To the south, the bow of a French seventy-four approached on a converging course as she sought to join L’Aigle’s battering of Belleisle.
“If we turn now we shall stop in front of her!” yelled Worth in a moment of hesitation, “We will be crushed to kindling.”
Lt. Caughlin’s starboard guns fired a broadside, shivering the decks. The French ship’s foredeck rail exploded and her outer bowsprit sagged. Neville turned directly to the quartermasters at the wheel and hollered, “Hard to starboard! Now!” They began spinning the wheel.
“She will turn, Mr. Worth. She must. We may be small, but not so small that she would not be severely damaged. We can fire our broadside at her now, and she cannot yet return anything but a chaser. You will see. And never hesitate on my orders again or you will be relieved.”
With the speed of a snail La Désirée’s bow turned toward the oncoming monster.
Closer she came, continuing on a straight line. Then a slight movement indicated she would not run them down. Her turn was not gentle, as it might have been; not just enough to miss La Désirée, but as a knee-jerk lurch to starboard as Neville had hoped.
“Fire as she bears, Lt. Miller!”
A bow-chased fired, followed by the first gun, second, and then the rest as a broadside. Smoke momentarily obscured the Frenchman.
“Hard to port Mr. Worth…
“We must pass her as quickly as possible, even if is it close aboard. She will do us great damage, I fear, but even more so if we strike out diagonally and give her more time. And she will have a difficult time returning to her pursuit of Belleisle
“Fire, Mr. Miller!” Neville screamed again. La Désirée’s guns roared again, but only a second before the French broadside. Neville saw holes appear in the enemy’s sails, and a twitch of her mizzen indicated they had cut enough of its rigging to render it unusable. He saw her name go by. “Neptune.” He saw a man on the foredeck cut in half. His two parts fell to the deck in a gush of blood. He heard a great crack above his head at the same time he saw the forward rail of the quarterdeck explode. He felt a tug at his right sleeve, a crushing blow to his chest, and a thump to the back of his head as it hit the deck.
“He’s awake, you say?” Neville heard Lt. Miller ask.
“Aye, Sir,” responded Dr. Elworth. “Over there.”
Neville realized he was lying on a mat beside some trunks in sick bay. His head was thumping. All was not still. He could still hear cannon firing. Lt. Miller’s face appeared above him.
“Miller?” he asked.
“Aye. Are you all right, sir? Anything broken, do you think?”
“Miller. Thanks be to God. Not some other.”
Neville suddenly sat straight upright. He’d had a thought that woke him thoroughly: I’ll see Marion!
“Certainly Sir. I thank you for the compliment.”
“Is she here? No, of course not.”
“Who, Sir.”
“Marion. Miss Stillwater.”
“Oh, that’s who Marion is. You’ve been a bit delirious. You called out for Maria, I thought…
“Doctor has removed the splinter and dressed your wound.”
“Where?” croaked Neville.
“Right arm, Sir. The battle’s not over. Now that you’re up, can you come on deck, do you think?”
“A rum, please; straight, and I will come up. How long, Lieutenant… Lieutenant…”
“Miller, Sir. Half hour, Sir. You’ve been out half an hour.”
“I can’t believe I am here now.”
“I understand, Sir. I think it was a very close call.”
“No, not that. A dream? The whole thing, perhaps? Uuugh! My chest feels like an elephant sat on it; and my head – oooh.
La Désirée fired another broadside to larboard.
“aaaahrgh – the sound of those cannon does not help it any, nor does the smoke.”
“Doctor says there are no broken ribs, but you’ll have big bruises. Mizzen course yard fell across you.”
“Why am I alive, then?”
“You were in the middle. The binnacle held one end – the wheel and compass are smashed, Sir – and t’other was on the hog pen. The huge one smoothed the landing of the yard, Sir.”
“Fresh pork, then.”
“I’d say so, Sir. You seem all right then, shall we go up?”
“I feel very groggy, but help me up on deck and explain what we see.”
Leaning on Miller’s shoulder, Neville hobbled up the companion to the deck. His old leg wound was acting up in addition to the pain from this latest incident. What he saw around the ship when his eyes came above the gunwales was breathtaking.
