The Sea Giants
Feb. 20th, 2011 04:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwrnmnbsolIt was war with Boney again, and I had had enough of my apprenticeship. I had been two years working as a glazier’s boy, and in my opinion that was enough time to spend shoveling sand and coke, particularly when brave Englishmen were tweaking the nose of the Bonaparte and his frogs. At the soonest opportune moment I stole a horse, rode all night to Spithead, and sought to join the Royal Navy.
The sight of the ships of war lying at anchor was a moving one. Those gallant, clean-lined frames of wood and canvas and rope, bobbing fifty feet above the water, were sufficient to inspire a young man such as I to a life of action. I approached the first vessel I could and asked to speak to the master’s mate. That very day I was impressed into the King’s Navy.
Our ship was named _Atalanta_, forty guns, a small ship but fast, ideal for harrying the traffic of the Frenchman and his allies. I had never been aboard any sort of sea-craft, let alone a ship of war, and my first experiences lying at port in Spithead were to be eye-opening. It is disorienting enough for a land-lubber to become swiftly acquainted with the trials and chores of life at sea aboard a conventional craft that maneuvers by power of wind on sail; still more demanding is learning to go to war aboard a craft worn as a hat by a wading invisible giant.
I learned that _Atalanta_ was actually relatively small for a giant, only about 700 feet from the base of her feet to the top of her bald head. One of my first chores as a sailor was to scrape down her hide. She would stand in the shallows with the water lapping about her ankles, her shivering making choppy waves that disturbed our boats. Above the waterline she was completely invisible, but the parts of her submerged below water were visible, a mottled turquoise in color with whorls and streaks of black tattoos that naturally dotted her skin. We would use brooms on long poles and circle her calves with our ship’s boats until all the barnacles and weeds were removed; then she would wade further and further out to sea, and we would laboriously clean every inch of her. Captain Sparling would tell us that a clean giant was a speedy giant, and also one less likely to stop and scratch at inopportune moments.
Once I foolishly asked whether there were any boy giants. How the midshipmen laughed at me and my lubberly ways! Of course there were boy giants, they said, but they were much too small for maritime duty, and insufficiently docile to be trainable. So it was that I learned why every ship of war is addressed as a ‘she’.
As small as she was, _Atalanta_ was perfectly suitable for naval action in the English Channel, or along the coasts of Europe. Far taller giants would be necessary to engage in war in deep-water action, for all giants must wade through the water, their enormous feet plowing through the muck at the lightless bottom of the sea. Only the tallest giants may brave the deeps of the Mediterranean Sea, and the crossing of the Atlantic requires special stilts, for everybody knows that the giants of the sea cannot swim.
The ship itself was built as a frame strapped solidly to the giant’s head. _Atalanta_ had been trained to wade through the water at fighting depth, leaving only her nose and eyes above the waterline, causing the ship to seem to float dozens of yards above the waves. In this way she could approach hostile vessels leaving a minimum of her skin exposed to enemy fire. The weapon of seafaring choice was still cannon, but our giant had also been trained in the use of a spear, really a long steel pike many times the length of the ship, that she could use to attack enemy giants and their craft. One of my duties was also to repair the handgrip of that enormous spar, wrapping length after length of maritime cable around that gigantic spike so that it would not fall from _Atalanta_’s grasp.
One fine day Captain Sparling received orders to sail, so we loaded ourselves with provisions and waded out to sea. How seasick I was those first few days, my stomach unused to the constant lurching and my ears unaccustomed to the creaking and groaning of the vessel. But the rigors of the navy would not allow me time to recover; I had to continue to do my duties even while sick, or risk the lash.
On our tenth day at sea the lookout espied a ship flying the Spanish colors. The Spaniard had allied himself with Boney again, so this craft was fair game for prize-taking. Via a code of drumbeats, the captain instructed _Atalanta_ to rise to her full height so that our ship could better evaluate the opposition. We rose to hundreds of feet above the water, our stomachs climbing into our mouths. We then saw a single ship of sail, a brig, doubtlessly a merchantman.
