Until the Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead

by S. thomas Russell

  “That sounds like a great risk, then,” Hawthorne said.

  Hayden almost smiled, partly for being so obtuse. Hawthorne had inveigled him into reconsidering all his thoughts on this matter—aloud—so that the marine lieutenant and he might examine them together.

  “Do you know, I believe the safest course for the privateers is to remain as they are in tight squadron where they might all support one another. We are only one ship, after all. The frigate and her three escorts are far more powerful than we. As long as they have shot and powder they can hold us at bay.”

  “What will they do, Captain, if we attack the aft-most ship this night?” It was almost a prompt.

  “The other ships will come immediately to her aid.”

  “I wonder if there is profit in that.” Hawthorne rubbed his chin as he gazed at the chart.

  “Only to put them on their guard.” Hayden paced to the transom windows and stood a moment looking out. A glorious sunset spread across the western sky.

  “If they keep to their formation, then, Captain, and do not allow us to pick off any stragglers, is there any way at all that we might hope to take this frigate bearing both the Spanish treasure and your own?”

  “Short of terrible misfortune or divine intervention? None.”

  “I do not much like that answer,” Hawthorne informed him.

  “I like it a good deal less than you, Mr Hawthorne. When I served as Captain Bourne’s first lieutenant, he often said, ‘Always assume your enemy is as intelligent as you.’ We cannot assume they will do anything foolish.”

  “Then what is the point of attacking the trailing ship?”

  “To see how they will respond—though I am not much in doubt of what the other ships will do. But we will see. Let us discover how great their understanding might be.”

  Hawthorne nodded. “It seems like a very long shot, Captain.”

  “Indeed. But I can think of no other course at this time.”

  Hawthorne nodded. “I will muster my marines and musket men.”

  Left alone in the captain’s cabin, Hayden stood at the open window and watched the sunset as it progressed through all its glorious stages until there was but small gilding upon a few low, distant clouds. Hayden was standing there yet when the tropical night slipped silently in from the east. Stars began to appear, and then there was darkness, the heavens lit by the uncounted stars.

  Hayden turned away to return to the deck, and even as he did so, there was a change in the motion of the ship. Mounting the ladder, he emerged onto deck to find the ship rolling in the low swell, her sails and gear slatting about.

  Wickham was the officer of the watch, and he approached his captain the moment he appeared.

  “We have lost our wind, sir,” he offered, rather unnecessarily.

  “For how long, I wonder?” Hayden looked up at the pennants and around at the horizon. “Can you make out our chases, Mr Wickham? Do they have wind?”

  Hayden’s night glass was retrieved and carried to the deck. Wickham and Hayden both went forward, where the midshipman focused the long glass on the privateers’ ships.

  “I believe they are becalmed as well, Captain,” he declared after a moment, and handed the glass to Hayden.

  It took a moment for Hayden’s eye to adjust, but he thought he could make out the sails slatting back and forth as the ships rolled.

  “What is our depth?”

  “Twelve fathoms on sand, Captain,” Wickham answered promptly, impressing Hayden again with his efficiency. “We appear to be over a shoaling bank.”

  Hayden glanced up at the sky. “If we do not have wind within the quarter-hour we will have the sails off her and anchor, Mr Wickham.” It was almost a law of the sea that once the sails were properly furled and the hands down from the yards, the wind would fill in again. He had seen it a thousand times, he was certain.

  The quarter of the hour passed swiftly and the hands were called to anchor, then sent aloft to take in sail. The ship lay rolling in the swell, uncomfortable but not terribly so. Hayden paced the deck. His plan to attack the aft-most ship was now impossible. They would be very much on the watch for boarding parties and would no doubt have rigged boarding nets. It was even possible that the privateers would attack him, by drifting down the current as they had before. His men were on the lookout for it.

  As matters stood, the privateers were too distant to be fired upon. Hayden found his mind drifting back to the conversation with Hawthorne. If the four remaining privateer ships could not in some way be separated, they were, cumulatively, too great a force for his single frigate. For the life of him, however, Hayden could think of no way to separate them. The privateers were sensible of their situation; they would stay together at all costs.

  These were the kind of circumstances that army officers did not comprehend—that one could be so near to the enemy and unable to mount an attack. One could not simply march forward. Batteries could not be established anywhere to attack these fortresses. Sappers could not dig their tunnels and undermine the enemy’s walls. No, all that could be accomplished was to watch and wait. Even a seasoned sailor like Hayden found it frustrating.

  “I wonder . . .” Hayden whispered, a thought so absurd coming into his mind that immediately he rejected it. But then it returned in a slightly altered form. Objections rose up, and were, by more alteration, dealt with. It was risky to the point of foolishness—the kind of thing of which Sir William Jones would heartily approve. But, even so, the idea would not go away.

  Hayden sent for Hawthorne, who arrived at the stern of the ship a moment later.

  “An idea so appallingly dangerous and improbable has taken hold of my mind, Mr Hawthorne, that I am in need of your aid to banish it.”

  “I am most anxious to hear it.”

