Paladin's War

by Peter Greene

  15

  A Charming Scar

  There were more than a few ways to steal a ship from an enemy. The most popular method was to meet the “chase” in battle, so named for the fact that it was the ship being chased. If attempting to take a merchant or other unarmed vessel, one could simply catch her, show weapons aimed at the prey or her crew, and reach a peaceful settlement. If the prize was a war vessel, unless grossly outnumbered by the attacker’s guns, there was a battle, continuing until one ship surrendered, signaled by the taking down, or “striking,” the loser’s colored flag.

  Yet, another version was to sneak up on a ship in port or at anchor, and with a superior force, board her, take her from her mooring, and dispose of the original crew overboard. Sometimes, if a large crew was required, the new “owners” would attempt to convince some of the original crew to stay on as hands. It was surprising how many agreed to switch their allegiance to a new nation; the pay usually remained the same, and sometimes the treatment of the crew was improved.

  This last method was called “cutting out,” and Nikomed Aggar had completed this successfully with the Echo. He had hoped to repeat the performance with the Paladin; however, Commander Harrison was not as willing to enter the cove as Lieutenant Gray had been. Aggar had remained on the Echo, ready to block the Paladin’s escape through the entrance. He had deposited a complement of his men in their positions on the rim of the cove’s high cliff walls, where they stood and watched the graceful ship sail past. Additionally, Aggar had received the report from the shore party that the previous occupants of the cove—Gray and company—had been found in a shallow grave, but the question remained: Who had dug the grave? Some of the crew must have survived. More than likely, a fishing vessel rescued these few, or they had tried to swim to freedom, most likely drowning in the attempt, the high cliff walls unforgiving and impossible to climb for miles in either direction of the cove. If they had escaped and returned to England, then possibly they could report that their vessel had been taken; but for the English Navy to locate Aggar? A possibility, however, a remote one. The Echo would undergo modifications that would make here almost unidentifiable.

  Either way, the Paladin and her commander had not taken the bait. Aggar wondered why they had given up on the mission so easily. He needed to quickly devise another plan, slightly bolder than the first.

  He would simply cut out the Paladin when it moored in the small bay at Telašćica.

  As he stood atop a small rise just out of the town, he and his party, forty-seven in all, remained in the shadows of a small group of pine trees that crested the hill. The day was bright, and through the leaves and thorny branches they could not be seen in the shadows, though in this position they commanded an excellent view of the town and small natural harbor below.

  The inhabitants of the town could be seen moving about, conducting business in a slow and peaceful manner. Most of the village’s commerce pertained to fishing, boating, or even larger trade with the mainland city of Zadar to the east, or with San Marino, just across the Adriatic to the west in Italy. It was rare that business would be conducted with any sailing ships of the various navies that found their way to Telašćica; however, it was certainly a welcome and profitable opportunity when it occurred. Sailors could easily purchase and load fresh water, simple meats like salted fish, maybe some eggs, and a chicken or two. Flour was also easy to find, and of course olives, limes, grapes, and even wine when available.

  Today, there was only one ship in the bay: HMS Paladin. The crew was conducting business, sending men ashore to obtain supplies. And each group that came and went was being closely watched by Aggar. He was counting them, assigning a number to what he believed to be the complement of men aboard.

  “I see three more leaving. That reduces their number to sixty-seven men aboard,” Aggar said to Kowalski.

  “Have any officers departed?”

  “No,” continued Aggar. “Though…I do see three or more at the plank. They might be preparing to leave. Yes, it is the young captain, and one of his lieutenants. Ah! Also two marines as well! Good! Good! I believe the odds are now in our favor. Prepare the men.”

  Aboard the Paladin, Commander Harrison and his small crew readied themselves to descend the plank and march into town.

  “I have added Crump and Crystal to the group,” reported Hudson.

  “No duty for them aboard?” asked Harrison. “I thought they were assisting Streen.”

  “Nonessential at this point,” continued Hudson. “Honestly, sir, they are mostly taking up space and food, in my opinion. Even Streen asked if we could keep them out of his way.”