The Spanish ship spotted us as well and turned tail. Our cannon fired several warning shots, but the Spaniard was determined to make a break for it. We gave chase, _Atalanta_ returning to fighting depth. The Spanish ship, _Esperanza_, found herself turned into an unfortunate wind and was obliged to tack back and forth to make headway. _Atalanta_ had no such difficulties, and in very short order we had caught up to the enemy ship. _Atalanta_ tipped _Esperanza_’s back end out of the water with an enormous invisible hand, and the Spaniard raised the white flag.
The Spanish crew was locked in their own hold and their ship was searched. Quite a treasure was turned up, for this ship carried money and supplies for building a new church in Normandy, a gift from Spain to France. Including the ship, the prize was worth some thousands of pounds. The captain deemed this an important enough find to bring it straightaway into port. Delegating a prize crew to pilot the captured brig, we turned toward England to tow our prize in to the Admiralty.
But we were not so lucky as to escape back to England so easily. That same day our watch spotted two more flags. These proved to be French warships, each larger and better armed than we. One of their giants actually had a sword, a cruel-looking flat blade as long as London Bridge skimming just above the waterline.
We turned to run, the hunter becoming the prey. But the French maneuvered their ships such that we could not fly to England, and would have to choose either running into water out of _Atalanta_’s depth or risking ruin against the cliffs of France. Captain Sparling chose to take his chances by confronting one of the two French ships, hoping for a disabling strike so that we could get away cleanly with our prize. As we closed, the French used their secret weapon.
Their cannon began to fire balls linked together with links of chain. These balls were fired such that they skipped along the surface of the water, and they struck our giant full in the face. The moan of _Atalanta_ was felt more than heard, and the entire ship convulsed.
Uncertain how much damage our giant had sustained, Captain Sparling ordered the ship about, and well-trained _Atalanta_ responded to commands. As she turned, the captain deployed Urchins – great iron balls of sharp spikes, giant caltrops really, that fell into the water and sank to the ocean floor. As the nearest French ship turned to chase us, their giant stepped on the spikes. We saw the frog ship heave up into the air and then hang awkwardly and motionless, its giant hobbled and unable to continue the chase.
This left us fleeing away from home and safety, with one wary but still deadly French ship pursuing us. _Atalanta_ towed our prize-ship behind us, for the captain would sooner have scuttled that ship than give it back to the French. The Frenchman proceeded cautiously, but unburdened by the weight of another ship, it was inevitable that he would catch us, his deadly sword striking to cut us in two. From time to time the French continued to fire the skipping-chains, but these struck _Atalanta_ in her back and could not seriously injure her.
“Have _Atalanta_ submerge her face for several minutes, and have crews ready to examine her face for damage,” Captain Sparling ordered. As I was young and an able swimmer, I was selected for this duty. I was lowered by a line down the slope of our giant’s forehead, and then the command was given for her to sink lower into the water. I used a marlinspike to cling to her scalp as she submerged (my spike was too small to hurt her) and then I could see the face of our giantess.
She had enormous and bright blue eyes, each one as big as the captain’s cabin. Bubbles trailed out of her nose and mine as we held our breaths. I saw some loose flaps of skin along her nose and some scrapes and cuts on her eyelids, but her eyes seemed intact. _Atalanta_’s enormous eyeballs swiveled to focus on me as I surveyed her condition. I stroked the bridge of her nose reassuringly, then climbed to the surface.
“She’s not blinded, praise God, and may all Frenchmen rot in hell,” I reported to my midshipman, gasping to regain my breath and streaming with cold water.
“Well done, lad,” he said, doubling my grog ration for the day.
The captain met with the ship’s carpenter. It was decided that this new and singularly craven French invention would have to be countered with a little English ingenuity of our own. A series of frames would be built in the form of spectacles – goggles, really, with mere slits for _Atalanta_ to look through, not unlike the visors used by Esquimeauxs in the northern reaches of the New World. These, the captain decided, would minimize the chances of _Atalanta_ succumbing to the French chain-attacks, and would give us only fair odds when finally we chose to turn and fight. The crews set to work building these at once.
