In Roaring He Shall Rise: Part I
[Master Post]
November 2nd, Year of Our Lord, 1797
My dearest Amelia,
I have no idea if this letter will ever have the good fortune of reaching you, but I am writing it in the hopes that, the next time we make port, I will find a way of posting it.
It has been three interminable months since I was last able to write, and I am afraid my news is grim. Since I last wrote to you, my fortunes have taken a turn for the worse, and I am not sure whether I shall ever see you or our darling Claire ever again. I am sorry to send such ill tidings, my dearest, but I would rather you know the truth by my own hand, than spend the next years in ignorance of my plight. I would not have you in the dark any longer than necessary. I don't know why I find myself so reluctant to put this to paper, even after resolving to do so: perhaps because I fear in my heart of hearts that it will make this nightmare become real. I have been impressed into service for the Royal Navy.
Perhaps I should start at the beginning of this sorry tale. The Independent Spirit was bound back to America when it happened, of all the ironies. The attack upon our ship took us all unawares, I am afraid to say. It was before dawn on the morning of the seventh of August, and the world was bathed in mist as far as the eye could see. Although I have been a seafaring man for many a year now, I have never ceased to marvel at the strange quiet that befalls the oceans at these times, the fog dampening even the occasional shouts of the sailors, as though nature itself cannot countenance a disturbance of the peace. I have come to relish those few hours of tranquility, and it had become my habit to come up on deck even when I was not on duty. It was thus that I was present when the officer of the watch sounded the call to quarters.
At first, it seemed to be naught but a false alarm. Captain Pike hastened up on deck, and there was a hurried but quiet exchange between the officers that I could not make out from where I was stationed. The telescope changed hands a number of times, while the rest of us were left to squint toward the invisible horizon, to no avail. There was nothing to be seen but mist and cloud. Just as we were preparing to stand down, the sky erupted in flames, the clouds glowing crimson and saffron as the enemy guns came to life. We found ourselves scrambling to our posts, attempting to man the guns and return fire while the captain barked orders as quickly as he could. Confusion reigned, even as broadside after broadside raked across our bows.
Alas, you must know all too well that the Independent Spirit is no match for a frigate, being merely a merchant brigantine with twelve guns. We were severely outclassed by the Hellhound, which had come out of the mist living up to its name, belching smoke and fire. We put up a fight as best we could, but within half an hour our vessel was overrun, and Captain Pike was forced to surrender his sword, even as we stood amidst the wreckage on our deck. The captain of the Hellhound, a self-important, disagreeable little man named Crowley, soon made it clear that he had no respect at all for the sovereignty of our ship. The Royal Navy, as you know, often has few compunctions when it comes to American vessels. They don't respect our flag, or indeed anything about us. Captain Crowley fairly spat on the letter of marque we carried, and seized the ship on the spot, sending her back to Portsmouth under a newly-appointed captain from his crew.
You must have guessed our citizenship papers meant no more to him than scrap paper. When I attempted to protest the impressment, the man simply sneered at me.
“Your papers are worthless,” he said, his accent betraying him as being from the lower classes. As impressive as his progression through the ranks must be, I cannot say the man has endeared himself to me in any fashion, however. “I own you now, mate. Body and soul.”
In essence, the British government cares not one whit that I have lived almost all of my life in America: it only cares that I was born on British soil. As it is, a half-dozen of us have found ourselves press-ganged into service aboard the HMS Hellhound, where we have been ever since, with little hope of ever being able to return home.
Life on board this new ship is nothing like it was aboard the Independent Spirit. The days are long and brutal, and Captain Crowley is overly fond of the lash, though I am lucky enough to have escaped such a punishment so far. Others have not been so fortunate, however. Young Lucas, the lookout from the Independent Spirit who first spotted the enemy ship, was press-ganged along with me in order to replace a boy who was killed during our skirmish. The unfortunate lad failed to salute Captain Crowley one morning, and was given twelve lashes for his insubordination. I am sorry to say that he has not fared well since: his wounds have suppurated, and the ship's surgeon has been able to do little for him.
The rest of us have all begun to show signs of fatigue and illness, which I believe is due in part at least to the terrible quality of the rations we are issued. The water here is foul, and I fancy there are more weevils than flour in the supplies. We are all exhausted, my muscles ache with every movement, and it is increasingly painful to rouse myself in the morning. Already I have lost one tooth, though luckily it was a molar that has been troubling me for a while now. I don't relish the prospect of losing more teeth, though. Loose teeth make it difficult to chew the hard tack we are given, and I daresay that you would find me a good deal less attractive, my dear, if I came back to you toothless. Please try not to worry when you read this: I will endeavour, the next time we make land, to avail myself of fresh fruit and vegetables. That has always kept me before, and doubtless it will again.
I miss you and Claire every minute of every day. I know that you must have already begun to worry by now, since our ship was due to return nearly six weeks ago, and it breaks my heart to think of you, waiting anxiously for news where there is none. Perhaps someone has managed to get word to you, but I rather think not. It is too soon, for one thing. With any luck, I shall find someone to take this letter and send it to you.
Please give Claire a kiss for me, though I hope that you have been doing so every day since I have left. And please remember that I love you.
