Edward Burr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
morethanhonour) wrote2012-12-09 08:22 pm
morethanhonour) wrote2012-12-09 08:22 pm
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The Price of Glory - Chapter Twenty-Three
The Price of Glory
Book Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Paul Lanard tried to not even breathe too loudly. The oars of his jolly boat sounded like they crashed into the water with every push forward, but the dark figure in the gig two strokes ahead did not turn his head to issue a warning for quiet as he had to Houlton, the master’s mate, when they’d set out. Paul forced himself to relax his grip on the tiller. Otherwise, he might jerk rather than glide, and that would set them all at odds.
His heart was racing. Was this the thrill of coming action? The call to battle poets praised, felt in the very depths of the soul? It certainly made itself known in his chest, pressing against his lungs as if to render him unable to take in air, yet it scarcely disturbed him. The true importance of everything was clear, and his senses were almost faultless. How loud his men were, nothing like the captain’s dozen, who seemed to have been turned to stone as God Himself guided the boat through the water. The waxing sliver of moonlight seemed to illuminate everything about the sixteen-gun Spanish xebec Relampago, yet their approach seemed to be unnoticed as of yet.
Paul wondered briefly, as stroke after stroke made him want to shout and be done with the whole matter, if this was what it felt like to know death was coming. The captain had his twelve men. He had Houlton had ten each. All totalled together, they had thirty-five men, and the xebec was crewed by nearly two-hundred. All of them were here by choice. Captain Burr had expressed that he knew none of them were coward. Even so, it would be as vital to guard Diligent as to try and take the prize, so he wanted only those most willing to try this dangerous venture, and he had raised the call for volunteers.
The first voice to answer him was John Land. She was at an oar now in Paul’s boat, pushing and pulling for all she was worth. Her example had spurred the other Diligents to act, much to what had seemed to be Cobb’s displeasure. Paul knew very well that the first lieutenant did not expect them to return alive.
Every fear and doubt silenced when Captain Burr’s boat stopped just larboard of the ship. He got to his feet, silhouetted by the moonlight. As the officer looked up, profile in shadow and brass buttons gleaming silver, Paul thought of all the heroic scenes portrayed throughout history. He fixed the image in his mind, etched it, and burned it. Anything he could to remember it. His fingers ached for a piece of charcoal, and he found himself miming sketching movements against the tiller. At a signal from his captain, Paul remembered himself and motioned to his boat’s crew. He watched his captain find his footing with the stern before he was off to starboard, too far forward to have a view of the others. Houlton would be off the larboard side in a similar position. Apart but together in spirit, they watched the Spanish banner.
Paul watched his pocket watch, the face of which he could only just make out. Two of fifteen allotted minutes had passed, and the flag remained. Twelve minutes, then, until he was to withdraw if there was no change. He heard no commotion, which spoke, at least, to the relative safety of his captain and his party. His stomach ached too much, now, twisted in upon itself and tightening with every second. He would surely be ill soon and throw them all into danger. What sort of change overcame men when they were commissioned? Surely there was some magic in those papers, for they could not suffer so before battle.
Finally, he saw it. The flag dipped once, briefly, as if there was just a small upset of its cord. Paul took one breath and grasped the side of the ship. Houlton had the easier task, sealing the entry port side, but Paul felt he made good time in his ascent. His venture onto the ship was less than elegant, as his left foot became entangled in cording, and he tripped. Only the fast hand of John Land kept him from tumbling all together. He managed a nod of gratitude, but she never saw it, too focused.
It seemed as if he had only blinked once before she and three of his crew were running the rigging of the mainmast to loose the sails. Some of Captain Burr’s men were sawing with their knives at the anchor cable. Houlton had four men quietly removing the gratings between the spardeck and the one below. The other men lined up larboard with Houlton in the centre, and Paul did the same with his men starboard. Four of the captain’s men joined him to even the number. The other six divided evenly forward and aft to complete the box.
Captain Burr put his left index finger to his lips and drew his sword with his right. Every man followed suit, and Paul marvelled that the Spanish hadn’t wakened from the beating of his heart. He saw the five bodies on the deck, the men charged with guarding their fellows. Three lay clean, but two wallowed in drying pools of their own blood. One cut throat and one stab in the back. He half wondered who had done what but quickly decided he was better to not know such things. In silence, they waited for their captain to act. Paul, at least, felt like it took hours for Captain Burr to draw his pistol with his off-hand and pull the hammer to full-cock.
