Master and Commander - 11. Chapter 11

July 1794

The wind was with them now, and so was the tide, whisking them away from the burning brig. He saw the flames rising up into her rigging, taking root in her tinder dry sails. There was no way to save her now. The only question was whether she'd sink before she exploded. Granger looked forward and saw more flames as the schooners Humphreys had fired began to burn like pyres.

“There's the Intrepid sir!” a man in the bow said urgently. Sure enough, she was right in front of them, her beautiful lines visible in the flickering lights of the fires.

“Boat ahoy!” came the expected shout.

“Intrepid!” Jeffers shouted back, and with that, they allowed the boat to hook on. Granger rushed up the chains and onto the deck to find a relieved Calvert waiting for him.

“You have brought Hades to the French sir,” he said with a smile. Welcome back!”

“Thank you Mr. Calvert,” Granger said. “Cut the cable. We'll drift down toward Mr. Humphreys to give him a shorter row back.”

“Aye aye sir!” Calvert said. This would cost them an anchor, but that was a small price to pay. He heard the axe chopping away at the cable and then felt Intrepid move, felt her free herself as the cable parted. “Shall we set sail?”

“No, but have the men man the yards. As soon as we pick up Humphreys, I want all sail set. She can handle it in this breeze, and I want to get past those batteries as quickly as possible.” Granger looked toward the schooners. Humphreys had set two ablaze and they'd found two targets already, a mass of four burning ships. “Leave enough men to man the starboard battery.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said. Granger stared off toward the schooners. Where was Humphreys? Then he saw the outline of a boat right off their starboard bow. A hail showed it to be Humphreys.

“Haul those men aboard!” Granger ordered. “Tow the boats behind us. We'll hoist them aboard later.” It took too many men to hoist the boats in. The boats crews came rushing on board and were ordered to their stations. Humphreys hurried back to report.

“We boarded two schooners and fired them sir. No casualties. The Frogs jumped into the sea as soon as we boarded them,” Humphreys said.

“Well done Mr. Humphreys,” Granger said. They passed the cluster of burning schooners. Six of them were aflame. “Ready starboard battery!”

Intrepid drifted slowly down toward an unharmed schooner, her guns loaded and run out. “Fire as you bear, single guns!” Granger ordered. There was no need for a broadside to demoralize the enemy; they needed precision so they could sink this schooner as they passed. The forward gun went off, followed by the others as Intrepid drifted by. Granger peered over the side to see the damage they'd wrought.

The schooner was a shambles, listing over as she began to sink. A small vessel like that, taking every one of Intrepid's carefully aimed balls, was unlikely to survive. This one would not. There was another one now, trying to set sail. The Intrepid managed to get two broadsides into her and she too started to sink. The other two had found refuge in the port, too far away for them to hit her, and too far to be harmed from the fires of the others. There was no further good to be served from loitering here.

“Mr. Calvert. I want all sail set,” Granger ordered. Calvert picked up his speaking trumpet and began bellowing orders. The canvas cracked and billowed as the sails filled. Granger felt Intrepid surge ahead, picking up speed as they headed toward the gap they'd have to face.

“Mr. Humphreys, rig the pumps. We'll need buckets ready,” Granger ordered. He wasn't sure if the forts would have time to heat shot, but he'd experienced that type of bombardment before and knew it was better to be prepared.

“Will we fire back?” Calvert asked, looking at the batteries.

“No. Our gun flashes will just give them a ready target and do little substantial damage. We'll run through as quickly and as darkly as we can,” Granger said. There was no moon, so he'd planned for a dark night to sneak past the batteries. Granger cursed himself for being a fool. The burning ships in the harbor lit the whole city up. There was no way to hide now. He saw the forts looming up in the darkness and braced himself for their onslaught.

He saw the flashes before he heard the guns. He heard the scream of a shot as it flew over his head, so close he thought he could feel the wind from it. More guns flashed, but still no hits. Now they were directly between the forts. There was a crash forward and a scream as someone was wounded.

He held his breath as they glided past the forts. He heard another crash but no scream, then another crash. It was maddening to take this kind of punishment and not respond, but firing back would do them no good at all. Granger turned and looked back to see the port behind them now. They hit their first Indian Ocean wave, telling him that they were safely away from Port Louis. All the fires brightly lighted the little port. Then the brig blew up. Granger saw the explosion, the little ship seeming to lift itself out of the water as the explosion ripped it apart. A huge cloud of smoke and flame rose up above where she'd been. Then the sound, the sound of the massive explosion, reached their ears.