I was part of a detail sent across to the prize-ship to take timber out of the hold for the purpose of building this project. We set the captive Spaniards to work, sullenly swaying spars and boards out of the bottom of their boat. As they did so, I noted the great panes of colored glass that had been intended to be used in the construction of the church windows. It was fine glass, sturdy and well-made, as I well could determine thanks to my years of apprenticeship. An idea occurred to me, and I raced to my midshipman to relate what I had thought.
My midshipman fortunately was an intelligent character who knew a good idea when he heard it, even though its source was only a lubberly boy. He passed it up the chain of command, and before I knew it I was being summoned to the captain’s quarters. Captain Sparling regarded me critically, surrounded by his equally stern officers. I fancied that none of them liked what they saw.
“So, lad; you believe you can build what you have described?” he asked.
“Aye, captain,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the deck.
“And can it be built in a day? For to be certain, we have no more time than that.”
“It can be built in that time, Captain; aye, sir.”
Captain thought for the better part of a minute. “Well then, get after it, boy,” he growled, and I was dismissed.
I took charge of the construction crew, altering the master carpenter’s plan. The goggles would be made of two frames of wood, with panes of glass sandwiched in between. The frames would extend to fit flush with _Atalanta_’s face, would be strapped on securely, and would have gaskets made of canvas impregnated with tar. There would be a sump in a well at the bottom of each goggle with a hand-pump.
All day and night the crews labored over my design. We sealed the seams of the glass with caulk and strips of canvas; I knew they could not possibly hold tightly, but that was what the sump was for. We bolstered up the panes of glass with iron strips to keep the panes from buckling inward under the pressure of the water. Then, as dawn broke, and with the French ship closing within range of deck-sweeping cannon-fire, we lowered the frames onto _Atalanta_’s face.
“Captain,” I asked, “I request the privilege to man the hand-pumps inside the goggles when we fight.”
“Brave lad. Of course,” he replied. “Now remember: _Atalanta_ can only hold her breath for five minutes. If she remains submerged longer than that, open the hatch and escape as best you can.” I nodded and then took my position, crawling into the cavity of the goggles and then watching as the waterline crept up and over the glass panes of our construct.
_Atalanta_’s beautiful blue eyes appeared behind me. I lit a candle off to the side of her field of view so I could see. The water was rising inside the cabin; it was already lapping around my calves. I took to the pumps and began to crank them as hard as I could, sucking water out of the sump and spitting it out a spigot in the side of the goggles. As the water sucked out of the cavity, pressure pushed the frame more securely against _Atalanta_’s face and the rate of filling slowed.
I heard muffled thumps and reports, and I knew that the crews of the ships must now be exchanging cannon-fire. My crewmates were certainly fighting and dying up above the waterline. And, most likely, the French giant was sustaining some damage as well. But with _Atalanta_ sunk below the water line, she at least would not be hurt – provided we could keep that sword from coming to bear.
Through the panes of glass, the vista of the underwater world swam into stark clarity. I felt _Atalanta_ rumble again, but something of the timbre of it suggested that this was a cry of wonder, not of pain. She could see clearly through the deep water, I realized, for perhaps the first time.
Some of the glass was beginning to fog up. Cursing myself for not having anticipated this possibility, I allowed the sumps to fill with water, and dashed to and fro along the panes swabbing the fog off the glass with my wetted shirt. The great eyes of _Atalanta_ tracked me as I ran about trying to keep her visibility as good as possible.
Then she seemed to remember her mission. Coming about, the enemy giant swung into our field of vision. Only her knees and waist were visible; she had clearly raised herself as high out of the water as possible to make return cannon-fire more difficult. Also, I realized with an icy feeling in the pit of my belly, she was likely raising herself as high as possible so she could make a devastating downward stroke of her sword. Probably she considered our giant to be no threat or out of combat from injuries; why else would she lie underwater so?
