Edward Burr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
morethanhonour) wrote2012-12-02 05:04 pm
morethanhonour) wrote2012-12-02 05:04 pm
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The Price of Glory - Chapter Five
More than Honour
Book Two: The Price of Glory
Chapter Five
They were bound for England. Their course was obvious to almost every man. Not that it was unwelcome. Small infractions— which were more differing styles of leadership— saw the lieutenants having their watches doubled. The crew was worked hard, and while the officers tried not to take out their misery on blameless fellows, it happened. Three men were put on the defaulters’ list within four days: one for drunkenness, another for falling asleep on watch, and the third for insubordination. Marlon was the most innocent. He had made a crass but harmless comment to Long, meant as a jest. He had been out of line, Edward knew, but it had deserved only a rebuke privately, which Long had been about to administer. Hawke, on edge from the captain’s growing obsession with finding fault in Long, had escalated the situation. Before the captain, Long had spoken for Marlon. The captain had sentenced him to a dozen at the grating.
The time left until they made port in England, Edward tried to assure himself, was not long enough for the whispers that silence when an officer was near and got the man a look of uncertain consideration, to become action. Still, Edward knew that if too much more happened, he and his fellow lieutenants would have to say the word every ship feared, the word that, in this climate, might lead to nooses from the yardarm, rather than a proper court martial. If they did not reach port soon, they would have to discuss what to do if there was mutiny.
Edward sunk into his chair in the wardroom. Hawke had an old Gazette in hand, and Long had, apparently, been reading letters. He had fallen asleep, though, his head propped on his hand. Hawke nodded a greeting.
“How long, do you think?”
Edward shook his head. “At six knots due north? Half an hour at best.”
“You’ve tried to tell the captain?” Long, it seemed, had not been quite asleep. His face showed the effects of his lengthy watches, though, and Edward wanted to offer to take his turn for the night, let the man get eight hours of sleep. He knew not to offer; the captain’s wrath would negate if not outweigh any temporary benefit for Long.
Edward sighed. “I was called to his cabin and damn near accused of cowardice.”
“Christ,” Hawke muttered. “Who has the watch now?”
“Craig.” The captain’s temperament made idle talk scarce, even between the lieutenants and the midshipmen under them. Still, Edward had managed a few conversations with his old friend, and they’d promised to speak properly once on shore leave. “I told him to send for us in fifteen minutes and the captain in twenty.” He knew it bordered on an act of mutiny, and, judging from their expressions, Hawke and Long knew it, too. What else would he do? If they knew first, they could order preparations for the coming storm before Orr could contradict them and, out of nothing Edward could discern save spite, doom them all.
Long pinched the bridge of his nose. Edward knew it would have to be said now. If they ignored the problem through the storm, it might prove too late. He watched Hawke meet Long’s eyes. Back to their silent conversations. Yet, Edward was no longer as oblivious. Stress had a way of clarifying this, he’d found. He saw the debate. They were of the same mind as him. It was for the best they spoke now. The differences in their temperaments showed in their eyes. Long wanted to urge patience and caution. Hawke seemed nearly ready to outright join the crew if they rose against Orr. Secretly, Edward was tempted by the same thought.
Before anyone could present the subject, a very junior midshipman appeared. Canning was the sickly fourth son of a baronet, sent to sea by his father to fortify him. Edward could claim no great familiarity with him, but Long seemed to have taken to him. In these times, Edward was forced to admit, they all had their boys. The could not be sure their captain would see to their interests, so among themselves and without any real discussion, the young warrant officers had been divvied up into three groups, one for each lieutenant to look after. Canning was no able seaman, and Edward doubted he ever would be. Still, he was a good lad who did his best at the tasks he was set to. Edward had never heard him utter one complaint through all of this.
“Mister Craig’s compliments, sir,” he managed, barely heard. His superiors were sympathetic and saved instructions to speak up for another time. “Will you kindly come on deck?”
“Tell Mister Craig we will come presently,” Hawke replied. The boy hurried away, and the lieutenants shared a long look. Whatever they had wanted to discuss would have to wait until after this passed. God willing they had that long.
