by Tom Grundner
Doing his best to maintain his composure, he walked to the temporary flagpole the men had erected and, with shaking hands, took down the French flag. The shrewd and cunning victor at the Capes, had finally surrendered to the equally shrewd and cunning victor at Frigate Bay.
And one of the bloodiest battles ever fought at sea was finally over.
* * *
Susan was at the tiller. “Come on, men. Pull. Get some way on. We’re almost there!” The boat cut through the final cloud of smoke just in time to see Walker and Smith’s raft being demolished by the huge shark.
“Oh my God,” she screamed. “Pull, you men. Standby forward. Get ready to throw them a line.” But they were still not close enough for the line to be thrown.
* * *
Smith had settled down somewhat from his initial thrashing in the water. “Just relax, Sidney, I’ve got you,” Walker said as he held Smith around his chest from behind.
“But, the shark. Where’s the shark?”
“I don’t see him. I think he’s gone.” Walker said it, but he didn’t really believe it.
As they bobbed around in soul-shattering terror waiting for the next shark attack, Walker realized he was hearing things. It was strange, but he thought he could hear Susan calling to him. Then he heard her again, and again.
He finally turned around in the water far enough to see the boat heading straight for them.
“Sidney, look. There. It’s a boat. It’s Susan!” With that, he loosed one hand from the grip he had around Smith and started frantically waving.
Within a minute, a line with a loop tied on the end came snaking out toward them. Walker slid the loop around Smith’s body, under his arms. “You go first, Sidney. You can’t swim.” Before Smith could object, strong arms were pulling him toward the boat; and, soon after, even stronger arms were pulling him on board.
Susan was by his side as he struggled to his feet. There was no time for greetings, however. “Get that line out again. Quickly,” she ordered. The line was tossed and it landed not more than five yards from Walker, but he never got the chance to get hold of it.
Walker saw the line coming toward him and, at the same time, felt a tug on his right leg. The sensation returned a moment later; only this time it was not a tug.
He screamed. He couldn’t help it. His calf felt like burning coals had been wrapped around it. He screamed again and thrashed his arms, but the shark had him in a solid grip. This was his domain. He ruled here, not those silly tentacled creatures.
Walker managed to get in a breath of air before the shark pulled him under.
Susan and Sidney looked on in horror as Walker disappeared beneath the water. Within a few seconds, nothing remained on the surface to indicate that their friend had ever existed. Not a bubble. Not a ripple. They continued to stare at the spot.
* * *
Walker felt himself being pulled downward, ever downward; and he knew he was dead. In a few moments he would have to take a breath, only instead of breathing air, his lungs would fill with seawater. He would, of course, choke, gag, and try to breathe again, but nothing would do any good. Eventually he would black out and the shark would have his meal.
He opened his eyes to see nothing but blackness. The sting of the saltwater on his eyes was nothing compared to the burning that was starting to form in his lungs. As he went deeper, the water got noticeably colder and the pressure on his ears and chest was becoming intolerable.
At this point, two things happened that he didn’t expect. First, a feeling of enormous peace came over him. He felt as though everything was just as it should be and he was looking forward to—no, he was longing for—the eternal sweet blackness that was coming. The second thing was even more surprising than the first. The shark let go.
He didn’t know whether the shark had become distracted by something else, or just chose to go on to something more interesting—but he let go! Walker could kick his legs again; and he instinctively fought for the surface. The race was no longer to meet the sweet blackness. It was a race for survival.
Walker kicked and swam vigorously, but this was a mixed blessing. Every kick of his legs, every stroke of his arms, consumed oxygen. His muscles were sending demands to his brain for more oxygen to feed his starved cells. His brain then relayed two simultaneous commands to his lungs: “BREATHE!” and “DON’T YOU DARE!”
He could feel the water getting warmer and brighter. He looked up and thought he could see the surface high above. The primitive side of his brain was screaming to breathe. The rational side was fiercely fighting for dominance, for enough control to override the demand for air.
Just a little longer, he thought. Please God, let me hold on just a little longer. He forced himself to focus with an iron will on the surface above him; he could clearly see it now. Yet, even as he did so, a little voice was echoing through the pain that was radiating out of his chest and into his arms. Lucas, it said. You can take a little breath, you know. Just a little one. A little seawater won’t hurt you, not if it’s just a small breath. You know how good that would feel, don’t you? You know how sweet it would be.
* * *
Susan was the first to give up. She could no longer watch the empty spot where her friend went down. It was over, and he was dead.
For the first time since this whole thing started, she lost her self-control. Turning to Smith, she leaned against him and broke into shattering, soul wrenching, sobs. “It’s so unfair, Sidney. It’s so unfair,” she kept saying over and over.