_Atalanta_ stabbed out with her spear, jabbing the other giant in the knee. The knee jerked back and began bleeding profusely, gushing a bluish liquid into the water. _Atalanta_ was not done; she jabbed the French giant in the belly. The giant convulsed, jerking the spear of out _Atalanta_’s grasp, but the damage was done. The French giant toppled backwards into the water, swamping the craft upon her head and likely drowning all the Frenchmen in it instantly.
_Atalanta_ rose up out of the water, the waterline creeping back down the glass again, and she heaved a deep breath. I patted her on the invisible cheek.
“Good girl,” I said, and opened the hatch.
**
The ship was in tatters. We had lost half the crew, but we had defeated one French ship of war and disabled another, and captured a valuable prize besides. Captain Sparling was entirely satisfied with the last few days’ events, and he was most gracious to me as well when he summoned me for my report over breakfast.
“Boy, you have contributed exceedingly well to our mission’s success, and you shall certainly appear favorably in my report to the Admiralty,” he told me.
“Thank you, sir. Most kind, sir,” I said, standing at attention.
He ate a point of toast. “We have regrettably lost quite a number of young officers with today’s action,” he said while chewing. “It is within the powers granted to me by the Admiralty to field-appoint such officers as are required for the proper operation of the ship. I am therefore advancing you to the rank of Midshipman and increasing your pay accordingly. You shall report to the Lieutenant on Watch immediately for issuance of new quarters and assignments.”
I was thunderstruck. “I…am most grateful, sir,” I stammered.
Captain Sparling wiped his chin with his napkin. “I believe we should continue to refine this underwater goggle design of yours,” he said. “I suspect it could be most useful in future action against the enemy.”
“I agree, sir,” I said. Feeling bold, I forged on.
“In fact, sir,” I suggested, “You may wish to consider several further innovations that could be of use. A great breathing tube to allow _Atalanta_ to remain submerged longer, for instance. And perhaps even redesigning the ship shell to allow the entire craft to remain below the waterline for some period of time.”
Captain Sparling’s jaw dropped, and he exchanged glances with his first lieutenant.
“A ship….that could go entirely underwater?” gaped the lieutenant.
Captain Sparling straightened his napkin and laid it flat on the table, then dipped a pen in an inkwell.
“Supposing you sketched what that might look like,” he suggested.
The sight of the ships of war lying at anchor was a moving one. Those gallant, clean-lined frames of wood and canvas and rope, bobbing fifty feet above the water, were sufficient to inspire a young man such as I to a life of action. I approached the first vessel I could and asked to speak to the master’s mate. That very day I was impressed into the King’s Navy.
Our ship was named _Atalanta_, forty guns, a small ship but fast, ideal for harrying the traffic of the Frenchman and his allies. I had never been aboard any sort of sea-craft, let alone a ship of war, and my first experiences lying at port in Spithead were to be eye-opening. It is disorienting enough for a land-lubber to become swiftly acquainted with the trials and chores of life at sea aboard a conventional craft that maneuvers by power of wind on sail; still more demanding is learning to go to war aboard a craft worn as a hat by a wading invisible giant.
I learned that _Atalanta_ was actually relatively small for a giant, only about 700 feet from the base of her feet to the top of her bald head. One of my first chores as a sailor was to scrape down her hide. She would stand in the shallows with the water lapping about her ankles, her shivering making choppy waves that disturbed our boats. Above the waterline she was completely invisible, but the parts of her submerged below water were visible, a mottled turquoise in color with whorls and streaks of black tattoos that naturally dotted her skin. We would use brooms on long poles and circle her calves with our ship’s boats until all the barnacles and weeds were removed; then she would wade further and further out to sea, and we would laboriously clean every inch of her. Captain Sparling would tell us that a clean giant was a speedy giant, and also one less likely to stop and scratch at inopportune moments.
Once I foolishly asked whether there were any boy giants. How the midshipmen laughed at me and my lubberly ways! Of course there were boy giants, they said, but they were much too small for maritime duty, and insufficiently docile to be trainable. So it was that I learned why every ship of war is addressed as a ‘she’.