  “Then we shall use them to fill out our party,” said Harrison. “I am sure they can make noise and be noticed.”

  “One can only hope,” answered the marine.

  It could not go unnoticed by Quinn, who now joined the shore party as they descended the plank, that Crump and Crystal were now part of the detail. Wondering if he should question the commander, he settled on the safer route and asked Hudson.

  “Lieutenant, it’s customary,” answered the sergeant. “All nonessential crew, meaning those who are basically new and untrained, are fit for this duty. No knots to tie or shrouds to climb, eh? Just walk the streets and be noticed.”

  Quinn nervously nodded his head and settled into the group. He gave a quick glance to Crump and Crystal that seemed to convey some meaning, though Hudson could not ascertain the purpose.

  Still aboard the ship, on the lower deck, Jonathan Moore began dressing for duty. His uniform coat he brushed and plucked, trying to concentrate on picking assorted foreign particles from the dark fabric. Unable to actually wash the coat, it was his only choice.

  “G-day to ya, Mister Moore,” said Jenkins as he approached.

  “Good day to you, Jenkins,” said Jonathan.

  “Hmm…” said Jenkins as he beheld the midshipman and then inspected the coat. He began assisting in the primping process.

  “Pretty little town, Telašćica, isn’t it? The color of the water is like a shiny gem. Jade possibly, from China.”

  “Quite picturesque,” said Jonathan. Then he smiled.

  “I was ’ere years ago,” continued Jenkins. “Had a few days’ leave. Not much ta do in such a small place. Well, if ya can’t find trouble, sometimes trouble can find you, I always say.”

  Jonathan nodded.

  “I was ’ere with the Snake, a pretty little brig, if I must say so. Just a deckhand at the time, but I showed promise, and the captain took a likin’ to me.”

  “Is that how you got your start?” asked Jonathan.

  Jenkins smiled. “No, I was long started by then. Joined the navy at age eleven. Thought I’d see the world. Telašćica was one part of it.”

  “Who was your captain?” asked Jonathan.

  “Captain Jeffrey Edwards, though now he is Admiral Edwards. He was a popular captain at the time—well liked, yet very by the book. He gave me orders to go into town and get a few bottles of wine for the officers when we were ’ere. Simple enough.”

  “A pleasant memory then?” asked Jonathan as he began chalking the silver lining of his jacket to cover the darker stains and scrapes.

  “No, no, not really,” said Jenkins.

  “What happened then?” asked Jonathan. “I assume you have a point to this story.”

  “Maybe. Maybe I don’t,” said Jenkins, continuing picking lint off the jacket. “The wine was easy to find. I purchased a dozen bottles and was returning to the ship when a young lieutenant met me about ’alfway back to the pier. He suggested that I give ’im a bottle and tell the captain that all the money could afford was ’leven bottles.”

  “That’s stealing,” said Jonathan.

  “Punishable by death under some captains,” added Jenkins. “But what could I do? If I disobeyed the lieutenant, well, there would be hell to pay for as long as we served together. If I gave ’im a bottle, and the captain found out, well… ”

  �
�What did you do?” asked Jonathan, now concerned.

  “I gave the bottle to the lieutenant. Then I brooded over it. For a long time. And you know what ’appened, Mister Moore?”

  Jonathan shook his head as he gave the coat a final inspection.

  “I couldn’t do my duty. So once we got back to England, I requested a transfer, and when Captain Edwards asked why, well…”

  “Well what?” said Jonathan anxiously.

  “That’s not important. What is important is that I made a mistake, then more mistakes, but eventually, it all passed.” Jenkins looked to the deck and squinted his eyes as if looking for something in particular. “Now, well, I think I did all right. Never became an officer, never even ’ad a chance until now. It looks bad if ya leave a ship under somewhat questionable circumstances. My career, as humble as it may ’ave turned out, could ’ave been lost. I should have told the captain everything. At least I could ’ave said I did the right thing.”

  Jonathan knew that Jenkins had figured out exactly what was going on. He had seen Jonathan’s reaction to the lie he told in Harrison’s cabin, and more than likely, he had previously seen Jonathan speaking to Spears and Lord Wilder before they left England. Nothing got past Jenkins.