Sidney Smith was in tears himself. He was holding Susan and blankly looking out at the water, not knowing what to say... when Walker broke the surface.
* * *
To Walker’s surprise, taking that first breath was almost as painful as holding it in. He gasped great lungfuls of air, again and again. The pain in his lungs began to ease, but he was a long way from having his mental faculties back. His brain was still oxygen starved and not thinking clearly. He flopped around in the water as helpless to decide what to do next as a newborn baby. Fortunately, he had no decisions to make.
Within seconds, the boat had reached him and he was dimly aware of being pulled aboard. He thought he saw someone who looked strangely like Sidney Smith being jerked out of the way by someone who looked like Susan Whitney. How extraordinary, he thought. What are they doing here?
He looked up into the face of Susan who was peering down at him, asking some question or another. He neither knew nor cared what the question was; he was utterly fascinated by Susan’s face. Her hair was a tangle of brown with unruly wiry shoots going off in all directions. Her face was covered with smoke soot except for the tear rivulets running down her cheeks. Her brown eyes looked at him with a mixture of fear, concern, and something else. Was that love he was seeing?
Just as he had decided that Susan possessed the most beautiful, most perfect, face ever seen on a human female, it disappeared from view. The next thing he felt was Susan tearing back his pant leg. Oh, this is even better. Susan is trying to take off my pants, he thought and he felt a giggle start to form.
The giggle stopped abruptly, however, when Susan touched the shark bite. A shaft of pain flashed up his leg. He yelped and sat up on his elbows so he could see. He was sobering quickly.
Around his calf were two semi-circles of vicious puncture wounds. The shark had sunk his teeth in, true enough, but for some reason did not take the bite. He looked on as Susan began tearing off parts of her dress to serve as bandages, when he noticed something strange. Something white was sticking out of one of the wounds. He reached down and pulled out a large shark’s tooth—one of hundreds that sharks routinely loose each year.
He looked at it. Then he looked at the terrified concern on Sidney Smith’s face. He looked at Susan Whitney furiously tearing strips of cloth, tears still in her eyes. He looked again at the tooth, and he knew.
I belong here, he thought. I belong here, to this place and to these people. And he quietly put the tooth in his
pocket.
* * *
“I will exalt you, O Lord, for you lifted me out of the depths and did not let my enemies gloat over me.
O Lord my God, I called to you for help and you healed me.
O Lord, you brought me up from the grave; you spared me from going down in the pit.”
Shivers ran down Walker’s spine as the chaplain intoned the opening words of Psalm 30.
Preservation of bodies for later burial on land was simply not practical in the Royal Navy and everyone knew it. The ship was helpless to preserve food let alone bodies. This meant that those bodies not tossed overboard during the heat of battle had to be disposed of as soon as possible, but they needed to be disposed of with respect and dignity. The men would have it no other way.
Just after sunrise the next day, the Formidable laid her sails aback and came to a complete halt. The topgallant yards were set crooked to signify a death and a burial. The list lines were moved out of trim to signal the physical ship’s grief at losing one or more of her own. The entry port on the starboard gangway was opened.
Next to the entry port were two lines of bodies. Each had been sewn up in their own canvas hammock, with two round shot placed at their feet to insure sinking. The last stitch in sewing the bags closed was always made through the person’s nose—just to make sure he was dead.
The full ship’s company was called to attention as the captain and chaplain approached. The captain was in his best uniform and the chaplain was in full clerical regalia.
“Ship’s company... Off HATS,” the bosun boomed, and, with that, the simple but elegant service began.
After reading Psalm 30, the chaplain continued: “But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. For since death came through a man, the resurrection of the dead comes through a man.”
He then walked over to where the bodies were laid out, raised his hand and said: “We therefore commit these bodies to the deep, to be turned into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body when the sea shall give up her dead, and the life of the world to come, through our Lord Jesus Christ; who at his coming shall change our vile body, that it may be like his glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself.”
Each body had two men assigned to it, both messmates of the fallen man. One by one, each body was put on a mess table placed by the open entry port, and the body was covered with the British flag. After a moment of silence, the messmates tipped up the table, retaining the flag, and sending their shipmate into the water.
After all the men had been consigned to the deep, the chaplain looked out over the sea, raised his hands, and said.
“In the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our shipmates as we commit their bodies to the depths.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless them and keep them. The Lord make his face to shine upon them and be gracious unto them. The Lord lift up his countenance upon them, and give them peace. Amen.”
Walker was standing next to Susan with the medical division. They looked at each other and, briefly, he held her hand.
“Lord, have mercy upon us. Christ, have mercy upon us. Lord, have mercy upon us.
The chaplain turned away from the entry port and stood once again in front of the men.