“Your strategy to save Belleisle didn’t work. Achille and Fougueux came up and battered her bad, and Neptune found her way back to help until our fleet fell upon them. Belleisle still floats, but she is dismasted. There she is there, about half a league distant. We have not traveled far, between the lack of wind and lack of sails.”
Neville looked skyward, where he could see a missing main topgallant mast – and a space where the mizzen course should have been. Fore and main courses were furled. Topsails and jibs still flew – or rather, hung limply.
Cannon continued to roar all around them, with smoke so thick that ships downwind could only be seen intermittently. La Désirée would do no good as signals relay for Victory, as that ship was not visible in a cloud of smoke to the north.
“Who is First Lieutenant? “Powers? Sorry… it’s been a year?”
“Towers, Sir. First Lt. Towers; and no year – you’ve only been out ten minutes or so.”
“Aye, That’s it, Towers. Pass word for him, if you please.”
“Aye, Sir, and we’ll bring you a chair.”
Lt. Towers arrived carrying a chair.
He placed it by the remains of the binnacle and said, “Please sit, Sir. I understand you are not quite yourself. We’ve cleared the mizzen course yard, you see?” Towers ran a small rope around the chair and the stump of binnacle to hold it still, but there was not much sea motion to worry about.
“I’ll come ‘round,” Neville said. “What’s the situation? I see the dead hog.”
“The French van has come up on our fleet, and most of our fleet has run in amongst them.”
“What do I see there? That looks to be a French frigate that is taking a run at Thunderer. She’s more our size. Go at her! Let’s take one down, at least... how are we steering?”
“Relieving tackles below deck, Sir; Mr. Worth’s plan. It seems to work well, but don’t hope for any sudden turns.”
“Can we come round to follow Thunderer? Pass word for Lt. Carlyle to get his marines ready; sharpshooters as high as they can get. We obviously don’t need them at the mizzen course braces, and hand out cutlasses for boarding. I think we’ll have a very close action soon.”
La Désirée began a slow turn to starboard as Mr. Worth shouted his steering commands down the aft hatch and Lt. Towers roared his sailing commands forward.
“Breeze is coming up, Sir. That frigate’s coming on faster.”
“Here’s our calling. Frenchie there plans to cross Thunderer’s stern and rake her. Thunderer will not change course for a frigate, but even a frigate firing a broadside at a seventy-four from aft can do tremendous damage.”
“From here we can put ourselves between, Captain.”
“Exactly, Lt. Pow… Towers. We shall follow Thunderer so closely that Frenchie cannot get between. That frigate will be forced to run under Thunderer’s guns in order to place herself where she might broadside Thunderer’s stern, so we must cut her off from that path; then she must either turn larboard to pass astern of us or starboard to fight Thunderer. I would not put my frigate against a seventy-four’s broadside without some better purpose. When she passes astern of us we shall turn and close with her.”
“We’ll try sir; can at least give them a broadside.”
“Do you hear me, Mr. Worth? You must be ready to make a hard t
urn to starboard.”
“I hear you, Sir, but…”
“Pass word for Lt. Coughlan to double-shot the starboard guns. We must run up behind Thunderer.”
“I see…” began Towers. A huge explosion vibrated the very water they sailed upon, so loud that the roar of cannon seemed to lull for a moment.
“I see your meaning, Sir,” yelled Lt. Towers again. “Someone’s magazine has gone.”
A cloud of acrid smoke wafted across the quarterdeck. Neville’s head thumped the harder for it.
“Wind’s coming up. We have the weather gage for this,” announced Lt. Towers.
La Désirée carved a graceful curve in the ocean, putting herself directly behind Thunderer. Neville could see an officer on the poopdeck above them waving.
“May I have a glass, please, Lt. Miller,” he asked.
Miller handed him his small pocket glass. It was enough to make out that the officer waving was Daniel Watson. Neville raised his arm to wave, but it only went up about half way before the pain in his chest stopped its motion. “Ohhhh,” he moaned. “Lt. Miller, will you return that man’s wave for me. I should be most grateful. He is a blessing for mine eyes.” Miller waved. Daniel apparently understood, and left the poop.
