Rapture of the Deep: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of Jacky Faber, Soldier, Sailor, Mermaid, Spy (41 page)

As I worked my way aft, I observed that most of our guns were still firing but had not caused a great amount of damage due to our lack of position. Now that we had steerage again, I hoped they would be more effective, but still I felt, with sinking heart, that we were doomed to destruction or capture.

I noted also that Captain Allen's squad had joined our marines in the maintop and mizzen top and with their muskets were peppering away at the enemy. Lord Allen himself stood among them reloading his long Kentucky rifle. I saw him raise, aim, and fire it, and then one of the snipers on
San Cristobal
fell from the high rigging. The man had scarcely landed on the deck before Captain Allen had reloaded and fired again. Although I have nothing but praise for the performance of the officers and men of the
Dolphin,
I must single out that cavalry officer for special mention, as his coolness under fire was remarkable.

Upon regaining the quarterdeck, I was distressed to see that our excellent First Officer, Mr. Bennett, was down. Two men with a stretcher appeared, and he was taken, unconscious, down to the orlop, where Dr. Sebastian had set up his surgery. I was sure the good Doctor would be kept quite busy.

"He's unloaded his port guns on us, Fletcher, and hurt us severely," said Captain Hudson, grimly, "and now he's turning to finish the job." He then faced forward and shouted, "Bear up, bonny boys! Steady, boys, steady!" There was a faint cheer at that, a very faint cheer, you may be sure, but a cheer from our fine men, nonetheless.

"Mr. Fletcher, see what you can do about—What the hell is
that?"

The Captain was looking over my shoulder and I turned to look.

There, coming full tilt toward the mighty
San Cristobal,
was a small brig and an even smaller schooner.

Good Lord.

El Diablo Rojo
heeled over smartly on the starboard tack and let loose his broadside into the port side of the
San Cristobal.
There were only six twenty-four-pounders, but the blast got the Spaniard's attention. Luckily for Flaco, the huge ship had just loosed its full port broadside at the poor
Dolphin,
and the gunners were a little slow in reloading.

I don't let myself think about what might be happening on the
Dolphin.
No, instead I fix my mind on the rudder of the
San Cristobal
looming up ahead. I've got Jim Tanner on helm, John Thomas and McGee tending the sails, Tink and Davy on the side guns, Higgins on the after swivel, and me on the bow chaser. Danny and Joannie are powder monkeys and have been told to keep their heads down when not engaged in their tasks. I have strapped on my sword and pistols and all others are armed as well.

Flaco whips his ship around and lets loose another blast at the big ship towering over us. It is good that the
San Cristobal
is so high, because when we are close in, as we both certainly are now, she cannot bring her guns to bear upon us when we come in low to sting her.

"Ready all!" I shout as we get near. We're about twenty-five yards away when I decide to risk a shot. I sight across the barrel, swivel it three degrees to the left, judge the up-and-down action of the waves, and then jerk the lanyard.

Crrrack!

I had been aiming for the upper pintle of the rudder, but I was high and missed, splintering only a few of the after boards.

Damn!

"Jim! Hard Right! Tink! Davy! Fire the port guns as they bear! Joannie, Danny, reload the chaser!"

The
Nancy's
head swings over and ...
Crrrack! ... Crrack!

The lads fire, then the smoke clears. I see that the enemy's rudder is damaged yet hangs in its gudgeons and still works.

"Reload! Davy and Tink, to the other side." The kids reload the spent guns, and the lads man the starboard guns.

The
Nancy
's bow continues to come around. We are now directly under the fantail of the
San Cristobal,
and we have not escaped their notice. Angry faces peer over the side at us. I see that one of them is that vile Cisneros, glaring down at me with all the hate that is in him. I whip out one of my pistols and get off a shot at his face, but he ducks so I miss.

Then Spanish marines appear with their muskets at the rail of the big ship as we lie helpless below them.

Uh-oh.

Lt. James Emerson Fletcher
2nd Mate, HMS Dolphin

An Account of the Engagement Between
HMS
Dolphin
and
San Cristobal
Continued...

Yes, gentlemen, it was Miss Jacky Faber, so often at His Majesty's displeasure, who was now sailing to the aid of one of His Majesty's ships, risking life and limb to do so. Although you gentlemen may know of my liaison with this young woman, and some may fault me for it, I must say that I was never more filled with pride than I was at that moment. Dear, brave girl. Yes, I thought her actions rash, but then I have often thought so in the past.

