Chapter 27: Letter from a Lieutenant

A. G. Locke
On board the H.M.S Goliath
Off the Coast of Cyprus
July 28, 1798

Mrs. Natalie Locke Clyde
12 Crawford Place
Portsmouth, England

Dear Sister,

I know that it has been months since my last letter, but you must understand that I am never one to send letters on an affectionate or personal note. My hand simply finds it easier to write messages destined for a commanding officer's possession rather than that of my dear sister's. However, my reluctance to engage in the exchange of written words is due mostly to my lack of time and more so to the repetitive and dry experiences I have undergone in these past months. And as you may guess, I write now because there has been a most baffling and fascinating interruption to the monotony, which I feel is a necessary bit of information for your worrying mind.

Just yesterday we encountered one of our own: a Man-of-War, fourth rate, equipped with sixty guns and a frantic crew of perhaps three hundred and fifty, but the strange thing about her, sister, was that she was sinking. She must have been sinking for what appeared to be a few days when our fleet spotted her. One of the frigates that had gone ahead had recognized her and proceeded to send the word to the rest of the ships, and thus, the entire fleet was progressively informed of our wounded associate, the H.M.S Resolve

Her captain, Captain Richard Carlisle, is an old friend of Father's, and upon hearing the news that one of Britannia's few fourth rate vessels and one of her most gifted post-captains were on the verge of dipping down into the sea, Father immediately volunteered us as the first ship of the line to inspect the disaster. He had me signal our wishes to the commander of our fleet, Admiral Nelson, by process of semaphore and we soon had his reply of consent.

As we approached the sinking ship, I took notice of the floating debris, and, unfortunately, of the dead, rotting bodies strewn recklessly across the tame waters. An unsolicited fetor became mingled with the salty, damp sea-air, and I recall grimacing as we turned broadside and came alongside her, her lower decks already well below the water line, and her men clinging to what remained of the masts and rigging for dear life. It almost seemed as if they hadn't moved for hours, perhaps out of fear that any movement they made would sink their ship faster.

The fore and mizzen were gone—cracked, broken in two—and the result of that injury left the ship tilting on the larboard side, as that was the side on which the broken spars of the masts fell, and they were weighing down that half of the ship, allowing for a clear incline for the water level to ascend. The rigging was splayed, with lines and stays lacerated and mangled in a web of evident distress. Holes abounded the sails, and blood had soaked into the polished wood on the quarter and poop decks, the waist, and the forecastle and had stained the surfaces deeply; in short, speckled pools of crimson had overrun the parts of the deck that were dry, and dead bodies and limbs were unable to be disposed of properly, as every single man on that ship was praying for his life.

It was too dangerous to board even a third of our crew onto the injured vessel, and so Father found it fair if Lieutenant Murray and I sent both ourselves and two gun divisions to the ship via boat. In any other instance, we probably would have come alongside the ship as close as possible, but in this situation, risking a possible collision with the ailing ship was not favorable. Cutters were launched and I went down with one. As soon as our boats gently bumped against the man-of-war, Murray and I directed the divisions carefully up the over the starboard rail and onto the slick, slanted deck of the Resolve

We began our rescue mission with an announcement of our arrival, and I bellowed, "For those able, say 'Aye'!" My reply was weak, the murmured replies of the men who did speak coming together in what sounded more like a dying whale than a spirited crew of His Majesty's Navy. I have heard men in India say 'Aye, sahib!' louder and more unified than what I heard from my fellow countrymen then. The process of rescue was slow and cautious, as it seemed with every step we took that the Resolve had sunk another inch. To climb up the destroyed rigging to get the men from the masts was lunacy, and so we had to persuade the worn, injured men hiding aloft to descend with prudence, and all of them were willing to do so, many collapsing into helping hands as soon as their feet hit the deck.

Fortunately, we managed to get much of the seaman off, but Murray and I soon became aware that there were very few officers on the top deck. In surveying the dead as I wandered around, I found a corpse wearing a lieutenant's uniform, First Lieutenant most likely, but the body had no head, and I felt my stomach churn and twist at the sight.

The cabin located beneath the quarterdeck was dry, mostly, and the door was left ajar, broken actually, and I poked my head in, meeting a thick, muggy darkness. Knowing that no light meant no sight, I broke the door off with a fierce tug and let the daylight stream into the room, revealing a group of lads huddled to the far right, on the elevated side of the cabin. One of them immediately stood, despite the fatigue I noticed in his steps, and he came forward silently, somberly.

He was wearing a midshipman's uniform, and he had in his hand something I thought I'd never see again.

My spyglass.

"What's happened?" I demanded tonelessly. "State your name and rank."

He told me he was Senior Midshipman Gareth Bennett, and he described to me in few words, that in the middle of an abrogated execution, the pirate ship the Black Pearl had launched a surprise attack on them during their distraction with the chaotic execution.

I asked him where his captain and lieutenants were. He said that the captain had gotten wounded from the last, disastrous attack launched against them, and that he had last seen the lieutenants on the quarterdeck. As he was answering my questions, I still could not help but glance over at the spyglass still in his hands. My initials had been engraved in that precious little thing, and I knew that I had given it away before I left.

