Trident

by Michael Aye

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Captain,” Bufford pleaded. “I don’t know if she will float long enough for another pass.”

  “She’ll have to, Mr. Bufford. Mr. Hayes.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “I’m going to take advantage of the Frenchman’s position. We may not get another chance so I intend to close within musket shot range and give her every ball we’ve got up her backside.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Mr. Mark, if you will please go tell Lieutenant Hawks and Laqua my intentions.”

  “I’ll go with him,” Dagan volunteered.

  Trident passed through the narrow channel but the guns of Ilot Madame were silent. Between Trident and the frigates, the small fort had been reduced to a shambles. Once clear of the channel, Gabe gave the order to come about. No doubt about it, Trident was sluggish but she answered. With the cannons temporarily silent, the sound of the pumps could be heard. No time to worry about that now.

  “Brilliant has boarded the corvette,” Lieutenant Holton called. Gabe had lost track of the enemy ship.

  Renfroe had not failed. His forward gunners had brought down the corvette’s mast and now they had at least one prize.

  One of the topmen spoke to Mr. Thomas, who then approached Gabe. “Captain, sir, this is Lewis. He says that yonder ship, the one Stag is alongside, is the old Foxfire. He said he’d know her anywhere.”

  “Thank you, Mr.Thomas. Wonder if Horne is on board,” Gabe said to Campbell, who’d overheard the conversation.

  “I wouldn’t guess, Captain, but seeing our ships bearing down on him, I’d make a hasty retreat ashore and hide, were I him.”

  In the time it took to come about and make their way through the channel, the Frenchmen had put boats over the side and were attempting to haul the bow around.

  “Wasted effort,” Hayes swore.

  “Do you offer them surrender?” Campbell asked.

  A cannon was fired from the enemy’s stern, followed by two more in rapid succession. “There’s your answer, sir.”

  “Captain Schoggins,” Gabe called to the marine. “I would think they’ll have men on the upper deck firing down on us. They might prove good target practice for your marines.” Other than standing guard at the hatches, they’d had little to do thus far.

  “Aye, Captain. There’s a few who could use the practice.”

  “Not likely,” Hex muttered, hearing the marine’s reply. “Any of them could probably shoot a flea off a cat’s arse.”

  Adam’s party was still working on the jib boom. They had used lines and tackles to support it but how long would it last? The enemy must have moved more guns as cannons continued to fire from the stern. A crash was heard amidships and several men were down. Gabe wondered how the men stood at their stations with the piercing screams and crash of cannon balls all about. Smoke drifted from the French ship, cutting down on visibility. It stung the eyes, burned the nose, and made men cough. He could hear Mr. Michael and Mr. Brayden encouraging the surviving gunners as they closed with the Frenchie.

  Closer and closer Trident closed. His poor ship was taking a pounding, Gabe realized, but now it was payback time.

  “Steady as you go, Mr. Hayes, steady as you go.” Taking the speaking trumpet, Gabe called down, “Be prepared. Fire as you bear. Now, Mr. Hayes, to larboard.”

  Trident swung to larboard and the starboard guns fired from both decks. Trident’s guns were sweeping the stern as they passed. Double-shotted balls slammed home, decimating the intricate stern work, the galley, and the rudder. Splinters and huge hunks of wood filled the air as one ball after another slammed into the once mighty French battle ship. A cheer went up as the French flag came down and a white flag went up.

  The cheer died suddenly as someone shouted, “She’s on fire, the Frogs on fire.”

  “Damn,” Gabe said aloud. Friend or foe, there was no pleasure in seeing a ship burn.

  “Not your fault, Captain. They gave you no choice.”

  “Move away,” Gabe told Hayes. “Mr. Campbell, get some boats in the water.”

  However, before the order could be carried out the air was rent with a great explosion. A ball of flame rising above the mast…even above the tree tops on shore. A sudden silence, it was over. He’d survived…they’d survived.

  “Sir Gabe! I congratulate you, sir. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s no wonder Admiral Buck chose you to be his flag captain. Had I the power, sir, I’d make you an admiral on the spot.” Lord Skalla was giddy. He was happy to be alive. As he should be, Gabe thought, already wondering what the butcher’s bill would be.