Sailing in company with her was a small brig, flying colors not generally associated with any known country, that was unloading broadsides into the flanks of the
San Cristobal
with both impunity and great rapidity, distracting the Spanish ship sufficiently to give us a much appreciated breathing space.

Captain Hudson squinted through his long glass. "What colors are they flying, Fletcher?"

"Uh ... I believe they are pirate flags, Sir."

"Um ... It looks like she means to knock off the enemy's rudder. Brave girl. Let us see if we can help her. We shall draw closer."

Brave? No, she has never been vaingloriously or foolhardily brave. Generally I have observed her to be primarily intent on her own personal survival—and that of her friends.

I put the glass back to my eye, expecting the worst and finding it. The Spaniard, noting the threat from her stern, had plainly ordered marine sharpshooters to the fantail.

"Allen!" I roared up into the mizzenmast rigging. "Concentrate your fire on the enemy's quarterdeck! They mean to shoot Jacky!"

Immediately the musket balls from Captain Allen and his men rain down on the fantail of the
San Cristobal,
and the personnel there scatter. There is, however, an officer there who rallies the men, and muskets are again pointed over the rail at the little schooner lying below.

There is a thump as Allen's boots hit the deck next to me. He bites a bullet out of a white cartridge and reloads his rifle. His other men come down from the rigging to join him.

"I think we would all be better off if the
Cristobal
didn't have its captain," he says and levels his gun and fires. Over on the other ship, the Captain of the
San Cristobal
clutches his breast and falls to his deck. "Not very sporting of me," he says, "but it is our Jacky we are concerned about here, eh, what?"

He reloads as the three vessels come together. I could see the seamen David Jones and John Tinker down below on the deck of the little schooner preparing to fire their guns at the enemy's rudder, and Jacky Faber calling out orders to others of her crew. The
Nancy B.'s
mainmast rigging is now lying against the side of the
Dolphin.

"Will you be taking care of things up here, Fletcher?" calls Allen. He slings his rifle over his shoulder and climbs over into the schooner's ratlines and begins to descend. "I believe we'll be of more use below. Come along, men."

A moment later I hear him call out from below...

"Fear not, Princess, the Cavalry has arrived!"

I cannot believe my ears. Nor my eyes. I stand astounded.

"Richard! What the hell are you doing here?"

"I might well ask the same of you, my sweet little river nymph, finding you out here on the big broad sea," answers Captain Allen. "But time for hugs and kisses later, Lady Pretty-Bottom, as we have hot work to do here."

We are crammed up against the other ships now, fighting to get our starboard guns in position to fire on what has turned out to be a very sturdy rudder. Before, musket men had appeared at the rail and had rained shot down upon us, but aside from a graze to the side of Davy's face, no one was hit. Then the musket men above disappeared, probably because of the red-coated squad that had just climbed down to our deck.

"Sergeant Bailey. Align the men across the deck here such that we will fire in two ranks. If anyone shows their face above that rail, have the first rank fire, but have the second rank hold back, in case they think to shoot at us as we reload."

"Aye, Sor," says Sergeant Bailey, the old Welsh soldier who has heard all this many times before. "McDuff, Quimby, Jackson, kneel in First Rank. McMann, Merrick, Luce, stand in Second Rank. You heard the Captain."

Could it be? Archie and Willie and the rest of Allen's Dragoons from our trip down the Big Muddy? It is.

"I thought you might like seeing the lads again, Jacky, so I brought 'em along especially, like," says Richard, scanning the ships towering over us. Both vessels shudder as they continue to put broadside after broadside into each other. In addition, the
San Cristobal
also suffers the lesser but still deadly blows from
El Diablo Rojo.
" 'Course I didn't know we'd be getting into this dustup, but hey, fortunes of war, eh, Princess?"

A bullet hits the deck between Richard and me, digging a furrow into the wood. He looks up, spots the man who fired it, a figure far up in the mainmast, and raises his rifle and fires. The figure jerks, slumps, and falls.

"If you ever see Lightfoot again, Wah-Chinga, give him my thanks for pointing out the virtues of this weapon." He reloads, and then shoves one of his thin cheroots between his teeth.

"Jacky! Coming in range!"

"Fire when she bears, Davy!"

