The King's Marauder (48 page)

“That’s
damned
good shooting!” he yelled to encourage his crew. “Now, serve her another!”

“By broadside, on the up-roll … fire!” Lt. Westcott roared.

An instant later, and
Sapphire
’s starboard guns bellowed once more, hurling solid iron shot at 1,200 feet per second, wreathing herself in yellow-tinged, dingy smoke reeking of sulfur.

“Yes, by God!” Lewrie said with a laugh. As that smoke wafted alee, he avidly sought signs of damage through his telescope as gouts of disturbed water near her waterline leapt upward, as sails twitched again as they were holed, and bits of the Spanish frigate’s bulwarks and hammock-filled stanchions were smashed away. “Best gunners in the entire Navy, the best in the world, indeed!”

As he watched, the frigate’s large main course was clewed up, and enemy topmen scooted out the yard to brail it up. She was readying to return fire. A signal hoist went up her after halliards, and the trailing frigate began to take in her main course, as well. They would fight. “Now, it gets int’resting,” Lewrie muttered.

The lead frigate endured two more broadsides from
Sapphire
before her side erupted in smoke and jets of flame. The range had been closing all along, and she was only half a mile off when she opened upon the British ship. Heeled over to the press of wind and still on a beat to weather, her guns would reach further, their maximum elevation aided by the cant of her decks. Shot moaned overhead as Lewrie fought the natural inclination to duck, crouch, or cringe. One ball hummed over the poop, between the bulwarks and the lower spanker boom, creating a sudden gust of air that shoved him against the bulwarks, and came near to sending his hat overboard. There were several loud thuds and crashes as enemy shot hit home. Lewrie peered over the side and saw the hazes and swirls of splinters rising where some shot had hit, flinging engrained dust and paint or tar from the wounds.

“On the up-roll, by broadside … fire!” Lt. Westcott yelled, his voice gone raspy from the effort, and the ever-present smoke.

In the heat of the moment, some of Lewrie’s gun-captains had forgotten to re-insert the quoin blocks under their guns’ breeches, too intent on re-loading, priming, over-hauling tackle, and running out as the range shortened. While most of
Sapphire
’s broadsides were aimed at the Spaniard’s hull, some shots went high. Unwittingly they emulated French or Spanish practice, which was to cripple an enemy’s speed and manouevrability by taking down masts and rigging before closing for a slug-fest at musket-shot.

“By broadside, fire!” and
Sapphire
roared out her fury once more. Her guns were hot, now, and when they discharged, they did not slam back in recoil, but leapt clear of the deck by several inches, slewing off-centre and straining breeching ropes, making the stout iron ring-bolts groan, and making gunners dodge aside to keep from being hit, or their feet caught in the tackles.

When the smoke cleared from that broadside, Lewrie whooped in glee, pointing to the Spaniard and yelling, “Just look at that!” Those shots from the guns with the quoin blocks fully out had pummeled the frigate’s rigging. Her fore royal mast and yard, her fore t’gallant mast and yard above the cross-trees, had been shot away, falling like a hewn pinetree to leeward, and dragging her outer flying jib with it. A moment later and her main t’gallant stays’l parted from the foremast to swirl back against the main mast. All that wreckage hung for a long moment as Spanish sailors scrambled up from the foremast fighting top to chop or slash it away, but it all broke free and fell, the yards of her topmasts spearing into the frigate’s fore tops’l to rip it open like a gutted fish before finally falling clear into the sea!

“Another point free, Mister Westcott!” Lewrie ordered. “Close the range on her!”

And make the angle too great for the trailin’ frigate t’shoot at us,
he grimly told himself;
Just take ’em on one at a time!

With her foremast sails ravaged and short a jib, the Spanish frigate slowed, though she still was at least two knots faster than the two-decker, still steering Sou’west by South while
Sapphire
was now sailing Due West, the angle of approach greater, and drawing together. Gamely, her side lit up with a broadside of her own. Roundshot moaned or shrieked past the bows, past the stern, above the decks, punching holes in
Sapphire
’s sails, and slamming into her side, making her planking squawk parrot-like as thick, seasoned oak was stove in.

