Chapter 3: Qui se fait brebis...
The forecastle of the Acheron lay in ruins. It was difficult for Beatrice to distinguish anything familiar in the blood-bathed rubble as she precariously wobbled her way aboard the smoldering frégate. Aloft, she could still see dead crew members dangling precariously from the fallen sheets above, waiting to be retrieved while British marines and a number of warrant officers went about the task of directing the traffic of the wounded below. Picking her way around the pools of blood, she followed the procession hoping to find her charge forthwith and head back to the British warship before she was recognized.
Entering the bowels of the ship, she could hear the moans of death and smell of decay and gunpowder throughout. Knowing exactly where the sickbay was located, she kept her head down as she hustled past the queues of men and marines and descended the ladder to the berth level. Blood and sand littered the four corners of the deck and she had difficulties walking past the injured and dead without slipping into anyone. Sheets separating portions of the deck also made it difficult to find the British surgeon.
"Dr. De Vigny, your help if you please!"
Beatrice stood momentarily in shock. Had she heard correctly? She moved closer to the origin of the call and lifted the sheet. A portly man, sweating profusely over a struggling patient looked expectantly at the sheet opposite from her position. As if in slow motion, Beatrice watched as the sheet was moved aside by a dark-haired man whose once flowing shirt was now soaked with sweat and gore. Le Capitaine? The world jolted for her just then as she distantly recognized her Capitaine administering aid to his convulsing crewman only to drop his head slowly in shame as the struggling ceased and the man passed on.
"There was nothing that could be done for him, Monsieur," he said submissively to the British surgeon. "Please help me tend to the others who still have a chance."
As they rose to their feet, his eyes widened as he realized her standing there. Her look spoke volumes…. Contempt, revulsion, and utter hatred seethed through her and she fought to control herself.
"Higgins," she hissed through clenched teeth. The corpulent man panted as he turned around to regard her. "The doctor sends for you. It is quite urgent." He swallowed hard and wiped his brow before puttering off, leaving the pair to face off.
"Capitaine Guiscard, your orders," she shouted in French, trembling with anger and fear as the "docteur" approached her with a menacing look all his own.
"Soyez silencieux," he demanded in a forced whisper, looking to the sheets as though he expected the Marines to storm his position. "We all must do what we deem necessary in battle, De Vigny. You disguised yourself to survive - as did I; you are no better than myself."
"I am no coward, sir."
"I will not stand for insubordination from any of my crew - girl or no. You had best use your tongue wisely before it is cut from your mouth." Her eyes narrowed and she wished to God that she had strength enough to strike down the man before her.
"We are fighting a war to ensure the survival of our country, Mme. Leave me to my office - you are dismissed."
"Sir, I- I am no coward. I am a Frenchwoman through and through and my loyalty, no matter my uniform will always be to France. Your office may be here on your ship but I am bound to you no longer. I will fulfill my duty to the Emperor - you will see."
"And just what do you plan to do disguised as a British seaman," he spat. "Undo the knots on their riggings? Spit in their grog? You are useless - it would have better if you had just died in the battle."
"At least I have a plan," Beatrice coughed, tears of misery forcing their way to her eyes. "What of you, sir? Do you think you can retake your ship single-handedly? Look around you! Nearly all of your men are dead or wounded and you will soon be paroled in the closest port within the week. How can you possibly hope to overcome such odds?" She knew she had hit a nerve when the Capitaine, flushed with anger, made a move to strike her. She closed her eyes tight, waiting for the blow that never came.
"Mme. De Vigny: remove yourself from my ship." She opened her eyes, surprised to see the Capitaine, his shoulders slumped facing away from her.
"Sir." Wiping the tears from her eyes, Beatrice turned to leave the ill-fated ship. Before she left, however, she turned and faced the Capitaine once more.
"Chacun est artisan de sa fortune.... Bon chance, mon Capitaine."
"Qui se fait brebis, le loup le mange," came the hushed reply as the once-distinguished seaman exited into an adjacent partition to help out where he could. Beatrice stood solemnly, wondering if she should stay and aid him, but knew that any help she could provide would be unwanted and received with open hostility at this point. Thoughts of Renard made her linger longer on the sick deck, but having come up empty in her search and not wishing to run into the Capitaine again, she returned to the British warship and prepared.
