Around no fire the soldiers sleep to-night,
But lie a-wearied on the ice-bound field,
With cloaks wrapt round their sleeping forms, to shield
Them from the northern winds. Ere comes the light
Of morn brave men must arm, stern foes to fight.
The sentry stands, his limbs with cold congealed;
His head a-nod with sleep; he cannot yield,
Though sleep and snow in deadly force unite.
The young lieutenant’s face shone by the glow of the deck. His eyes were heavy and his head was nodding. Like everyone else he was exhausted, and it was always hard getting your body adjusted to night shift. There were no winds here, and there was no ice-bound field, but as he looked at the boy standing watch over his mates, those ancient lines about the young sentry came to life.
Amongst the sleepers stands that Boy awake,
And wide-eyed plans brave glories that transcend
The deeds of heroes dead; then dreams o’ertake
His tired-out brain, and lofty fancies blend
To one grand theme, and through all barriers break
To guard from hurt his faithful sleeping friend.
Or perhaps those words applied to Melville himself. Guarding not just his “faithful sleeping friend,” but his friends. To guard all his beloved crew. That was his “one grand theme.”
But to truly guard them, he must form them into a fighting ship and then take them in harm’s way. It was a truism of war that no one was ever really safe on the defensive. Against an aggressive, hostile enemy, if you sat and huddled on the defensive, or if you ran and hid, in the end you’d die. Only in attack, only by defeating the enemy, could you ultimately be safe.
If they’d run with their crippled Ship they would have been hunted down and killed. If they’d scuttled their Ship and tried hiding on Broadax’s World, they would have been as good as dead. Several hundred men and a handful of females, marooned forever on an uncharted planet. Only by attacking their enemy were they able to survive.
In the wars of Old Earth, most of the time, it was only by attacking that the free nations could be triumphant and secure. Whether it was the twentieth-century wars against Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan, or the twenty-first-century wars against terrorism, if they’d sat and done nothing, they would have died in the end. Even in the Cold War against Soviet Russia in the late twentieth century, it could be argued that the democracies of Old Earth won by waging an economic war, and a war of ideas, while constantly preparing for real war.
You were never truly safe on the defensive. To be a great military leader you must sincerely love your men. But to keep your men safe, all too often you had to give them orders that would result in their deaths. That was the great paradox of military leadership. A paradox that destroyed many good men, and now it hung heavy upon Melville’s heart.
He stood on the ladder and watched Archer for a few more minutes, then he returned to the upper quarterdeck. Fielder still stood there, looking better than he had in a very long time.
“Good morning, Daniel.”
“Good morning, sir.” Good. That “sir” appeared to come out completely without irony or resentment.
Melville was amazed to see the head of a tiny spider monkey peering out of the first mate’s jacket. “Where did that come from,” he said pointing at the little head peering at him owlishly.
Fielder seemed disconcerted, even a little embarrassed as he looked down at the little creature. “Sir, I don’t have a clue. It just appeared. I took off my jacket for lunch in the area we’ve designated as the wardroom. When I went to put the jacket on, there it was. It must have crawled in during my meal, but no one saw it.”
Melville walked back to the relative privacy at the rear of the quarterdeck, motioning Fielder to follow him. Lowering his voice he continued, “Did someone fill you in on what the surgeon and purser learned?”
“Aye, sir,” Fielder answered, looking a little apprehensive. “Lady Elphinstone told me while I was down there visiting the wounded. Several more monkeys have shown up down there, and in other places. It’s all very strange. But I must say, knowing about that, I’m pleased to have one. I think.” Looking down with a strange mix of wonder, suspicion, and admiration in his voice, the cynical, embittered lieutenant added, “Cute little bastard, ain’t he?” The monkey looked up at him and flicked its tongue out momentarily.
“Yes. Truly cute as a button. Congratulations, I give you joy of your monkey.” Melville reached down and scratched behind the creature’s ears. “So, can you give me a sitrep?”
“Aye, sir. We seem to be settling into a good, healthy routine.” Fielder appeared to actually have some satisfaction, perhaps even pleasure, in his voice as he outlined the ongoing activities.
“The surgeon reports no deaths. They thought they might lose a few more of the severely wounded, but everything has been going very well on that front.”
Melville nodded. “Excellent. We’ve had enough funerals for a lifetime.”
“Aye. Meanwhile, the carpenter is ready to go ahead with the gun ports for the 12-pounders. I didn’t want to do it during the night watch, the day watch needs their sleep too badly, but by the end of the day watch he thinks they can have it all done. I directed the marines to give all their assistance to the carpenter, all possible prep work has been done, and the project should go quickly. All but the stern guns are already in position.”
The marines were the jacks-of-all-trades in the Westerness Navy. They needed time for training in their own skills, but they were also a reserve of able bodies available to assist wherever they were most needed. Over the years they’d developed many skills. They could be of assistance to the purser as stevedores and assistant cooks. They were also litter bearers and orderlies for the surgeon, and ammo bearers and gun handlers for the gunner. Even for the sailing master they could be of use in simple tasks demanding muscle power.
Now their marines’ abilities were focused on helping the carpenter and his mates with their many tasks. The first priority was getting the new guns into position, then rearranging the compartments in the hold. Finally, after everything else was finished, they would set up partitions in the quarterdeck cabins, creating a decent wardroom and a suite of cabins for the officers. All sailing ships traditionally carried a good supply of spare spars, raw lumber and partitions. Since this ship was setting out on the first stage of a long war, it was particularly well equipped. Indeed, most of the partitions they needed were already there, but they’d been struck down into the hold when the Guldur cleared her for action.
“Good,” Melville responded, “as soon as we get the guns in position I want the gunner to get his crews working on firing drills for the 24-pounders. We don’t have much ammo for the 12-pounders, and that’s okay because we know how to use them. But it’s vital that we get good with those 24-pounders, asap. Anything else?”
“No, sir. That about covers our primary area of progress during the watch. I think the staff can fill you in on their areas during breakfast.”
“Very well. And how has Lieutenant Archer been performing?”
Fielder’s face took on his usual hard, cynical smile, but there might have been just a hint of fondness there. “He’s doing well. He worked a lot during the day watch, helping to get things settled in, and by now I suspect he’s ready for a good sleep. After that he should be pretty much on his way to having his body clock set for night watch. The men seem to respect him, and I’ve no immediate complaints.”
“Good. Anything else of interest?”
“Most of the ship’s boys seem to be sick. The proverbial dog’s breakfast heaved over the side, most of ’em. Must be something they ate disagreeing with them. Elphinstone says they’ll live and probably be the wiser for it. The damned fools.”
As they were talking, the glass was trickling out the last sands of the twelfth hour of the night watch, and the Ship was coming alive. Most of the day watch was awake. They were rolling up their sleeping pads and stowing them in the netting along the Ship’s sides, where they could stop a musket ball and slow a cannonball. In a green or ill-disciplined Ship the bosun’s mates would have to waken them, but in this Ship they tended to get up on their own, or with a few nudges from their friends.
It was traditional to pass the con to a midshipman while the officers went to meals. Now, since there was no midshipman, the quartermaster filled in as they went below to breakfast.