All my love,
Jimmy
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November 2nd, Year of Our Lord, 1797
My dearest Amelia,
I have no idea if this letter will ever have the good fortune of reaching you, but I am writing it in the hopes that, the next time we make port, I will find a way of posting it.
It has been three interminable months since I was last able to write, and I am afraid my news is grim. Since I last wrote to you, my fortunes have taken a turn for the worse, and I am not sure whether I shall ever see you or our darling Claire ever again. I am sorry to send such ill tidings, my dearest, but I would rather you know the truth by my own hand, than spend the next years in ignorance of my plight. I would not have you in the dark any longer than necessary. I don't know why I find myself so reluctant to put this to paper, even after resolving to do so: perhaps because I fear in my heart of hearts that it will make this nightmare become real. I have been impressed into service for the Royal Navy.
Perhaps I should start at the beginning of this sorry tale. The Independent Spirit was bound back to America when it happened, of all the ironies. The attack upon our ship took us all unawares, I am afraid to say. It was before dawn on the morning of the seventh of August, and the world was bathed in mist as far as the eye could see. Although I have been a seafaring man for many a year now, I have never ceased to marvel at the strange quiet that befalls the oceans at these times, the fog dampening even the occasional shouts of the sailors, as though nature itself cannot countenance a disturbance of the peace. I have come to relish those few hours of tranquility, and it had become my habit to come up on deck even when I was not on duty. It was thus that I was present when the officer of the watch sounded the call to quarters.
At first, it seemed to be naught but a false alarm. Captain Pike hastened up on deck, and there was a hurried but quiet exchange between the officers that I could not make out from where I was stationed. The telescope changed hands a number of times, while the rest of us were left to squint toward the invisible horizon, to no avail. There was nothing to be seen but mist and cloud. Just as we were preparing to stand down, the sky erupted in flames, the clouds glowing crimson and saffron as the enemy guns came to life. We found ourselves scrambling to our posts, attempting to man the guns and return fire while the captain barked orders as quickly as he could. Confusion reigned, even as broadside after broadside raked across our bows.
Alas, you must know all too well that the Independent Spirit is no match for a frigate, being merely a merchant brigantine with twelve guns. We were severely outclassed by the Hellhound, which had come out of the mist living up to its name, belching smoke and fire. We put up a fight as best we could, but within half an hour our vessel was overrun, and Captain Pike was forced to surrender his sword, even as we stood amidst the wreckage on our deck. The captain of the Hellhound, a self-important, disagreeable little man named Crowley, soon made it clear that he had no respect at all for the sovereignty of our ship. The Royal Navy, as you know, often has few compunctions when it comes to American vessels. They don't respect our flag, or indeed anything about us. Captain Crowley fairly spat on the letter of marque we carried, and seized the ship on the spot, sending her back to Portsmouth under a newly-appointed captain from his crew.
You must have guessed our citizenship papers meant no more to him than scrap paper. When I attempted to protest the impressment, the man simply sneered at me.
“Your papers are worthless,” he said, his accent betraying him as being from the lower classes. As impressive as his progression through the ranks must be, I cannot say the man has endeared himself to me in any fashion, however. “I own you now, mate. Body and soul.”
In essence, the British government cares not one whit that I have lived almost all of my life in America: it only cares that I was born on British soil. As it is, a half-dozen of us have found ourselves press-ganged into service aboard the HMS Hellhound, where we have been ever since, with little hope of ever being able to return home.
Life on board this new ship is nothing like it was aboard the Independent Spirit. The days are long and brutal, and Captain Crowley is overly fond of the lash, though I am lucky enough to have escaped such a punishment so far. Others have not been so fortunate, however. Young Lucas, the lookout from the Independent Spirit who first spotted the enemy ship, was press-ganged along with me in order to replace a boy who was killed during our skirmish. The unfortunate lad failed to salute Captain Crowley one morning, and was given twelve lashes for his insubordination. I am sorry to say that he has not fared well since: his wounds have suppurated, and the ship's surgeon has been able to do little for him.
The rest of us have all begun to show signs of fatigue and illness, which I believe is due in part at least to the terrible quality of the rations we are issued. The water here is foul, and I fancy there are more weevils than flour in the supplies. We are all exhausted, my muscles ache with every movement, and it is increasingly painful to rouse myself in the morning. Already I have lost one tooth, though luckily it was a molar that has been troubling me for a while now. I don't relish the prospect of losing more teeth, though. Loose teeth make it difficult to chew the hard tack we are given, and I daresay that you would find me a good deal less attractive, my dear, if I came back to you toothless. Please try not to worry when you read this: I will endeavour, the next time we make land, to avail myself of fresh fruit and vegetables. That has always kept me before, and doubtless it will again.
I miss you and Claire every minute of every day. I know that you must have already begun to worry by now, since our ship was due to return nearly six weeks ago, and it breaks my heart to think of you, waiting anxiously for news where there is none. Perhaps someone has managed to get word to you, but I rather think not. It is too soon, for one thing. With any luck, I shall find someone to take this letter and send it to you.
Please give Claire a kiss for me, though I hope that you have been doing so every day since I have left. And please remember that I love you.
All my love,
Jimmy
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