Aftermath of a Battle

Chapter 2

"Commodore sir."

"Yes Mr. Taylor?" James replied.

"I've made a full inventory of what's aboard Sir." Taylor answered then proceeded with head cocked to the side using his fingers as counters to give James a verbal list of what he'd come across. "There are two coils of ship's rope, a mixed cask of screws and nails, three hammers, three screwdrivers, and some large scraps of sail. There is also a partial keg of water, it's a little over half full Sir, and one almost half full of ship's biscuits."

"An excellent job you've done Mr. Taylor, have the water and biscuits brought forward, stow the rest out of the way, then ask Mr. Jones and Mr. Bloom to present their report as to the injuries they've found." James replied.

A few minutes later Mr. Jones and Mr. Bloom carried the containers of water and biscuits forward, setting them on the deck to one side of James.

Mr. Jones saluted then said, "Commodore we've the report for you as to injuries, at least as good a one as we can make seeing as neither of us has any real training other than the basics taught all midshipmen about wounds and injuries."

James returned his salute and said, "Very well then, let's have it."

Mr. Bloom began, "As far as we can tell two of the lads have broken arms which we've done our best to set. By what he says and what we ourselves think Mr. Taylor's arm seems just to have been badly bruised in the attack."

"Several suffered burns but none look too severe, at least not to our eyes right now. Most have only bruises and wounds that aren't too serious Sir." Mr. Jones added.

James nodded, glad there were no more grievous injuries than the two had reported. He dismissed them with orders to continue to care as best they could for the injured, and after a quick glance around at his boatload of midshipmen and then one cast up at the sky began to ponder just how he was going to get them out of this mess.

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He had taken over for each of the lads in turn, allowing them fifteen minutes or so to rest a bit, after all they had been rowing without respite for over two hours. And now his back, shoulders, and arms were telling him in no uncertain terms that he was not as young as he used to be and it had been much too long since he had manned an oar to expect them not to zealously complain against such treatment. The gash in his thigh was also adding its voice and had started to bleed again as well. As the final rower returned to his place James hobbled over to his seat in the bow and eased himself down noting as he did that dusk was approaching. He removed the blood soaked shirt from his leg to check the wound. He looked around for the waistcoat he had discarded earlier and upon finding it tore it into strips, fashioned another bandage from it, and rewrapped his leg. He turned his attention to the heavens then, studying the darkening sky to get some idea of just where they might be. A few minutes later he had made the required mental calculations and allowed a soft snort to note the fact he had chosen a direction that rather than heading them out across the ocean would bring them, sooner or later, to land. Hopefully they would still be alive when that happened.

After another hour or so of rowing James gave the lads leave to bed down for the night, after all they were under enough strain already, it would be better to allow them a few hours sleep. He moved himself to the stern where he fashioned a rudder of sorts from one of the oars and a piece of the rope meaning to keep them on course.

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He awoke with a start, and as his eyes flew open he jerked back from the large skua perched on the gunwale just inches from his face as it flapped its wings and made hoarse croaking calls and bobbed its head up and down as it peered at him. Gathering his wits about him he waved his arms and shooed the creature off, then shot up straight as he realized what the presence of that bird probably meant. He looked around at the traces of dawn on the horizon, and sure enough there was the unmistakable sign of land a little way off in the distance. He sat there for a few moments sending thanks to whom ever was responsible for this turn in luck, and was just about to wake some of the boys to begin rowing toward the island when something just coming into view near the island caught his attention. James had seen enough of these in his time to be fairly sure what it was he was looking at, a Spanish Man of War. He cursed as the hope that sprung to mind, that this island could be their salvation, was unmercifully dashed to pieces. Even though the ship was moving away from the island it was no doubt a Spanish outpost of some kind. He cursed again.

"Sir?" Mr. Taylor sat up rubbing sleepy eyes as he spoke, "Is your leg bothering you Sir?" Then as he looked in the direction James was peering off in he cursed as well, then looked at James guiltily, "Sorry Sir."

"Mr. Taylor," James replied, "under the circumstances, and I do not imagine I need to impress on you how unusual our present circumstances are, I am of the opinion a bit of swearing in front of your commanding officer might be overlooked."

Mr. Taylor's expression turned to one of relief, "Thank you Sir." Then after a pause in which he looked at the island and the departing Man of War asked, "So just what are we going to do Commodore?"

James snorted a bit and replied, "I'm still working on that Mr. Taylor."

To Be Continued

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