Upon reaching the once ornate cabinet, now a pale representation of its former craftsmanship, I procured for myself a rather lengthy rifle of unknown manufacture and a revolver the likes of which I not seen before. I tucked the revolver into the belt of my trousers and cocked the firing mechanism of the long rifle. It was my intent to remain with the Captain on the bridge, but through the shattered glass of the pilot house I was able to ascertain that the enemy had begun boarding the Stratos and it was, without question, their intent to commandeer the vessel.
Observing the commotion on the outer deck, I hurried to give assistance to the crew members who were already engaged with the enemy. The light of the dawning sun, now just emerging from below the horizon, presented me the opportunity to see our attackers first-hand. There were more than two dozen men dressed shirt-to-boot in black, descending by rope from the Scourge soaring twenty or so feet above us.
I leapt to the deck and entered the fray without hesitation, a trait common to myself and one which Father had, on more than one occasion, suggested would serve to lead me one day into a large deal of trouble. I feared Father was correct in his assessment and that, at this very moment, I had indeed placed myself into the very bosom of a great deal of trouble.
Finding a position on the deck of the Stratos, I spied several of the enemy bearing down upon a lesser number of our men and, seeing the odds were not in their favour, levelled the long barrel of my rifle and took aim at one of the attackers. Without hesitation I squeezed the trigger and the shot, like a clap of thunder, echoed in my ears as the unexpected recoil of the weapon all but put me off my feet. Had I not been in a crouched position it would have done just that, and I would have toppled over backward like a bumbling drunkard.
The other poor fellow, for whom the shot was intended, was struck with such might by the projectile that he was knocked clear, some ten or fifteen feet, from where he was positioned at the start. Sprawled motionless atop the deck of the Stratos, it was quite evident that the man was stone dead well before he came to rest.
Finding my second target, a rough-looking fellow, sword held high, ready to strike one of my comrades at arms, met the same sudden fate as the first. On this attempt, however, I was prepared for the shock of the great weapon, and firing it was much less intimidating the second time. Not knowing how many rounds would be available, I took great care and aimed each shot as one by one I began to improve the odds our boys were facing, but the marauders continued their descent upon us, and I feared the worse.
Undaunted, I continued taking aim and squeezing the trigger, sending each new target across the deck of the ship. At the last I emptied the rifle of ammunition and, taking it by the barrel, leapt into the fray, swinging it like a great cudgel. After some dozen or so raiders fell the stock broke across the back of a single man in black. No sooner had I done this when several more villains were set upon me, sword in hand, intent on my destruction.
Remembering the revolver tucked within my belt, I reached down, drew it out, and fired as quick as I was able to take aim. Like the rifle, the revolver gave a thunderous roar, and my attacker flew back with the impact of the round which struck him square in the chest. Likewise two more of his comrades met their sudden demise in much the same way, with a roar of thunder and a violent impact of a single round in the chest.
Three times more I fired, and three times more the revolver in my hand accomplished its task. Having fired the full six rounds that is common to all revolvers of current manufacture, I turned to make haste away from the fray; however, my escape was impeded as two of the brutes fell upon me, pinning me down, one with sword drawn high, eager to cut short my life.
Whether in desperation or simple panic, I cannot with certainty recall, I pressed the revolver against the stomach of my first attacker and pulled the trigger, knowing well that the firing pin would do nothing more than strike against an empty chamber, bringing my panicked struggle to a complete and concise finish.
To my surprise, the gun discharged a seventh time, sending the brigand to the same fate that befell the previous six. I lowered the revolver and took aim at the second rascal and, pulling the trigger once more, sent him to his demise. I am sure the heavens favoured me that day, for it was nothing short of miraculous that I survived.
Upon finding an area of momentary refuge, away from the ensuing melee, curiosity still the better part of me, I broke open the barrel of the revolver and examined the cylinder which indeed provided for not the common six, but eight rounds of ammunition. How thankful I was that this particular weapon found its way into my hand that day.