As small as she was, _Atalanta_ was perfectly suitable for naval action in the English Channel, or along the coasts of Europe. Far taller giants would be necessary to engage in war in deep-water action, for all giants must wade through the water, their enormous feet plowing through the muck at the lightless bottom of the sea. Only the tallest giants may brave the deeps of the Mediterranean Sea, and the crossing of the Atlantic requires special stilts, for everybody knows that the giants of the sea cannot swim.
The ship itself was built as a frame strapped solidly to the giant’s head. _Atalanta_ had been trained to wade through the water at fighting depth, leaving only her nose and eyes above the waterline, causing the ship to seem to float dozens of yards above the waves. In this way she could approach hostile vessels leaving a minimum of her skin exposed to enemy fire. The weapon of seafaring choice was still cannon, but our giant had also been trained in the use of a spear, really a long steel pike many times the length of the ship, that she could use to attack enemy giants and their craft. One of my duties was also to repair the handgrip of that enormous spar, wrapping length after length of maritime cable around that gigantic spike so that it would not fall from _Atalanta_’s grasp.
One fine day Captain Sparling received orders to sail, so we loaded ourselves with provisions and waded out to sea. How seasick I was those first few days, my stomach unused to the constant lurching and my ears unaccustomed to the creaking and groaning of the vessel. But the rigors of the navy would not allow me time to recover; I had to continue to do my duties even while sick, or risk the lash.
On our tenth day at sea the lookout espied a ship flying the Spanish colors. The Spaniard had allied himself with Boney again, so this craft was fair game for prize-taking. Via a code of drumbeats, the captain instructed _Atalanta_ to rise to her full height so that our ship could better evaluate the opposition. We rose to hundreds of feet above the water, our stomachs climbing into our mouths. We then saw a single ship of sail, a brig, doubtlessly a merchantman.
The Spanish ship spotted us as well and turned tail. Our cannon fired several warning shots, but the Spaniard was determined to make a break for it. We gave chase, _Atalanta_ returning to fighting depth. The Spanish ship, _Esperanza_, found herself turned into an unfortunate wind and was obliged to tack back and forth to make headway. _Atalanta_ had no such difficulties, and in very short order we had caught up to the enemy ship. _Atalanta_ tipped _Esperanza_’s back end out of the water with an enormous invisible hand, and the Spaniard raised the white flag.
The Spanish crew was locked in their own hold and their ship was searched. Quite a treasure was turned up, for this ship carried money and supplies for building a new church in Normandy, a gift from Spain to France. Including the ship, the prize was worth some thousands of pounds. The captain deemed this an important enough find to bring it straightaway into port. Delegating a prize crew to pilot the captured brig, we turned toward England to tow our prize in to the Admiralty.
But we were not so lucky as to escape back to England so easily. That same day our watch spotted two more flags. These proved to be French warships, each larger and better armed than we. One of their giants actually had a sword, a cruel-looking flat blade as long as London Bridge skimming just above the waterline.
We turned to run, the hunter becoming the prey. But the French maneuvered their ships such that we could not fly to England, and would have to choose either running into water out of _Atalanta_’s depth or risking ruin against the cliffs of France. Captain Sparling chose to take his chances by confronting one of the two French ships, hoping for a disabling strike so that we could get away cleanly with our prize. As we closed, the French used their secret weapon.
Their cannon began to fire balls linked together with links of chain. These balls were fired such that they skipped along the surface of the water, and they struck our giant full in the face. The moan of _Atalanta_ was felt more than heard, and the entire ship convulsed.
Uncertain how much damage our giant had sustained, Captain Sparling ordered the ship about, and well-trained _Atalanta_ responded to commands. As she turned, the captain deployed Urchins – great iron balls of sharp spikes, giant caltrops really, that fell into the water and sank to the ocean floor. As the nearest French ship turned to chase us, their giant stepped on the spikes. We saw the frog ship heave up into the air and then hang awkwardly and motionless, its giant hobbled and unable to continue the chase.