  “Make signals, Mr. Campbell, take charge of prizes and prepare to make sail.” Looking across the harbour, Gabe was amazed at the ships destroyed. They had the corvette, a sloop, and the Foxfire as prizes.

  Another dozen ships were destroyed; some had been sunk but were so close inshore the masts were sticking out of the water. One ship had drifted ashore and was now on its side with cannon holes through the bottom. It looked like a ship graveyard.

  “Do we go ashore, Captain?” Campbell asked.

  “No,” Gabe answered. “We’ve carried the day so far. There’s no reason to tempt fate.”

  “Aye,” they all agreed.

  Trident had just made its way past Ilot Madame on its way out to sea when the lookout called down, “Signal from Thorn, sir.”

  Seeing Mr. Sebastian take overly long to answer, Campbell bellowed, “Must the captain wait, young sir?”

  Sebastian was visibly shaken when he answered, “No, sir. Enemy in sight.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Hearing Sebastian advise Gabe of Thorn’s signal was like a wicked blow to the midsection by a prizefighter. A collective ‘humph’ was heard from all on the quarterdeck.

  “If it’s the French seventy-four we’ve had it,” Hayes volunteered. “Trident has stood more than she was built for already, Captain.”

  Gabe was silent as he stared at Dagan. Fate…was it their destiny to die today? What was it Lord Skalla had said, “Tis to death or glory we steer.” Just about the time he thought they’d won…this.

  “A fine day for it,” Dagan said in a solemn voice.

  “Mr. Sebastian.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Make general signal, ‘close with fl…’” Gabe hesitated. He’d almost said, ‘Close with flag’. “Close with Trident,” he corrected himself. Looking across the water to the captured corvette a plan came to mind. “Mr. Campbell.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Go to the corvette yonder. Set the French aboard her adrift, then close with Trident for orders.”

  “The corvette?” Campbell asked.

  “Aye,” Gabe replied. “Only I don’t see a corvette, I see a Trojan horse. Quickly now, while we have time. Captain Schoggins!”

  “Yes sir, Captain.”

  “Prepare your marines to transfer to the corvette once Mr. Campbell closes.”

  In half an hour’s time the ships of the squadron had hove to around Trident and the captains came on board. Gabe gave quick orders, as time was short. The sloops would transfer twenty men each to the corvette in addition to Schoggins’ marines.

  “We will keep enough men aboard Trident to put on a good show. The rest will go aboard Foxfire. Captain Jenkins, put your first lieutenant in charge of Zebra and you take command of the prize. We will pursue the corvette with Mr. Renfroe putting on a good show of trying to sink her. Hopefully, the French will recognize her as one of their own and concentrate their fire on Trident. As soon as possible, Mr. Campbell will close and board the seventy-four if she’s there. If not, then the lead vessel.”

  “You think the seventy-four will not be in company with the squadron?” Lord Skalla asked.

  “I’m not that lucky,” Gabe replied. “I don’t aim to stand off and trade broadsides,” he continued. “If she floats long enough I will put Trident alongside the Frenchie and board as well. The rest of the French
squadron I leave to our frigate captains. This brought a chuckle, as Gabe knew it would.

  “What about us?” Thorn’s Captain Taylor asked.

  “I leave it up to you, gentlemen, to act as you think fit. I don’t want any heroics, but if you can within reason lend assistance then so be it. Remember…someone has to carry word to Barbados.” No one chuckled at this sad but important comment.

  Back aboard their ships, the captains watched as sea water was pumped over Trident’s side. The carpenter and a party sent by Lieutenant Turner were able to fother a sail, which slowed the intake of sea water. Would it last once the sails were on her?

  A cannon fired by Campbell was the signal the French were sighted. Two cannons in rapid succession would mean the seventy-four was with the convoy. The British squadron appeared to be bearing down on a lone French ship when the little ship fired its feisty little cannons. Two cannons fired one after another.

  “Did you expect any different?” Dagan asked.