As I had expended my limited amount of ammunition and was now in need of new armament, I stripped the weapons - a cutlass, dagger, and small revolver - from one of the black-clad men whom I had felled by my own hand and once again sprang into the fray. Joining in with my companions on the deck of the Stratos, I dispatched two more of the scoundrels with ease and was about to engage a third when a large shot from a marauder’s ship crashed into the deck beside me, throwing me high into the air along with several others, and I landed with brutish force upon the deck, stunned, my mind in a state of disorder.
While struggling to regain my footing, I was all but thrown over the rail as Bowman, with unexpected urgency, threw the wheel of the Stratos hard to port, causing the vessel to roll with sudden sharpness. As I peered up the image that filled my vision was that of the Scourge, a monstrous airship, bearing down upon us with the greatest of speed. In short order, after the firing of the fore steam jets, we had manoeuvred in such a way as to wrest the advantage from our opponent. It was the Stratos who now had the advantage and came to bear not upon the Scourge itself, but upon the rigging which affixed its balloon to the great vessel.
Within a few moments the Stratos, with an additional burst of speed provided by the aft steam jets, careened headlong across the deck of the opposing airship, cutting with the guillotine-like apparatus affixed to the bow of the Stratos, the lines that anchored the large balloon to the vessel, crushing a number of crewmen as it passed overhead.
Without means of suspension the bow of the Scourge sagged and fell away, and as the Stratos cleared her stern it sank into the sky below, all hands, I must assume, lost as it crashed to the ground, the number of miles below I care not venture to guess. It was a sight that will forever be graven into my mind and one which while instilling a sense of pride through victory, also left the tell-tale signs of remorse.
Bewildered for the moment by the shock of what had transpired, those opponents who had been orphaned upon our decks became easy targets, and a number of them were dispatched without delay. The remainder, unwilling to meet their demise in combat, surrendered themselves up for capture without struggle.
The Captain once more made an attempt to manoeuvre the Stratos so as to bring her heavy deck guns to bear upon the Rogue. Fearing a fatal fall, I braced myself well against the starboard rail. Braced or not it was of no consequence, for as the ship began to turn I heard a loud explosion from the decks below. I assumed from the direction of the sound that it had come from the engine room four decks below.
One of the steam pipes, so I surmised, or perhaps even the boiler itself, had ruptured in some fashion for as soon as the explosion sounded, the Stratos lost power and was at once adrift in the skies high above, immobile and defenceless. A station which would, I am sure, cause us no manner of good.
Likewise, at that very moment to our starboard, close to where I had anchored myself to the rail, the Rogue began to rise from a lesser altitude in order to retake its advantage over us. Signalling to a rather large contingent of my fellow men at arms, the ones not preoccupied in combat, to follow me, we leapt to the deck of the approaching airship as it came abreast, engaging in combat those in our immediate vicinity.
With efficiency I dispatched two of the crew members, sword upon sword; however, a third lurking brute managed to overpower me by sheer strength. Pinned to the deck and grasping for anything which might have been o
f use, the revolver in my belt since knocked free, my hand fell upon a loose coil of rope which with haste I wrapped around my assailant’s neck and pulled tight.
Gasping for breath the villain released his iron grip upon me, and I was then able to scramble to my feet, where I mustered all the strength within me and charged, shoulder low, in an effort to knock him over the railing. In an unfortunate turn of events; however, just as I had thrust my full weight against the fiend, he grasped me by the arm and in a single motion, we were both cast over the side.
Knowing well his intent to drop me to my death, I reached up as quickly as I was able, and with my unoccupied hand took hold of his arm. The fortitude displayed by my combatant was remarkable. A lesser man would have abandoned the fight altogether, but the fellow continued his effort to dislodge my grip with one hand while his other clawed at the rope about his neck in frantic desperation.
