Prue Phillipson - Hordens of Horden Hall (26 page)

“God in heaven, we are still heavily outnumbered.”

“But we have more discipline. The captain says the Dutch are split because the
Royal Prince
surrendered to Tromp. It was
his
prize but de Ruyter ordered the fire-ships to go on and destroy her. Even if she was disabled when she ran aground she could have been towed away when the tide refloated her. So the two admirals will be at odds with each other which gives us a chance to exploit their differences. There could be confused orders from them.”

“Well there will be no hanging back today, no sheltering behind the first-rates. We will all be needed.”

Daniel nodded, slapped his friend on the back and went down to his gun-deck. He checked the ammunition that was left. The initial allowance of forty rounds a gun was greatly depleted. It would not see out another day’s fierce fighting. He swallowed hard, briefly remembered his mother and prayed she did not yet know what was going on here. As they were ordered into line and advanced towards the Dutch fleet he put her swiftly out of his thoughts.

The day began with early passes in line firing as the guns bore but soon individual squadrons and gradually individual ships were fighting their own duels.

It was well into the afternoon when Daniel came on deck to report to the captain that the ammunition was exhausted. The captain was watching the manoeuvres of one of the larger Dutch ships which, sensing by the silence, the
Elizabeth’s
helplessness, was passing across their bows to rake them stem to stern. It was within musket range and some sailors were aloft ready to fire. Others lined the foredeck, muskets primed. As they discharged their weapons the first salvo came.

Daniel was aware that Henry had found a musket from somewhere and was also taking aim. Next moment from the corner of his eye he saw Henry’s musket flung up into the air and crash to the deck. He turned his head as the trunk of his friend fell backwards. A thing rolled away across the deck, round with protruding ears and eyes wide in astonishment.

The sight made a momentary impact on Daniel’s brain but was overwhelmed by more thunderous noise and a splinter was torn from the foremast immediately above the captain’s head. He was yelling a warning at two seamen as the yard of the foresail was torn from the rigging and hung above them before crashing to the deck. They flung themselves out of the way but now the captain himself was in danger as another cannon-shot struck the foremast. Daniel flung himself at him and propelled him clear just as the mast split and fell, ripping sail and rigging with it and enveloping them on the deck. Daniel could hear the shrill screaming of a boy who must be trapped under the mast. “I am alive,” he told himself and found he still had his arms about the captain’s waist.

“Sir, are you hurt?” He freed his knife from his belt and slashed at the sail.

The captain rolled over and their faces were within a few inches of each other. The captain was bleeding from a deep scratch on his forehead but seemed unaware of it. “Thanks to you, lieutenant, I am unhurt. And you?”

“Likewise sir.” He enlarged the slit he had made and scrambled upright and helped the captain to his feet. When he put his weight on his right leg Daniel became aware of a searing pain in the side of his calf just above the ankle bone. He looked down and saw six inches of a splinter of wood protruding through his stocking which was rapidly turning from white to red. The sight made him feel sick and faint but he thought, it’s only a flesh wound. What of that boy who was screaming? What of the ship itself? What of Henry?

The big Dutch vessel had moved on to wreak further havoc among the smaller English ships but it had left devastation behind.

Daniel saw the boy soon enough, the mast crushing his chest. He was dead. There were men crawling about, bleeding but struggling to free themselves from sheets and sails. Daniel tried to step out to help them but some rope tugged on the splinter in his leg and he almost screamed out. In fury he reached down and dragged the splinter out, aghast at its length.

The acute pain lessened though he was aware of leaving a trail of blood. But with his knife ripping the sail he was able to help several men to their feet and set them to carry the wounded below.

Seeing another place where there was a bulge in the sail and a stain of blood he slashed another hole and Henry’s eyes looked up at him. Except they were not looking. There was vacancy. Enlarging the hole he found only the gaping bloody neck and no body. And then he knew he had seen it happen. He had seen the head with its protruding ears bouncing over the deck into this corner.