‡ ‡ ‡
David swore as the wind swept his hat from his head, but it was pointless to try and recover the object. Burr’s estimated thirty minutes proved incorrect. Not that he held him at fault. It was not a feat he could have achieved either, and the guess had been close enough to have them ready. In these precious moments while the captain was being summoned, all the lieutenants were calling orders: shorten sail, three points larboard, lifelines. The storm was as fierce as it was sudden, and every crack of lightning upped the urgency with which the officers and crew moved.
He had seen it only once, one of the tall masts of a great first-rate frigate struck by a bolt. The mast had caught fire and fallen at the same time. That was a sight he would never forget, and he desperately hoped not to see it again. He watched the ratings scurry up the rigging, walk along the yardarms and their footropes to secure the sails. One man almost slipped, but he regained his balance before he could fall. A storm at sea was almost routine, but the moral made David wary. The rain would not be enough to snuff out the spark among tinder if there was some accident, he feared.
Revelation needed the grace of God to bring her through this tempest without plunging them into a worse one.
“Mister Craig!” David flinched as Captain Orr’s voice echoed above the din. “There are seven men on the foremainsail. I want it eight.”
Craig called back in the affirmative. David watched the young man run the rigging, hurrying to take his place at the end of the yardarm. One of Burr’s boys, even after his absence, but that wasn’t surprising. Burr’s departure and the stir created by the news of the Nile had only heightened Craig’s opinion, as could be expected. Alexander Ball had personally noted Burr’s conduct. His own reluctance to speak of that action spoke to the worth of what he’d done, as far as David was concerned. The more words a man spent, the cheaper his actions. For all his sometimes excessive eagerness and slight temper, Craig could do worse for an example to model himself and his service after than Edward Burr.
David looked aft, where Burr was overseeing the quarterdeck and mizzenmast. He had noticed his friend’s perilous climb, particularly as the small figure was illuminated by a flash of lightning. Two seconds later, the ship shook with the thunder. To his credit, Burr was trying not to allow himself to get distracted. The mainmast was Gregory’s to worry about, and David was charged with the foremast. So long as the boy kept a tight hold, he’d be safe, and David knew he’d been at sea long enough to know that. His worry, therefore, stayed slight.
He knew, though, that anything could change at any moment. The ship pitched, but the midshipman and division he’d joined stayed stable, tying their knots. The topgallant crews were coming down then safely on deck, hurried below for a bit of relief from the downpour.
“Why are there only seven men in that division, Mister Long?” He had not heard Orr approach, and a knot twisted in his stomach. “They are one of yours, are they not?”
They both knew the answer. Of course they were his men. That was why he was overseeing this mast. Sarcasm, though, would only make the situation worse. It was better to be polite and offer little resistance. Hopefully this would be over by the time they docked or shortly after. Could this man not see his men were whispering amongst themselves? Did he not know he had given his lieutenants no cause to stand with him should the worst happen? He steadied himself with a deep breath and a half sigh.
“Jenks is in the sickbay, sir. He came down with a fever two days ago.” Whether Orr truly did not know or merely wanted him to say it, David was not sure. The man he had sailed to Kingston with had been a proper, distant captain, but he had cared for his men and shown due attention to his officers. What had happened last in London, he did not know, but he hoped it could be settled on this trip to England. There would be no peace for anyone otherwise. What could cause such a change?
Orr eyed him with a look that put every sense on alert. It was a cold gaze, the way a privateer might eye a prize. He was being valued and found wanting. What had he done, he wondered, to merit such treatment? And what would Gregory do if it did not cease? Surely he knew better, knew how much worse it could be, but David worried.
‡ ‡ ‡
Were it any other man standing there, Gregory would send David to the mainmast and take charge of the foremast. That would set them both so much more at ease. However, it was the captain. Whatever row he had with David would not be so easily splintered. Besides, another implication or outright accusation against them would have to be answered on shore. It would wait until shore, at least. Orr’s foul disposition of late had not cost him his sanity, at least.
