Alexander Kent - Stand into Danger

Vallance shuffled his felt slippers, very necessary footwear to avoid kicking up sparks in so lethal a place as the magazine.

“That be true, sir. No doubt on it.” Despite the noise, he was obviously pleased to be so remembered.

“Well, I want you to personally take charge of the bow-chasers and put paid to that topsail schooner. I’ll bring the ship about.” He kept his voice level. “You’ll have to look alive.”

Vallance shuffled away, jerking his thumb to beckon two of the gun-captains from Bolitho’s battery without even asking permission. Vallance was the best of his kind, even if he was usually a taciturn man. He did not need Dumaresq to elaborate. For when Destiny tacked round to engage the schooners she would present her full length to the enemy’s broadside.

Destiny’s bow-chasers were nine-pounders. Although not as powerful as several other naval guns, the nine-pounder was always considered to be the most accurate.

“Fire!”

Rhodes ’ crews were sponging out again, and the seamen shone with sweat which cut runners through the powder-dirt on their bodies like marks of a lash.

The range was less than two miles, and when Bolitho looked up he saw several holes in the main-topsail and a few seamen working to replace some broken rigging while the battle raged across the narrowing strip of water.

Vallance was up in the bows now, and Bolitho could picture his grizzled head bobbing over the larboard nine-pounder, remembering perhaps when he had been a gun-captain himself.

Dumaresq’s voice cut through a brief lull in the firing. “When you are ready, Mr Palliser. It will mean five points to larboard.” He pounded his fists together. “If only the wind would come!” He thrust his hands behind him again as if to control their agitation. “Loose the t’gan’sls!”

Moments later, answering as best she could to the flapping canvas, Destiny tacked round to larboard, and in seconds, or so it seemed, the schooners lay across her bows.

Bolitho heard the crash of a nine-pounder, and then the other on the opposite bow as Vallance fired.

The topsail schooner seemed to stagger, as if she had run headlong on to a reef. Foremast, sails and yard all crumpled together to swamp her forecastle and slew her round out of command.

Dumaresq yelled, “Break off the action! Bring her about Mr Palliser!”

Bolitho knew that the second schooner was hardly likely to risk sharing her consort’s fate. It was a masterful piece of gunlaying. He saw his men sliding down the stays to the deck after setting the extra sails, and wondered how Destiny would appear to the enemy’s gun-crews as they peered through the smoke and saw one of their number crippled so easily.

It would hardly affect the difference of armament between the two ships, but it would put heart into the British seamen when they most needed it.

“Steady as she goes! Nor’ by east, sir!”

Bolitho shouted, “It’ll be our turn next!” He saw several of the seamen turn to grin at him, their faces like masks, their eyes glazed by the constant crash of gunfire.

The deck seemed to leap beneath Bolitho’s feet, and with astonishment he saw a twelve-pounder from the opposite battery toppled on to its side, two men crushed and screaming under it, while others ducked or fell sprawling to flying splinters.

He heard Rhodes yelling to restore order and the responding bang of several guns, but the damage had been bad, and as Timbrell’s men ran to haul away the broken timber and upended gun, the enemy fired again.

Bolitho had no way of knowing how many of San Augustin’s shots found their mark, but the deck shook so violently he knew it was a massive weight of iron. Woodwork and pieces of broken metal clattered around him, and he covered his face with his arms as a great shadow swooped over the deck.

Stockdale pulled him down and croaked, “Mizzen! They’ve shot it away!”

Then came the thundering crash as the complete mizzenmast and spars scythed across the quarterdeck and down over the starboard gangway, snapping rigging and entangling men as it went.

Bolitho staggered to his feet and looked for the enemy. But she seemed to have changed position, her upper yards misting over as she continued to shoot. Destiny was listing, the mizzen dragging her round as men ran and stumbled amongst the tangled rigging, their ears too deafened by the noise to react to their orders.

Dumaresq came to the quarterdeck rail and retrieved his hat from his coxswain. He glanced quickly around the upper deck and then said, “More hands aft! Cut that wreckage clear!”

Palliser seemed to rise out of the chaos like a spectre. He was gripping his arm which appeared to be broken, and he looked as if he might collapse.

Dumaresq roared, “Move yourselves! And another ensign to the mainmast, Mr Lovelace!”

But it was a boatswain’s mate who swarmed up the shrouds through the smoke to replace the ensign which had been shot down with the mizzen. Midshipman Lovelace, who would have been fourteen years old in two weeks’ time, lay by the nettings, torn almost in half by a trailing backstay.

Bolitho realized that he had been standing quite motionless while the ship swayed and shuddered about him to the jar of gun-fire.

He grasped Jury’s shoulder and said, “Take ten men and assist the boatswain!” He shook him gently. “All right?”

Jury smiled. “Yes, sir.” He ran off into the smoke, calling names as he went.

Stockdale muttered, “We’ve less than six guns which’ll bear on this side!”

Bolitho knew that Destiny would be out of control until the mizzen was hacked free. Over the side he could see a marine still clinging to the mizzen-top, another drowning as he watched, dragged under by the great web of rigging. He turned and looked at Dumaresq as he stood like a rock, directing the helmsmen, watching his enemy and making sure his own company could see him there.

Bolitho tore his eyes away. He felt shocked and guilty, as if he had accidentally stolen Dumaresq’s secret.

So that was why he wore a scarlet waistcoat. So that none of his men should see.

But Bolitho had seen the fresh, wet stains on it which had run down on to his strong hands as his coxswain, Johns, supported him by the rail.

Midshipman Cowdroy clambered over the debris and yelled, “I need more help forrard, sir!” He looked near to panic.

Bolitho said, “Deal with it!” What Dumaresq had said to him about the stolen watch. Deal with it.

Axes rang through the smoke, and he felt the deck lurch upright as the broken mast and attendant rigging drifted clear of the side.

How bare it seemed without it and its spread of canvas.

With a start he realized that San Augustin lay directly across the bows. She was still firing, but Destiny’s change of direction which had been caused by the mizzen dragging her round, made her a difficult target. Balls slammed down close to the side or splashed in the sea on either beam. Destiny’s guns were also blind, except for the bow-chasers, and Bolitho heard their sharper explosions as they reopened fire in deadly earnest.

But another heavy ball smashed under the larboard gangway, toppling two guns and painting the decks red as it cut down a group of men already wounded.

Bolitho saw Rhodes fall, try to recover his stand by the guns and then drop on his side.

He ran to help him, shielding him from the billowing gun-smoke as the world went mad around them.

Rhodes looked directly at him, his eyes free of pain, as he whispered, “The lord and master had his way, you see, Dick?” He looked up at the sky beyond the rigging. “The wind. Here at last but too late.” He reached up to touch Bolitho’s shoulder. “Take care. I always knew…” His eyes became fixed and without understanding.