"Amen to that. Well, it's a tight oilskin bag and has got a blanket and some salt pork and a jug of grog in it. 'Tain't much, but it should keep you warm enough till you're ready to swim for it. We're going to tie it to the top gudgeon right there."
I nod and touch his arm. "Davy, I know you're trying to save my life with this, at some risk to your own."
"Hey, the Brotherhood forever, right, Jack-o?"
"Right, Davy, and thanks."
We go back to the front of the quarterdeck and take up our usual positions, me with my feet again planted to either side of the centerline and my hands clasped behind me. I feel much better with the trim trousers on, knowing that I'll be able to leap up into the rigging should the occasion arise.
I look up into the set of sails to see that all is well and I'm thinking of sending down for some food, seeing that I missed breakfast, when Bliffil appears on the main deck below and regards me with utter amazement.
"Outrage piled upon outrage!" he sputters. "I cannot believe this! Get off that deck!"
He starts toward the quarterdeck stairs.
"This is Mr. Bliffil," he announces, "and I have command of this—"
"You have nothing, Mr. Bliffil, except unfortunately, your health, while many of your betters do not," I say, glaring down at him with all the contempt I can muster. "Private Marsten, you will prevent that man from coming on the quarterdeck."
Private Adam Marsten, looking very worried, steps in front of the stairs with his musket at port arms. "Do not worry, Private, he is not a regular Naval officer, merely a civilian passenger." That's not quite true, but hey, it'll work.
"I'll see that you all swing for this!"
"Bliffil, I am the Officer of the Deck, made so by the Captain, and as such I speak for that Captain in his absence. When I speak, you hear the Captain's voice. If I ask the Bo'-sun's Mate of the Watch there to throw you overboard, he will do it, would you not, Seaman Jones?"
Davy, the Bo'sun's Mate of the Watch, considers and then nods—he, too, was treated cruelly by Bliffil back on the Dolphin, and I know he is taking great pleasure from this scene. "Just say the word, Lieutenant."
"'Course I might have to answer for it later," I continue, "but then I already have a lot to answer for, don't I, Bliffil? And I think your taking a big gulp of the salt would be the least of them. Just another expendable Intelligence Officer who has done his duty for his King. We all want to do our duty, don't we, Bliffil?"
"Just you wait till I get you back to London, then we'll see, won't we, girl?" sneers Bliffil.
"Where did you buy your commission, Bliffil?" I spit right back at him. "A rich uncle? Some member of the Navy Board who owed your dad a favor? Just how did you get it? Everyone on this ship knows you ain't a sailor—the Captain knows that and that's why you ain't standin' watch up here right now and I am. So get yourself gone or I will ask the Bo'sun to clear the deck of trash."
"Trash? By God, I—" says Bliffil, but he does not get to finish.
"On deck there" is the call from the lookout high up on the mainmast. "It's that little schooner, again, out to the east."
I try not to smile at that. My friends, my very good friends.
"...and wait ... More masts! Directly ahead! Two ... no, four!"
What?
"...and three more to the south!"
I grab the long glass from its rack and loop the lanyard around my neck and race up the mizzenmast ratline and into the top to train the glass to the west. There they are ... and their colors are coming into view. Damn! They fly the Tricolor! It is the French!
"Beat to Quarters!" I cry. "Clear for action!"
There is instant pandemonium below as the Dauntless prepares for battle. I hear shouts and orders and the sound of whistle and a drum. I whip my glass around to the right and look to the south ... can't quite see their flags yet... now ... there ... my heart sinks—they are part of the same French squadron. We are in deep trouble...
In the rush of the men to their stations below, I see Davy and shout, "Davy! Man the top! We're gonna turn north!" With that I plummet hand over hand back down to the deck.
"All topmen aloft to make sail!" bellows Davy on his way up the mainmast.
"What should I do, Miss?" asks Private Kent, confused as to where his duty lies. "I'm supposed to go into the top, as a marksman."
"Go to your station, Billy," I say. "The Jacky Watch is over." And probably for good.
The Battle-Stations Watch is now on the quarterdeck—sort of. We have the Bo'sun himself, several messengers, and a boy who had been beating on a drum waiting till the word manned and ready from all stations has been reported, but we have no First Mate and no Sailing Master.
I put my mouth to the speaking tube. "Captain! You must come up! We have the French on two sides of us, and they have the weather gauge! I am altering course to the north!"
I turn to the helmsman and say, "Left Full Rudder!"
The helmsman hesitates and looks to the Bo'sun. After all, I am a girl, and they have not yet seen me in this position, so I must realize that and not get mad even though I know we are in a desperate fix and they'd better hurry up.
The Bo'sun sizes up the situation—the French fleet to the west and to the south—and nods, so the helmsman puts the wheel over and the Dauntless turns her head, presents her tail to the enemy, and heads for Mother England.
"Steer due north, Helmsman, straight and true as if your life depends on it." As it very well might.
