,” said Delain. “They are not always on the masts, you see. One must haul them up from the deck, in some cases, so they can be set to catch the wind.”

  “W
hy would they bend sails now?” asked Barbara.

  Delain only smiled as the first of the racers neared the waypoint that was the Paladin.

  “Look lively, men!” called Harrison. “Are all in position?”

  “Yes, sir!” called Alexander.

  “All in position, Captain!” added Jonathan.

  The yachts now were mere yards from the Paladin, rounding her as best they could to achieve an arc that allowed them to turn in the tightest space yet retain needed speed to come about and catch the wind.

  The Paladin was a hive of activity, with men in the tops securely holding to the yards, ready to unfurl sails, and setting the square lower sails, the courses, that needed to be hauled upward into position.

  “Topmen! Unfurl all sail! Set courses! Sheet us home!” called Harrison. And like a canvas waterfall, the topgallants began to fall, unfurling into position, and the courses were hauled upwards. Ropes would soon be pulling sails tight—sheeting was the word—tight enough so the full wind would fill the sails. Paladin now began to strain against her anchor.

  “Only four more yachts, Mister Harrison!” called Jonathan as he watched from the port rail.

  “Jenkins, ready the anchor,” Harrison called.

  “Aye, sir! We ’ave her taut as can be, actually sliding a bit ’cross the bottom!”

  “Good! Good!” called Harrison. “Stand ready.”

  As the last of the yachts came alongside the Paladin, Jonathan could see the name, the Gray Gull, across the stern. It was a pretty ship in all respects but not a racer, in Jonathan’s humble opinion. The crew of the tiny craft handled the turn with only the barest of ability, and once past the Paladin, they had additional trouble finding the wind as the sails luffed, fluttered, and flapped.

  “Blast them!” yelled Harrison, “I’d give them a hand if I could! Hurry up you—”

  His expansive and lengthy tirade aimed at the delinquent yachtsmen had the Paladins laughing to themselves. Those who knew Harrison while he served under the Grand Dragon himself, Captain William Walker, had watched him achieve a level of excellence in his use of colorful metaphors, and to them it was an art form. Though no Rembrandt, Harrison was certainly bound to be a great master someday.

  “By all the saints! Inconceivable!” Harrison shouted as the Gray Gull finally made the turn and passed the Paladin’s starboard rail. “Heave the anchor!”

  His orders were carried out exactly as desired. Within a few moments, the anchor was hauled, the sails had been let down, and the lines tightened. HMS Paladin began to speed forward, as if she were driven by machines of almost magical design. White foam started along the sides, and the hissing of salt spray could be heard all about the ship’s deck. The sails were now full of wind, and Harrison, manning the wheel himself, turned her slightly to port, leaning her just so. The stays—ropes holding the masts in position—strained slightly, the raked masts groaned, and the Paladin was alive, like a graceful bird, running as if a storm drove her.

  “The Paladin!” called someone in the crowd, and all joined Delain and Barbara in watching the sleek sloop with the graceful purple stripe running the length of her black sides quickly gain ground on the last of the yachts. Harrison had chosen a course that had him to the port side of the racers, thereby giving the spectators the best and uninterrupted view of the Paladin.

  The crowd cheered.

  Lord Wilder and his wife noticed the late entry as well and smiled broadly.

  “It seems Mister Harrison has joined the race!” cried Lady Bracknell.

  Rebecca gasped aloud.

  Delain knew, as only a sister could, how fond Rebecca was of Harrison, and that he had called on her numerous times since they had all settled into London. Since their arrival in June, Harrison and Rebecca had spent considerable time together, enjoying London’s many attractions.

  “Rebecca,” said Delain to her sister playfully, “what on earth is Thomas Harrison doing?”

  “Doing what he does best!” Rebecca answered eagerly. “Creating excitement!”

  This made all within earshot burst into laughter.

  Within a minute, the Paladin had passed all but the leading yachts. Crowds were lined along the parade and beach as the race neared its conclusion. Many wondered what had happened, and why the Paladin was now allowed to enter the race. Certainly she could not best the racing craft of London’s elite. But here she was, gaining on the leaders.

  “The beach is approaching quickly. Will we have enough water, Captain?” called Alexander as they saw the black-and-white flags of two barges marking the quickly approaching finish line.

  “Just enough!” called Harrison.

  “We are a hundred yards from the leader,” noted Jonathan, “and not much more from the finish line itself!”

  “Tighten stays!” called Harrison, even though he knew they could not be tightened further. Men tried to carry out the order, more from a sense of duty than practicality.