He staggered to the side and vomited. The noise of the guns roared in his ears and then shrank to a thin buzzing as his vision blurred and he subsided to the deck.

He became aware of someone lifting his head and putting a cup to his lips. He drank greedily, realising it was not beer but good quality wine. His eyes cleared and he saw to his astonishment that he was in the captain’s cabin. His right leg was heavily bandaged and throbbed fiercely but the wine revived him and he sat up himself and looked about. It was the captain, his head bound up, who had been helping him to drink.

“Sir,” Daniel exclaimed, “you administering to me!”

“Why not, man? I owe you my life. Besides below-decks is thick with the wounded everywhere and the surgeon and his mates are sorely overstretched.”

Daniel became aware from the squeaking and groaning of the timbers that the ship was underway.

“Is the battle over? Where are we heading?”

“We are under tow, limping into Sheerness.”

“Did we lose?”

The Captain shook his head. “No one won. Losses have been terrible on both sides. Yes, we had to withdraw and no doubt the Dutch – what’s left of ‘em – will go home and celebrate a great victory. But you will all be laid off while repairs are carried out. Go home to Northumberland, Lieutenant, and get that leg healed before you report for duty again.”

“I’ll soon be fit, sir. Branford and I will stay with his family in London. It takes a mighty long time to get to Northumberland and back if the muster is called.”

The captain’s face clouded. “Branford? I thought you knew. We found you close to his –”

Daniel clasped his hands over his face, shutting his eyes, but he couldn’t shut out the image. “Oh God, sir,” he mumbled at last, “how can I tell his mother and father?”

“Let us hope the casualty lists are printed before you see Lord and Lady Branford but I fear they run into many thousands. Tell them he died in an act of great courage. He snatched a fallen seaman’s musket and aimed at the Dutch commander before he was struck.”

Daniel wept.

“You enlisted at the same time but I believe you were already old friends.”

“From Cambridge, sir. And
his
father and
my
father were friends in their time at the University.”

The captain patted his arm and moved the wine bottle and glass within his reach. “Rest, lad. I must on deck.”

Daniel lay back on the pillow. Henry was dead. The Captain had spoken the word Northumberland which sounded sweet to his ears. If he could get back there would his mother ever let him return to the navy? Surely this wound would heal quickly. His leg was not broken. He was a fit man compared to many he could hear now moaning or screaming under the surgeon’s knife as crushed limbs were amputated. But did he want to come back? Did he want again the hell he had already been through these last four days? Was that cowardly? He had entered under the King’s own sponsorship. He had longed to serve him but in what way was the king served by losing so many good ships and men – for what? And Henry his friend was dead. They had knelt together in the King’s presence and received their commission from him. But would the seas be any safer for Henry’s death? Would trade prosper?

Daniel sat up and poured himself another glass of the captain’s best wine. He wanted oblivion but it was a long time coming. At last, unaware that the captain had come quietly back and laid down on cushions on the deck beside the bed, he fell asleep.

CHAPTER 19

“
Well, I hope you are satisfied, Reverend Nathaniel Wilson Horden. He is wounded. He has written from Cousin Celia’s where he is staying.”

Bel had run all the way to the vicarage on the hot late June day with her letter in her hand. Nat had visited a sick parishioner and was sitting on the bench outside in the sunshine preparatory to walking home to the Hall for his dinner.

The vicarage garden was full of the scent of roses which rambled up the walls of the house since he had himself ripped out the ivy and encouraged the neglected roses to climb. He smiled and made room for her on the bench.

“So I get called by my full name instead of the usual Nat and you are laughing as you say it so I take it he is not seriously hurt and you are mightily relieved that for the moment he is out of the war.”

She sat down panting. “Oh Nat, I am, but of course he is making light of it to spare us anxiety. It is his right leg and he can walk about with a stick. Maybe he has lost it altogether and the stick is a crutch.” She handed him the letter.