…………
Staying within the crew's berth was easier said than done. With so many eyes watching and wondering as the cries of the wounded rung out across the deck, Beatrice found it difficult to go unnoticed. The quarters were so tight she found the entire ordeal was bringing on a fever. Many times more the doctor ordered her on small errands fetching things or people about the length of the ship. Crew pleaded to her for water. Lieutenants in need of various things such as the number of wounded currently below, a candle with which to light the slow-match artillery wicks or to locate a midshipman that could not be found were asked of her and a number of others who still seemed sea-worthy. By the late afternoon she had run herself ragged over every inch of the frigate.
The Captain had also made several trips down to the sick-deck to look in on the condition of his crew and to speak briefly with the ship's main surgeon before going topside to assess the damage to the Acheron and his own marred ship (which she finally came to realize was the British frigate Surprise) in the fading light of day. She passed him on more than one occasion, his face always seemingly strong and undaunted in the face of the day's turmoil, but containing, too, an undertone of concern and worry that belied his resilient front.
When the night finally fell on the two men-of-war, the pace of the action below deck slowed and Beatrice was allowed a reprieve. Not wanting to spend another minute in the cramped confines allotted, she wearily climbed the ladder to the upper deck and watched with mild interest as the cannons were being refitted with their wheels. Before long she found herself pacing slowly along the larboard gangway and staring out to sea. The sounds of repairs being done to the Acheron could be heard clearly through the dark watch. She breathed in a deep lungful of the sea air, tasting of the damp saltiness of it on her tongue and sighed.
Life was going to be very different for her now. The Capitaine, however irate he may have been, was right… She who makes herself an ewe, the wolf will eat. She was making herself the ewe… she was making herself vulnerable to discovery, imprisonment or worse by following this course. Was it really worth it? Her loyalties lie not only to France but to herself; would a sacrifice on her part for the good of her country really mean so much? Who would benefit from this ruse if she were to die today or the next? Technically she wasn't even aboard - if she were to die, there would be no one to mourn her passing. No one to remember her life or her risks for Emperor and country… she was alone in this world and she was so very exposed because of it.
Her hip wound was beginning to plague her and her sea legs were weakening with what she assumed to be the ever constant rocking of the ship and she searched the deck for a place out of foot to relax. However, aboard a British vessel there is no idle sitting and she grew conscious of the stares from the Marines and officers on watch. Waiting for the most opportune moment, she slipped up to the quarterdeck and down into the mainchains without detection. Her vantage point was most lovely as she could see the lapping waves aglow in the candlelight that poured out from the great cabin. So entranced was she by the gentle rocking of the ship, that even among the coiled chains and with a mind tormented by apprehension, she fell into a deep slumber.
The groggy young woman woke up the next morning to the shouts above.
"You there! Boy! What the devil are you doing down there?"
"Sir," she croaked, her voice hoarse from the exposure to the sea winds. "I was just sitting here and I drifted off. Sorry, sir."
"Well, climb on up then before one of the officers sees you." Her blurred eyes finally recognized the sight of the doctor with a disparaging expression on his face. Well, she surmised, maybe that was his normal expression since that was all she had ever seen. A gray dawn was slowly washing the ship in a bath of muted light as she climbed up with utmost haste and murmured a 'yessir, thank you, sir' before hustling off of the quarterdeck and below.
Through the cannon ports on the upper deck she could see that the Acheron was being made ready to sail and she revised her story to accommodate. If she were found, it would aid her greatly if there were no witnesses able to provide evidence to the contrary to her tale. She walked over it in her mind, working out the kinks and trying to come up with a believable concoction.
Before long, she noted that the crew was filing up to the main deck, some of them carrying what looked like body bags. She quietly accompanied the procession, noting that all of the men - able hands and officers alike - were freshly scrubbed and wearing their best shirts and uniforms for the occasion. On the Acheron, now a comfortable distance away, the other half of the Surprise's crew stood and showed their respects along the railings. She held back behind the large grouping of men as the bags were placed in order of seniority and the remaining threads tied. A body was hoisted onto a ramp and a large British flag draped down upon it.