  Onshore, all stood to see the Paladin rush upon the leader, come abreast, and as Commander Harrison waved ever so slightly to the viewers ashore, pass into the lead and split the barges. A smooth turn to starboard had the Paladin gracefully round the bay and head out to sea, quickly disappearing south around the point.

  “I knew he would win!” said Rebecca.

  As the Paladin and crew sailed off to Wapping, their friends in the stands took the opportunity to walk the few yards and visit the charming seaside town. Here, they sampled some of the local sweets found in a nearby shop. Delain and her sisters chose ice cream, as could be expected, and strolled along the beach walk.

  Lord and Lady Wilder had joined them, and soon they were deep into conversation.

  “Tell me, Admiral Moore,” Lady Wilder asked, “are you still very active in the Royal Navy?”

  “Ah! If by ‘active’ you mean do I sail, no,” said Nathaniel. “Those days are past for me. I hold a position in the Admiralty.”

  “He is personal adjunct to the king for naval affairs!” boasted Lady Bracknell.

  “His son is also in the king’s favor, I hear,” added Delain knowingly.

  “Impressive!” smiled Lord Wilder.

  “The Moores are one of the great families of Britain,” added Lady Bracknell. “A proud reminder to us all of industry and service to the country.”

  “Admiral Moore’s son, Jonathan, is stationed aboard HMS Paladin, the ship that won the race!” added Rebecca, who had been listening. “It is captained by Commander Thomas Harrison.”

  “Admiral? What type of ship is the Paladin?” asked Lord Wilder. “It does fight, but it is not a…frigate. Is it a corvette? Possibly?”

  “You are correct, my lord,” said Nathaniel. “The French use the label ‘corvette,’ however, we call them ‘sloops of war.’ Naval nomenclature is actually more of an art than a science. In my definition, the Paladin is a two-masted, flush-deck, brig-rigged sloop. However, corvette fits as well as any other term.”

  “What is her complement of guns?” asked Lord Wilder.

  “Eighteen of them, each firing a thirty-two-pound ball from a carronade. Quite a display of power from such a small craft—she is just over one-hundred feet. However, her best weapon is her speed.”

  “Though she is most assuredly a fighting ship!” added Rebecca. “With her sister ship, the Echo, they engaged a French seventy-four off the southern coast of Africa and single-handedly captured her!”

  “Not exactly accurate, my dear,” said the Admiral, laughing, “but I am sure that is what Commander Harrison has told many.”

  Ignoring this, Rebecca continued on explaining the seeming magical powers of the ship and the origin of her nickname, the Periwinkle. “She hadn’t even received her painted stripes when her captain took her out for sea trials. It was during these trials that she engaged with and sank six French frigates—”

  “Sank six frigates?” Admiral Moore chuckled.

  “Let her finish, dear,” said Barbara Thompson, enjoying the tale and t
he embellishments Rebecca added. She had originally heard the story from Harrison, who was famous for the superfluities he added to every tale he told.

  “Before returning to England, the captain moored at a remote naval yard and had the hull stripes finally painted. The only available color was purple, so that is how she got her stripe!”

  “But Periwinkle?” asked Lord Wilder.

  “That is what we call the small mollusk of the Caribbean islands,” added Nathaniel. “They have the same purple color on their shells.”

  Throughout this final exchange, Delain watched and listened. But not to the tale of the Paladin—she had heard that many times. She had a strange feeling about Lord and Lady Wilder, one she could not identify.

  4

  The Silver Star

  In the stylish neighborhood of Golden Square, London, just off Silver Street, a carriage pulled by two bay horses appeared at the residence of Captain Sir William Walker and his charming wife, Sylvia. Also at the address dwelled Mrs. Walker’s sister, Miss Barbara Thompson. In juxtaposition to these polite and genteel residents was a small crew of noisy servants whose manners were slightly less than desirable. As was customary for a captain of a naval vessel, while ashore and at home, he would retain several of his seagoing crew as house servants, gardeners, cooks, and handymen. This was done to not only assist them while they drew no naval pay, but to keep them—the better ones—for the captain’s next voyage. Walker was no exception, and this made the house, at times, a little lively.

  Exiting the carriage into the calm evening, Jonathan Moore held the door and extended a hand to Miss Delain Dowdeswell. As she accepted his help, Delain glanced at the front door of the large brick home and was overcome with a bout of anxiety. Jonathan noticed this.

  “Delain? Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she said unconvincingly. “It is just that…I haven’t seen Captain Walker since the holidays. I wonder if he has…”