Chapter 9
It was said that the dawn called an evil wind from the North and on it, they said, flew a Bringer of Death; or so it seemed to the helpless crew of the Indefatigable, when the 74-gun ship-o-the-line Lucille-Mariette bore down on the impotent vessel from the windward. The deck became a teeming mass of men dashing to their posts to steer her clear, while casting fearful glances to the portside - checking to see the rapidly decreasing distance of water between the two ships. It had begun as a mere dot on the horizon, barely noted by the lookout posted from her division. But the dot had grown steadily larger until now it appeared as a giant evil spirit, bringing her guns to bear.
The first broadside came swiftly with a whistle as the balls plummeted from the sky sending splinters and blood flying across the planking, all around her. It was no use running now. They had to turn and fight, though greatly outnumbered with both men and guns. A ball ripped through the canvas sail. The Captain's voice came loud and clear from the quarterdeck where he stood in deep concentration with a glass tucked into the crook of his arm.
"Mr Saunders, have that sail taken in if you please, before she beats herself to death with the tackle." Lorna yelled back an affirmative and immediately sent the hands aloft to furl the damaged sail. The men scrambled up the rigging, swaying precariously on the ratlines as every fibre of the ships timber shuddered against the next onslaught and the ship reeled from its own deadly salvoes that it spat across the water at the Frenchmen. Archie and Horatio were below with the guns, no doubt.
The ships were alongside each other now and the Lucille-Mariette was turning - they were going to be boarded! From the corner of her eye, Lorna saw the great crates of cutlasses and axes being dragged from below. Her men were needed on deck.
"Yardarm there!" She bellowed up. "Prepare to be boarded. Look lively and grab some weaponry! Now, now, now!" They didn't need more warning. Every man was swinging down like lightning. A dozen pairs of feet hit the deck and ran to receive their pikes, pistols and daggers. The boarding came but a few moments later. A swarm of foreign bodies came hurling over the sides with a barrage of French so filthy as to make her cringe, and straight into the crew of the Indy, armed to the teeth, who came running from all directions and swarming up the ladders from the gun decks.
There was riot. The sounds of metal on metal, hurled insults in French and English, the report of powder and the stampeding footfalls across the deck. Lorna didn't think; pistol in one hand and sword in the other she plunged into the fray. There was no time to dwell on the death, the life force drained from every man she plunged her sword into. It was simply a fight for survival and the adrenaline took over. She barely felt it as a blade slashed across her forehead. She saw Horatio fighting like a madman near the fo'c'sle, biting his lip in concentration. Archie she didn't see, but judging from the continued booming and clouds of smoke billowing out from the gun ports, he was still below with the canon or no, perhaps she saw him beside Horatio, beating at a man's head with a pistol butt; it was all so indistinct. She didn't know what she saw. The gash she had gained on her forehead was throbbing and clouding her mind.
There was one clear memory, though. She remembered the Captain, with his guns in hand firing at the French, but then stopping, each pistol empty and just moving to his sword hilt as a huge, tattooed frog ran towards him, rapier in hand. She remembered thinking, he won't draw in time, she remembered running, she remembered beating the blade away and standing before the Captain. And then she remembered standing there, mouth agape, sword thrust through the man's stomach, as he fell. His sword had fallen too, where he had lunged before he struck. She remembered the blade falling, slicing through the thin fabric of her shirt beneath her open jacket, slicing through the bandage. She remembered the Captain's eyes widening in shock as she strove to cover her chest, pulling the coat closed and then almost running away from his accusing eyes, to face another opponent.
She also remembered the cheering as the crew of the Indy flooded the Frenchman's decks, as the victory was theirs and the British ensign was raised proudly above the body-strewn deck. And she remembered her heart sinking her breast as she thought of the horror in Sir Edward Pellew's brown eyes.
***
She expected to hear his voice any minute calling her to the quarterdeck. Showing all the men her secret unashamedly. She could imagine the horrified faces, the shocked expressions. The hurt as Archie and Horatio saw her humiliation. That hurt her most: the thought of Archie's warm eyes refusing to look at her as she stood there in defiled. She imagined being sent home to England in disgrace, forced back to her father or to earn pittance for a living in some whorehouse. Her stomach turned as the terrifying thoughts bombarded her aching skull.
She knew what she was afraid of, now. She was afraid of the shame, the humiliation, the betrayal felt by every man, especially the ones she really cared about, people's disappointment in her, how she had betrayed their trust and their loyalty. What would they think of her? And worst of all the torture of returning to England - forced back into skirts and corsets or to live by doing things she could barely imagine. She felt ill. She carried the wounded to the sick birth and obeyed the Lieutenant's as they tried to patch up the injured ship automatically. Her mind simply replayed her fate to her over and over again; each time more degrading, humiliating and painful. She even felt tears begin to well in the corner of her eyes as she thought of the life she had found here…
But it never came - the Captain's voice ringing above the men's as he called Midshipman Saunders to him, and demanded her real name. It never came. The images in her mind grew worse, she barely even noticed the poultice applied to her wound. The fear mounted and mounted until it was almost a scream in her head. Soon it took all her efforts just to keep back the shamed sobs that she felt well up in her throat. How could she have been discovered? How could malign Fate be so cruel? She leant over the side and tried to throw up, but the retching just made her head spin. At least her injury meant she did not have to explain her erratic behaviour. She leant limply against the rail. She had not seen Archie or Horatio since the battle, they were below seeing to the canon and the wounded. She would not have been able to face them, without dissolving into weak, cowardly tears. She berated herself a hundred times for her cowardice there on that rail.
And it was there, leaning limply over the side, that Cleveland found her - it had been almost six hours.
"The Captain's asked to see you in his cabin, Jamie." Lorna shut her eyes and breathed deeply for a few moments, before straightening up. Pure terror rose its ugly head to swallow her as she managed a weak reply. She barely sensed anything now:
"Very good, I'm on my way…" It was a slow, forcedly calm series of footsteps that bore her to the Captain's door. Resigned and expressionless she raised her fist to knock feebly thrice upon the door.