Besides, Gregory reassured himself, David was only ill at ease. Even in this rain, he could see his second lieutenant shift his weight with his hands behind his back. If the situation were worse, he would be as still as the marble statues in his father’s garden, and his hands would hang at his sides. That posture, Gregory knew, would have him butting in— captain or not.
They just had to sight land. Every problem on this ship might be relieved on shore. Or, God forbid, come to a head. One way or another, this tension needed to break. If Orr would not allow them some peace, Gregory was ready to wash his hands of whatever might befall him. Hell, if he dared press further with David, if his mind was daring to concoct any ideas of further, more personal demands on David, Gregory could not promise he would not settle matters personally. He wasn’t too worried about that, he supposed. Orr never struck him as that sort, but he had learned from his years with David that he was best not to assume about anyone. Still, he wanted to assume for his peace of mind and David’s continued well-being.
In the next second, every hypothetical fear fled. There was only sudden, stark reality to contend with. A bolt of lightning struck the mainmast. The flames started despite the rain, and the force of the blow sent it toppling forward. Gregory shouted, and the forecastle crew, Orr and David included, quickly scattered. Burr was calling for men on the pump and the fire buckets. Some men hurried to obey, but most were awestruck at the continuing carnage as the mast fell.
It struck the topyard of the foremast. The men of the mainyard tried to flee, but they had only a few seconds before the foremast gave way, too. As both masts crashed, the crew reanimated. They rushed about, putting out the fire or freeing their injured, trapped friends and separating the still-living from the already-dead. Orr called for axes, and Burr delivered them. He kept one for himself and joined in the task of breaking the wreckage, desperately seeking Craig.
“Jon!” The unprofessional shout was pardoned by everyone. Craig’s only enemy on this ship might have been Orr, given his new inclination to opposing his lieutenants and, as consequence, their favourites. Even the captain, though, was searching for the missing midshipman and the last member of the division. Two were dead from the fall, one was badly burned, and three were severely injured. The last rating was uncovered, crushed between the two masts. Craig, too, was found when Burr ventured on top of the wreckage, toward the hidden bowspirit, and looked to starboard.
He had been hanged by the fallen rigging.
Book Two: The Price of Glory
Chapter Five
They were bound for England. Their course was obvious to almost every man. Not that it was unwelcome. Small infractions— which were more differing styles of leadership— saw the lieutenants having their watches doubled. The crew was worked hard, and while the officers tried not to take out their misery on blameless fellows, it happened. Three men were put on the defaulters’ list within four days: one for drunkenness, another for falling asleep on watch, and the third for insubordination. Marlon was the most innocent. He had made a crass but harmless comment to Long, meant as a jest. He had been out of line, Edward knew, but it had deserved only a rebuke privately, which Long had been about to administer. Hawke, on edge from the captain’s growing obsession with finding fault in Long, had escalated the situation. Before the captain, Long had spoken for Marlon. The captain had sentenced him to a dozen at the grating.
The time left until they made port in England, Edward tried to assure himself, was not long enough for the whispers that silence when an officer was near and got the man a look of uncertain consideration, to become action. Still, Edward knew that if too much more happened, he and his fellow lieutenants would have to say the word every ship feared, the word that, in this climate, might lead to nooses from the yardarm, rather than a proper court martial. If they did not reach port soon, they would have to discuss what to do if there was mutiny.
Edward sunk into his chair in the wardroom. Hawke had an old Gazette in hand, and Long had, apparently, been reading letters. He had fallen asleep, though, his head propped on his hand. Hawke nodded a greeting.
“How long, do you think?”
Edward shook his head. “At six knots due north? Half an hour at best.”
“You’ve tried to tell the captain?” Long, it seemed, had not been quite asleep. His face showed the effects of his lengthy watches, though, and Edward wanted to offer to take his turn for the night, let the man get eight hours of sleep. He knew not to offer; the captain’s wrath would negate if not outweigh any temporary benefit for Long.
Edward sighed. “I was called to his cabin and damn near accused of cowardice.”
“Christ,” Hawke muttered. “Who has the watch now?”