“Almighty God, with whom do live the spirits of them that depart hence in the Lord, and with whom the souls of the faithful, after they are delivered from the burden of the flesh, are in joy and felicity. We give thee hearty thanks, for that it hath pleased thee to deliver these our brothers out of the miseries of this sinful world; beseeching thee, that it may please thee, of thy gracious goodness, shortly to accomplish the number of thine elect, and to hasten thy kingdom; that we, with all those that are departed in the true faith of thy holy Name, may have our perfect consummation and bliss, both in body and soul, in thy eternal and everlasting glory; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
Walker looked over at Smith standing with the officers and Bill Hanover standing with the midshipmen, and briefly caught their eyes. Nothing needed to be said.
“Merciful God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who is the resurrection and the life; in whom whosoever believeth shall live, though he die; and whosoever liveth, and believeth in him, shall not die eternally; who also hath taught us, by his holy Apostle Saint Paul, not to be sorry, as men without hope, for them that sleep in him: We meekly beseech thee, O Father, to raise us from the death of sin unto the life of righteousness; that, when we shall depart this life, we may rest in him, as our hope is this our brother doth; and that, at the general Resurrection in the last day, we may be found acceptable in thy sight; and receive that blessing, which thy well-beloved Son shall then pronounce to all that love and fear thee, saying, Come, ye blessed children of my Father, receive the kingdom prepared for you from the beginning of the world: Grant this, we beseech thee, O merciful Father, through Jesus Christ, our Mediator and Redeemer. Amen.”
For the final time, the chaplain raised his hands and, facing the men, said: “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost, be with us all evermore. Amen.”
With these closing words, the captain and the chaplain made their way aft and the bosun stepped forward.
“Ships company! Dismissed. HATS!”
The men quietly slipped away, some to continue their watch duties, some to make repairs on the ship, some just to think about their good fortune at still being alive.
Walker thought about the shark’s tooth that now hung around his neck, spontaneously took Susan in his arms and hugged her. Smith came up, Walker extended his arm to him, and he joined in the embrace. Hanover soon followed and the embrace became four-way. Each of them would forever be bound to the others by the experiences they had shared.
And Walker had found a home.
EPILOGUE
WALKER got up to put another log on the dwindling fire. He didn’t mind cold weather; but this constant chill was something else entirely. He put the log in, stoked it, and returned to the only comfortable chair in his meager apartment in London’s east end.
The Russell had been paid off for the French ships that had been captured at what was now called the “Battle of the Saints” and his share had come to a reasonable sum. All told the British had captured ten ships: the Glorieux, Hector, Ardent, Cato, Jason, Armille, Ceres, Caesar, Diadem and, above all, the Ville de Paris. This latter ship was a huge achievement for two reasons. First, she was the first three-decker in any war ever to be taken. Second, she was the paymaster for the French fleet. In her hold was found thirty-six strong boxes, containing over 25,000 pounds in gold that was added to the prize money. True, the prize money would be shared among every ship and every man who was in the battle; but, still, his share came to a tidy sum. Walker knew he could afford to live a bit better, but there was no telling how long that money would have to last. Better to pinch pennies, he thought, than to have no pennies to pinch.
The battle was being hailed as a major triumph by the London newspapers. The French had over 8,000 killed or wounded. On the Ville de Paris alone over 300 men had died, which was 40 more than had died in all the British ships combined. But perhaps the greatest irony of the battle occurred when they pulled into Jamaica.
The Jamaicans went wild with delight over the British victory. In fact, their zeal was so excessive that Admiral Rodney preferred to remain aboard the Formidable rather than be literally killed by kindness ashore. Three days later a mail packet, the Jupiter, arrived from England with an urgent dispatch for the admiral. It seems the government of Lord Sandwich had fallen and the new government had no confidence in Rodney’s abilities. He was ordered to strike his flag and come home. He was being fired. Apparently, the ship carrying the message of no confidence crossed paths somewhere in the mid-Atlantic with the ship carrying news of his crushing
victory.
Rodney set forth in the Montague to return home. The Russell and several frigates were selected to escort him. On a bleak November day, they landed in Bristol and Walker will never forget the week that followed.
The fair citizens of Bristol were beside themselves and literally swept Admiral Rodney off his feet. Not content with offering him the keys to the city, they planned a massive parade in his honor. What a sight that was, Walker thought.
First came a wagon with “Britannia” on board, strewn with flowers. Next came javelin-men, some trumpeters, a boat with fife and drums, more trumpets, flags, more flags, a boat called “The Rodney” manned by eight gentlemen dressed as common seamen, the city sheriff, floats of “Mars” and “Minerva,” a banner with the words: “The gallant and illustrious Lord Rodney, savior of the country, protector of its islands, and scourge of his perfidious foes,” and finally, bringing up the rear, Lord Rodney himself.