The gunshot was as loud as any ship’s fun or shore battery cannon. Paul shuddered, and the deck below came to life with the sounds of chaos and confusion. Captain Burr lowered his pistol, and every man few his pistol with his left hand and brought it to full-cock. Like Captain Burr said during the explanation of the plan, the Spanish need not know whether they were all marksmen of piss-poor shots with the left. No one was to fire without his express command. They could not take Relampago by a mere show of brute force. It required at least some slight finesse, as much cunning as daring.
“Senors,” Captain Burr said in poorly accented but still understandable Spanish. His French was far better. Paul knew both well, an education his father had assured him would take him far. “This ship now belongs to His Britannic Majesty, King George III. If you will send your commanding officer to me, I shall see no harm befalls you.” He sounded so calm, as though he were extending an invitation to tea. “Every man on board has four choices now. You may allow my men to escort you to the boats so you might row to shore, you may stay as my guests then as guests in a Gibraltar prison, you may swear your allegiance to my king and work this ship, or you may oppose us and doom yourself and many of your fellows in the process.” He paused, adding to the effect. “I am a patient man. You have five minutes, every one of you, to produce your captain and choose.”
The captain never appeared, but after fifteen minutes, Relampago had no boats, only the initial five dead, and a crew of forty-two, including the three English officers. Paul kept his surprise to himself that Captain Burr was not more troubled by the Spanish captain’s absence from his ship or failure to come forward.
‡ ‡ ‡
Joseph clasped Edward’s hand to half haul him up through the entry port. He held his friend’s shoulder firmly, and they shared a grin. Edward moved aside, and Joseph took two steps to follow him. The glint in Edward’s eye meant good news.
“Spanish signals and orders and letters,” he whispered. Joseph let himself smile again. “Come to my cabin tonight. We’ll go through them, page by page.” It was all he could do not to embrace Edward then, but Joseph was aware of the eyes on them, particularly those of Cobb. He clapped Edward again on the arm then withdrew. There was no way not to grin, though.
He took too much pleasure, Joseph was sure, in Edward’s triumph. A new anchor was a small expense compared to not just the information the xebec carried but the stock, too. She was a fine ship, truly, and he would not be surprised if a proper search of her hold revealed hidden cargo, valuable things she ought not to have been carrying. To see Edward worshipped was another thought to warm his heart. The prize would endear him to the admiral, but the effect on the men could not go unseen. They granted him proper distance, but every eye held awe now, not ambivalence. The final joy came from Cobb. He looked sour, as well he ought. For all his scepticism and disapproval, the young captain had returned with every man alive and the prize in tow. Joseph felt it was a good lesson for him, but he also knew the warning signs of a squall. Before they found themselves in a tempest, he would see Edward on a new ship.
All that mattered for now was that they reached Gibraltar in one piece. He could see to the rest.
‡ ‡ ‡
Relampago needed a prize cred. Edward felt disinclined to waste time. The Spanish would know soon what had occurred. Both prize and Diligent, he knew too well, would be best served by being far away as quickly as possible. Thank God both ships were built for speed rather than power.
“Mister Lanard,” he called. The young man saluted. He looked like a proper officer now, flushed and with shining eyes. He could not spare his lieutenant, and he knew the importance of rewarding even just the service of volunteering. “I will copy the Spanish recognition signals for you, then you are to choose a crew of nine and take command of Relampago. Sail her to Gibraltar. Do not engage unless you must and fly her Spanish colours until you are under the protection of the harbour at Gibraltar.”
The young man stared at him, stunned into silence for a few seconds. Edward nearly laughed. Had he looked so when Captain Caldwell gave him his first command? He was sure Captain Orr— when that was still his rank— had received that look from him often. No wonder they had given him the smiles they had. He was too young to feel any paternal pride in his midshipman, but he could imagine Lanard as a younger brother and feel all the affection he imagined a sibling inspired.
Even Mister Cobb’s foul disposition could not mar the thrill of his success. Edward thanked his men again then withdrew to his cabin. First, he saw to copying all the signals Lanard might need should he encounter a French or Spanish ship. Once those were dispatched and the prize crew seen off— John Land among them, Edward would miss knowing she was on board— he returned to prepare for Joseph’s visit.
‡ ‡ ‡
Prize hunting, depriving them of ten good hands, and now flaunting his already blatant violation of Navy, King, and God’s law. Never before, Vivian inwardly raged, had a commander been so much trouble in so short a time. Only a bullet, blade, or noose could wait for Burr. It would not happen on this ship. Whatever must be done to avoid such a thing, he would do without delay.