  Gabe only shook his head. “Look alive, Mr. Renfroe. Put one to either side of the escaping prize.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  The forward guns boomed. Renfroe straddled the corvette, then one astern then one off the larboard bow. And then, for effect, as the ship closed with the Frogs, he put one through the sails before dropping another between the corvette and the lead Frenchie.

  “Guns firing from the big Frog, sir,” the lookout called down. “Mr. Campbell is up with them now, sir,” the lookout continued.

  “Come down now,” Gabe called to the man. “Mr. Renfroe, if you will assist the lieutenants on the gun deck and direct our fire towards the seventy-four. We need to keep his mind on us. Mr. Hayes, bring her up another point or two, please.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  In spite of himself, Gabe jumped as Trident’s main battery on the larboard side began to fire. Gun after gun fired and a cheer went up as part of the enemy’s bulwark exploded, sending splinters high into the air. A whistling noise was heard from overhead as the enemy’s balls punched holes in the sails as they passed over.

  “Fired too high,” Hayes muttered. “Not had the practice that we’ve had, huh; Captain?”

  The guns continued to fire when Hayes pointed out, “She’s changing course just enough to get more of her guns to bear.”

  Suddenly ball after ball slammed into Trident, overturning one of the forward guns and killing its entire crew. Lord Skalla wiped his eyes as smoke drifted toward the quarterdeck. He blinked several times against the brilliant sunlight as it reflected off the water. His skin was grimy and blackened from all the cannon fire.

  “It appears they’ve decided to try their luck,” he said calmly. The helmsmen both burst out in laughter.

  “Mr. Adams,” Gabe called to the bosun. “Take every available man except for the gunners and shorten sail.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Another crash was heard forward; screams and cries could be heard above the crash, followed by a muffled explosion. A splash caused Hex to look over the side. Debris and bodies were floating on the surface as the ship slid past. No time for niceties, he thought. Turning to Gabe, he whispered, “Mr. Turner has been done for, sir.”

  Gabe shook his head in acknowledgment, no time to talk now. The Frenchman fired an entire broadside just as Trident was closing. The deck was a shambles. Both of the helmsmen were dead as their blood turned the deck black.

  “Quick,” Gabe shouted at Hex. “Help the master lay us alongside. Grapnels, Mr. Adams,” he shouted. “Mr. Michael, tell Mr. Renfroe to bring the gunners topside.”

  “He’s gone, Captain,” Michael replied.

  It was then that Gabe saw the boy’s arm was bleeding. Seeing his captain’s gaze, Michael volunteered, “It’s nothing, Captain,” as he ran to do as ordered.

  Thuds were heard as the grapnel hooks bit into the wooden rails on the French ship. The French captain sent men to hack away at the lines, but they were cut down by the marksmen Schoggins had assigned. The hatred was felt in every ball as the men’s aim was true.

  Gabe recognized Thorpe with a smoking musket in his hand. The former poacher was determined to prevent the Frogs from cutting the lines that held to ships together. As the lines were pulled taut the hulls of ships came together with a bump and loud groan.

  Adams could be heard cheering on the marksmen as his men made fast the lines, “That’s it, men. Damn the whoresons and the whores that bore ’em. Send ’em to hell, lads.”

  “Prepare to board,” Gabe shouted.

  His men had lined up along what was left of the bulwark. “Prepare to board” was the signal for the marksmen to fire the swivel guns into the French. The guns were loaded with canister and hopefully would cut down on the defenders standing by to repel boarders. The French, Gabe realized, had not strung up boarding nets; too late now…he hoped.

  Gabe kneeled with only his head above the rail and watched as French crewmen rushed to the sides. Suddenly, the swivel guns fired, the shot tearing through the enemy crew, turning prime seamen into a bloody gore. It was now, before the French recovered.

  “Boarders away, Trident’s with me,” Gabe ordered.

  With a bloodcurdling yell the men on Trident crossed over in a rush. Yelling, cursing, and screaming over they went. It was now defeat the enemy or death, and every jack tar knew it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The sudden onslaught of attackers caused the French to give way. Men were down, dead and dying. The sun was hellish hot but paled in comparison to the heated battle engaged below it. The battle was without mercy: swivel guns, pistols and muskets were being fired all around. The clang of steel was heard as blade hit blade. Men were downed by boarding axes, pikes, and belaying pins. Combatants frequently picked up a vanquished foe’s weapon to continue on the battle. The harrowing screams of death intermingled with shouts of anger and curses.