By the time they had recovered their senses, they were effectively out of range of the forts. Granger sighed out loud then and regretted it immediately. Royal Navy captains were not supposed to sigh when they escaped action, even though it was most definitely a relief. Aside from the scream he'd heard, they'd gotten away unscathed, but they'd wrought frightful destruction on the small craft in Port Louis. Granger began to pace, thinking about it. Of the ten schooners, they'd destroyed eight of them. The other two presumably survived, but two schooners were not a threat to East Indiamen. They had neutralized the threat. He was about to further congratulate himself when all hell broke loose.

There seemed to be cannonballs everywhere. Granger looked up and saw guns firing off his larboard bow, and saw the silhouette of the ship firing them. It was a frigate. It must be Emeraude. He heard a noise and instinctively moved to his left, just in time to avoid being crushed by the mizzen mast as it fell across the deck. There were screams everywhere, and now more guns. Granger saw Hercule.

“Tell them not to fire!” he yelled. Hercule stared at him, and then seemed to understand.

He picked up the speaking trumpet. “Cease firing! Cease firing! We are French!”

The guns stopped firing even as Intrepid drifted by the big French frigate. This had better work or they were dead in the water. Or just dead. “What ship is that?!”

“Rapide, just arrived from Martinique!” Hercule yelled. “The British attacked the harbor and launched fireships. Do not enter or you'll be incinerated!”

They were close enough that Granger could hear the chatter on her quarterdeck as the Frenchmen digested this piece of news.

“Heave to at once!” came the order.

“I cannot!” yelled Hercule. “You have all but dismasted us!” Intrepid continued to drift away from the French frigate, her fore and mainsails still giving her decent speed.

He heard more commotion on the Frenchman's deck. Hercule had given them enough time to possibly slip into the black night. “Mr. Calvert,” Granger whispered.

“Sir?” he responded. Granger was relieved. Relieved to hear his voice and to know that he wasn't one of the wounded.

“Have the men quietly take in the royals,” he ordered. That would reduce their speed but give them a smaller silhouette. It was a calculated risk. If he didn't have the mizzen mast sprawled across the deck like some dead thing he'd try to run, but as it was, he'd have to try to sneak away. “I want this ship to be as quiet as possible.”

“Aye aye sir!” Calvert said.

“Mr. Farrel!” Granger whispered a little more loudly.

“Sir?”

“As soon as we are clear of the Frog, we need to clear away this wreckage and see if we can repair our mizzen mast.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said.

“Helm, two points to larboard,” Granger ordered. That would change their course, so when the French frigate went about and tried to find them they'd be in a different area.

“Aye aye sir.” Granger felt their speed decrease a little as the sails were taken in, and then there was silence. They could hear the frigate, her chattering crew, as they came about to look for them, but as Granger hoped, she was searching along their old course. Granger could not understand why they did not fire a flare to illuminate the area, but he wasn't complaining. They sailed slowly along like that for an hour and a half before Granger decided the risk was worth taking.

“Alright Mr. Farrel. Let's see what we can do about the mizzenmast. Mr. Calvert, how shot up is our rigging?”

“Pretty bad sir. She can take the topsails and mains, but not the royals. We're lucky we didn't lose them before. Even then, we'll need to keep an eye on the main tops'l,” Calvert said.

“Make it so. Send repair parties aloft to repair the rigging first. And we need to swing those boats aboard,” Granger said, referring to the boats they'd been towing since they left Port Louis. They'd be a drag on Intrepid, slowing her down. “Damage to the hull can wait,” Granger added. Unless they'd been hit below the waterline. “Pass the word for the carpenter!”

“Sir?” the carpenter said, reporting to Granger in just seconds.

“Have we been hit below the waterline?” Granger asked.

“I don't know sir,” he said honestly, if not stupidly. The man had done nothing while they'd been coasting away from the frigate. Whether it was fear or indolence, Granger didn't know. He hid his anger, but not his irritation.

“Well find out immediately. I want a sounding of the well.” That would tell them if they had a lot of water collecting in the bilges.

“Aye aye sir!” he said.

A ship's boy was about to ring the bell, but stopped. “Sir, should I ring the bell?”

Granger smiled. A smart lad, to think before just automatically following standard procedure. “No boy. Not until I order otherwise.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said.

“What’s your name?”

“G-G-Gatling sir,” he stammered.

“Well Gatling, that was good thinking,” Granger said in a friendly manner. Gatling had come aboard as a ship's boy. After enough sea time, he'd be eligible to become a midshipman. Granger had served his time at sea prior to becoming a midshipman only on the books of ships, a corrupt yet common practice. The manager of his estate at Brentwood had recommended Gatling to Granger, and Gatling didn't have connections and means to do that, so he had to actually serve the time.

