Sails on the Horizon: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars (37 page)

“You’re just a magnet for things falling out of the sky, aren’t you?” Bevan said as he took Charles under the arms and helped him to a sitting position. “Are you hurt?”

Charles surveyed himself. He had a dull pain in his left wrist that made it difficult for him to move his fingers, and a sharp one in his right ankle. “I’m fine,” he said, but when he tried to stand he found he couldn’t. “Where’s the Spaniard?”

“Leeward and well astern,” Bevan said, and reading Charles’s mind added, “There’s no way we can close her. We don’t have the sails.”

“Hell, we almost had her,” Charles said.

“Sure,” Bevan answered, “if the declared winner is whichever ship touches the seabed last.”

WHEN LINCOLN, THE
ship’s surgeon, examined Charles, he determined that a musket ball had grazed the radius bone in his arm, just above the wrist. Charles had also broken a bone in his ankle, almost certainly when he tripped over the carronade. Neither injury was serious; both would be painful and Charles would have to stay off his feet for a time, then walk with a crutch for a few weeks after that.

The
Louisa
had suffered worse. Thirty-three of her crew were dead, nearly seventy wounded, twenty-seven seriously. Aside from the damage to the masts, both sides of her hull and her bow had been holed repeatedly, several times below the waterline. Sails were fothered under her bottom and jury-rigged masts were set up during the night. In the morning, there being no sign of the
Santa Brigida, Louisa
began her long struggle home.

Charles insisted that Bevan join him for a cold breakfast and hot coffee in his cabin after they had gotten under way.

“It’s going to take a long time for the yard to get her put back to rights,” he observed ruefully.

“Months,” Bevan agreed. “But it will take the Spaniard longer. And look at the bright side, Charlie. You’ll have time to be married.”

TWELVE

T
HE
LOUISA
ARRIVED AT SPITHEAD AND THE ENTRANCE TO
Portsmouth harbor after two weeks of battling contrary winds and the nearly continuous clanking of her pumps. Her badly battered hull and jury-rigging attracted considerable attention from the officers and crews of the other warships in the anchorage, some of whom cheered or waved as she slipped slowly to her moorings. The diminished and exhausted crew acknowledged the first few greetings, then proudly ignored the rest. They were all veterans now; they had experienced real battle and survived. Of her original complement of a hundred seventy-five seamen,
Louisa
now had one hundred three effective and twenty-seven not sufficiently recovered from injuries to resume their duties.

Charles stood, leaning heavily on the quarterdeck lee rail for support, watching the warships as they passed. His mind drifted haphazardly over the engagement with the Spanish frigate, the
Louisa,
her crew, and Penny. They were the same subjects and very much the same thoughts that had occupied him for the past fortnight. He was pleased with the conduct of the battle but unhappy about its outcome. His ship had fought well, both outmaneuvering and, for her size, outgunning the better-armed and heavier opponent. If, with a little luck, they had done more damage to the
Santa Brigida
’s rigging earlier, the outcome could have been decisive. Of course, as Bevan had pointed out, if the
Louisa
had suffered more damage to her masts sooner they would all be dead or prisoners in Ferrol now.

No matter how Charles analyzed it, the
Louisa
was simply outgunned. With the addition of her thirty-two-pounder carronades she fired a broadside of two hundred thirty-nine pounds of iron to the Spaniard’s three hundred twenty-four. Another pair of carronades on the quarterdeck might make the odds more acceptable—perhaps in place of two of the long nines. More and larger guns would help, he knew, but were not the only consideration. The
Louisa
’s crew had performed admirably during the struggle, far better than he would have expected from the ragtag collection of seamen, landsmen, and former prisoners he’d started with. They had handled the sails and braces flawlessly and fired off four broadsides to the
Santa Brigida
’s three. Still, it hadn’t been enough. But with another carronade, he mused, and if they could fire her guns just a little faster, or aim for the Spaniard’s gundeck to slow her rate of fire…There had to be a way; he just had to find it.