“Craig.” The captain’s temperament made idle talk scarce, even between the lieutenants and the midshipmen under them. Still, Edward had managed a few conversations with his old friend, and they’d promised to speak properly once on shore leave. “I told him to send for us in fifteen minutes and the captain in twenty.” He knew it bordered on an act of mutiny, and, judging from their expressions, Hawke and Long knew it, too. What else would he do? If they knew first, they could order preparations for the coming storm before Orr could contradict them and, out of nothing Edward could discern save spite, doom them all.
Long pinched the bridge of his nose. Edward knew it would have to be said now. If they ignored the problem through the storm, it might prove too late. He watched Hawke meet Long’s eyes. Back to their silent conversations. Yet, Edward was no longer as oblivious. Stress had a way of clarifying this, he’d found. He saw the debate. They were of the same mind as him. It was for the best they spoke now. The differences in their temperaments showed in their eyes. Long wanted to urge patience and caution. Hawke seemed nearly ready to outright join the crew if they rose against Orr. Secretly, Edward was tempted by the same thought.
Before anyone could present the subject, a very junior midshipman appeared. Canning was the sickly fourth son of a baronet, sent to sea by his father to fortify him. Edward could claim no great familiarity with him, but Long seemed to have taken to him. In these times, Edward was forced to admit, they all had their boys. The could not be sure their captain would see to their interests, so among themselves and without any real discussion, the young warrant officers had been divvied up into three groups, one for each lieutenant to look after. Canning was no able seaman, and Edward doubted he ever would be. Still, he was a good lad who did his best at the tasks he was set to. Edward had never heard him utter one complaint through all of this.
“Mister Craig’s compliments, sir,” he managed, barely heard. His superiors were sympathetic and saved instructions to speak up for another time. “Will you kindly come on deck?”
“Tell Mister Craig we will come presently,” Hawke replied. The boy hurried away, and the lieutenants shared a long look. Whatever they had wanted to discuss would have to wait until after this passed. God willing they had that long.
‡ ‡ ‡
David swore as the wind swept his hat from his head, but it was pointless to try and recover the object. Burr’s estimated thirty minutes proved incorrect. Not that he held him at fault. It was not a feat he could have achieved either, and the guess had been close enough to have them ready. In these precious moments while the captain was being summoned, all the lieutenants were calling orders: shorten sail, three points larboard, lifelines. The storm was as fierce as it was sudden, and every crack of lightning upped the urgency with which the officers and crew moved.
He had seen it only once, one of the tall masts of a great first-rate frigate struck by a bolt. The mast had caught fire and fallen at the same time. That was a sight he would never forget, and he desperately hoped not to see it again. He watched the ratings scurry up the rigging, walk along the yardarms and their footropes to secure the sails. One man almost slipped, but he regained his balance before he could fall. A storm at sea was almost routine, but the moral made David wary. The rain would not be enough to snuff out the spark among tinder if there was some accident, he feared.
Revelation needed the grace of God to bring her through this tempest without plunging them into a worse one.
“Mister Craig!” David flinched as Captain Orr’s voice echoed above the din. “There are seven men on the foremainsail. I want it eight.”
Craig called back in the affirmative. David watched the young man run the rigging, hurrying to take his place at the end of the yardarm. One of Burr’s boys, even after his absence, but that wasn’t surprising. Burr’s departure and the stir created by the news of the Nile had only heightened Craig’s opinion, as could be expected. Alexander Ball had personally noted Burr’s conduct. His own reluctance to speak of that action spoke to the worth of what he’d done, as far as David was concerned. The more words a man spent, the cheaper his actions. For all his sometimes excessive eagerness and slight temper, Craig could do worse for an example to model himself and his service after than Edward Burr.
David looked aft, where Burr was overseeing the quarterdeck and mizzenmast. He had noticed his friend’s perilous climb, particularly as the small figure was illuminated by a flash of lightning. Two seconds later, the ship shook with the thunder. To his credit, Burr was trying not to allow himself to get distracted. The mainmast was Gregory’s to worry about, and David was charged with the foremast. So long as the boy kept a tight hold, he’d be safe, and David knew he’d been at sea long enough to know that. His worry, therefore, stayed slight.