This left us fleeing away from home and safety, with one wary but still deadly French ship pursuing us. _Atalanta_ towed our prize-ship behind us, for the captain would sooner have scuttled that ship than give it back to the French. The Frenchman proceeded cautiously, but unburdened by the weight of another ship, it was inevitable that he would catch us, his deadly sword striking to cut us in two. From time to time the French continued to fire the skipping-chains, but these struck _Atalanta_ in her back and could not seriously injure her.
“Have _Atalanta_ submerge her face for several minutes, and have crews ready to examine her face for damage,” Captain Sparling ordered. As I was young and an able swimmer, I was selected for this duty. I was lowered by a line down the slope of our giant’s forehead, and then the command was given for her to sink lower into the water. I used a marlinspike to cling to her scalp as she submerged (my spike was too small to hurt her) and then I could see the face of our giantess.
She had enormous and bright blue eyes, each one as big as the captain’s cabin. Bubbles trailed out of her nose and mine as we held our breaths. I saw some loose flaps of skin along her nose and some scrapes and cuts on her eyelids, but her eyes seemed intact. _Atalanta_’s enormous eyeballs swiveled to focus on me as I surveyed her condition. I stroked the bridge of her nose reassuringly, then climbed to the surface.
“She’s not blinded, praise God, and may all Frenchmen rot in hell,” I reported to my midshipman, gasping to regain my breath and streaming with cold water.
“Well done, lad,” he said, doubling my grog ration for the day.
The captain met with the ship’s carpenter. It was decided that this new and singularly craven French invention would have to be countered with a little English ingenuity of our own. A series of frames would be built in the form of spectacles – goggles, really, with mere slits for _Atalanta_ to look through, not unlike the visors used by Esquimeauxs in the northern reaches of the New World. These, the captain decided, would minimize the chances of _Atalanta_ succumbing to the French chain-attacks, and would give us only fair odds when finally we chose to turn and fight. The crews set to work building these at once.
I was part of a detail sent across to the prize-ship to take timber out of the hold for the purpose of building this project. We set the captive Spaniards to work, sullenly swaying spars and boards out of the bottom of their boat. As they did so, I noted the great panes of colored glass that had been intended to be used in the construction of the church windows. It was fine glass, sturdy and well-made, as I well could determine thanks to my years of apprenticeship. An idea occurred to me, and I raced to my midshipman to relate what I had thought.
My midshipman fortunately was an intelligent character who knew a good idea when he heard it, even though its source was only a lubberly boy. He passed it up the chain of command, and before I knew it I was being summoned to the captain’s quarters. Captain Sparling regarded me critically, surrounded by his equally stern officers. I fancied that none of them liked what they saw.
“So, lad; you believe you can build what you have described?” he asked.
“Aye, captain,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the deck.
“And can it be built in a day? For to be certain, we have no more time than that.”
“It can be built in that time, Captain; aye, sir.”
Captain thought for the better part of a minute. “Well then, get after it, boy,” he growled, and I was dismissed.
I took charge of the construction crew, altering the master carpenter’s plan. The goggles would be made of two frames of wood, with panes of glass sandwiched in between. The frames would extend to fit flush with _Atalanta_’s face, would be strapped on securely, and would have gaskets made of canvas impregnated with tar. There would be a sump in a well at the bottom of each goggle with a hand-pump.
All day and night the crews labored over my design. We sealed the seams of the glass with caulk and strips of canvas; I knew they could not possibly hold tightly, but that was what the sump was for. We bolstered up the panes of glass with iron strips to keep the panes from buckling inward under the pressure of the water. Then, as dawn broke, and with the French ship closing within range of deck-sweeping cannon-fire, we lowered the frames onto _Atalanta_’s face.
“Captain,” I asked, “I request the privilege to man the hand-pumps inside the goggles when we fight.”
“Brave lad. Of course,” he replied. “Now remember: _Atalanta_ can only hold her breath for five minutes. If she remains submerged longer than that, open the hatch and escape as best you can.” I nodded and then took my position, crawling into the cavity of the goggles and then watching as the waterline crept up and over the glass panes of our construct.