Cccrrrack!

Davy's aim is true, but the four-pound shot hits the upper pintle of the anchor and bounces off harmlessly. Harmless to the
San Cristobal,
that is, for the shot ricochets back across our own deck, almost hitting Joannie, struggling across with another heavy bag of powder.

Damn!
That rudder was built strong! Probably the builder thought about this possible eventuality, and curse him for his foresight! "Tink! Coming up on you! Try him!"

Crrrack!

Same result—point-blank range, but just some splinters. The rudder holds fast and now we are right up against it—no room to get away and fire again.
Damn! Me and my great plans! We are lost! Unless...

...unless the
San Cristobal
does something really stupid.

A man appears at the rail above, and the first rank of Dragoons fires and chases him back, but not before he manages to fling something down upon us. It bounces once, twice, and comes to rest between Richard and me.

It is a bomb, with a mere six-inch fuse fizzing ever shorter!

Richard leans down and picks up the thing and regards it. "How kind of the Dons to provide me with a light." Then he holds the burning end of the fuse to his cigar and draws in deeply. "Ah, now that's much better."

"THROW IT OVERBOARD, RICHARD!" I scream.

"And waste this fine piece of ordnance?" he says, calmly, looking at the bomb sputtering in his hand. "Why, I figure we've got at least eight seconds left. However, I do believe that you all should take cover. Men, you, too."

"CLEAR THE FO'C'S'LE! GET BEHIND THE CABIN. IT'S GONNA BLOW!" I wail. "NOW!"

Everyone, soldier, sailor, ship's boy and girl, lunges for the scant protection behind the
Nancy
's cabin, as Captain Lord Richard Allen walks up to the bow and says, "This is what you wanted to get rid of, Pretty-Tail? Very well. Let's just put this right here."

He reaches over and tucks the bomb in the notch behind the upper pintle of the
San Cristobal
's rudder.

"That should do it," he says as he saunters back to join us. Meanwhile I have landed on top of Joannie, and she struggles to get her head up to watch.

"Keep your head down, fool, or you'll lose your eyes!" I shout as I push her back down and wrap my arms around her.

"Thousand six ... thousand five ... thousand four ... thousand three..."

There is a brilliant flash of lightning and then a tremendous ear-shattering
CRAAAAAACK!
of thunder.

Allen had miscalculated by several seconds and all six feet two inches and one hundred and eighty pounds of him, more or less, comes flying over the top of my cabin to land squarely on top of me.

"Richard! Are you...?"

No, he is not hurt, and his mouth has landed conveniently close to my ear.

"I believe this is where we left off, Princess?" he breathes into my ear and runs his hand in under my open jacket.

"I ... can't ... breathe..." wheezes Joannie from under us both.

I crane my head up and see that ...
Yes!
... The rudder of the
San Cristobal
hangs loosely in its gudgeons for a moment, then falls with a great splash and floats away.

"Let me up, Richard! I must tell them!"

He rolls over, gets to his feet, and calls out, "All right, men. Form up. Same drill. Keep a sharp eye out. They might try that trick again."

I get up and Joannie manages to get a lungful of air into her thin chest.

"Joannie! Go down and get my Faber Shipping flag! Quick now!" She jumps up, sucking in air, and goes to do it.

Then I run across the deck to survey the damage. Yes, my foresails are in tatters, but that rudder is down! I leap up into my rigging and shout up to the
Dolphin
's quarterdeck, "Captain Hudson! Pull away!"

Heads appear over the side to look over at me hanging there in the ratlines and I yell, "Get in front of his bow! His rudder is off!" I point down at the wreckage floating below. "He is helpless!"

I know I should not presume to instruct Post Captain Hudson on naval tactics, but my mind is in a whirl.
Thank God! There's Jaimy! Still standing! He does not look happy, but he is still yet alive and on his feet! Thank you, Lord!
Orders are shouted and the
Dolphin
pulls away from the crippled
San Cristobal.
Any seasoned man-of-war's crew would know that a nimble craft like the
Dolphin
will now easily stay in front of a lumbering, rudderless tub like the
San Cristobal,
pounding her to pieces with relentless broadsides while all the Spanish ship could fire is her forward bow chaser, that puny gun being quickly silenced by the
Dolphin's
next broadside. The big ship shudders as another blast slams into her unprotected bows. Ten minutes later, she strikes.