He knew, though, that anything could change at any moment. The ship pitched, but the midshipman and division he’d joined stayed stable, tying their knots. The topgallant crews were coming down then safely on deck, hurried below for a bit of relief from the downpour.
“Why are there only seven men in that division, Mister Long?” He had not heard Orr approach, and a knot twisted in his stomach. “They are one of yours, are they not?”
They both knew the answer. Of course they were his men. That was why he was overseeing this mast. Sarcasm, though, would only make the situation worse. It was better to be polite and offer little resistance. Hopefully this would be over by the time they docked or shortly after. Could this man not see his men were whispering amongst themselves? Did he not know he had given his lieutenants no cause to stand with him should the worst happen? He steadied himself with a deep breath and a half sigh.
“Jenks is in the sickbay, sir. He came down with a fever two days ago.” Whether Orr truly did not know or merely wanted him to say it, David was not sure. The man he had sailed to Kingston with had been a proper, distant captain, but he had cared for his men and shown due attention to his officers. What had happened last in London, he did not know, but he hoped it could be settled on this trip to England. There would be no peace for anyone otherwise. What could cause such a change?
Orr eyed him with a look that put every sense on alert. It was a cold gaze, the way a privateer might eye a prize. He was being valued and found wanting. What had he done, he wondered, to merit such treatment? And what would Gregory do if it did not cease? Surely he knew better, knew how much worse it could be, but David worried.
‡ ‡ ‡
Were it any other man standing there, Gregory would send David to the mainmast and take charge of the foremast. That would set them both so much more at ease. However, it was the captain. Whatever row he had with David would not be so easily splintered. Besides, another implication or outright accusation against them would have to be answered on shore. It would wait until shore, at least. Orr’s foul disposition of late had not cost him his sanity, at least.
Besides, Gregory reassured himself, David was only ill at ease. Even in this rain, he could see his second lieutenant shift his weight with his hands behind his back. If the situation were worse, he would be as still as the marble statues in his father’s garden, and his hands would hang at his sides. That posture, Gregory knew, would have him butting in— captain or not.
They just had to sight land. Every problem on this ship might be relieved on shore. Or, God forbid, come to a head. One way or another, this tension needed to break. If Orr would not allow them some peace, Gregory was ready to wash his hands of whatever might befall him. Hell, if he dared press further with David, if his mind was daring to concoct any ideas of further, more personal demands on David, Gregory could not promise he would not settle matters personally. He wasn’t too worried about that, he supposed. Orr never struck him as that sort, but he had learned from his years with David that he was best not to assume about anyone. Still, he wanted to assume for his peace of mind and David’s continued well-being.
In the next second, every hypothetical fear fled. There was only sudden, stark reality to contend with. A bolt of lightning struck the mainmast. The flames started despite the rain, and the force of the blow sent it toppling forward. Gregory shouted, and the forecastle crew, Orr and David included, quickly scattered. Burr was calling for men on the pump and the fire buckets. Some men hurried to obey, but most were awestruck at the continuing carnage as the mast fell.
It struck the topyard of the foremast. The men of the mainyard tried to flee, but they had only a few seconds before the foremast gave way, too. As both masts crashed, the crew reanimated. They rushed about, putting out the fire or freeing their injured, trapped friends and separating the still-living from the already-dead. Orr called for axes, and Burr delivered them. He kept one for himself and joined in the task of breaking the wreckage, desperately seeking Craig.
“Jon!” The unprofessional shout was pardoned by everyone. Craig’s only enemy on this ship might have been Orr, given his new inclination to opposing his lieutenants and, as consequence, their favourites. Even the captain, though, was searching for the missing midshipman and the last member of the division. Two were dead from the fall, one was badly burned, and three were severely injured. The last rating was uncovered, crushed between the two masts. Craig, too, was found when Burr ventured on top of the wreckage, toward the hidden bowspirit, and looked to starboard.
He had been hanged by the fallen rigging.