The wind is from the southeast and could not be better suited to the enemy—they are upwind of us and that spells disaster; they can maneuver freely, while we must claw into the wind; they can bring their broadside to bear on us while we only fire our bow chaser or stern gun. The ships to our south have already turned to cut off any chance of our escaping to the west. The south coast of England is north of us and I figure it would be best to try to escape in that direction—better to go north with the wind on our starboard quarter and run aground on good British rocks than to be taken by the bloody French.
There is no answer from the Captain. I shout down the tube again but again get no response.
"Bo'sun Cargill. Send a messenger down to get Dr. Sebastian. Tell him to bring Stritch and a stretcher. And gather a party of men up here right now."
The Bo'sun knuckles his brow, and two of the messengers go off. I lift the glass for another look at the enemy. Because of our turning they are, of course, much closer, only about three miles away. They know who we are, and they want us. It will be a coup for them to pluck a British frigate from within the very waters of Britannia herself. Well, we shall see about that.
The sails are set, the course is drawn, and we are running for all we are worth when the Doctor appears on the deck, as does a group of seamen, awaiting orders.
"Doctor," I say, "you must go get the Captain and bring him up here."
"Captain Hudson is sick...,"says Dr. Sebastian,"...and I have given him a dose of laudanum to ease his suffering. He cannot get up."
Damn! Tincture of opium. So often my friend and ally, but, oh, no, not this time!
"Listen to me, Doctor. You have been very good to me, but I know the Navy and if you do not want your friend Captain Hudson stripped of his rank or worse, you will have him brought to the quarterdeck right now! There is going to be an action and he must be on his own quarterdeck!"
The Doctor's face darkens, but he turns to Stritch. "Let us bring up the Captain."
Stritch lifts the stretcher and takes a sailor with him and follows the Doctor into the Captain's cabin.
"Bo'sun, send your men down into the officers' berth and bring them up. I speak for the Captain, and I give your men permission to lay their hands upon them."
"But—"
"But, nothing. I don't care if they are dead. Pick them up and place them at their stations. They will thank you for it later, if any of us survive this thing. Now go do it!"
He orders his men to do so and they go below.
From up forward, from the hatchway above the midshipmen's berth, I spy a figure emerging. It is Joseph Jared, staggering aft, his jacket on but unbuttoned, his face a very unhealthy shade of green. His cocky grin is not in place. He manages to gain the quarterdeck stairs, and I reach down to grab an arm and help him get up.
"I heard the drumbeat ... to Quarters," he says, trying to keep his head up. He looks at me standing here in my rig. "What the hell happened ... What are you doing here ... What the hell is going on?"
Two men appear, carrying Mr. Bennett. They bring him onto the quarterdeck and prop him against the rail, and then leave to carry more officers to their battle stations. Little good they will do there, but there they must be.
"Everyone who ate of last night's fish is sick," I say to Jared. "The Captain made me Officer of the Deck, being the last regular officer standing. A French squadron has fallen upon us, to the west, you see them there? And to the south. You see them, too? Good. I thought it best to turn north toward England, and that is what I have done. We are on Course 000, due north."
He staggers to the rail and looks out across the water. Then he looks up at the set of sails. Then he nods. "You did well."
At that moment the Captain, lying on a stretcher, is brought to his quarterdeck.
"Sit him up," says the Doctor. "I want to give him some stimulants." He uncaps a vial under the Captain's nose, and when the Captain's eyes fly open, Dr. Sebastian puts a cup to his lips. The Captain looks about, amazed, but then his eyes roll back and he passes out again. It is no use. It is up to Joseph Jared and me.
"Joseph, if we can get to land, maybe we can slip into an inlet and yet get away," I say to Jared, who now that he's been out in the air for a while, seems to be recovering somewhat. I suspect, also, that the amount of that damned fish a man downed last night is in direct proportion to how sick he is today. I'm guessing that my Sailing Master ate very little.
"Right. I think we are probably due south of Penzance. The Isles of Scilly ... or St. Mary's Isle are out there, too. If we can get in sight of any of them, the Froggies'll turn back."
"Should we lighten ship?"
He nods and so do I.
"Bo'sun," I say. "Lighten ship."
He nods and gives orders to his men. The hatches are opened and all cargo, all stores, all casks of rum, all everything is thrown overboard so as to increase our speed. The bulkheads of the officers' cabins, all the long tables, chairs, anchors, chains, chicken cages, and cows if we had 'em, everything goes. 'Cause it all ain't gonna mean anything if we are caught or sunk. I'm sure my seabag goes, as well as the walls of my room, my bed, my picture of Jaimy ... All gone...
An hour later, the Bo'sun reappears. "We've lightened all we can. What about the guns?"
"Not yet, but have the men ready."
The Dauntless is a swift sailer, but several of the smaller enemy ships are even faster, so they steadily gain on us. They will soon be in range of our Long Tom stern guns. Of course that means we are in range of their guns, too, and sure enough we see a puff of smoke appear under the bowsprit of the lead pursuer, followed by a low boooommmm rolling across the water. The shot falls short, but not by much.