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By Root 871 0

’s expertise. Doses of grog were issued before shattered limbs were sawn off and dumped in a bin to the accompaniment of screams. Those with flesh wounds were washed and bound. Many were deaf, others blinded. Men with chest and stomach wounds were made comfortable while they waited for death. They knew instinctively release would only be brought by the grim reaper, so they waited stoically for his arrival. The time for fear had gone, but for many the battle still raged inside tortured minds. Broadsides thundered back and forth in fragile mental corridors, every footstep of reality a pistol shot, every shadow an advancing enemy, every shaft of light a gunpowder explosion. Their eyes were shiftless, forever seeking an imaginary foe. For them the battle would never end, a nightmare never to be banished by the coming of day, each moment relived time and time again.

When the lieutenant completed his survey he returned to Bonhomme Richard. On his first knock he was admitted to Paul Jones’s cabin. Inside, Captain Pearson sat stiffly opposite the commodore, the desk neutral ground between them. Half filled wine glasses stood next to crumb-covered plates, all that was left of biscuits the steward had managed to find. Although the cabin was a shambles, the two officers held their bearing as though seated in the grandest royal court in Europe.

“Yes?”

Dale glanced hesitantly at the English captain, but Paul Jones gestured his presence was immaterial. “Well, Mr. Dale?”

The lieutenant sighed, at a loss where to begin. None of the news was good. “HMS Serapis has lost most of her spars, sails, and rigging. Her foremast still stands and part of the mizzen. She is sound structurally, but looks a lot worse than she is. Most of the damage is superficial and can be repaired under way.”

Jones’s eyes flashed. “And Richard?”

Dale shook his head. “Captain Pearson’s eighteen-pounders took a heavy toll.” As he spoke he glanced about the stern cabin, examining timber joints and planking. “Our rudder is held on by only one pintle and the stern frame is nearly shot away. From the mainmast aft the lower deck timbers will not hold without much work. The quarterdeck is ready to collapse over the gunroom. The worst is that we are holed below the waterline and the pumps are losing ground. The men are working as hard as possible, but the water is still gaining.”

“Have you a head count of the prisoners?”

“Including those captured earlier from merchantmen there are almost five hundred.”

“Work them in relays,” the commodore said flatly, “and have them form bucket lines from the holds.”

“Pardon me, sir, but the fire parties are using all the available buckets. They assure me the outbursts are under control, but it will be several hours before we can be certain the fires are out.” He paused. “She may sink before that happens.”

“We’ll see about that.” Turning away from the English captain who sat watching and listening, Paul Jones frowned. “Thank you for your report. I will remain on board here. You take command of Serapis. Jury-rig her, then stand off. Take whatever you need. Ask for volunteers among the prisoners, but give yourself a clear majority of men you can trust. I will reassess the situation at daybreak. If Bonhomme Richard can be saved, I’ll do my best to save her.”

***

The sun rose at ten minutes to six. The morning was gray, gloomy with fog that shrouded the two ships like gun smoke from the previous night reluctant to abandon the battleground. Fires were still burning on the warships, under control but not extinguished. Smoke imprisoned by the fog thickened the still air, clogging lungs that craved oxygen to feed aching muscles. The prisoners-of-war had worked through the night at Bonhomme Richard’s pumps, two hours on, two hours to rest. Petty officers walked among sleeping men, prodding and kicking, swinging knotted ropes to rouse them to their feet. Dreamers, they struggled upright, shambling to places at the pump bars. Each time they were called demanded more effort to obey.

Jackie Rudd was gray with fatigue, miserable with cold, and