The Honor Of The Mathilde

"Again! This time, in the correct order!" Master Felcher demanded.

His pupils, the son and daughter of Duke Mounteford, jumped in their chairs as Master Felcher slammed his walking stick against the bulkhead for emphasis.

"Now then, number one, if you please, Lord Richard?"

"Reverence thy father and mother as Nature requires." Richard remained seated at his chair but sat very erect.

"Correct. Lady Caroline, number two?"

"Stand not too fast in thy conceit." Caroline, observing Richard's posture sat straighter yet, not wishing to garner Master Felcher's wrath.

"Also correct. Number three, together, please?"

Their sing-song voices rang out in unison, "Rise early in the morning to be holy, healthy, and wealthy."

Captain Edmund Fairburn smiled as he passed out of earshot of the galley the tutor and his charges were occupying as a schoolroom. Many times as a child he himself had recited those very same lessons in drudgery and the fine art of gentility.

Fairburn took the steps up to the deck two at a time, breathing deeply of the salt air as he emerged into the sunshine. He stood for a moment and took in the pristine appearance of his ship. The secondary sails were taut in the breeze, the ropes well rolled and oiled and his men busy at their tasks.

The first mate, Mister Richter, held the wheel steady as the ocean rolled beneath his legs. Fairburn strode toward the main mast, glanced up into the crow's nest and gave out a yell.

"Hallo the nest!"

"Aye, Cap'n?"

"What see you?"

"As you will, Cap'n. It's a clear way ahead an the wind be from the North!"

Fairburn raised his hand in acknowledgment then continued to the wheel. "And you, Richter, how goes Mathilde?"

"She goes fast and clean, just as you know she does!" Richter laughed openly as Fairburn scowled.

"Mind you she continues on this course, Richter, and eyes sharp. The Spanish are reported back this way, heading for Scotland.

"I'faith, Captain, Drake and his fire ships scattered them from Channel to Sea," replied Richter. "In the main, I believe they be going round the Isles to head south from there!"

"Cirtes, they are!" Fairburn growled out, "But we are as yet betwixt they and their course homeward! Mister Richter! Give me full sail if you please."

"Full sail, lads! Look lively, an thou likest!" Richter yelled out.

The sailors moved as one and the Mathilde soon had fore and aft sails full of the afternoon winds. The main mast sail caught and billowed soon thereafter and the schooner sped greedily over the waters, eating up the waves as if they were naught but small swells.

Master Felcher poked his pale face above deck, holding his hat and wig with one hand against the wind. He approached Captain Fairburn and Mister Richter with a small air of aloofness about him, but was polite, none the less.

"Captain? If I may have but a moment of your time?"

Fairburn eyed the schoolmaster with his ridiculous hat and wig and controlled his expression to one of bland nobility. "Very well, Felcher, how may I be of service?"

Felcher inclined his head as if ready to pass secretive information on to Fairburn. "By your leave, Captain, Lord Richard and Lady Caroline have beseeched me on their behest to ask permission to stroll the fore deck for a quarter of the hour and stretch their legs."

"I'll not tolerate any lightminded spawn of a nobleman causing chaos upon my decks, sir. An I have your word they will not misbehave, they have my permission. I will accept your word, Schoolmaster."

Felcher thought a moment, then nodded his head. "By your leave, Captain, I shall instruct them of your proviso. Pray pardon."

Fairburn turned back to his first mate with laughter in his eyes. His nieces and nephews were constantly under foot on his shorter sailings and the two below decks would be a tame comparison by far.

After a brief five minutes, the children emerged. The Lady Caroline, all of twelve years old, wore a pink creation entirely edged in white lace. Her matching bonnet was tied under her chin with a pink satin ribbon and her long golden curls whipped in the wind. Her white kidd gloves, slippers and pink parasol completed the ensemble. She appeared dressed for a noonday stroll about the gardens rather than aboard the privateer vessel Mathilde.

Lord Richard, though long out of leading strings, looked to his sister for direction. The boy, also twelve for the pair were twins, was dressed in the utmost fashion of the day. Dark blue hose, white lawn shirt and matching dark blue over coat gave the boy a healthy appearance. His Hessians, shined to a bright black covered his calves and he wore no hat upon his head.

The two rambled about the deck serenely and when Mathilde gave a brisk buck over a particularly nasty wave, Lord Richard dutifully assisted Lady Caroline to the rail.

"What ho, children? Are you enjoying your crossing?"

"Yes, Captain," they answered together.

"And Master Felcher, does he enjoy it as well?"

"Master Felcher is rather indisposed," began Richard.

"To traveling aboard ship," finished Caroline.

"He gets sea-sick," they said again together.

Fairburn let loose a hearty laugh. He had thought the man a little stiff in the collar, but had only suspected he was green around the gills.

"And what of you two? Do you get sea-sick as well?"

"We're never sick at sea." They said again in tandem.

Caroline stated firmly, "Father says we have the disposition," and again Richard completed the thought, "Of a brick!"

"A pair of bricks, is it then? Prithee you don't go overboard then youngsters, for a pair of bricks here would go a long ways down. Mind your feet about the decks, now." Captain Fairburn strolled back toward the upper level and back to his second mate. They shared a brief conversation and then both men erupted into fits of laughter.

"Do you think he has had too much sun?" Asked Caroline.

"Well, if he has it wouldn't matter. Father said he was the only Captain trusted to bring us home through the Spanish troubles."

"And he told his man Bernard who told my maid Mary Kate that the Mathilde was the fastest ship in England."

