Commander Cantrell in the West Indies(249)

An iron hand grasped his arm, steadied him. Eddie looked round: Gjedde. “Captain. Are we—?”

“I know nothing more than you. Go to the bridge. I will see. You, sailor! Help the captain to his post. Svantner, do we still have steam?”

“No, sir.”

“Why?” yelled Eddie, trying not to sound like he was watching his child, his creation, die beneath his feet. Which was exactly what he was in terror of.

“I do not know, sir. No comms from Engineering.”

Damn it. The piragua had hit back by the engines. “Svantner, get below. I’ll see to guiding the pilot, but we’ve got to get solid information about our engines. If we can’t steam out of here—”

Svantner nodded his understanding of the mortal consequences of that scenario and was then sliding down the handrails of the companionway into the darkness of the lower decks.

Gjedde reappeared from back near the transom, scanning the near waters for the outline of any approaching ships. “Captain Cantrell, it is as you surmised. We were struck by a spar torpedo.”

“Damage?” Eddie found he couldn’t breathe, watching Gjedde as he chewed his lower lip.

“Less than I expected, frankly,” the Norwegian answered. “I cannot tell if it was because of the inferiority of their bomb—it was simply a petard, I think—or the stoutness of Intrepid’s timbers. But other than some shattered strakes, the hull held up remarkably well.”

“And for that, you may thank the ship’s design,” added Svantner, who came bounding breathlessly back up to the weather deck. Gjedde frowned.

Eddie smiled explained. “He means the citadel design: the armor housing we put around the engine and boiler.”

Svantner, panting and doubled over, nodded weakly. “Aye, sir. Because of the inner armoring, the hull could not compress too much at that point, and that second layer, so to speak, made any spalling or shattering of the internal timbers almost impossible.”

“So the engines—?”

“Are fine, Captain Cantrell. The chief engineer shut them down because he wanted to ease the pressure, just in case any damage had been done to the rivets, seams, or tubes. He brought the steam down to diagnostic levels and is pleased to report all normal and that it shall be restored within the minute. As far as the hull damage is concerned, the pumps are keeping well ahead of the leaks coming in through the seams that the explosion sprung.” A gout of new smoke erupted from the Intrepid’s stack as if to punctuate the engines’ readiness with an exclamation mark. “Orders, sir?” Svantner asked with a smile.

“As if you need to ask!” Eddie said. “Bring her to south by southwest and let’s get the hell out of here—full steam ahead.”





January 1636





The unity and married calm of states





The coast of eastern Texas





Larry Quinn raised his hand and pointed to a darker skein of water on the left side of the narrow inlet they were approaching. “There’s the deeper water. Steer to that.”

Karl Klemm nodded. “Will there be a countercurrent, Major Quinn?”

Larry shrugged. “I doubt it. The mouth of the Calcasieu shouldn’t be putting a lot of water out into the Gulf.”

Kleinbaum, a woodland and jungle scout who had come highly recommended from his time working for the Dutch in the jungles of the Pernambuco, stared backward from the bow. “We’re going into the mouth of the Calcasieu? You said we were beaching east of it.”

Larry didn’t like his tone, but was willing to let it slide. Once. “That’s not what I said, Sebastian. I said we’d look at the inlet and make a final call when we got here. Needed to look at the land, see if it has regular visits from the natives. Sure doesn’t look like it.”

“Yes? Well, I think it is unwise to move inland at all. We should stay on the coast, where we can move away more quickly if we encounter the cannibals.”

Larry sighed but held his ready temper in check. “First, we have no proof that the Atakapas are cannibals or that they are in this area at all. Which I’ve repeated at least a dozen times in the past three days. And second, you’ve shared your thoughts on what we should do quite clearly already—three times on the way in. Any more, and I’d be tempted to construe that as disrespect for your commanding officer.”

Kleinbaum stared at the approaching sands of the East Texas coast, slightly roseate in the setting sun. “You brought me along to provide you with my best assessment of the lands we are in,” he muttered, his voice as stubborn and retracted as the hunched curve of his back.