And there was Penny, his beautiful, tender, loving Penny. She was never far from his heart. He ached to see her again, talk to her, make her laugh, make her his wife. She would be upset that he’d been hurt, but he could explain that. The wrist injury was painful but superficial. His broken ankle had been an accident—it could have happened to anybody who happened to trip over a cannon left carelessly in their path. It would only be a matter of how he explained it to her.

“Deck!” the lookout in the foremast rigging called down. “The flagship’s in the roads.”

Charles could see the towering bulk of the
Victory
anchored in the roadstead, and his mind shifted to a whole new line of thought: What would Jervis say about his activities? It was an altogether less attractive prospect than reuniting with Penny. As soon as
Louisa
dropped anchor, he took the report he’d written and hobbled to the ship’s side, where he allowed himself to be lowered in a bosun’s chair into his gig. He also had to be hoisted, at considerable cost to his dignity, onto the flagship’s maindeck.

“I’m very sorry, sir,” the flag lieutenant said after greeting him, “but the admiral is ashore. If you’d care to wait…” He looked at Charles, who had one arm in a sling across his chest and stood with the aid of a crutch, then glanced at the battered
Louisa
clearly visible over the starboard rail. “Oh, never mind, he’ll be anxious to see you. You’d best go directly to the dockyard admiral’s office.”

Charles thanked the lieutenant and handed over his report. Once lowered back into his gig, he ordered that he be taken to the naval yard.

He had to allow himself to be carried up the dockside ladder, slung over the shoulder of one of his larger crewmen like so many potatoes, his hat, sword, and crutch carried by another.

“We’ll be happy to wait for you, sir,” the coxswain offered delicately. “It might be difficult like if you tried climbing down into a wherry.”

“Thank you, I’d appreciate it,” Charles said. “I’ll try to be as quick as I can.” He pulled at his uniform to straighten it as best he could, set his hat firmly on his head, tucked his crutch under his arm, and hobbled off with what little of his dignity remained.

He was not in a happy frame of mind when a nattily dressed lieutenant stopped him near the door to the port admiral’s office and said, “The admiral is in a meeting and cannot be disturbed.”

“I don’t want to see the port admiral, I want to see Admiral Jervis,” Charles replied. “Commander Edgemont of the
Louisa.
Tell him I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, sir, you’ll have to wait. The admirals cannot be disturbed.”

“Tell Jervis I’m here anyway,” Charles snapped, “or I’ll do it myself.”

The aide hesitated, glancing at the dark cast of Charles’s face. “All right,” he said reluctantly, “but I’m not responsible.” The lieutenant rapped on the door and stuck his head in. “There is a commander outside who insists on seeing his Lordship, Admiral Jervis, immediately. I’ve told him to wait,” Charles heard him say.

The office door opened wide and Jervis himself stepped out. “Are you looking for me, Commander Edgemont?”

“Yes, sir,” Charles answered, standing as erectly as he could.

“This man insisted on interrupting your meeting, Your Lordship,” the aide began indignantly.

“And quite rightly so,” Jervis growled. “In the future if one of my officers wants to see me, you let him in. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. But—”

“No buts. And bring a chair for the commander.” He opened the door wide and gestured for Charles to enter. “This is Admiral Dorchester, the commander of His Majesty’s dockyard in Portsmouth,” Jervis said. “And this is Commander Charles Edgemont of the
Louisa,
one of our promising young frigate captains.” Charles found himself uneasy in the presence of the two senior admirals in their blue uniform coats, heavy with gold braid and epaulettes.

Dorchester, a dignified gray-haired figure with a friendly smile, rose from behind his desk. “I’m honored, Commander,” he said, shaking Charles’s good hand. “What on earth has happened to you?”

