Under Enemy Colors by Sean Thomas Russell, Sean Russell, S. Thomas Russell Page A

strike Hayden with it. “You protest? You protest! Damn your insolence, sir! Aboard my ship you protest nothing! Aboard my ship you heed my orders. You do not protest. You do not offer your precious opinions unless they are asked.” He glanced to his right. “Does this amuse you, Mr Landry?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Then make ready to get under way. We sail with the tide.”
    Captain Hart stormed below, servants scrambling to bring up his effects. Left standing in his wake was a stunned first lieutenant. Hayden had not been treated thus since he was an ignorant midshipman.
    Hawthorne caught his eye and raised an eyebrow. He was suppressing a smile. “Welcome to our brotherhood, Mr Hayden,” the marine said softly. “We call ourselves ‘The Blind in Heaven,’ for our eyes have been damned to Hell with such passion and frequency that we shall certainly proceed to the Hereafter without them.” He tipped his hat, smiled, and set off about his duties.
    Hayden gathered the shreds of his dignity and secluded himself on the aft-most portion of the quarterdeck, where he struggled to control his rage and to soothe his much-wounded pride. He had challenged a man to a duel for a less significant offence than he had just received from Hart! If the man had not been his commanding officer…
    Almost worse than the treatment he had just received from Hart were the eyes of the crew upon him. If he glanced along the deck, members of the crew would quickly fix their attention elsewhere.
    “Mr Hayden, sir?” It was Wickham, standing a few paces off, looking somewhat embarrassed. “There is a lighter alongside and a civilian asking permission to come aboard…Shall I call the captain?”
    “I will find out what the man wants.”
    Hayden went forward in time to meet a gentleman as he came over the rail.
    “George Muhlhauser, from the Ordnance Board,” the man offered, then extended a hand and Hayden took it. “Are you the first lieutenant?” the gentleman asked softly.
    “So I thought…” Hayden responded, still incredulous at the treatment he had just received.
    The man looked a bit confused at this response but then went on. “No doubt Captain Hart told you I’d be along…?”
    Hayden shook his head.
    “I’m to sail with you to test a new gun of my own conception…Lieutenant…?”
    “Hayden. Charles Hayden.” He tried to shake off the rage that still boiled inside him.
    “I will require the aid of the carpenter and his mates, and likely the gunner, too. We’ll have to unship one of your present guns and put the new in its place. Not a small job, I will admit, but easily done by capable men who set about their work with a will.”
    “Am I to understand, Mr Muhlhauser, that we will be testing a gun on our cruise? That that is our purpose?”
    “You are to make no allowance for the new gun whatsoever, Lieutenant, but to go about your business; engage the enemy as you see fit. The benefits of the new design will very quickly become apparent. It can be traversed easily, for it sits upon a truck that has transverse wheels at its stern. It then pivots…but you will see, Mr Hayden. Let us bring the gun aboard.”
    Hayden went to the rail, where a number of men had gathered to stare down into the lighter. Around him he could feel the palpable tension. A few men made efforts to conceal smirks. The new lieutenant had just received his comeuppance, pleasing the indolent no end. Hayden tried to concentrate on his task and push his recent encounter with Hart out of his mind—with only very partial success.
    “Mr Barthe, rig tackles, if you please,” Hayden ordered.
    A gun of novel design was hoisted aboard. It was followed by an iron carriage of a type wholly unfamiliar to Hayden. The men gathered around to stare at this oddity.
    “It looks like a foreshortened eighteen-pounder Blomefield, Mr Muhlhauser,” Hayden speculated. “Is it not somewhat compressed in the chase, almost a cousin to the carronade?”
    “It is a