he could want. And the captain certainly didn’t need it anymore.
The marine private guarding the door snapped to attention as Charles approached, then stepped aside and opened the door for him. An overhead lamp lit the room, and the first thing he saw was Captain Wood’s hastily made coffin on the floor near the smashed stern galley windows. He pushed away any qualms about working in a room with a dead man in it, crossed to the desk, and sat down. After unstopping his ink bottle, laying out his paper, and nibbling on the end of his goose quill, he began to write:
HMS Argonaut
Off Cape St. Vincent
Midnight, Feb. 14 , 1797
Sir,
I have the honor to report that at about 1 : 30 this afternoon the Argonaut, as ordered, engaged the Spanish fleet off Cape St. Vincent. We came into conflict with an unknown number of Spanish warships of which we were fortunate enough to disable three before the battle ended. They were the San Ysidro, 74 guns, the San Antonio, 74 guns, and the San Nicolás, 84 guns. I wish to state strongly that throughout the engagement the entire ship’s company performed their duties with exceptional dedication and courage under the most adverse of circumstances.
It is my sad duty to report that in the course of these encounters Captain Sir Edward Wood was killed, as was the First Lieutenant, Thomas Hudgins. The ship’s master, George Peabody, and her purser, Darcy Adkins, were also fatally injured. A complete list of the dead and wounded is attached.
The Argonaut sustained severe damage in the course of the battle, including the loss of all her masts and her helm, and was holed more than twenty times below the waterline. Thanks to the selfless and capable efforts of Lieutenant Daniel Bevan and Midshipman Stephen Winchester (whom I have provisionally appointed to acting lieutenant), repairs completed at the time this is written are sufficient to make her seaworthy to be towed to Lisbon on the morning of the 15 th.
Your servant, sir,
Lieutenant Charles Edgemont,
Acting Commander
Charles pushed the paper away from him and slouched back in Captain Wood’s chair. It slightly annoyed him that the events of such a tumultuous and deadly day could be summed up in three short paragraphs. Finally the tension and the weight of his responsibilities began to seep away. The pain in his head was manageable, but his limbs seemed too heavy to move. His eyelids drooped.
“’Ere, sir.” A voice presented itself so unexpectedly beside him that he started. The voice belonged to Timothy Attwater, whom Charles knew to be Captain Wood’s elderly steward. Attwater deftly placed a large crystal goblet full of deep, deep red liquid on the desk in front of him. “Drink this. The captain, ’e had a tote every night afore ’e went to bed. ’E won’t mind.”
“What is it?” Charles asked, lifting the glass to the light.
“Claret, sir. It’s good for the blood, and it relaxes you. The captain swears—swore—by it.”
Charles tasted the wine and savored the soothing, numbing sensation as it wound its way to his stomach. “Would you have a glass with me, Attwater? I hate to drink alone.”
“Oh, no, sir. I couldn’t. I never did nothing like that with the captain.”
“You will now. Get yourself a glass and a chair and sit down with me. I’m not leaving unless you do.” Attwater did as he was told, with crossed expressions of pleasure and trepidation on his wizened face.
The two sat in the large cabin in complete silence, sipping their wine. When Charles drained the last drops from his glass, he carefully placed it on the desk and slowly rose to his feet. He felt unbelievably relaxed and a little light-headed. “I’d best get back to my quarters before I fall asleep on the floor,” he said, turning toward the door. “Would you pass the word to Lieutenant Bevan to have me wakened at dawn?”
“Oh, no, sir,” Attwater said, looking alarmed. “I mean, yes, I’ll call you at dawn, but no, sir, you
The marine private guarding the door snapped to attention as Charles approached, then stepped aside and opened the door for him. An overhead lamp lit the room, and the first thing he saw was Captain Wood’s hastily made coffin on the floor near the smashed stern galley windows. He pushed away any qualms about working in a room with a dead man in it, crossed to the desk, and sat down. After unstopping his ink bottle, laying out his paper, and nibbling on the end of his goose quill, he began to write:
HMS Argonaut
Off Cape St. Vincent
Midnight, Feb. 14 , 1797
Sir,
I have the honor to report that at about 1 : 30 this afternoon the Argonaut, as ordered, engaged the Spanish fleet off Cape St. Vincent. We came into conflict with an unknown number of Spanish warships of which we were fortunate enough to disable three before the battle ended. They were the San Ysidro, 74 guns, the San Antonio, 74 guns, and the San Nicolás, 84 guns. I wish to state strongly that throughout the engagement the entire ship’s company performed their duties with exceptional dedication and courage under the most adverse of circumstances.
It is my sad duty to report that in the course of these encounters Captain Sir Edward Wood was killed, as was the First Lieutenant, Thomas Hudgins. The ship’s master, George Peabody, and her purser, Darcy Adkins, were also fatally injured. A complete list of the dead and wounded is attached.
The Argonaut sustained severe damage in the course of the battle, including the loss of all her masts and her helm, and was holed more than twenty times below the waterline. Thanks to the selfless and capable efforts of Lieutenant Daniel Bevan and Midshipman Stephen Winchester (whom I have provisionally appointed to acting lieutenant), repairs completed at the time this is written are sufficient to make her seaworthy to be towed to Lisbon on the morning of the 15 th.
Your servant, sir,
Lieutenant Charles Edgemont,
Acting Commander
Charles pushed the paper away from him and slouched back in Captain Wood’s chair. It slightly annoyed him that the events of such a tumultuous and deadly day could be summed up in three short paragraphs. Finally the tension and the weight of his responsibilities began to seep away. The pain in his head was manageable, but his limbs seemed too heavy to move. His eyelids drooped.
“’Ere, sir.” A voice presented itself so unexpectedly beside him that he started. The voice belonged to Timothy Attwater, whom Charles knew to be Captain Wood’s elderly steward. Attwater deftly placed a large crystal goblet full of deep, deep red liquid on the desk in front of him. “Drink this. The captain, ’e had a tote every night afore ’e went to bed. ’E won’t mind.”
“What is it?” Charles asked, lifting the glass to the light.
“Claret, sir. It’s good for the blood, and it relaxes you. The captain swears—swore—by it.”
Charles tasted the wine and savored the soothing, numbing sensation as it wound its way to his stomach. “Would you have a glass with me, Attwater? I hate to drink alone.”
“Oh, no, sir. I couldn’t. I never did nothing like that with the captain.”
“You will now. Get yourself a glass and a chair and sit down with me. I’m not leaving unless you do.” Attwater did as he was told, with crossed expressions of pleasure and trepidation on his wizened face.
The two sat in the large cabin in complete silence, sipping their wine. When Charles drained the last drops from his glass, he carefully placed it on the desk and slowly rose to his feet. He felt unbelievably relaxed and a little light-headed. “I’d best get back to my quarters before I fall asleep on the floor,” he said, turning toward the door. “Would you pass the word to Lieutenant Bevan to have me wakened at dawn?”
“Oh, no, sir,” Attwater said, looking alarmed. “I mean, yes, I’ll call you at dawn, but no, sir, you
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