I could have but waited for the gent to suffocate, were it not for the loosening of my hold caused by his constant thrashing about. Realizing that I must act with immediacy, I reached around his torso and as if I was shimmying up a flagpole, climbed the struggling fiend until I was able to reach the rope that tethered us both to the airship above. The lout had such a grip on my pant leg I had no choice but to kick the man atop his head a number of times until at last he released me at which time I wrapped my legs around the line and, drawing the knife tucked in my belt, reached down and severed the rope.
Unable to scream from the cord encircled about his throat, I watched my foe fall in silence to the earth below, a look of surprise and fear written upon his pale face. I altogether felt relief and sympathy at the same moment, for there is nothing more terrible than looking into the eyes of one who realizes they have reached that fearful day when the flame of their life will be extinguished without avoidance.
With as much speed as I could muster, I ascended the rope until at last I was upon the deck of the large airship once again. Regaining the cutlass that had escaped my grip while in struggle with the poor fellow whom I had just now dispatched, I dashed once again into the skirmish, sword at the ready. I engaged several more men before it became clear to me that the Rogue had risen to an even altitude with the Stratos and would now, without doubt, open fire upon her with all the artillery it had at the ready.
Taking the lead once again, I jumped upon the rail of the Rogue and began hacking at the lashings just as the Stratos had done to the Scourge. I knew not what I wished to accomplish, as a single person would not have been able to sever enough of the rigging to mimic the action that the Stratos had performed earlier. No sooner had this thought flashed across my mind when I witnessed several dozen of my company doing likewise. In that manner, we were able to cut away most every connexion to the gigantic balloon aloft high above our heads.
Although we had managed to cut through the supports on the port side of the vessel, the starboard lines were still well affixed, causing the ship to list at a sharp degree and all but spill us over the railing to the earth below. Gathering my wits as many others also did, I took hold of one of the very lines we had all just gone to work on and swung across the growing gap between the two vessels. The Rogue, now at a somewhat higher elevation, allowed us to land securely on the deck of the Stratos once again. A good deal of our brave fighters were not so fortunate and disappeared into the space below, which drove me into a frenzy.
Nonetheless, there were far more pressing matters at hand as now our enemies’ guns, tilted down with precision, were aimed square at our craft’s decks and at us as well. In frantic desperation I searched for some area of protection against the bombardment that was certain to ensue, but finding none on the open deck, turned toward the pilot house to chance a mad dash for asylum there. As I did so, attempting to alert the cannoniers of our dire situation, I waved my arms in the direction of our impending doom and, much to my relief, they took notice of me and brought two turreted large guns to bear.
Not having seen nor heard the terrible weapons firing heretofore at so near a range, I was quite overcome with frightful wonder. The guns, discharging in simultaneous fashion, so shook the vessel that I stumbled forward, coming to rest upon my knees while clutching the starboard rail. I watched in amazement as the munitions from the mammoth artillery quite shredded the Rogue to small bits, the two shells doing near as much damage as a full battery of proper English cannon.
With the Rogue destroyed we had but to focus our attention toward the Chaos, having lost sight of her during the course of the skirmish and still immobile, being carried now by the currents of the wind alone, I feared that in our hapless state we had become nothing more than fodder for our rival’s cannons.
Seeing no sign of the remaining enemy craft, I started for the pilot house, where I was halted in my steps by the vision of the Chaos, a lumbering giant determined to bring us into her line of fire. She rose above the stern of our beloved Stratos, a ship which I had come to admire a great deal, but which was now damaged in the extreme and incapable of manoeuvring. It was at this sight that I became rather confident we would all be sent to a fiery death.
I fled to the hatch of the pilot house and, rushing inside, discovered that it was not Captain Bowman at the helm but McNeil, who struggled in furious desperation to bring the Stratos around in an effort to defend ourselves, for if we were at all able the great guns of the Stratos would without doubt give the Chaos no small degree of grief.
Glass and wood strewn about the bridge evidenced the striking of numerous large calibre shot since I had last passed through the pilot house. The fine furnishings and woodwork were reduced to ruin and no longer resembled the former majesty that I had earlier beheld.