“Not long now, Captain. Frenchie has not changed course,” said Worth.
Thunderer’s guns thundered ahead of them. Holes appeared in the French frigate’s sails, and her fore topgallant mast flopped off to her larboard, but she came on.
“She’s still comin’ on, Captain,” said Lt. Towers, “Straight on like she is, she doesn’t present much of a target for Thunderer.”
“She’s turning to her larboard, Sir!” yelled Worth.
“Turn toward her, Mr. Worth. Make her turn hard. Maybe we can force her into irons unless her captain thinks he can withstand a collision with us.”
Thunderer was leaving them behind now, no longer in danger of the frigate’s guns.
“She’s turning further to avoid us!” yelled Lt. Miller.
“Straight at her, lads! Smash us alongside and grapple…
“Are you ready to board, Lt. Carlyle?”
“Ready, Sir!”
“Our helm is responding, Captain,” said Worth. “We’ll strike just right. Her sails are fluttering. They’re going aback. She’s in irons!”
“Let sheets fly, Mr. Towers,” commanded Neville. “Pass word for Lt. Miller to fire the forward carronade at the earliest possible moment.”
Time slowed. The ships neared. Half a cable. Bow chasers on each ship fired. Neither was in position to fire a broadside. La Désirée’s bow rail exploded. A hundred yards. Neville could hear the rattle of muskets begin. Two balls thumped into the deck at his feet. A hundred feet. Miller’s forward carronade boomed out. Neville saw a small group of French boarders disappear from their foredeck.
The sickening feeling of his ship tearing its hull against another of equal strength suddenly began. The jarring crash threw Neville from his chair. The stab of pain in his chest kept him there for a moment while the noise of La Désirée’s first point-blank broadside rattled his ears. The deck shuddered, and with his face pressed against it, he felt it far more than ever before. He raised himself with his left arm to sitting, and then steadied himself on the mainmast bitts as he stood. A musket ball removed his hat.
This was madness! The two ships had collided and been grappled together, and now men from both sides began to throw themselves at each other with cutlasses, pistols, axes and pikes.
“At ‘em, men! Go at ‘em!” he heard Foyle yelling. He saw Foyle and a group of eight or ten men go over the rail onto the French frigate.
A marine fired the quarterdeck swivel gun at a knot of French sailors preparing to jump from their foredeck onto his quarterdeck. Three fell; one between the ships and two back on their own deck. Six came on ahead.
Neville drew his sword and stood with Mr. Worth and five marines ready to repel them. The instincts of self-preservation consumed Neville. Swords and cutlasses clashed. One Frenchman pulled a pistol from his waistband, but before it discharged it was pointed at the deck and the man was missing three fingers. Mr. Worth was a better swordsman than Neville would ever have expected. His sword was already through the man’s neck. The deck was red with blood and slippery now, and the noise slightly less. The ringing in his ears was overpowering his hearing.
A blue French uniform appeared in front of him, worn by a brute of a man who stood six inches taller. He had long stringy black hair; even through the cannon smoke he smelt strongly of onion. Neville slashed at him, but slipped in the blood and went down. He felt a searing pain in his left side, but stabbed upward in defense. The brute groaned and gasped, and grabbed for something to support himself. Not finding it, he landed hard on Neville’s chest and lay still.
Neville may have passed out again for a few minutes; he wasn’t sure. The pain from having the brute land on his already-damaged chest was excruciating. It was suddenly eased as two men dragged the body off him. Miller and Worth. Marion’s face flashed across his mind. Where could Marion be now? Where was it she was going?
“Smoke,” croaked Neville. “Why so much?”
“Dunno, Sir,” answered Miller. “It’s coming from below on t’other frigate.”
“Cut us loose, then,” he croaked. “Throw the lines off! She may blow! I’m all right here for now.”
“Aye, Sir. We’ll send Elworth. You stay down.”