“Thank you sir,” he said. Granger noticed that he could make the boy out now. He was about eleven or twelve years old, with dark brown hair, but that wasn't really why it was important that Granger could see his appearance. It was important because it meant that dawn was coming.

“Double lookouts Mr. Calvert!” Granger said, reiterating his standing order and bringing their minds back to the seas around them, not just the challenge to fix the ship.

“Sir,” the carpenter said, standing in front of him. “The Frog must have fired high. There are a few shot holes forward, but all above the waterline. There's only a bit of water in the well.”

“Very well. See if you can get those holes fixed.”

“Casualty report sir,” Calvert reported. “One man killed. Charbonnier sir.”

Granger stared at him. The man who had done so much to make their mission successful was now dead. “Wounded?”

“Two sir. Mr. Lennox is one of them.”

Lennox? “How badly is Lennox wounded?”

“He was hit by a splinter in his left arm. The surgeon isn't sure he'll be able to keep it sir.”

“I'm going below to see him. Keep at them, get that rigging fixed. I want to know the minute we spot that Frog!” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir. If we sight the Frog, don't you mean?”

“No, when. He's out there and he's faster than we are. It's a race Mr. Calvert. A race in which he has but to find us and close to finish us off, while we have to either repair our rigging enough to outrun him, or find the convoy to lead him into a trap.”

“I see sir,” Calvert said, and turned to redouble his efforts.

Granger went below where it was virtually deserted. Every available man was on deck working on repairing Intrepid's rigging. He headed into the surgeon's cockpit and found the two wounded men there, along with the doctor and his staff. One, a seaman, was on the surgeon's table, about to lose his leg.

“Sir,” said Jackson and stopped abruptly.

“I just came to check on our brave lads Doctor. How are you doing Waring?” Granger asked.

“Not good sir,” the man said in what was more sob than answer. “They're taking me leg.”

Granger stared down at the mass of bone, muscle, and blood that had once been his leg. A cannonball had presumably smashed it to bits. “It's a good thing you've still got a head on your shoulders,” Granger joked, and even got a sort of smile from Waring. “Don't you worry. We'll find a good use for you, leg or not.”

“Really sir?” Waring asked. The poor bloke not only had to worry about the pain of losing his leg, the possibility that the loss of blood or gangrene would take him, he had to worry about being discarded from the service afterward.

“Really. Just be a good lad and do what Doctor Jackson tells you.”

“Aye aye sir,” said Waring, considerably cheered. Granger moved over to the next cot to find Lennox there, stripped to the waist. His blond hair stuck to his face as if it were plastered there. His thin torso glistened with sweat, while a light dusting of hair under his arms told of his advancement through puberty.

“And how is it Mr. Lennox?” Granger asked gently. He took a rag, dampened it with water, and wiped off Lennox's forehead.

“Not so good sir. It seems I may lose my left arm.” He was speaking in perfect cadence, not showing any pain, any fear.

“There have been many one-armed admirals,” Granger said with a smile while he gently wiped the boy's face. It almost became a caress, and he could see Lennox trying to grapple with this trauma of potentially losing his arm, and at such a young age.

“Yes sir,” he said, unconvinced. Then Waring shrieked, a loud, harrowing scream, and bit the piece of leather between his teeth as Jackson began to saw off his leg. The whole scene was gruesome, so Granger turned his back to Waring both to avoid watching the surgery and to block Lennox's view as well. “I'm scared sir,” Lennox said softly.

“We're trained not to be,” Granger said gently. “We're taught that only cowards are scared aren't we?” Lennox nodded. “Well that's a bunch of bunk. We're all scared, scared when the cannonballs fly, when we leap onto an enemy's deck, or when we face even a surgeon as skilled as Dr. Jackson. They should have taught us that it's normal to be scared. We're just not allowed to show it.”

Lennox stared at him, a look of comprehension in his eyes. Granger wasn't speaking to him as naval officer to naval officer, as a surrogate father to a son, or as a captain to a midshipman. He was speaking to him as aristocrat to aristocrat, reminding him of what was expected of him. “I understand sir.”

“I have to go on deck. We have much to do. I am leaving you in capable hands. Dr. Jackson was the best surgeon in London before his loins got him into trouble.”

Lennox chuckled. “Thank you sir.” Granger got up to leave but Lennox grabbed his coat with his right hand. “Sir, can I ask you...” his voice trailed off.

“What do you want to ask me?” Granger asked gently to encourage the lad.

“Will you come see me again sir?”

