Time passes though it seems to stand still. More ships down, more damage to my hull, more death on the decks of theOrion, but she is still afloat and still fighting with a mighty force.
I hear Fernsby yell from his station at the ship’s wheel, “The flagship’s ablaze, Captain!”
I squint my eyes and look between two French battleships toward the last location ofVanguardon the seaward side of the fight. Praise God, Nelson’s ship has not been destroyed. I don’t see flames, though I do see significant damage. The smoke drifts through to block my view but leaves an opening on the opposite side that showsBellerophoncompletely demasted and set adrift. I say another prayer for Captain Darby and his men and that they do not drift too far so they may be found when the fighting has ended.
The sky becomes bright with the blinding light of an inferno, and I turn to see that Fernsby was right, only it isL’Orientand notVanguardthat has caught fire. The ship is massive, a floating fortress with at least 120 guns, surrounded by three of our own, relentlessly showering the flames with more cannons.
“Do ye smell that, Fernsby? ’Tis bloody turpentine! Good God! That ship is going to blow!” I turn and run to the edge of the quarter deck and yell to Harris, “Drop the anchor! Drop the anchor!” We cannot get any closer, or theOrion’s sails will be vulnerable to the blast.
We stumble to the side, and I grab the rail as the force of the anchor taking hold stops us short. The entire bay is lit bright, and we watch as the crew ofL’Orientbegins jumping ship in desperation.
“Harris! Keep pounding the two in front of us. They are almost sunk. Lieutenant Croft! Blast the shore with thirty-fives! It sounds like we’re in a bloody swarm of hornets; so many bullets are coming our way!”
No sooner does the vessel to my right start to sink from our relentless barrage than the wind is knocked out of the entire bay from the explosion of Napoleon’s prize flagship. Fernsby is thrown across the deck, and I am slammed into the rail behind me. I fall to my knees and cover my ears as the reverberating booms continue to blast through the night sky. It is a deafening sound, loud enough to shake the bones in your body. Once I’ve caught my breath, I crawl over to the lieutenant, who lies face down and completely still. I roll him onto his back and find him covered in blood. My hand automatically looks for a pulse in his neck. It’s light, but it’s there. Thank God.
I sit down then lie on my back and wait while my vision, hearing, and breathing adjust. My chest feels bludgeoned, and my hearing is muffled. I blink several more times and see the sky is filled with the burning debris of the explosion raining down on the bay. I get up on my hands and knees and slowly rise to stand and get my first glimpse at what’s left ofL’Orient.
“By all that is holy,” I whisper through the dryness of my throat.
I have never seen such damage to a ship as what I’m witnessing right now. Its whole center is gone, and what is left is still ablaze. The cannon fire is still echoing around us, but without the might of the prizedL’Orient, the volume is noticeably diminished.
Turning back to the rail, I see Harris and a few other crewmen scrambling to put out fires from falling embers. The two ships we had in our sights are down. It’s time to change position.
“Harris! I need a medic on the quarter deck! Fernsby’s down! Pull anchor! We’re moving position!”
While looking out across the line of the French fleet, it is easy to assess the outcome of this battle.
“When victory is the only option, ye don’t lose,” I say to myself, just as a sharp pain lances the back of my head and everything turns black.