“By broadside … fire!” and
Sapphire
gave as good as she got, crushingly so. Her lower-deck 24-pounders hulled the Spanish frigate, and Lewrie could see fresh, star-shaped shot holes blasted into that former loveliness, could see her masts sway and quiver from the force of the blows. Something had shattered the frigate’s main tops’l yard and the windward half collapsed onto the brailed-up main course yard, jerking the brace-line for the main t’gallant apart, and both sails winged out alee, the tops’l fluttering like a shirt on a clothesline, and the upper t’gallant angling out almost fore-and-aft, flattened by the winds and making the frigate heel leeward.

“We’re almost close enough, now, to employ the carronades and six-pounders, sir!” Westcott shouted up to Lewrie.

Lewrie looked forward and found his cabin-servant, Jessop, at one of the quarterdeck carronades, promoted from powder monkey to a gunner. Jessop was hopping from one bare foot to the other in impatience. He looked aft at Lewrie as if pleading.

“Aye, Mister Westcott, serve ’em with ev’rything!” Lewrie called back. “Woo-hoo!” Jessop could be heard yelling.

“
All
guns, by broadside … fire!” Westcott shouted.

With the addition of the 24-pounder carronades, it was an avalanche that struck the Spaniard, even as she got off a ragged broadside of her own. Both ships blanketed themselves in powder smoke and blotted out any chance of a view for long moments before being blown alee. The damaged tops’l, the un-controllable flatted-out t’gallant, had drawn the frigate over several more degrees of heel, forcing her fire to dash high above
Sapphire
’s decks, but the two-decker’s fire, aimed “’Twixt Wind And Water”, smashed into her side, gun-ports, bulwarks, and her waterline. Lewrie could see the frigate’s underwater coppering, tinged and streaked algae-green, exposed for a foot or more, as several heavy roundshot punched ragged, dark holes through it. If she rolled upright, the frigate surely would begin to flood!

Spanish sailors were high aloft in her rigging trying to control her t’gallant, slashing and hacking at any line that held the sail taut to the wind. At last, it was freed to flutter leeward, horizontal to the sea, and the frigate righted herself, those shot holes now smothered in foamy, disturbed seawater. She lost more speed due to all her damage aloft, and finally fell a point off the wind to bring her guns to point abeam at
Sapphire,
but she was limping, by then.

“By broadside,
fire!
”

That was the stroke that did her in. When the smoke cleared, all could take delight in seeing her entire foremast above the fighting top falling, taking her fore tops’l and the last of her jibs and stays’l over her starboard side, pressed by the wind. The sudden drag in the sea jerked the frigate’s head downwind, reducing her to a crawling cripple.
Sapphire
’s sailors erupted in taunts, jeers, and loud cheering, and the fifer and fiddler struck up a lively jig in celebration.

“Oh, the poor bastard!” Westcott shouted, pointing off at the trailing frigate. She had been following in her leader’s wake, about one cable astern, and was turning leeward abruptly to avoid collision!

“Cease fire, Mister Westcott!” Lewrie ordered over the loud din of his crew. “Pipe the Still. We’ll let ’em celebrate when the work’s finished. A water break for the gun crews, but put the hands to the sheets and braces, and get us back on the eye of the wind ’til we see what this’un intends to do.”

“Aye, sir,” Lt. Westcott replied. “Bosun, pipe the Still, then hands to sheets and braces!”

That call, the Still, was rarely heard aboard
Sapphire,
though there were some severe disciplinarians in the Royal Navy who ran their men and their ships in silence by day and night, with all orders passed by Bosun’s calls.

“I thought you’d finish her, sir,” Captain Pomfret said as the crew’s cheers fell away, and sailors fell to their required duties.

“She is finished, for now,” Lewrie told him, intently peering leeward at the trailing frigate, which was now masked by her crippled leader. “Her foremast’s gone by the board, and without jibs, she can’t keep anywhere close to the wind. They might rig something up sooner or later, but, she’s out of the fight, with her fore tops’l and her fore course gone. If her captain has any sense, he’ll turn and sail into Almeria for shelter, with ‘both sheets aft’. That’s what’s called a ‘soldier’s wind’,” he added with a wry expression. “No slur intended.”

“You’re turning away from the second?” Pomfret asked.

“Aye,” Lewrie cheerfully admitted, “we’re gettin’ back hard on the wind, so we stay above her, same as we did the first. Once she’s clear of her consort, and comes back on the wind herself, she’ll never be able t’claw out a yard closer to us. She’ll be about half a mile to loo’rd, or thereabouts, in easy gun range. Her captain might consider takin’ shelter in Almeria, too, goin’ about and runnin’ back to Cartagena, or continuin’ the fight, beatin’ his way West and hopin’ to out-run us. We’ll have to see what his intentions are before committing.”