I had given it away to Astrid on her last night in Port Royal.

When he had finished with his story, I saw a figure loom up behind him and peer at me, and to my astonishment, my old friend, Andre Newton, gave his greetings. If I remember correctly, Sister, you said that you had housed some of my old mates several months back, but you failed to tell me where they came from. You mentioned names, I believe, and Andre's was one of them. 'Bennett' seemed oddly familiar as well and I was able to connect the name of the midshipman before me to the Bennett that you had described, but the other name you introduced to me, 'Barlow,' was entirely new. I had never heard of it before.

Andre did not hesitate to tell me that Roland had been taken hostage by the pirates, along with this 'Barlow' as well. Apparently, the captain of the Pearl only wanted them, and the two stupidly agreed to her wishes and left their fellow captain and brothers on board susceptible to full blown attack. Yes, Mister Turner is a good friend of mine, Sister, but I do not think that it was very wise of him to accept any terms of a traitorous pirate. The able seaman also added to my grief by informing me that Midshipman Robert Lester had gotten injured in battle and was unconscious with fever.

And so I asked where their surgeon was.

Mister Bennett gladly answered that and said that the surgeon was at the quarterdeck with the lieutenants, and I began to punish myself mentally for not inspecting the quarterdeck before coming to this cabin. I told them all to get out of the stuffy cabin and to come out on deck, and they did, both Bennett and Newton supporting a red-faced Dobbin with their arms as they came out. They were followed by a group of ship's boys, who all seemed rather unharmed, and I left them in the care of the seamen who accompanied Murray and me, and they got them onto the Goliath safely.

Murray met me halfway on my path to the quarterdeck and he informed me that the surgeon and two lieutenants Mister Bennett had mentioned earlier were safe and already on our ship. Furthermore, he added that he came across the deplorable Victor Griffith, and dismally confessed that the bastard was without a scratch and also safely transferred to our ship.

"Let's get the rest of them off, Kenneth," I said, and he nodded before calling the orders to his men. From then on, our pace increased slightly, and we managed to get all men alive onto the Goliath and out of harm's way, for the time that is.

Father ordered the Resolve to be burnt, having gotten the orders sent to us by Lord Nelson himself. She was in far too much damage to ever be of use again and by the time we had gotten every living crewmember of the Resolve off, our commander had already stepped foot on our ship and said directly and decisively for the ship to be burnt. The dead bodies still there would surely be mourned and a funeral service is to be held soon in their honor, and the cargo obtained from previous battles would also be lost, putting the efforts of the men alive in vain.

But such are the ways of the ocean, Sister. She is never always kind, nor is she ever always heartless.

Now, I did mention before that I had developed some concern over this matter after I had identified the spyglass Mister Bennett had held in his hands. After speaking with him today, he admitted, with little shame, that the spyglass belonged to a sweetheart—a lover. At first, I thought that the young man was a fairy, but he must have anticipated such a thought and explained that his sweetheart had come on board disguised as a boy when in truth, he was a woman.

My interest in his story surged rapidly and I nearly shouted out my demanding questions at him, my zeal in the subject overcoming me.

"What was her name?" I commanded, my hands clenching as both excitement and worry pulsed through my veins. "What was it!"

"Astrid, sir," he replied, looking at me as if I was mad. But his confusion did not last long. He was a man of intellect, I could tell, and he understood as quickly as I did. "You know her," he said, looking down, the spyglass still in his hands. His finger ran over my initials on the side and he added, "And you love her."

I said nothing afterwards. I feared that any response to his remarks would damn me, as I wasn't quite sure myself of what to say. To think of it, Sister! That Astrid was on that ship! That she had survived and endured such hardships in the navy! What madwoman have I become so enamored with, Sister? Tell me that she was not so when you housed her so many months back!

But even if she had earned her place in the navy, I worry about her now, Nattie. In the hands of pirates? God, have mercy! What trouble has she gotten her pretty self into? And to think that I was but a few days away from seeing her again, and yet I arrive and find that she has been taken hostage and that her heart, unbeknownst to me, had already found a new keeper.

To hell with it! Her ocean is as treacherous and deceitful as those damned criminals who pollute the seas, and I have come to realize, Nattie, that I do not fear so much for her safety now, but rather that she herself may turn pirate, and perhaps, she shall bring Roland into her alluring little scheme as well, as she so successfully does to every man who knows her.

Our days are short, Sister. We will arrive in Egypt in a matter of days, and there is no telling what awaits us there. And so I pray for you, your husband and your newly born son to be and to stay in good health. And should Miss Sparrow write to you, tell her that I miss her, and let us hope that she will understand what I truly mean when I say such blunt, careless words. I do not think she even remembers me anymore.

But as I close this letter, this I do ask of you, Sister. If Astrid does indeed write to you for whatever reason she finds worthy, tell her that I have now learned of her shameless legend as the infamous 'Jackaroe.'

Love,
Adam