"Ho! Sail, Cap'n, to the south, dead ahead!"

"Signal all hands, Richter! Ho the nest, how many?" Fairburn yelled out.

Richter's shrill whistle signaled all hands on deck. Many of the men had been below and a full one third of the crew swarmed over the rails and masts, waiting for their captain's orders.

"They be two of 'em, Sir. White sails with the virgin's face. They be Spanish Galleons and one is low to the water and falling behind the other." The sailor called out quickly and Fairburn's eyes glinted like solid steel.

"To arms! Quarter master!"

"Aye, Sir?"

"Weapons at the ready! All men at their posts, uncover those cannon and prepare to fire on my orders only!"

"Aye, Sir!"

"Children! Get below decks and stay in your quarters!" The pair ran swiftly to the lower stair and quickly followed the captain's orders.

All hands rushed quickly and efficiently to their posts, cannon fire at the ready, first shots loaded and the wicks soaked with brandy. The Mathilde boasted eight cannon on her decks and her shallow hull gave her the advantage over the bulky Spanish Galleons. Her maneuverability would be her strong point, for the two ships of the Armada looked fearsome on approach.

"Cap'n, Sir," Yelled the sailor from the nest once again. "She's sinking, she is! Davy Jones is claiming the trailing vessel. She's floundering.!"

"What ho, the lead vessel?" he yelled back. "Do they slow and pick up any men?"

"Nay, Sir! She's no anchor! The anchor rope be not there, all hands are gone with the virgin."

Several men removed their caps momentarily, then briskly set about their tasks once more.

"Captain?" Mister Richter stepped forward and placed a spyglass in Fairburn's hand. He quickly opened the tool, then viewed the remaining galleon's approach. Her cannon portals stood open wide and her hull had several breeches above the water line. The main mast stood tall, but the sails were of no use as she sailed against the wind.

A small puff of black powder rose from the Spanish ship and then the whizzing of cannon fire was heard. The artillery fell well short of it's goal and landed almost thirty yards from the Mathilde.

"Mister Richter, half speed, bring us about!" Fairburn barked out. "Quarter Master! Return fire, two volleys!"

"Aye, Captain. Lower topsails, look lively, mates!"

"Aye Sir! Two volleys!" The men below lowered flame to wicks and the loud WHUMP, WHUMP of the cannon's kick-back rocked the vessel momentarily. Eight missiles launched and two hit their targets.

"Reload!" Yelled out the Quarter Master.

"Hold! Nest! What damage?" Called out Fairburn once more.

"You've hit the steerage, Sir! Her wheel's gone! She's adrift!"

"Steady on Quarter Master! Reload!"

"Reload!"

Fairburn once again held up his spyglass, looking for the white flag and saw none. The Spaniards believed they had God's hand, but today he had the sea backing him and she was greedy for souls. Once again, the powder tufted from the Galleon and once again her missile fell short of it's target.

"Two more volley's, Quarter Master!"

"Two volley's, aye sir!"

Once again the Mathilde rocked sweetly with the rhythm of the waves and her guns. This time, six of her targets found purchase in the mighty hull of the Spanish ship. Men flew overboard and great splinters of wood and metal flew into the sea. Smoke poured from below the ship's deck and still no quarter was asked for.

"Pistols and long guns at the ready, Mister Richter!"

"Aye, Captain. All right sea dogs! Prepare for personal confrontation!"

A great yelling and cursing rose up from the Mathilde's crew, bolstering their spirits and courage as the two vessels drew ever closer. The ships passed within fifty yards of each other, the torn sails and battered crew of the Imaculata peered with hatred at the pristine appearance of the English vessel.

Captain and crew, guns and munitions at the ready, awaited the expected last ditch effort of resistance, but it never arrived. The Mathilde's crew realized they watched men who had accepted their defeat. No shots were fired as the ships passed each other. A lone cleric passed from man to man, making the sign of the cross on each's forehead as he went. He glanced up from his task only briefly and made the sign of the cross toward the Mathilde, then continued on to his next benediction.

No one spoke as adversary stared at adversary. The Spanish ship, broken and unable to steer passed the Mathilde quietly. No calls of "Mercy" or "Parlay" was asked for and none were given. Small bits of wood and debris floated from under her hull as the waves washed in and out of the gaping holes.

"Do we scuttle her, Sir?" asked the Quarter Master, ready to give the order.

"Nay, we look upon a ghost ship with aught but phantoms for her crew and smoke from her bowels. If the sea doesn't claim her, the shoals of Scotland will. All hands, stand down. Mister Richter, I want this ship right and tight before sundown!" The captain removed his tricorn hat as the opposing captain did the same. Each gentleman bowed to the other, acknowledging their respective fates with honor.

"Aye, Captain!"

Fairburn replaced his hat upon his head, turned and strode from the deck, thinking over his crew and ship. He checked briefly upon his passengers before he sat himself down at his desk and opened his logs. He withdrew the pen from the inkwell, then began his entry.

Today, we had cause to fight for the good of England and our fair Queen Elizabeth. We fought brave men today and lost not one soul aboard this, Her Majesty's faithful servant, the Schooner Mathilde. Let it be noted, one Spanish ship un-named, went to sea with all hands and the Galleon Imaculata be fatally wounded, with no quarter asked for or given. Imaculata's Captain is noted to be a gentleman and honorable, showing not the slightest indication of requiring mercy or assistance, his crew having received their final benedictions before mine eyes by a man of the cloth. Captain Edmund Fairburn this July 1st, in the year of our Lord 1558.