“Her captain might hope that his greater speed will allow him to get ahead before taking too much damage,” Lt. Westcott chimed in, “though what a lone frigate hopes to do to the Westward is anybody’s guess.”

“So, they didn’t come out after us, specifically?” Pomfret enquired, shaking his head in wonder. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

“Once we take the second, we’ll have t’ask him, sir,” Lewrie said. “How’s your Spanish? Mine’s abysmal.”

“There she is, sir,” Lt. Westcott said in rising excitement at the prospect of further action. “Just getting clear of the first one.”

“Hard on the wind, again, hmm,” Lewrie speculated. “For now, that is. Fire one six-pounder from the foc’s’le, Mister Westcott. We might goad a proud Spanish
hidalgo
into a fight, after all. Challenge him!”

The traditional shot was fired, a mild yelp compared to heavy guns’ roars, and a lone cloud of spent powder smoke drifted quickly alee. A long minute later and a flat bang came from the Spaniard. He
would
fight!

CHAPTER FORTY

“Give us a point free, Mister Westcott,” Lewrie ordered after a look aloft at the commissioning pendant. The wind was holding from the Sou’east, and the Spanish frigate was sailing Sou’west by West, as she and her sister ship had from the first. The range was about half a sea-mile, but that would slowly close as
Sapphire
fell down upon her.

“She’s opened,” Westcott pointed out as the frigate’s side lit up in jets of fire and a dense cloud of smoke.

“Quoins fully out, remind the gun-captains,” Lewrie demanded, “and have ’em load chain-shot and expanding bar-shot for the next broadside. You may open, Mister Westcott.”

“On the up-roll, by broadside … fire!” and HMS
Sapphire
shook, trembled, and groaned to the recoil of her guns once more.

“Captain Pomfret?” Lewrie called out, looking round the quarterdeck for the Army officer. “You’ve a watch with a second hand? Excellent! I’d admire did you time the Spanish broadsides and let me know how long it takes ’em t’re-load and run back out. The longer, the better for us.”

“By broadside … fire!”

A second salvo from the Spanish frigate was headed their way, moaning and keening louder and shriller as the roundshot approached, then turning
basso
as balls passed over and beyond. The frigate aimed high, hoping to cripple
Sapphire
’s sails and rigging, and taut canvas was puckered and holed aloft. Several lines parted, and some blocks came raining down onto the weather deck. One ball plucked a topman and a Marine from the mizen mast’s fighting top, flinging them down to the poop deck. The Surgeon’s loblolly boys were called for to tend to them, but what was left of them was beyond any care.

“By broadside … fire!”

The Spanish frigate had begun two points abaft of abeam to the two-decker, but she was coming up quickly. Within a few minutes, she might even fetch up directly abeam, then slowly work her way ahead of
Sapphire,
making an escape.

We can’t keep on like this,
Lewrie thought;
Else she’ll get away. Damned if I’ll let her
,
but
 …

“Alter course one more point to loo’rd, Mister Westcott. We’ll have to engage her more closely. Pass word to the gun decks to mind their elevation,” Lewrie snapped. “Cast of the log!”

It took a long, infuriating minute for the report to come back that
Sapphire
was only making a bit over seven knots.

“Damme!” he spat, sure that the Spaniard was still making ten or better!

“By broadside, fire!” and the sea round the Spanish frigate was frothed by the impacts of roundshot, and several holes appeared on her, just before the view was blotted out by a return broadside. The enemy shot moaned, keened, and thrummed about
Sapphire,
raising great splashes alongside, smashing into her thick oak sides, making her hull drum and screech. There was a louder bang, a metallic clang as if a church bell had fallen from a high belfry, and people were shouting below. Midshipman Ward came to the quarterdeck, his uniform askew, and it and his face smudged with spent powder. “We’ve a twenty-four-pounder dis-mounted, sir!” he shouted, “struck right on the muzzle, and off its carriage! Two men
under
it, sir!”

“Calmly, Mister Ward,” Lewrie sternly chid him. “The men are looking to us for steadiness. My compliments to Mister Elmes, and he’s t’see to it.”