Neville could hear the clashing receding. He rolled on his side to see what remained of the action. Foyle was herding his men back aboard and throwing the French back onto their ship or overboard. Fewer Frenchmen were visible. Are they going below to fight a fire? Why can’t I remember where Marion was going? It’s been so long…
“Cut loose! Cut loose,” Miller was screaming forward. Worth was doing the same nearby.
The motion of the ship changed when the last of the grapples were cut. There was no longer the sickening sound of two hulls grinding together. Neville heard one final hard thump before the two ships parted.
Mr. Worth was back in his element: “Lt. Towers, see to the sheets, if you please. We must make some distance… any direction.”
Lt. Towers and Bo’sun Wynde began yelling sailing orders. La Désirée was gathering speed rapidly in the increasing wind. She bashed into waves that had risen from two feet to four in the last half hour.
“Is all this blood yours, Captain?” asked Mr. Leonard, one of Dr. Elworth’s loblollies who had arrived to assist.
“Don’t think so,” Neville managed, “That big ‘un was on top of me.” He pointed to the body next to him on the deck.
“Oh, you have a wound, though. I see…”
A rolling roar began from behind them. More holes appeared in their sails, and a crash below led Neville to believe they had been struck below the quarterdeck by at least one ball. The deck shook. A different thundering from the same direction began.
“I see the hole now,” Leonard continued, “Here’s a hole through your tunic on the right side. I’ll wrap you tight and we’ll get you below.”
“The frigate - Thémis, she was - shot at us, Sir,” said Midshipman Hicks’ voice behind him. “ They must have got the fire out and took one last go at us, but they’ve stopped now. Dreadnought is upon them. They’ll be out of Dreadnought’s range, soon, I expect, and follow their fleet off. I doubt Dreadnought will chase a frigate. I think we’ve carried the day.”
Again, Neville woke up wondering if he had been out long. He was lying in his cabin below decks without a shirt. His belly was wrapped so tightly with a canvas swatch that breathing was difficult, particularly with his chest still hurting. He felt his right side where there was a definite stinging pain, and found the spot wet. When he pulled his hand back to look, it was red. He was still bleeding. That big lug must have stabbed me through, he thought. I wonder if it is mortal?
“Oh, I see you are waking,” said Hajee. “You stay quiet. I get Doctor.”
<
br /> He decided to wait that long, but not much more. He needed to know what was happening above. There was only the occasional distant blast that sounded like cannon fire. The loudest sounds were of waves and water. The motion of the ship was much rougher now than it had been during the fighting, and the ship was definitely heeling to starboard and moving well.
Midshipman Foyle appeared. “Lt. Towers sends his compliments, Sir, and he will be down direct, now he’s heard you’re awake. It’s not your best day, is it?”
“Certainly not, Mr. Foyle. What are we about?”
“Battle’s over Sir, and we’ve thumped ‘em bad, but Victory signals that Admiral Nelson has been killed. Collingswood and Blackwood are in command. Weather’s come up serious now; blowing a gale of wind. We’re ordered to try saving prizes and fishing men from the water. Here’s Doctor Elworth now.”
“Damned fine of you to sleep a few hours sir,” said Elworth. “Gave me time to sew up t’others.” He looked to be near exhausted and there was the smell of rum on him. He’d put on a clean shirt, for sure, but his hair was all frizz with streaks of blood in it.
“Butcher’s bill, please, Doctor,” croaked Neville.
“Only one dead, Sir, however we were so lucky, but twelve injured, counting you.”
“Oh,” said Neville, with some surprise, “What of me, then?”
“You’ll hurt a while, for sure. That French monster poked a hole clean through your right side, but I don’t think he hit a single thing of importance inside. We have you wrapped tight to staunch the bleeding. I would recommend you stay below.”
“Doctor, I must see to the situation above.”
“You can feel from the way the ship moves that it is not pleasant weather.”
“Rain?”
“I have not heard it.”
“Mr. Foyle, can you help me up, please.”
“Aye, Sir.”
“Mr. Foyle,” said the doctor, “If you take him up, I cannot assure him that he will come back down conscious.”
“I understand, Doctor, but while he may not always have the right, he is always the captain…
The Stillwater Conspiracy (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 4) Page 25