Granger's heart went out to the boy, stirring up his paternal feelings. “As soon as I can.” Then Granger went up on deck as quickly as he reasonably could without looking panicked. The scene on the deck as dawn broke was not reassuring. They'd cleared away the wreckage of the mizzenmast and sorted out the spars that could be reused and discarded those too damaged.

“Report Mr. Farrel,” Granger said.

“We're almost ready to hoist the mizzenmast back up sir, but it's going to be tricky, even in these light seas. Right now we're trimming the ends and preparing to lash them together.”

“Well do your best. We'll have to live with this jury rig until we get to Madras,” Granger said. “Or until we get some calm seas. Then we can fish it out and replace it with one of our spare spars. That main yard ought to work.”

“It would. We can try to do it now if you want sir,” Farrel said.

“No. There's no time. We need to get the mast up and the rigging set up. We need the weight to balance us, and we need the sails for speed,” Granger said.

“Sail ho! Sail ho off the starboard quarter!” the lookout called.

“What is she?” Granger hailed.

“Looks like that Frog frigate sir! She's sailing with the wind, course due west!” So they were to windward of her. Her captain was a fool. He'd let himself get downwind of Intrepid. Granger felt hope.

“Deck there! Frog must have spotted us. She's gone about. New course south southeast!”

“Mr. Calvert, three points to larboard. Course east southeast.”

“Aye aye sir.” They were clawing their way into the wind now, just as they'd done yesterday. But Granger was betting that even wounded, the Intrepid would make better speed sailing into the wind than the frigate.

“Mr. Fitzwilliam, take a bearing on that frigate. I want to know if she's gaining on us.”

“Aye aye sir!” he said. Granger took his own bearing as well. He'd never trust just one. They took bearings over the next hour and determined that the Frog was indeed gaining on them, but at a very slow pace.

“It looks to be unlikely she'll catch us during the day, barring some major accident,” Granger said, and looked nervously at the main topsail. Intrepid's rigging was a complex thing. The myriad of ropes balanced and counterbalanced each other and the forces that exerted against them. They'd repaired the lines that had been ripped apart when the mizzenmast collapsed, but until the new mizzenmast was rigged, there would be imbalance. “Farrel! When are you planning to swing that mast up?” Granger demanded sarcastically.

“Right now sir!” he replied, abashed. Granger watched as they raised the mast up until it was vertical, hanging there like a huge spear aimed at the deck. If it broke free and smashed through the bottom, it would quite possibly sink them. It swung precariously, but then the men tackled it into place and seated it on its new brace against its severed part. Now the real race began, the race to lash it in place and hold it steady with the standing rigging. Men swarmed aloft, ropes flying everywhere as they secured the jury mizzenmast into place.

Granger took a new bearing. The Frenchman was nearer now, near enough to see clearly through his glass. “Mr. Farrel, Mr. Calvert. If you two can get the running rigging set up so we can get the mizzens on her, I think we might escape a French prison,” Granger said sarcastically.

“Aye aye sir,” said Calvert. He and Farrel drove the exhausted men forward yet again. Granger caught some of them staring at him and he glared back, demanding results, not effort. They looked away and threw themselves into their work, not wanting to face that powerful frigate, and not wanting to disappoint their captain.

“I am going below. I will be back in one hour to get the mizzens on her,” Granger said to Calvert, giving him a deadline. It was ambitious, but not unreasonable.

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said.

“Mr. Humphreys, tell the cook to have dinner ready in exactly one hour.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. If they weren't done, dinner would get cold. Granger went below to check on Waring and Lennox.

“Waring is recovering sir,” Jackson said.

“What of Mr. Lennox?” Granger asked.

“I have probed the wound and removed the splinters. There must surely be some left that I could not see, although I was as thorough as I could be sir. He is a very brave, very strong lad. Didn't scream like most, just gritted his teeth,” Jackson concluded. Granger nodded and headed over to see the young man, or older boy as the case may be, sleeping peacefully after exhausting himself with the trauma of his surgery.

“Thank you Doctor,” Granger said, and went to his cabin. He spent the next half hour jotting down notes for the report he'd have to write, and then headed back on deck to find the mizzenmast ready to handle sail again.

“We're ready to try her sir,” Calvert said. There was pride in his voice, he was proud that they'd achieved the goals their captain had set.

“Excellent. Set the mizzen tops'l, then the main,” Granger said. He watched as the canvas unfurled and felt Intrepid surge ahead. He felt empowered and confident. Now they were the faster ship. Now they could run circles around the Emeraude.

“Dismiss the hands to dinner Mr. Calvert!”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said.

“Mr. Andrews!”

“Sir?”

“An extra tot of rum for every man and boy at dinner today,” Granger said. He saw the grins around him. That would dull their pain and fatigue, Granger thought.

