Command a King's Ship (22 page)

Bolitho saw the handful of marines in the foretop adjusting their swivel gun. Some more were already cradling their long muskets along the hammock nettings, their faces stiff with con- centration.

“One of 'em's making a run for it, sir!”

Bolitho caught his breath as the sternmost schooner tilted at a steep angle, her great mainsail sweeping above her deck like a huge wing while she altered course hard to larboard.

Somebody yelled, “By Jesus, she's in irons! Look at th' bugger!”

The schooner's captain had mistimed it very badly, for as his command pounded round to cross the wind's eye and find sea-room elsewhere, the sails flapped and rippled in hopeless con- fusion.

Bolitho shouted, “We'll take him first! Stand by, the larboard battery!”

He saw Soames hurrying down his line of guns, the captains crouching like athletes behind each breech, trigger lines taut as they peered through the open ports for a first sight of the target.

Bolitho straddled his legs and tried to hold his telescope on the nearest vessel. She was falling awkwardly down-wind, her narrow deck clearly visible as her crew fought to bring her back under control.
Undine
was overhauling her so rapidly that she was already lying some two cables from the larboard bow, and seemed to swell in size even as he watched. He saw the strange flag at her peak, black, with a red emblem in its centre. A prancing beast of some sort. He closed the glass with a snap and saw Keen flinch at the sound.

Allday grinned. “Two minutes, Captain. Just right.” He nod- ded towards the opposite bow where the other schooner was holding steadily on course towards the headland. “He seems con- tent to let his mates go under.”

Soames was peering aft, his curved hanger glittering in the bright sunlight as he raised it slowly above his head. The glare was making him grimace so badly that he appeared to be grinning like a madman.

Bolitho looked at Mudge. “Let her fall off another point.” He forced a smile. “Not a moment longer than necessary, I promise.”

He pulled out his sword and held it casually across his shoul- der. Through his crumpled shirt it felt like ice.

The helmsman yelled hoarsely, “Nor', nor'-west it is, sir!”

There was no time to perfect the set of the yards, no time for anything now as with barely a stagger
Undine
turned even further towards the shore, the movement dragging the labouring schooner into the view of the eager gun captains.

Bolitho shouted, “As you bear, Mr. Soames!”

Soames bellowed, “Stand by!” He came loping aft, pausing at each gun to peer along its muzzle. Satisfied, he jumped aside and yelled,
“Fire!”

Bolitho tensed as the uneven broadside belched and shuddered along his ship's side. Soames had done well. To an extra puff of wind which had pushed the frigate over to leeward, he had judged it perfectly, taking the enemy ship on the uproll, raking her sav- agely from end to end.

Bolitho grasped a stay, his eyes blinded with smoke as the wind funnelled it back through every port. Men were coughing and swearing in the thick brown fog, but urged on by shouts and threats they were still managing to sponge out and reload for an- other broadside when needed.

He stared with amazement at the schooner as the smoke cleared away from the quarterdeck. Dismasted, almost buried under a chaos of fallen spars and ripped canvas, she seemed a total wreck.

“Bring her back to nor'-west by north, Mr. Mudge.”

He did not see the master's face, his look of relief and admira- tion. His ears were still ringing to the thunder of cannon fire, the sharper, probing cracks of the quarterdeck six-pounders. He hoped the less experienced men had found time to tie their scarves over their ears. Caught at the wrong angle, it only took one shot to deafen a man. Often permanently.

“Run out!” Soames was peering at his crews as gun captain after captain raised a powder-blackened fist to show his weapon was loaded.

Herrick shouted, “Now for t'other one!”

He waved to Davy at the starboard battery, the gesture impul- sive, unnoticed by himself. Davy waved back, his movement jerky, like a puppet. As they swept after the second schooner Midship- man Penn moved slightly to place his lieutenant between him and any possible damage.

Herrick laughed aloud. “By God, young Penn has the right idea, sir!” He peered up at the streaming pendant. “The wind is still kind, and this is putting new heart into our people.”

Bolitho watched him gravely. Later they would talk about it. But when it was happening, to you, to those around you, it was pointless to discuss anything. You never really knew the man in action. Pride, anger, insanity, it was there, and more. Even on Herrick's homely face. His own, too, no doubt.

He said, “We will run him as close as we can to the headland. After that it will be up to him. Strike or fight.”

He moved the sword-blade on his shoulder. The ice was gone. Now it was like a heated gun-barrel.

Mudge remarked, “That master is a fool. 'E should 'ave gone about sooner. I would 'ave done so. Crossed
Undine
's bows afore we could blast 'im.” He sighed. “ 'E'll not get a second chance, I'm thinkin'.”

Bolitho looked at him. Mudge was right of course.
Undine
was playing a dangerous game to drive so bravely towards a lee shore, but the schooners had taken even more of a chance.

Herrick was saying, “Prize crew on one, and take the other in tow, eh, sir? We should get good recompense for two schooners, even if one of 'em is little more than a hulk.”

Bolitho watched the schooner without answering. Was Muljadi aboard her? Or in the other one, dying or already dead with some of his men? Better so, he thought, than fall into Puigserver's hands.

“Deck there!” The cry was almost lost above the chorus of spray and booming canvas. “Ship on the larboard quarter!”

Bolitho swung round, imagining for a moment that the look- out had been too long in the sun. For an instant he could see nothing, and then as his vision cleared he saw the forecourse and topsail of another ship standing around the last headland, the one they had rounded so carefully in pursuit of the schooners.

Herrick gasped, “What is she?” He stared at Bolitho. “The
Argus
?”

Bolitho nodded grimly. “I fear so, Mr. Herrick.”