  He thought about the story and felt pity for Jenkins. He was well respected, a fine teacher, and hopefully, soon an acting warrant officer aboard a small ship. If his career had not been cut off by this unfortunate incident, what height could Jenkins have attained in His Majesty’s Navy? Maybe a lieutenant? A captain?

  But his story was not for the purpose of pity. It was for the benefit of Jonathan Moore.

  “Thank you, Jenkins,” Jonathan said. He hugged the man.

  “Not at all,” said Jenkins, shocked yet happy at the sign of affection.

  “I will need to speak with Captain Harrison as soon as he returns. I will tell him—”

  “Moore! Jenkins!” came the call from above. “There you are!” said Alexander as he popped his head down the hatch.

  “Sir,” they replied.

  “Ah. Spa-len-did!” said Alexander. “Not sure why you Danis articulate the word in that manner; however, I have taken a liking to it and will employ the pronunciation when appropriate.”

  “That would be…spa-len-did, sir,” said Jonathan.

  “Ah! Good! Spa-len-did,” Alexander said. Still mostly on deck, yet leaning down the ladder a bit to converse, he continued, “Now, Captain Harrison and Lieutenant Quinn have gone ashore on their scouting mission. Mister Moore, once dressed, would you tour the deck and make sure all men are keeping an eye out?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” Jonathan said.

  “Spa-len-did!” said Alexander, smiling.

  A commotion at the plank interrupted their conversation, and Alexander turned his head. A gunshot was heard.

  Alarmed, Jonathan donned his coat and grabbed his sword. Jenkins rushed to the bottom of the ladder.

  Alexander turned his head back to Jonathan, a queer look appearing on his face. He broke into a strange smile as blood began to trickle out from behind his teeth. He coughed, then fell, partially blocking the hatchway.

  “Lieutenant!” cried Jenkins.

  “Help me!” said Jonathan, and they climbed the ladder and pushed Alexander aside, allowing him to slide to the deck.

  Once above, Jonathan and Jenkins took in the scene. At the plank, they could see Hicks wrestling with a hooded man. His adversary had his skin coaled black to hide his features. Immediately behind them came seven or more men dressed and disguised similarly. Some had pistols. They fired upon the crewmen nearby.

  Jonathan and Jenkins rushed to the fray. As they reached the fight, an intruder emerged from the melee and fired a single shot. It struck the plank next to Jonathan’s head. Splinters flew as he shut his eyes and winced. A splinter lodged in his forehead, and though not a large wound, blood began to flow.

  Another invader turned and pointed his weapon at Jonathan. Before he could fire, a small hand ax sailed through the air with a whoosh and struck him in the chest. He fell.

  Jonathan turned to see Jenkins, still in throwing position.

  “Attend to your duty, Mister Moore!” With that, Jenkins ran to the bell, which he repeatedly rang.

  “To arms! To arms!” Jonathan called. “We are being boarded! To the port side!”

  The crew of the Paladin answered within seconds, the remaining marines quickly firing upon the intruders, yet more appeared on the plank, rushing aboard. Paladins streamed from belowdecks, sword against sword, hand, tooth, and nail; the fight was on. And rising above the battle, commanding the men to positions, alerting them to threats, was Jonathan Moore—not the recently timid boy, unsure of himself and embarrassed by his mistakes and white lies, but the one who had performed superbly time and time again. Without conscious calculation, he attacked with relentless fury. Next to him was Jenkins, the old salt, thrusting and parrying like a young champion. The two of them called to others to keep up the fight, man the rails to stop others from boarding, and help the wounded.

  Aggar was there, face also coaled, pistol empty, but sword being unsheathed. Seeing Jonathan leading the English sailors caused Aggar to pause and watch in astonishment.

  Leading at such a young age? he thought. Amazing!

  The Russian knew that to succeed, he must cut off the head of the resistance—this young boy. He was leading his men, shouting encouragement, and most of all, dispatching Aggar’s men over the side and forcing them to run off the planks to escape.