For four days, they had sailed just out of sight of the Spanish coast. Every man, he knew, had been told to watch for sails. Vivian knew now that even once Burr was gone, Diligent would find it difficult to restore her order. Greed had been awakened in the men, and Vivian knew the serpent and fruit too well. Gold was the cause of every sin, and any man with sense knew it, yet Burr had taught his once prudent crew to love money and desire more. Only action would gain them money. Only money would gain them women and drink. For so long, they had been only minimally plagued by those vices. Vivian knew they would spread, the same as any other illness, and it would fall to him alone to purge the ship of all its evil again.
He cursed Burr for the third time that night. How cosy he must be, nestled in his cabin night after night with his surgeon, destroying himself with illegal pleasures. Depravity could only breed depravity. He should have expected nothing else. In even the best litters, sometimes there were puppies with such defects that it was kinder to drown them at once. It was too late for that, and to effect it now would cost his ship its reputation. So, he would settle for getting them gone.
“Sail ho,” a topman called. “Three points off the larboard bow!”
Vivian snapped to attention instantly. He hurried forward, extending his glass before he had even stopped. The hull was just clearing the horizon as he fixed her location. She was a three-masted frigate flying a Spanish flag. Cadiz, he at once assumed, had been her last port of call. What a cruel God, he thought, to put three Spanish ports so near Gibraltar.
What did this mean for Relampago? For Lanard? Had they passed undetected? Were they dead? There were no prizes in tow, so recapture was unlikely, at least. If those men were dead, he would wait until Burr and Clay were safely the cause of shame for another ship then expose them. Foolish pride that got good men— and a woman, besides— killed deserved a harsh death, and he would see true justice done.
But he was officer of the watch, and a twenty-something— to judge by her size— enemy was bearing closer every second. They could try to fly French colours, but if any man saw their uniforms, the ruse would be for naught. Evasion was possible, but it would require vast amounts of luck. Missing ten, battle would only slow down what must be a quick flight. Still, if they seemed unprepared and shy, they would only buy themselves far greater trouble. He knew what he had to do.
“Beat to quarters!” Vivian shouted. All about him, the motionless crew sprang to life again. The call was passed as a marine beat his drum. Gun crews lined up and prepared their stations for combat. Though the commotion would surely summon him, Vivian called to the nearby master’s mate, “Mister Houlton! My compliments to the captain, enemy ship approaching and would he please come on deck.”
Book Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Paul Lanard tried to not even breathe too loudly. The oars of his jolly boat sounded like they crashed into the water with every push forward, but the dark figure in the gig two strokes ahead did not turn his head to issue a warning for quiet as he had to Houlton, the master’s mate, when they’d set out. Paul forced himself to relax his grip on the tiller. Otherwise, he might jerk rather than glide, and that would set them all at odds.
His heart was racing. Was this the thrill of coming action? The call to battle poets praised, felt in the very depths of the soul? It certainly made itself known in his chest, pressing against his lungs as if to render him unable to take in air, yet it scarcely disturbed him. The true importance of everything was clear, and his senses were almost faultless. How loud his men were, nothing like the captain’s dozen, who seemed to have been turned to stone as God Himself guided the boat through the water. The waxing sliver of moonlight seemed to illuminate everything about the sixteen-gun Spanish xebec Relampago, yet their approach seemed to be unnoticed as of yet.
Paul wondered briefly, as stroke after stroke made him want to shout and be done with the whole matter, if this was what it felt like to know death was coming. The captain had his twelve men. He had Houlton had ten each. All totalled together, they had thirty-five men, and the xebec was crewed by nearly two-hundred. All of them were here by choice. Captain Burr had expressed that he knew none of them were coward. Even so, it would be as vital to guard Diligent as to try and take the prize, so he wanted only those most willing to try this dangerous venture, and he had raised the call for volunteers.
The first voice to answer him was John Land. She was at an oar now in Paul’s boat, pushing and pulling for all she was worth. Her example had spurred the other Diligents to act, much to what had seemed to be Cobb’s displeasure. Paul knew very well that the first lieutenant did not expect them to return alive.
Every fear and doubt silenced when Captain Burr’s boat stopped just larboard of the ship. He got to his feet, silhouetted by the moonlight. As the officer looked up, profile in shadow and brass buttons gleaming silver, Paul thought of all the heroic scenes portrayed throughout history. He fixed the image in his mind, etched it, and burned it. Anything he could to remember it. His fingers ached for a piece of charcoal, and he found himself miming sketching movements against the tiller. At a signal from his captain, Paul remembered himself and motioned to his boat’s crew. He watched his captain find his footing with the stern before he was off to starboard, too far forward to have a view of the others. Houlton would be off the larboard side in a similar position. Apart but together in spirit, they watched the Spanish banner.