  “The privateers are, for the time being, beyond the reach of our guns . . .”

  “That is true. I can see it myself.”

  “Indeed. I do not believe there is any way we can separate these four ships, and together, they are too great a force for our single frigate.”

  “I am awaiting the ‘appallingly dangerous’ part.”

  “Have you ever been witness to sappers tunnelling under a wall, causing a massive explosion and collapsing a section of a fortress wall?”

  “I have had that particular pleasure. Are we going to tunnel under the seabed? Because I would agree that such a plan was somewhat improbable.”

  “Very nearly. I propose taking the boats and towing a large explosive charge to the stern of the frigate, where we will set it off and damage her rudder beyond repair—at least beyond repair at sea.”

  “Ah, that is the improbable and appallingly dangerous part.”

  “I did warn you.”

  Hawthorne contemplated this idea a long moment. “How would we lay a charge against the ship? In a boat, I expect?”

  “I propose lashing barrels together.”

  “And have you ever seen, or even heard of, this being done before?”

  “Never.”

  “Well, for that reason alone I am predisposed to approve it. You would carry these barrels in a boat, lash them to the rudder in some way, light a long match, and row like the devil pursued you to get clear?”

  “I should think we shall have to tow our barrels, but otherwise, that is very nearly what I am thinking.”

  “If they see or hear us—and they will certainly be on the lookout—they will kill every man in the boat—”

  “Did I mention that it might be appallingly dangerous?”

  “It slipped my mind for a moment.” Hawthorne made an odd face and tilted his head slowly side to side, as though physically weighing the arguments for and against. “We have slipped up on ships on many occasions to cut them out. In some ways, this is no different. It must be said, however, that in many of those cases the enemy d
id not expect us—as they will now. I suppose it is no more dangerous than a cutting-out expedition into a crowded French port to take a little brig of little value. It is a war, and risking lives cannot be avoided . . . but I wonder if there is any reasonable chance of success. That, for me, is the question that must be answered, even though I am well aware that fortune ever plays too large a part in such endeavours.”

  “It will be dependent upon our ability to get our charge near without being seen. Shall we propose this to Ransome and Wickham and have their opinions?”

  “You are being rather parliamentary,” Hawthorne observed.

  “It is such an unusual idea that I am in need of others to knock it down.”

  “I am sorry to have failed you in that office. By all means, let us ask Ransome and Wickham . . . and Reverte as well. I am gaining a hearty respect for the man.”

  The named officers were summoned and Hayden’s proposal was put to them.

  “If the charge is strong enough to damage the rudder beyond repair,” Reverte asked after but a moment’s thought, “might it not sink the ship? The stern is ever a vessel’s most vulnerable part.”

  Ransome and Wickham both nodded.

  “It is a point well made,” Hayden said. “And I am not certain I have an answer for it. Sinking the frigate would be no bad thing if it were not for the bullion aboard, which I have been charged to preserve by my admiral.” He did not add that his own bride was on that ship.

  “It is dangerous because we have already used boats to take this frigate, so they will have watchmen in place and be highly alert.” He looked about. “It is not such a dark night that we cannot be seen, even after the moon has set.”

  “We must have them looking somewhere else,” Wickham pronounced.

  “We could feign an attack on another ship,” Ransome suggested, “though I am not certain how we might manage that without men being wounded or killed.”

  No one could think of a way to feign an attack that would be believed by the enemy without actually attacking or at least getting within pistol range.”

  “Fire ships!” Wickham blurted out.

  “I do not believe we have ships we can put to such purpose, Mr Wickham,” Hawthorne observed, “unless we have escorts of which the rest of us are unaware.”

  “No, but we have boats—our own from the Themis and the frigate’s boats. I suggest we find some way to put fire aboard them—perhaps in barrels we could line with copper. Take them up-current from the privateers, set them alight, and position them to drift down on the enemy ships. They might not cause any real difficulties or even come terribly near the ships, but they will certainly have every eye upon them.”

  This idea received much approval. Discussion then began as to which ship to attack and how the barrels might be lashed together in such a way as to keep the powder dry.

  It was soon clear that the ship to be attacked would be the aft-most privateer, as any ship farther up the line would have men upon the bow staring forward at the fire boats, so any British boats would likely be descried as they came to the stern of the ship ahead.

  The French ships had not anchored in a perfect line, bow to stern, but were spread over a small area, the frigate perhaps fifty yards to starboard of the ship ahead, and the next two ships staggered yet again. It might be possible to send the boats drifting in among them, therefore, which would cause great panic, or so it was hoped. Fire was one of the seaman’s greatest fears.

  Small water barrels were commandeered to contain the fire, as the staves were thoroughly soaked through. Wickham took charge of this, having them lined with thin copper plates used upon the bottom of ships.

  The others put their minds to making the craft that would bear their explosion. Four small barrels were weighted with shot until they floated half out of the water with their round ends up. A fifth barrel was set in the centre of these, so that it was above the water for the most part, and then filled with powder. All this was lashed together with a small frame of wood and then lowered into the sea. It floated much as expected but was too large to be carried aboard a boat and then got over the side. A towing bridle was arranged.