_Atalanta_’s beautiful blue eyes appeared behind me. I lit a candle off to the side of her field of view so I could see. The water was rising inside the cabin; it was already lapping around my calves. I took to the pumps and began to crank them as hard as I could, sucking water out of the sump and spitting it out a spigot in the side of the goggles. As the water sucked out of the cavity, pressure pushed the frame more securely against _Atalanta_’s face and the rate of filling slowed.
I heard muffled thumps and reports, and I knew that the crews of the ships must now be exchanging cannon-fire. My crewmates were certainly fighting and dying up above the waterline. And, most likely, the French giant was sustaining some damage as well. But with _Atalanta_ sunk below the water line, she at least would not be hurt – provided we could keep that sword from coming to bear.
Through the panes of glass, the vista of the underwater world swam into stark clarity. I felt _Atalanta_ rumble again, but something of the timbre of it suggested that this was a cry of wonder, not of pain. She could see clearly through the deep water, I realized, for perhaps the first time.
Some of the glass was beginning to fog up. Cursing myself for not having anticipated this possibility, I allowed the sumps to fill with water, and dashed to and fro along the panes swabbing the fog off the glass with my wetted shirt. The great eyes of _Atalanta_ tracked me as I ran about trying to keep her visibility as good as possible.
Then she seemed to remember her mission. Coming about, the enemy giant swung into our field of vision. Only her knees and waist were visible; she had clearly raised herself as high out of the water as possible to make return cannon-fire more difficult. Also, I realized with an icy feeling in the pit of my belly, she was likely raising herself as high as possible so she could make a devastating downward stroke of her sword. Probably she considered our giant to be no threat or out of combat from injuries; why else would she lie underwater so?
_Atalanta_ stabbed out with her spear, jabbing the other giant in the knee. The knee jerked back and began bleeding profusely, gushing a bluish liquid into the water. _Atalanta_ was not done; she jabbed the French giant in the belly. The giant convulsed, jerking the spear of out _Atalanta_’s grasp, but the damage was done. The French giant toppled backwards into the water, swamping the craft upon her head and likely drowning all the Frenchmen in it instantly.
_Atalanta_ rose up out of the water, the waterline creeping back down the glass again, and she heaved a deep breath. I patted her on the invisible cheek.
“Good girl,” I said, and opened the hatch.
**
The ship was in tatters. We had lost half the crew, but we had defeated one French ship of war and disabled another, and captured a valuable prize besides. Captain Sparling was entirely satisfied with the last few days’ events, and he was most gracious to me as well when he summoned me for my report over breakfast.
“Boy, you have contributed exceedingly well to our mission’s success, and you shall certainly appear favorably in my report to the Admiralty,” he told me.
“Thank you, sir. Most kind, sir,” I said, standing at attention.
He ate a point of toast. “We have regrettably lost quite a number of young officers with today’s action,” he said while chewing. “It is within the powers granted to me by the Admiralty to field-appoint such officers as are required for the proper operation of the ship. I am therefore advancing you to the rank of Midshipman and increasing your pay accordingly. You shall report to the Lieutenant on Watch immediately for issuance of new quarters and assignments.”
I was thunderstruck. “I…am most grateful, sir,” I stammered.
Captain Sparling wiped his chin with his napkin. “I believe we should continue to refine this underwater goggle design of yours,” he said. “I suspect it could be most useful in future action against the enemy.”
“I agree, sir,” I said. Feeling bold, I forged on.
“In fact, sir,” I suggested, “You may wish to consider several further innovations that could be of use. A great breathing tube to allow _Atalanta_ to remain submerged longer, for instance. And perhaps even redesigning the ship shell to allow the entire craft to remain below the waterline for some period of time.”
Captain Sparling’s jaw dropped, and he exchanged glances with his first lieutenant.
“A ship….that could go entirely underwater?” gaped the lieutenant.
Captain Sparling straightened his napkin and laid it flat on the table, then dipped a pen in an inkwell.
“Supposing you sketched what that might look like,” he suggested.