  “Svoloch!” he yelled, and he rushed at the boy.

  It was difficult to see this young man clearly, as the battle was upon them, and, confound him, he was moving fast, ducking, weaving, and even at one point in the rigging, beating down his enemies. Astonishingly, Aggar saw the youngster dispatch several men with just his swordplay. Some were run through, others beaten skillfully to the rail, where they simply jumped overboard to escape injury or death. Finally, Aggar reached him. The boy’s face was almost completely covered in blood. Was it his own or from the many wounded about the deck? His hat was still on his head—it too covered in blood.

  “You little ublyudok!” yelled Aggar. “This ship is mine! Strike your colors, or I will have you as well as your ship!”

  Jonathan stared at the man. Trying to blink away the fluid that was seeping into his eyes, the boy faked a retreat by a small step to his rear, then an immediate double lunge of almost unbelievable distance. Becoming airborne for a moment, his blade was trained at the heart of his enemy. Aggar missed the parry slightly. Jonathan’s point pierced deep into the man’s shoulder. Aggar staggered backward, gasping in pain. The boy continued his attack. Aggar tried to parry, again and again, and was successful—until he had his back to the gangway, with only a full retreat as an option.

  “Where did you learn to fight like this?” demanded Aggar.

  “On the streets of London!” shouted Jonathan.

  “Retreat!” yelled Aggar, and his men began to run off the ship, some diving into the water, others rushing off the gangway. He knew that the British had carried the day. In anger, he lunged at Jonathan. The tip of the Russian’s blade seemed to cut the young midshipman in the shoulder—but only his coat was sliced. Jonathan parried another thrust, then, as quick as lightening, flicked the tip of his blade at Aggar’s face. The point caught the man’s right cheek, opening a slanted cut to his lower edge of his eye. Blood slowly seeped from the wound.

  “You little brat!” yelled Aggar, grabbing at the wound. “You will pay for this!”

  “Send me an invoice! Until then, get—off—my—ship!” Jonathan said forcefully and leaped to the yardarm above him, swinging his legs forward to kick the shocked Aggar forcefully in the chest, sending him toppling over backward down the gangway to land on the hard planks of the pier.

  After a moment, Aggar stood, shook off his pain, bowed to Jonathan, and ran off into the town.

  “They are gone, Mister Moore,” said Jenkins. “Orde
rs?”

  Jonathan, panting with exhaustion, wiping the blood from his eyes ineffectively, watched the attackers flee, then turned slowly to Jenkins.

  “Mister Moore?” repeated Jenkins as he inspected the wound above the boy’s eyes.

  Jonathan looked downward at the deck of the Paladin. Several men lay wounded, already being attended to by their crewmates. Blood pooled on the planks and literally ran through the scuppers. The ship, the beautiful Paladin, looked like a slaughterhouse. It must be cleaned before Harrison returns, he thought. She is in no condition to be called the pride of His Majesty’s Navy.

  Blood dripped from his midshipman’s jacket, and he quickly took it off, in a panic, as he thought of the grizzly condition of the thing. It dropped to the deck.

  Jenkins held a piece of cloth, probably from his own clothing, to the wound on Jonathan’s forehead.

  Jonathan’s eyes then rested upon a form lying near his feet. It was Alexander. He could only think how unbelievable this all was. A moment before, Alexander was smiling and alive. Now, he was gone.

  “Mister Moore,” Jenkins said softly. “Jonathan? Now is the time to take command.”

  “T-take command?” Jonathan said, still looking at the body.

  “Yes. You are the ranking officer,” Jenkins said as he placed a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “You, Jenkins—you should command.”

  “No, Mister Moore. I have no warrant, not yet,” said Jenkins.

  “B-but I am only a midshipman,” Jonathan replied, still bewildered.

  “But you are our midshipman,” said Jenkins softly. “Orders, sir?”

  Jonathan’s mind raced. Again, he felt almost dizzy. He was now, even if only temporarily, the commander of the Paladin. Where was Harrison? Didn’t he know what was happening? Could he have seen the battle? Then he realized.