“Aye aye sir,” Andrews said. He was sufficiently impressed with the men not to even grouse about it.

“Your dinner is ready as well sir,” Winkler said. Granger hadn't even noticed him on deck, so unobtrusive was he.

With the thought and promise of food, Granger suddenly realized he was ravenously hungry. He headed below to stuff food in his mouth and think about this French frigate that clung to him, trying to decide whether to shake him or not.

Granger sat at his table staring at the chart in front of him, the one where he'd calculated the probable location of the convoy, his current location, and the location of the French frigate. “Pass the word for Mr. Calvert,” Granger ordered. Calvert must have been eating with the other officers in the wardroom, which was right outside his cabin, because he was there almost immediately.

“You asked to see me sir?” he asked.

“Yes. Look at this chart. This is where I expect the convoy to be. This is where we are, and this is where the French frigate is.” Calvert just stared. “If we can lead the frigate to the convoy, maybe we can capture her. With Rattlesnake, we should be able to overpower her.”

“How do you plan to do that sir?” Calvert asked.

“I plan to infuriate her. When we go on deck, my plan is to drop down to within long cannon shot, fire a couple of broadsides at her, and then flee downwind toward the convoy,” Granger said.

“What if we can't find the convoy?” Calvert asked.

“Well then, we'll use our speed and maneuverability to avoid action,” Granger said. He knew what Calvert was thinking, the thoughts that were flooding his brain, because Granger had just been through them himself. They'd achieved a spectacular victory for a ship their size. They'd sailed brazenly into the primary French port in the Indian Ocean and destroyed eight schooners and a brig, then escaped with minimal damage. Why not just wait until nightfall and sneak off to find the convoy? Let the Emeraude go back to Port Louis. But without even Emeraude, the authorities at Port Louis wouldn't even have a basic cadre of sailors and officers to rebuild their fleet. They'd have to wait, impotent, for reinforcements from France. And that was a reward worth risking further action. He saw Calvert's grin.

“An excellent idea sir!”

“I'm glad you think so. Be so good as to call all hands and clear for action.”

“Aye aye sir!”

Granger headed up on deck. It would be dark in a few hours, just time to set his plan into action. He saw the weary crew shamble to their stations. They'd all been on duty for a better part of the last 24 hours. When they'd cleared for action, Granger ordered them to lay aft so he could address them. There was no raised quarterdeck in the flush-decked Intrepid, so he climbed into the shrouds so they could all see and hear him.

“Men! We achieved quite a victory back there at Port Louis, but there's still a Frog frigate out there. We could sneak away with our tail between our legs, but that's not our way, that's not the Intrepid way. So what we're going to do is turn about, close with that pretty frigate, and loose a couple of broadsides at her from long range. That way we get some live target practice in without irritating their lordships of the Admiralty.” That got a predictable laugh. The Admiralty was rigid in it's refusal to pay for powder for live gun practice. Drills were done without actually firing the guns. “She'll probably be mad enough to chase us, and chase us she will, right back to the convoy where we'll take her with the help of Implacable and Rattlesnake.” They cheered then, re-motivated, especially since they knew they didn't have to fight a protracted battle with Emeraude alone.

“Hands to the braces Mr. Calvert. Prepare to go about!” Granger ordered. The men scrambled to their stations. “Starboard your helm!” Granger ordered. “Set a course straight for that frigate.”

What the French captain must think of this Granger couldn't imagine. He'd been clawing away from the Emeraude all day long, now he'd turned and was barreling straight toward her. He watched her grow larger and larger as they closed.

“Starboard battery, load but don't run out. You'll need to look alive to get at least two shots off!” Granger called. He watched the gun crews go through their drills in mindless, rote movements. He watched Emeraude get closer and closer, biding his time.

“Run out!” he ordered. “Port your helm!” Granger called. Intrepid spun around, presenting her broadside to the oncoming French frigate. Granger waited until she got back on an even keel. “On the uproll!” he yelled. “Fire!” Intrepid's broadside hurtled toward the surprised Frenchman, while aboard Intrepid the gun crews saw none of it. They were too busy reloading. “Fire!” Granger yelled, and another broadside crashed out.

“Mr. Calvert! Loose the royals!” Granger ordered. “One more broadside lads! Fire!” The third broadside crashed out. It was impossible to tell if they'd scored any hits. It was probable that they hadn't. But he had certainly irked the Frenchman. She was in hot pursuit, only now her mission was fueled not by the rage of seeing her home port ravaged, it was fueled by the more personal rage of being fired on by this impudent little ship: Intrepid.