Richard Woodman - An Eye of the Fleet

A little shuffle among the officers indicated a stirring of interest.

Hope breathed a silent sigh of relief. 'Now, gentlemen, this is what I intend that we should do…'

Cyclops settled down to await the expected attack. The hands had been fed and the galley fire extinguished. The men had been told off to their stations and the most elaborate dispositions made. Apart from a watch the hands were, for the time being, ordered to rest on their arms.

Anxious to stimulate the morale of his crew Hope had accepted several suggestions for improvisation in the frigate's defence. Of these the best had been suggested by Wheeler. Cyclops 's two largest boats were hoisted by the yardarm tackles fitted to the extremities of the fore and main yards. By this means the boats were slung outboard of, and higher than, the frigate's sides. In each boat a party of the ship's best marksmen lay hidden, awaiting the order to open fire upon the anticipated boarders as they scrambled up Cyclops 's sides.

The lower deck gunports were all secured and the hands issued with small arms.

An hour after moonset the faint chuckle of water under a boat's bow was heard from downstream. Peering intently from the stern cabin windows Devaux touched Hope's arm.

'Here they come, sir,' he whispered. He turned to pass word forward but Hope held him back. 'Good luck Mr Devaux…' Hope's voice cracked with age and emotion. Devaux smiled in the darkness. 'Good luck to you, sir,' he replied warmly.

The first lieutenant slipped through into the gun-deck, passing a whispered warning to the men stationed there. Emerging on to the upper deck he ordered the men to lie down. In a crouching position he moved up one side and down the other. At each post he found the men waiting eagerly.

Drinkwater was one of the party waiting in the forward gun-deck. Commanded by Lieutenant Skelton their task was to counter attack once the enemy had boarded in the manner that had been so successfully used in the previous action. Up on the fo'c's'le O'Malley, the Irish cook, scraped a melancholy air on his fiddle and several men sang quietly or chatted in low voices as might be expected from a casually maintained anchor watch…

The boats came alongside at several points. Faint grunts and bumps told where they secured. Devaux waited. A hand reached over the rail and grasped the hammock netting, another followed. One groped upwards and a moment later a knife was sawing through the boarding netting, another followed. Another hand came over the opposite rail. It was followed by a head.

'Now!' bellowed Devaux, expelling his pent up breath in one mighty roar that was taken up by the waiting seamen. The tension burst from them in smoke, flame and destruction. Fifty or sixty twelve-pound cannon balls were dropped overside to plummet down through the bottoms of La Creole 's boats. From her own boats, suspended high above, Cyclops 's marksmen opened a lethal fire on the invaders. This desperate refinement quickly cleared the frigate's sides.

From the deck too a withering fire was poured down at the hapless privateersmen now struggling in the river…

Aft the attacks had been driven off with similar success. Hope looked round. He was suddenly aware that his ship was swinging, her head falling off from pointing up river. Someone forward had cut Cyclops 's cable and instinct prompted Hope to stare over the stern, searching in the darkness for the spring. Shouting anxiously for Blackmore to get sail on the ship he sprung himself for the wheel in case the spring parted and the ship was in danger of going aground.

Forward the rebels had had more success than the mere severing of the frigate's cable. Having driven a boat in under Cyclops 's figurehead where access was comparatively easy via the bowsprit rigging and the foretack bumpkins, twenty or thirty men had gained access to the deck under an enterprising officer and a fierce hand to hand engagement now took place. Several of the privateersmen were engaged in turning one of the bow chasers inboard along the length of Cyclops .

The situation became critical and Devaux shouted for Skelton's reserve.

Hearing the shouts and screams from above Lieutenant Skelton was already on his way, leading the counter attackers out of the Stygian gloom of the gun-deck. Behind him Drinkwater drew his dirk and followed.

On the fo'c's'le the French privateer officer was achieving a measure of success. His men had swung the starboard bow chaser round and were preparing to fire it. He was determined to destroy the British frigate if he could not take her. If he could force her aground and fire her… already she was head downstream… it occurred to him that she should be broadside on…

He turned to shout orders to two men remaining in the boat to bring combustibles on board, then he swung round to rally his men for a final attempt to secure the upper deck in the wake of the bow chaser's discharge.

A British lieutenant appeared in front of him leading a fresh body of men that had appeared from nowhere. The lieutenant slashed at the Frenchman but before Skelton's blade even started its downward path the latter executed a swift and fatal lunge.

' Hélas !' he shouted. Skelton reeled backwards carrying with him two seamen coming up behind. The French officer's eyes gleamed in triumph and he turned to order his men to discharge the cannon.

' Tirez !' A thin youth confronted him. The Frenchman grinned maliciously at the dirk his opponent held. He extended his sword arm. Drinkwater waited for the lunge but the other recovered and the two stood for a second eyeing each other. The Frenchman's experience weighed the midshipman… he lunged.

Skelton's blood flowed freely across the deck. The French officer slipped as Drinkwater half turned to avoid the blade. The sword point, raised involuntarily by his opponent's loss of balance, caught his cheek and ripped upwards, deflected out of the flesh by the cheekbone. Drinkwater had gone icy cold in that heart-beat of suspension, he already knew he had his man as his fencer's instinct told him the other was losing his balance. Now the sting of the wound unleashed a sudden fury in him. He stabbed blindly and savagely, giving the thrust impetus by the full weight of his body. The dirk passed under the man's biceps and buried itself in his shoulder, piercing the right lung. The Frenchman staggered back, recovering his balance too late, dropping his sword, blood pouring from his wound.

Drinkwater flung away the dirk and grabbed the fallen sword. It leapt in his hand, balanced exquisitely on the lower phalange of his forefinger. He threw himself into the fight screaming encouragement to the seamen struggling for possession of the deck.

In twenty minutes it was over. By then Cyclops had brought up to her spring and Drinkwater, the only officer left standing forward was joined by Devaux and they began securing the prisoners…

Instead of travelling slowly downstream beam on, the frigate's spring had the effect of re-anchoring her by the stern since it was led out of an after gunport and secured to the anchor cable below the cut. This fortuitous circumstance permitted Hope to set the topsails so that the vessel strained at her anchor as the sails bellied out to the terral.

Drinkwater hurried aft touching his forehead.

'All the boarders secured, sir, what orders?'

Hope looked astern. He could make out the splashes of men struggling in the water and the taut spring rising dripping with water from the tension on it.

Devaux hurried up. 'Get those boats cut down and you, Drinkwater, get the spring cut…'

The two ran off. 'Mr Blackmore!'

'Sir?'

'Take the conn, have a man in the chains and a quartermaster back at the wheel. Pass word to the leadsman that I want the soundings quietly .' Hope emphasised the last word as Keene came up. 'Work round the deck Mr Keene, not a word from anyone… anyone, do you understand?'