Paul watched his pocket watch, the face of which he could only just make out. Two of fifteen allotted minutes had passed, and the flag remained. Twelve minutes, then, until he was to withdraw if there was no change. He heard no commotion, which spoke, at least, to the relative safety of his captain and his party. His stomach ached too much, now, twisted in upon itself and tightening with every second. He would surely be ill soon and throw them all into danger. What sort of change overcame men when they were commissioned? Surely there was some magic in those papers, for they could not suffer so before battle.
Finally, he saw it. The flag dipped once, briefly, as if there was just a small upset of its cord. Paul took one breath and grasped the side of the ship. Houlton had the easier task, sealing the entry port side, but Paul felt he made good time in his ascent. His venture onto the ship was less than elegant, as his left foot became entangled in cording, and he tripped. Only the fast hand of John Land kept him from tumbling all together. He managed a nod of gratitude, but she never saw it, too focused.
It seemed as if he had only blinked once before she and three of his crew were running the rigging of the mainmast to loose the sails. Some of Captain Burr’s men were sawing with their knives at the anchor cable. Houlton had four men quietly removing the gratings between the spardeck and the one below. The other men lined up larboard with Houlton in the centre, and Paul did the same with his men starboard. Four of the captain’s men joined him to even the number. The other six divided evenly forward and aft to complete the box.
Captain Burr put his left index finger to his lips and drew his sword with his right. Every man followed suit, and Paul marvelled that the Spanish hadn’t wakened from the beating of his heart. He saw the five bodies on the deck, the men charged with guarding their fellows. Three lay clean, but two wallowed in drying pools of their own blood. One cut throat and one stab in the back. He half wondered who had done what but quickly decided he was better to not know such things. In silence, they waited for their captain to act. Paul, at least, felt like it took hours for Captain Burr to draw his pistol with his off-hand and pull the hammer to full-cock.
The gunshot was as loud as any ship’s fun or shore battery cannon. Paul shuddered, and the deck below came to life with the sounds of chaos and confusion. Captain Burr lowered his pistol, and every man few his pistol with his left hand and brought it to full-cock. Like Captain Burr said during the explanation of the plan, the Spanish need not know whether they were all marksmen of piss-poor shots with the left. No one was to fire without his express command. They could not take Relampago by a mere show of brute force. It required at least some slight finesse, as much cunning as daring.
“Senors,” Captain Burr said in poorly accented but still understandable Spanish. His French was far better. Paul knew both well, an education his father had assured him would take him far. “This ship now belongs to His Britannic Majesty, King George III. If you will send your commanding officer to me, I shall see no harm befalls you.” He sounded so calm, as though he were extending an invitation to tea. “Every man on board has four choices now. You may allow my men to escort you to the boats so you might row to shore, you may stay as my guests then as guests in a Gibraltar prison, you may swear your allegiance to my king and work this ship, or you may oppose us and doom yourself and many of your fellows in the process.” He paused, adding to the effect. “I am a patient man. You have five minutes, every one of you, to produce your captain and choose.”
The captain never appeared, but after fifteen minutes, Relampago had no boats, only the initial five dead, and a crew of forty-two, including the three English officers. Paul kept his surprise to himself that Captain Burr was not more troubled by the Spanish captain’s absence from his ship or failure to come forward.
‡ ‡ ‡
Joseph clasped Edward’s hand to half haul him up through the entry port. He held his friend’s shoulder firmly, and they shared a grin. Edward moved aside, and Joseph took two steps to follow him. The glint in Edward’s eye meant good news.
“Spanish signals and orders and letters,” he whispered. Joseph let himself smile again. “Come to my cabin tonight. We’ll go through them, page by page.” It was all he could do not to embrace Edward then, but Joseph was aware of the eyes on them, particularly those of Cobb. He clapped Edward again on the arm then withdrew. There was no way not to grin, though.
He took too much pleasure, Joseph was sure, in Edward’s triumph. A new anchor was a small expense compared to not just the information the xebec carried but the stock, too. She was a fine ship, truly, and he would not be surprised if a proper search of her hold revealed hidden cargo, valuable things she ought not to have been carrying. To see Edward worshipped was another thought to warm his heart. The prize would endear him to the admiral, but the effect on the men could not go unseen. They granted him proper distance, but every eye held awe now, not ambivalence. The final joy came from Cobb. He looked sour, as well he ought. For all his scepticism and disapproval, the young captain had returned with every man alive and the prize in tow. Joseph felt it was a good lesson for him, but he also knew the warning signs of a squall. Before they found themselves in a tempest, he would see Edward on a new ship.