He looked it over rapidly. “But this is tragic. Henry Branford is dead. What must my old friend Edward and his wife be feeling and you are all smiles because our Dan is safe. Do you care more about that than their grief?”

Bel stuck out her chin. “Yes, if I am honest. And so would any mother. I can feel Lady Branford’s agony only too well but if you are asking me whether I would rather Dan had been killed and Henry spared then no, I would not. He says Henry was mowed down right next to him. Do you see then how close our Dan was to death? Have I not been right to worry all these months? But now that is not the point. You see that he has been told of William’s death and Eunice’s disappearance. He will be restless and anxious on that account and will want to go searching for her. I must go to him at once.”

Nat looked back at the letter. “What he says is,
‘Unwittingly I have come from one scene of death and destruction to another. Poor Cousin Celia is stricken by her husband’s illness and also the loss of her son and granddaughter to the horrible plague. I do not think any of us at sea realised how awful that was and what a swathe it has cut through the population of London.
I grieve for little Eunice. They say no one knows where her body is or I would go and strew some flowers on her grave.’
Does that sound as if he believes her to be still alive?”

“Well,
I
have a feeling here” – she laid her hand on her heart – “that she is alive somewhere. I want to question that leather-worker’s boy who was the last to see her. Anyway, what say you, my husband? Do we go to London and bring our boy home?”

“He writes of returning to his ship when it is seaworthy again –”

“Never, if I can prevent it.”

Nat got up with a sigh and took her hand. “Well, we will go but we had better send word ahead by the post which will be quicker than we could make it.”

“If we had good horses at every stage and rode the whole way I wager we could do it as fast as the post.”

“We haven’t and we have arrangements to make before we can go. Come let us have our dinner. Ursula always has it ready by noon.”

Eunice had seen Daniel. Jack, the waterman, had kept her informed as news of the battle filtered back.

“Eh, there’s many a good ship lost and the Lord knows how many good men dead and wounded.”

“Where will they bring the wounded? Is there a hospital in Chatham?”

“Not what you’d call a regular hospital. They billets them all over the place and is supposed to pay for their keep but I never heard of anyone getting paid for nursing a sick sailor yet.”

“Will all the ships be brought into Chatham?”

“Nay, we may get the third rates here. If there’s as many battered to bits as I hear they’ll need every dockyard there is in the river.”

Eunice inquired if there was any way of finding out which ship an officer was serving in but she was told the lists would be at the Navy Office in Seething Lane, back in the City. If she could have broken her vow to be Patience Porter she would have walked all that way back. As Eunice Horden she was ready to throw up her position at the Harrisons at any moment but she waited, torn between the two roles, and was rewarded one morning by hearing Mr Harrison tell his wife that two third rates were coming in and they would need “Miles of new rope. Thou shalt have a new summer dress, my lovely.”

Mrs Harrison had a dressmaker in the town and as soon as he had gone to work she ordered Eunice to guard the house with her life and have dinner on the table at noon. She was going to choose her material for the dress and another for the petticoat and she would be “some time about it.”

Eunice watched her go and after five minutes tidying up to be sure her mistress didn’t come back for something she had forgotten she slipped out of the back door, locking it behind her and placing the key under a flower pot by the step. She ran towards the river by a route that didn’t take her past the rope-works.

Her waterman was not there but there was great bustle in the dockyard and looking down river she saw the sorry sight of two ships of the line being towed towards the docks. Both had masts and rigging destroyed and many gun-ports smashed. Keeping hidden behind a shed she watched the slow process of them being eased alongside the quay and the gangplanks lowered. First came the
Mary
which she remembered the waterman telling her had been built here. Many wounded were carried off but she couldn’t discern most of their faces so swathed in bandages they were. Officers supervised the exodus and she looked hard at them but none had Daniel’s height. The
Elizabeth
docked further along the quay so she scuttled by, dodging behind the many small buildings to a place where she could peep from behind bales of straw on the quayside and watch the entry port at close quarters.