“See to the Captain!” McNeil shouted.
There, prostrate upon the deck, was Captain Bowman, a copious amount of blood issuing from a wound in his left side, created by a large wooden splinter protruding from just below his rib cage. Fearing for Captain Bowman’s life I rushed as quickly as I was able to his side, ready to offer what help, if any, I could.
In tremendous pain, and just able to speak, the Captain insisted I remove the large wood splinter from his abdomen. Noting my reluctance, he assured me this was his desire and urged me on to the task. Grasping the splinter with a firm hand, I wrenched the shard free, throwing it aside which resulted in a free flow of blood from the open and exposed wound, more so than at first.
Before I was able to assist the Captain further, wild shouts emanated from the crew on the outer deck. I knew in an instant it was forewarning of an impending volley of cannon fire that would soon be raining down upon us from the Chaos dead astern the Stratos. McNeil looked at me and I at him and, as there were no remaining options, we steadied ourselves for the encounter.
Rather than the sound of the approaching bombardment, another sound altogether met our ears. As though a tornado were sweeping across the ship, the noise of a rushing wind could be heard throughout the Stratos followed by a rather sudden drop in altitude involving the aft portion of the ship alone, which seemed a rather odd occurrence. I was compelled to assume, with my limited knowledge of the craft thus far, that some manner of accident had befallen the aft bladder.
Accompanying the clamour was a slow downward spiralling of the Stratos herself, and it became obvious then that I was correct in my assessment of the circumstances, as there was indeed a mishap involving the aft bladder. As the ship turned to port, bow pointing skyward, I was able to witness first-hand the events that were at that moment transpiring. Through the port side glass, somehow remaining undamaged and intact, I watched as the Chaos, continuing on its course, fired her cannons at us without reservation. To our great fortune, and by means of our skyward-pointing bow, the Stratos was now somewhat below our enemy’s broadsides and the cannonade passed just above us without damage.
Using this to our advantage the cannoniers, ever vigilant and quick to duty, fired a single volley of our largest shells at the mighty airship. With a noise of thunder the rounds found their
mark and holed the Chaos clean through. Wooden timbers, debris, and deckhands flew in every direction, and it was evident our foe could not sustain another volley such as the one we had just released.
Quite damaged and scarce able to keep aloft, the Chaos turned hard to starboard and made its retreat with as much urgency as it was able as a second volley of warning shots sent the behemoth retreating into the northern sky altogether. A collective cheer rang out among the crew of the Stratos, as we had achieved victory over not one but three well-known privateers of the era.
Among the din of cheers and exclamations, however, I was still very conscious of the two most pressing matters at hand. The first being the good captain’s wounds, which were quite severe, placing him in the gravest of danger, and the second being the Stratos, the Royal Air Brigade’s most costly airship, was spiralling down without escape to the earth below.
Chapter IV
IN WHICH EDGAR AND THE CREW OF THE STRATOS MAKE AN ASTOUNDING DISCOVERY AND ARE NOT THE BETTER FOR DOING SO
With some difficulty I made my way back to the Captain who, despite his wounds, looked rather fit for the moment. Bowman waved me away, urging me to assist McNeil in whatever way I could. The matter most pressing being the steady, spiralling descent of the Stratos and the awkward angle at which she was positioned, bow in the air, the steady sound of a rushing wind coming from either the boiler room or some other location that at the time I could not ascertain.
As it was of the utmost importance, McNeil decided that I should secure aid for the Captain by alerting the infirmary, while he inspected the boiler room to establish the cause of the ship’s malfunction. I raced with the greatest of urgency to the infirmary, where I found a half dozen or so medical attendants working at a feverish pace over a number of injured. Upon indicating that the Captain was in dire need of attention, two of the attendants left their posts straight away and I, feeling somewhat relieved in the knowledge that the Captain was being looked after, headed off to the boiler room to accompany McNeil in his investigations.
HAWTHORNE: Chronicles of the Brass Hand: Mystirio Astronomiki Page 4