possessed a greater understanding of the Manon's last moments than the Naval Chronicle should be likely to procure.3
It would appear that Captain Seagrave had learned his tactics at Nelson's foot, for like that great departed naval hero, he was a proponent of gunnery and of crossing an enemy's bows with complete disregard for peril. Seagrave laid the Stella yardarm to yardarm with the French frigate, and brought his full broadside to bear at point-blank range—only four hundred yards of heaving water lay between. The destruction rained upon the Manon's hull was dreadful, for the British crews displayed greater accuracy than the French in training their guns. Where the Stella received a quantity of grape in the rigging, to the detriment of her masts and canvas, the Manon took several balls below the waterline, and was shipping water faster than the pumps could work. A mere forty minutes into the action, three of the French guns had been dismounted, and were rolling about the deck with every pitch of the waves, at immense hazard to the men; two unfortunate sailors found their feet crushed beneath the weight
Seagrave seized his moment. He brought the Stella across the Manon's bows; his boarding party, with their pikes and axes, fell upon the French crew; and within
moments, the poop, quarterdeck, waist of the ship—all were overrun—and the colours struck.
“You will not find great willingness to fight among the French sailors at present,” LaForge observed, when Jean-Philippe had fallen silent “We preserve too well the tragedy of Trafalgar. It is accepted truth that British guns will always prevail. We prefer to run rather than engage; then we might save our ships as well as our lives.”
“But the Manon did not run. And how many men were lost?” I enquired, my eyes trained upon the foolscap.
Jean-Philippe did not reply. I glanced over at the French surgeon.
“Thirty-four were killed outright Eighty-seven were wounded,” LaForge said.
“Seamen? Or officers?”
“We lost only one officer—It capitaine, Porthiault. The rest—our lieutenants and midshipmen—are housed in Portsmouth and Southampton, if they have not already been exchanged.”
“Your captain! That must have been a great loss.”
LaForge's head moved restlessly against the stone wall. “I tended his body myself.”
“He was killed in batde?”
“But of course.” He turned to stare at me. “You thought it possible he died of fright at the sight of the Royal Navy? It is hardly singular for a captain to be killed, when he is exposed to the enemy guns. Officers maintain a position on the quarterdeck, you understand, in the path of every well-aimed ball.”
“If you tended his body, Monsieur LaForge—you must have seen the nature of Porthiault's wound?”
“I begin to suspect that you have a taste for the macabre, Miss Austen.” The dark eyes—so deep a brown that in the flickering candlelight, they appeared almost the colour of claret—-held my own. “You spend your liberty in the stench and squalor of Wool House, ministering to the sick; and you are morbidly concerned with the history of a man's last agony. You interest me very much. What can have excited your curiosity?”
I had no desire to inform the Manon's crew that a British captain was charged with the murder of their captain. If they were at all akin to British seamen, I might very well have a riot on my hands.
“It is only that my brother is a post captain, I said lamely, “and I suffer considerable anxiety on his behalf.”
“He is presently at sea?”
“No—but he is likely soon to be.”
LaForge stared at me quizzically, unconvinced.
“And… and we possess a considerable acquaintance among the officers of the Stella Maris. The action has been of no little significance in Portsmouth.”
“I see. You wish to carry all the smallest details of the noble Porthiault's end to your next card party. I am afraid that I cannot increase your delight, Miss Austen. I was below decks, throughout the action.”
“You saw nothing?” I murmured in disappointment.
“The surgeon's place in battle is always the cockpit deck,” LaForge said by way of reply. “I was entirely taken up with amputation, you understand—two men had suffered crushed feet, from the dismounting of the guns, and there were arms and legs torn away. I did not emerge on deck until I had dressed the last wound.”.
How unfortunate, that the most articulate and sound observer of the naval battle should be below decks throughout the action! I stared at Etienne LaForge with consternation; and at that moment a timid hand brushed my elbow. Jean-Philippe.