All that mattered for now was that they reached Gibraltar in one piece. He could see to the rest.
‡ ‡ ‡
Relampago needed a prize cred. Edward felt disinclined to waste time. The Spanish would know soon what had occurred. Both prize and Diligent, he knew too well, would be best served by being far away as quickly as possible. Thank God both ships were built for speed rather than power.
“Mister Lanard,” he called. The young man saluted. He looked like a proper officer now, flushed and with shining eyes. He could not spare his lieutenant, and he knew the importance of rewarding even just the service of volunteering. “I will copy the Spanish recognition signals for you, then you are to choose a crew of nine and take command of Relampago. Sail her to Gibraltar. Do not engage unless you must and fly her Spanish colours until you are under the protection of the harbour at Gibraltar.”
The young man stared at him, stunned into silence for a few seconds. Edward nearly laughed. Had he looked so when Captain Caldwell gave him his first command? He was sure Captain Orr— when that was still his rank— had received that look from him often. No wonder they had given him the smiles they had. He was too young to feel any paternal pride in his midshipman, but he could imagine Lanard as a younger brother and feel all the affection he imagined a sibling inspired.
Even Mister Cobb’s foul disposition could not mar the thrill of his success. Edward thanked his men again then withdrew to his cabin. First, he saw to copying all the signals Lanard might need should he encounter a French or Spanish ship. Once those were dispatched and the prize crew seen off— John Land among them, Edward would miss knowing she was on board— he returned to prepare for Joseph’s visit.
‡ ‡ ‡
Prize hunting, depriving them of ten good hands, and now flaunting his already blatant violation of Navy, King, and God’s law. Never before, Vivian inwardly raged, had a commander been so much trouble in so short a time. Only a bullet, blade, or noose could wait for Burr. It would not happen on this ship. Whatever must be done to avoid such a thing, he would do without delay.
For four days, they had sailed just out of sight of the Spanish coast. Every man, he knew, had been told to watch for sails. Vivian knew now that even once Burr was gone, Diligent would find it difficult to restore her order. Greed had been awakened in the men, and Vivian knew the serpent and fruit too well. Gold was the cause of every sin, and any man with sense knew it, yet Burr had taught his once prudent crew to love money and desire more. Only action would gain them money. Only money would gain them women and drink. For so long, they had been only minimally plagued by those vices. Vivian knew they would spread, the same as any other illness, and it would fall to him alone to purge the ship of all its evil again.
He cursed Burr for the third time that night. How cosy he must be, nestled in his cabin night after night with his surgeon, destroying himself with illegal pleasures. Depravity could only breed depravity. He should have expected nothing else. In even the best litters, sometimes there were puppies with such defects that it was kinder to drown them at once. It was too late for that, and to effect it now would cost his ship its reputation. So, he would settle for getting them gone.
“Sail ho,” a topman called. “Three points off the larboard bow!”
Vivian snapped to attention instantly. He hurried forward, extending his glass before he had even stopped. The hull was just clearing the horizon as he fixed her location. She was a three-masted frigate flying a Spanish flag. Cadiz, he at once assumed, had been her last port of call. What a cruel God, he thought, to put three Spanish ports so near Gibraltar.
What did this mean for Relampago? For Lanard? Had they passed undetected? Were they dead? There were no prizes in tow, so recapture was unlikely, at least. If those men were dead, he would wait until Burr and Clay were safely the cause of shame for another ship then expose them. Foolish pride that got good men— and a woman, besides— killed deserved a harsh death, and he would see true justice done.
But he was officer of the watch, and a twenty-something— to judge by her size— enemy was bearing closer every second. They could try to fly French colours, but if any man saw their uniforms, the ruse would be for naught. Evasion was possible, but it would require vast amounts of luck. Missing ten, battle would only slow down what must be a quick flight. Still, if they seemed unprepared and shy, they would only buy themselves far greater trouble. He knew what he had to do.
“Beat to quarters!” Vivian shouted. All about him, the motionless crew sprang to life again. The call was passed as a marine beat his drum. Gun crews lined up and prepared their stations for combat. Though the commotion would surely summon him, Vivian called to the nearby master’s mate, “Mister Houlton! My compliments to the captain, enemy ship approaching and would he please come on deck.”