The Continental Risque

The Continental Risque Read Online Free PDF Page B

Book: The Continental Risque Read Online Free PDF
Author: James Nelson
Knox, a bookseller from Boston. It turned out that Knox was now an artillery officer himself. The two became fast friends and Biddlecomb at last had no choice but to dismiss Jaeger from service aboard the
Charlemagne
in order that he might join Knox’s unit. But Jaeger had taught the Charlemagnes well, and they were fast and efficient in preparing the brig for battle.
    Midshipman Weatherspoon dashed up from below. At fifteen years old he was already a veteran of a number of desperate fights aboard the
Charlemagne
. He took his place on the quarterdeck, relieved, no doubt, to be free of the navigational trigonometry that so baffled him, but which on most days Biddlecomb insisted he study.
    â€˜Isaac, is there anything I can do?’ Stanton asked quietly, stepping over to the weather side.
    â€˜Yes, in fact, if you would take the conn, that will relieve me of one thing, at least.’ Stanton had sailed these waters many times – more times, in fact, than Biddlecomb – and he would be more than capable of seeing to the
Charlemagne
’s navigation.
    â€˜Gladly,’ Stanton said, stepping over to the helmsmen.
    â€˜Mr Stanton has the conn,’ Biddlecomb said to the helmsmen.
    â€˜Captain?’ Stanton said, his voice now loud enough to be heard around the deck. Never had Biddlecomb’s mentor, the man for whom he had worked for fifteen years, from cabin boy to master, addressed him as ‘captain,’ and he was a bit taken aback.
    â€˜Yes … Mr Stanton?’ he said, adjusting with some difficulty to their changing roles.
    â€˜What course?’
    â€˜Keep her headed for Hell Gate,’ Biddlecomb said as if he had a plan and that were a part of it. He turned and looked over the waist. The ship was cleared for action, the men at their posts, and Rumstick was heading aft to report the time that it had taken. Once again they would settle down and wait, though now any sense of monotony was quite gone.
    Two hours later, two hours of watching the frigate draw inexorably nearer, Biddlecomb realized that she was the HMS
Glasgow
, freshly repaired after the damage that he himself had inflicted on her two months before. She was a mile and a half astern, no more than that, her buff bowsprit and oiled jibboom thrusting high above the water, all sail set to studdingsails and royals, the churning foam under her bow boiling halfway up the cutwater.
    He recalled the last time they had been in this position, the
Glasgow
racing to catch the
Charlemagne
. At that time her jibboom was gone and her bowsprit jury-rigged and her fore topgallant gear torn away. There had been no fear of capture then. But this time his was the crippled vessel. He wondered if Capt. William Maltby was still in command. If he was, then Biddlecomb could expect no mercy from that quarter.
    He realized that he was gripping hard on the quarterdeck rail. Fear, physical fear, and panic at the hopelessness of their situation were seeping in around the edge of his thoughts. He remembered the parties in Cambridge given in his honor, the secret delight he took in his role of hero. A flush of embarrassment swept over him. Some hero, some pathetic pretender of a hero.
    But he was not beaten yet, he would not be controlled by his fear. Nor was he ready to hand the
Charlemagne
over after all they had been through. While there was still sea room, there was still a chance.
    He could make out the little town of New Rochelle just beyond the starboard bow, where Long Island Sound began to constrict into the East River, with its islands and spits of land reaching out into the water. The tide was on the ebb, sweeping them and the
Glasgow
downriver. Another few miles and they would have no choice but to race through Hell Gate and into New York Harbor; they would not be able to turn and sail back against the tide.
    Biddlecomb tried to picture it in his mind: the
Charlemagne
working through the wild turn at Hell Gate, past Hallet’s Point,
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