  Night wore on, so the work was done as quickly as possible. Not long after midnight, the two fire boats rowed off with a third to take off the crews. They were to skirt the enemy ships beyond their sight and row up-current of them before setting alight the old rope and tar in the barrels and releasing them to drift down on the privateers. Hayden took command of the boat that would lay the explosive charge against the rudder, as he would not send anyone else on such a mad endeavour. It had been, after all, his idea to begin with, and he was not about to ask another to perform it.

  It was the task of Hayden’s boat to hold position just beyond sight of the aft-most privateer and wait until the fire boats had been released and caused what Hayden hoped would be considerable confusion.

  The “mine,” as Hawthorne had named it, for so the sappers called their tunnels, was not easily towed, even against so weak a current, but it showed no signs of going over, so at least there was a chance they would get it to the ship with the powder still dry.

  Childers steered them faithfully out onto the dark sea, and when it was believed they were just beyond the distance where their darkly painted boats might be seen, the rowers slacked their pace to hold position; and glad they were of it, for towing the mine was difficult work.

  They waited for the sight of fire drifting down on the French ships.

  From where they lay in the dark, Hayden could easily make out the lanterns on the nearest ship’s stern, and through that light marched a sentry every few moments. One of these made a brief stop and a second figure appeared. It took a moment for Hayden to realise that the first man was the stern sentry and he had likely been wakened. Unfortunate timing, he thought. If the man were asleep when they arrived, it would make their task much simpler.

  A light appeared within the master’s cabin, illuminating the transom gallery windows, which would certainly be open on such a close night. He thought he could see someone moving about in the light, and prayed this man would make his nightly toilet and fall asleep easily. Hayden reminded himself that this hardly mattered—once the fire boats were discovered, everyone should soon be awake . . . with their attention fixed forward.

  The rowers worked their sweeps in utter silence, and the depth of that silence told him how frightened they really were.

  “Where are Mr Wickham’s boats?” Childers muttered, perhaps unable to remain silent a moment longer.

  “Be patient,” Hayden whispered. “If they had been discovered, there would be firing and noise, so they are not yet to their places.”

  Hayden glanced back to be certain their strange tow had not turned over and drowned the powder barrel or broken loose to bear down upon their own ship. Hayden himself had coiled down a short length of match cord into the powder hole on top and then pressed in a bung to keep all dry.

  There had been a lively debate about how much powder would be required to damage a rudder beyond repair, and the side that argued they would only get one chance at this, better make it count, won, so there was powder enough to do the job, Hayden was quite certain.

  Childers touched his arm and pointed. Far off, before the anchored ships, a flicker, which then disappeared. But then it appeared again and began to swell. Somehow it then split in two and began to burn in earnest. Hayden was just wondering how long it would take the privateers to discover fire bearing down on them when a cry went up, carried over the open water.

  Hayden held his men in check for a moment longer—until he hoped all eyes aboard the ships were focused on the burning boats—and then he sent them away, as stealthily as they could row.

  It would be a matter of timing, he thought. The attention of the privateers would be drawn forward to begin with, but at some point, he was certain, some man who had his wits about
him would think to look around to see if their enemy could be found on any other quarter. The English sailors needed to have their mine in place before this occurred.

  Fixing his eyes on the transom of their intended target, Hayden tried to gauge the reaction aboard this particular ship. There was both consternation and confusion, of that he was certain. Men were rushing onto the deck and all seemed to hurry forward. There were calls for poles to fend off the fire boats, though he suspected they did not yet quite know the nature of the threat drifting down on them. In the darkness and at distance, they might be actual ships.

  Orders were called out aboard the privateer. Men were sent to stand by the anchor cable lest it need be cut or let run. Others were sent out to the tip of the jib-boom with poles to prepare to protect that delicate spar from collision or fire. Others soaked down the deck forward and even the topsides. All the while, Hayden’s black boat crept nearer, as though he and his men were crawling through the undergrowth to surprise their prey. He even felt at that moment like a heartless predator.

  The stern of the ship took on height and then loomed over them. Aft, Hayden could see no sign of sentries and hoped they had been sent off to soak down decks, or to some other task to protect the ships from fire.

  Childers could not bring the boat neatly alongside—the tow being dragged back by the current would not allow it—so he nudged the bow up to the ship’s transom so that the men there could grasp hold of the rudder. Hayden scrambled forward through the rowers, a rope from the tow in his hand. There was very little purchase on the rudder, and the men attempting to hold on had it slip free of their grip. Without a thought, Hayden shrugged off his coat, pulled free his boots, and went over the side as silently as he was able.

  In two strokes he had his hands on the rudder. Feeding the rope in around it took a moment, as it was not a small timber, but he managed, and then, bracing his feet against the hull, he pushed with all his might, hauling in a length of rope and then another. It was almost more than he could do, the current’s drag on the tow was that great. Four times he did this, and then had to pause a moment to recover. The boat was unmanaged now, the men pulling the mine along its starboard side, but with no oars in the water, it was quickly being swept aft.