He tried to keep his tone level when his whole being was screaming at him to act, to do the impossible. And how easy he had made it for them. He had allowed the schooners to draw him, like a fox after two rabbits.
Argus
must have been following them along the coast, waiting for the trap to be sprung, reading Bolitho's mind without even being able to see him.

Herrick exclaimed, “Then, by God, we'll tell Mr. Frenchman to sheer off! This is none of his affair!”

Keen called, “She's overhauling us, sir.”

Bolitho looked past him. The
Argus
was already beating well out on their larboard quarter, taking the wind-gage, doing exactly what he had attempted to do to the schooners. Now
Undine
was in the trap. Run aground, or try and claw to windward? He saw the sunlight flashing down the big frigate's exposed side, the small moving shadows above the creaming water as she ran out her whole broadside.

He thought of the man behind those guns. How did he feel at this moment?

Herrick said quietly, “Eighteen-pounders, I'm told, sir?” He watched his face, as if hoping for a denial of
Argus
's strength.

“Yes.”

He drew in a long breath as a flag broke from the Frenchman's peak. Black and red, like the ones which had flown above the schooners.
Letter of marque.
Hired by a foreign power, the flag merely to keep up a pretence of legality.

Keen lowered his telescope and said quickly, “She's almost to the dismasted schooner, sir.” He was managing to sound calm, but his hands were shaking badly. “There are some men in the water. I think they were thrown outboard when the masts came down.”

Bolitho took the glass and watched, his mind cold as he saw the frigate ride through and over the men in the water. The captain had probably not even seen them. All he saw was
Undine.

He raised his voice, hoping the others would not despair at its strangeness. “We will alter course directly.” He ignored the unspo- ken protest on Mudge's heavy face. “Get the t'gallants off her, Mr. Herrick. The Frenchman will expect us to do so if we are about to fight.” He looked at Mudge again. “Without so much canvas we may be able to gain a little room to give an account of ourselves.”

Mudge replied harshly, “It'll mean crossin' 'er bows, sir!” Even if we gets round without 'avin' the sticks torn out of us, what then? The
Argus
will overreach us and put a full broadside through our stern as she passes!”

Bolitho regarded him bleakly. “I am relying on his desire to retain the wind-gage, for without it he might change places with us.” He saw no agreement in Mudge's tiny eyes. “Or would you have me haul down our colours, eh?”

Mudge flushed angrily. “That ain't fair, sir!”

Bolitho nodded. “Neither is a battle.”

Mudge looked away. “I'll do me best, sir. Lay 'er as close to th' wind as she's ever bin.” He tapped the compass bowl. “If th' wind 'olds, we should be able to steer almost due west.” He strode to the wheel. “God 'elp me.”

Bolitho turned and saw the topmen sliding down to the deck again, felt the more sluggish motion as
Undine
plunged ahead on topsails and forecourse. A glance at the other ship told him that her captain was doing likewise. He had no need to worry.
Undine
would have to stand and fight. There was no room left to run away. He walked slowly back and forth, stepping unseeingly over the six- pounder tackles, his knee brushing against a crouching seaman as he passed.
Argus
's captain would be watching his every move. The advantage, if there was one, would last only seconds, a few minutes at best. He looked at the headland. It seemed very close now, ex- tending far out beyond the larboard bow, like a great arm waiting to snatch them whole.

Then he strode to the quarterdeck rail and called, “Mr. Soames! I will want a broadside as we put about. You have small chance of hitting him, but the sudden challenge may have an ef- fect.” He let his gaze move slowly along the upturned faces. “You will have to reload and run out quicker than ever before. The
Argus
is a powerful ship and will endeavour to use her heavier iron to full advantage. We must get to close quarters.” He felt the grin frozen to his lips like a clamp. “Show him that our lads are better, no matter what damn flag he wears!”

A few raised a cheer, but it was not much of a rally.

Herrick said quietly, “Ready when you are, sir.”

It seemed very quiet. Bolitho looked aloft yet again. The pen- dant flicked out as before. If the wind backed further it would be some small help. If it veered it would be disaster. Then he looked at Soames as he clumped heavily aft and disappeared below the quarterdeck. To supervise the sternmost twelve-pounders, which would bear first once they had altered course. Davy was by the foremast, sending some of his own gun crews across to assist the larboard battery. If
Argus
's eighteen-pounders got to grips they would need plenty of replacements, he thought grimly.

He faced Herrick and smiled. “Well, Thomas?”

Herrick shrugged. “I'll tell you what I think when it's over and done with, sir.”

Bolitho nodded. It was an unnerving feeling. It always was, of course, and yet you imagined that each time was worse than the one before. In an hour, in minutes, he could be dead. Thomas Herrick, his friend, might be fighting a battle not of his choosing, or screaming out his life on the orlop deck.

And Mudge. Hand-picked because of his vast store of knowledge. But for this commission he would have been dis- charged now. Living with his children, and his grandchildren, too, in all probability.

He snapped, “So be it then! Put the helm down!”

“Man the braces. Lively there!”

Shuddering and groaning in protest,
Undine
slewed round to the thunder of wind and wildly flapping canvas. Bolitho saw spray bursting through the open ports as she swayed further and further to the violent change of tack. From the corner of his eye he saw the
Argus
's topsails lifting above the hammock nettings, her shape shortening as
Undine
swung round across her bows. A gun banged out, and the ball whimpered somewhere overhead. Someone must have fired too soon, or perhaps the French captain had already guessed what they were trying to do.

Soames was ready and waiting, and the first crash of gunfire shook the deck violently, the smoke swirling up and over the nettings in a writhing pall. Gun by gun down the side, from stern to bow, the six-pounders joining in as the
Argus
crossed each black muzzle. Bolitho saw her foresail jerk and throb to the onslaught, holes appearing like magic as Soames's gun crews fired, reloaded and fired again.