The aide appeared with a chair and placed it behind Charles, who awkwardly lowered himself into it. “We had an engagement with the Spanish frigate just outside Ferrol, sir. I’m afraid that the
Louisa
is rather seriously damaged.”

Jervis’s face darkened. “The result?” he said tersely.

“Inconclusive, sir,” Charles said, then, seeing Jervis’s concern, he quickly added, “The
Santa Brigida
is at least as badly damaged as we are. Neither of us had any standing rigging toward the end and we drifted apart. In the morning she had disappeared. Made her way back to the Ferrol yards, I suppose. It’s all in my report on board the
Victory,
sir.”

“You took on a forty-gun frigate and fought her to a standstill?” Jervis’s eyebrows rose.

“Yes, sir,” Charles answered. “But we paid for it dearly.”

“How long do you think the Spaniard’s repairs will take?” Jervis asked.

Charles paused for a moment to consider. “It’s hard to say, sir. The Ferrol yards don’t seem to be very well supplied. Requisitions for mast sections and other material will have to be sent overland to Madrid. It might be four or five months, or even more. I’d say three to be on the windward side. They’ll have to replace a goodly number of her crew as well.”

“How badly damaged is the
Louisa
?” Dorchester asked.

“We’ve only jury-rigged masts,” Charles said matter-of-factly. “The bowsprit’s gone and the hull’s taken a pretty pounding.”

“And your crew?”

“We’ve forty-five seamen and twelve marines killed. I expect another sixteen will have to be invalided out.”

Jervis turned to Dorchester. “I’d consider it a personal favor, Admiral, if you would see to it that the
Louisa
is repaired as quickly as possible. It’s vital to the navy that she is made ready for sea before the Spaniard.”

Dorchester smiled wryly and rifled some papers piled on his desk. “It seems that it’s vital to complete every repair and refit as quickly as possible. We’ll need a thorough inspection first, of course. Then we’ll know what’s required. If it’s not too bad, I’d say two months ought to be possible.”

“If it will be that long, sir,” Charles said carefully, “might my officers and myself take leave while the
Louisa
is laid up? I’d like to go home to tend to my injuries. I also have some personal business to attend to.”

“I suppose you’d better,” Jervis answered. “The crew can be looked after on one of the hulks while you’re away. I’ll see to it in the morning.”

Charles hadn’t thought of how his crew would be cared for. He hated the idea that his men, men he’d trained and come to rely on, and who had risked their lives to do his bidding, would be confined for two months in an airless, stinking hulk under guard. Worse, few of them would be left when the time came, he knew, since other captains with urgent needs and greater seniority would find ways for Charles’s seamen to end up on their ships. But what could he do about it? He knew he couldn’t ask that they be given leave, and he couldn’t confront the
Santa Brigida
when the time came with a raw crew. An idea came to him, a dangerous, radical idea. An idea that he liked better and better the more he thought about it. “Thank you, sir,” he said.

“Do you have any other requests?” Jervis asked, signaling that his forbearance of Charles’s interruption of his meeting was coming to an end.

“Just one small thing, sir,” Charles said. “Would it be possible to cut two additional gunports on the
Louisa
’s maindeck? There’s room forward. I would like to shift two of the nine-pounders down to the gundeck and replace them with thirty-two-pound carronades on the quarterdeck. They’d give us more punch in a close fight.”

Jervis looked to the dockyard admiral, who nodded. “It might be possible,” Dorchester said. “I’ll have the ordnance yard look into it while your ship is laid up. If they feel the
Louisa
can manage the extra weight and stresses, then we’ll do it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Charles said.

“Is there anything else?” Jervis asked, a touch of impatience showing.

“No, sir,” Charles said with a disarming smile. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your meeting.” With a slightly exaggerated show of difficulty he pushed himself upright and out of his chair. “It was an honor to meet you, Admiral,” he said to Dorchester. Without thinking, he added, “I must say that it’s been a greater pleasure doing business with you than it was with Admiral Grimsley in Plymouth.”