The captain began a short sermon and read off the names and positions of the deceased. Beatrice had never heard the passage in English before and listened closely as it was echoed by the crew around her. Some of the younger boys were crying… and the Captain had a particular pause when he got to the name of a midshipman named Calamy. As soon as the names were done, the bodies were ceremoniously deposited into the sea and the crew upon both ships stood for a minute of silence.
The Captain dismissed the men and the crew upon the Acheron began lowering a small boat away on the main. It took only a short while for the officers to cross the small divide and climb the larboard accommodation ladder. A young officer, no more than thirty by the looks of him, approached the Captain and exchanged words for a few minutes. Beatrice, having no clue what was to happen next, mulled about with the remainder of the off-duty crew who now shouted crude jokes to their mates on the Acheron. When the Captain and the officer had said all they needed to say, the latter went off with a boyish grin upon his scarred face and a chorus struck up:
"Huzzah for Captain Pullings! Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!"
As the man went back to his place upon the small rowboat that would take him to his first command, Beatrice could not help but feel a twinge of sadness for him. Captain or no, he would never command the Acheron as long as Guiscard was alive. The Surprise's Captain had all but sealed his first officer's death warrant with this commission…
Within the hour, Beatrice watched with finality as the Acheron cut waters destined for refitting in a port along the west coast of South America. The afternoon call sent many below decks for their dinner and grog rations and though Beatrice had not eaten in what she deemed an eternity, she was having trouble summoning the courage to go below. When would she be discovered, she wondered. Would it work to her advantage if she just came forward with her story or would it be best for her to take her chances for the next three or more months? Who would she tell - who could she trust - who would be gullible enough to believe her?
Questions kept her mind in a tumultuous state until the bell sounded at eight chimes announcing the end of the watch. She trailed after the skeleton crew that went down for their food and was able to attain her own meal in a short time. She declined her cup serving of grog though, instead elected to wait in a queue for some water. Unlike the rest of the men, she was still unwashed and covered in blood and grime.
She went to the upper deck, opposite the great cabin and ate her meal amid the great cannon, listening to the raucous laughter of the Captain and his close chaps. Perhaps after they were through she could pull one of the drunken officers aside, convince him of her yarn and leave the rest to fate. Better now then never - and certainly far better to appear as though she were not attempting to conceal her "truth" from the men she was supposedly grateful to.
When the festivities came to an end soon after nightfall, the officers began trailing out and up the ladder to the top deck. She quickly singled out the cherub-faced man she had run into the day before, hoping that he had imbibed enough liquor to make her task an easy one.
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AN: Okies… stopping there. :P This chapter was really just a pause of sorts until I could get to the real meat of the matter - so to speak.
Coming up: Beatrice finds herself confronted with some vary harsh realities - will she be able to worm her way out of the web of lies she has spun?
French proverbs:
Chacun est artisan de sa fortune. Each is a craftsman of his own fortune.
Qui se fait brebis, le loup le mange. She who makes herself an ewe, the wolf will eat.
I could not determine if the Capitaine had been named in the movie… so, after much thought and research, he became Cpt. Guiscard. Guiscard is actually a French name meaning a "wily or crafty man; a shifter." It just seems so apropos. :)
Thanks again to the reviewers:
TheMusingFit: My disclaimers and warnings had me a little skeptical too… I had just wanted to get all of my bases covered in the event that the story became a flat-out gushy romance (which I love lol!) that was straying too far from the books or movie. I am glad you like the story so far though - it just makes me all smiley that you think it's good! lol
Miss Flossy: You're so energetic, I can see how it would be difficult for you to wait… lol! I have that same problem when I ingest too much caffeine. Oh, that soda didn't taste so good. :P But you are right, Mowett is always in need of some "action," as it were… but I am not sure how the story will play out. Point in fact: I hadn't expected to write such a confrontation between Beatrice and the Capitaine, but it turned out that way - much to my dismay. I had been hoping for a more genteel approach myself, but when I was writing, I began to think of how it would be for Beatrice to see someone assume the guise of her father in such a cowardly manner and it seemed that such a altercation was inevitable. I have not written too far ahead, but so far it would seem that Mowett is faring well in his interactions with Beatrice (though, so too are Aubrey and Maturin - it is still too early to tell!) But here's hoping for another Mowett romance - if only for your sake. crosses fingers :)