  A man with rotten teeth and bluish gums breathed his foul breath upon Lord Skalla as he tried to wrestle away his pistol. Lord Skalla gave it to him, ball first; the man’s rotten teeth blown away as his face turned to pulp.

  Hex fought like a madman, swinging a boarding axe left and right, opening a path toward the Frenchie’s quarterdeck. Gabe followed behind him, but as they neared he found himself to be a target.

  He was attacked by a French lieutenant. The attack came from the side and a full swing knocked Gabe’s sword loose, the lanyard slipping over a wet and bloody wrist before he could recover it. Gabe quickly snatched his remaining pistol from his sash and shot the lieutenant, causing blood to gush from the man’s wound. Bending over to retrieve his sword, Gabe was hit over the head and knocked to the deck. In a daze, he could see several men gather around him with blades and a pistol, ready to kill the British sea captain.

  “Die, English dog,” one of the men cursed.

  A piercing yell was suddenly heard above the din of battle. Through his daze, Gabe could see Dagan swinging his cutlass. He swung with such might the blade went clean through the first foe’s neck decapitating him. Dagan then spun with his blade, splitting the second man from his collarbone to his breast. He yanked his blade free and lunged forward, skewering the third man. This was the man with the pistol. As he fell backward he fingered the trigger, firing the pistol. The ball slammed into Dagan’s chest. Forgetting Gabe, the fourth man, the French captain, lunged forward with his blade sinking it into the crazed English devil. It was like slow motion. Gabe watched as Dagan attacked the men who would have killed him. He watched the pistol ball slam into Dagan’s chest and he watched, dazed, as the enemy captain tried to pull his blade from Dagan’s body.

  The daze was gone as Gabe rose. All the months of questioning himself whether he was ready for the responsibility as flag captain, the weeks of worrying about his marriage, of missing his son, of Dagan’s sudden change, his premonitions…it all came to a head. The blood lust was on Gabe. He screamed “Dagannnn…uncle…” He stood, almost fell in the gore, then rose. Regaining hi
s balance, Gabe spun his enemy around, the sword making a sucking noise as it was pulled from Dagan’s body.

  As Dagan slid to the deck, the Frenchman looked into the eyes of death. Hard, cold, fierce eyes that seemed to blaze with hate. The man raised his arm to swing his sword but his wrist was caught in a vice-like grip. The man watched in terror as Gabe grabbed the blade with his free hand and pushed the bloody steel down until the point was now at his stomach. Slowly and steadily Gabe pushed. The Frenchman was no match for the battle craze that engulfed his enemy. Then with a shove the blade penetrated. A burning sensation went through the man’s innards. Gabe pushed in and down and then ripped the sword free, disemboweling his foe. A look of relief came upon the man just before he fell lifeless to the deck.

  The French, seeing their captain fall, began to back away. Some threw down their weapons, and some tried to run below decks. Those that fought were given no quarter. Finally, the seventy-four had been taken.

  The British sailors were all bone tired and weary when the last of the Frenchmen fell. Exhausted men leaned against rails that had been peppered with shot and masts that had been splattered with blood. Torn sails were used to cover the wounded until the surgeon’s mate and loblolly boys could take them below to the surgeon.

  Gabe watched as a surgeon’s mate bound up Dagan’s sword wound on deck and had him gently taken below to the surgeon. Holding Dagan’s hand, he whispered, “I love you, uncle.” A weak hand squeezed slightly, letting Gabe know he’d heard. “Lord, be with Dagan,” Gabe prayed.

  Gabe had lost track of Hex but found him washing blood from his face and arms using a bucket of sea water. Watching men throw broken planks, shattered rigging, and useless debris over the side, Gabe realized he hurt; his whole body hurt…his mind, body, and his soul. Making his way about the ship, Gabe looked over at Trident. He was appalled at what he saw. How she floated was beyond imagination. The battle cries, the rage of battle, the gun smoke, the smell of burnt flesh, it all seemed so distant now that the battle was over.