Ричард Вудмен - Baltic Mission

'Hold your course, damn you!' Drinkwater screamed above the din, leaping for the wheel. 'She'll luff, else!'

'She won't answer, sir!'

'Bloody hell!'

He looked desperately at the enemy and then, at last, there came from the fo'c's'le an answering gun and Drinkwater saw Quilhampton leaping along the starboard battery. Close to Drinkwater at the hance, little Frey fired one of the brass carronades with an ear-splitting roar and Mount's marines were lining the hammock netting, returning fire with their muskets.

From the waist now came the steady roar of the main guns, the black-barrelled 18-pounders rumbled back on their carriages, snapping the breechings bar-taut as their crews leapt round to sponge, load and ram, before tailing onto the tackles and sending them out through the ports again. Aiming was crude; the instant a gun-captain saw the slightest suggestion of the enemy through the smoke he jerked his lanyard, the flint snapped on the gun-lock and the gun leapt inboard again, belching fire, smoke and iron.

Overhead there was a loud and distinct crack and the maintop-mast sagged forward, to come crashing down, tearing at the rigging and bringing with it the foretopmast, enveloping the deck in a heap of spars, mounds of rope and blanketing sheets of grey canvas that were hacked and torn away by the fire-fighting parties in an attempt to keep the guns in action. Smoke rolled over everything and the heat and gases from the guns began to kill the wind. Drinkwater had not lost his sense of impotence: his inattention had denied him the opportunity to manoeuvre, he had made no study of his enemy and all at once found himself pitched into this battle from which there could be no escape. As he stood helpless upon his quarterdeck, it was no comfort to realise the curious refraction in the air had deceived him as to the true range of the Dutch ship, neither did it console him to know that he had failed in this most important mission on the very doorstep of London's river. In a mood of desperation he tried to force his mind to think, to gauge the advantages of striking in the hope that he might contrive to escape with the news from Tilsit. Lieutenant Fraser loomed through the smoke. He was wounded and his expression showed a helpless desire to surrender.

Drinkwater shook his head. 'No! No, I cannot strike. We must fight on!' It was a stupid, senseless order with no chance of success, but Fraser nodded and turned forward again. Behind him the unscathed masts and yards of their persecutor rose up, closing them with a paralysing menace. Drinkwater recalled the large group of men milling on her fo'c's'le, catting her anchor. Realisation of their true purpose struck him like a blow; at any moment Antigone would be boarded.

'Fight, you bastards!' he roared as his officers flinched, the shot storming round them. Hill reeled and fell and Drinkwater saw a midshipman carried past him, his face and chest a bloody pulp.

Drinkwater drew his sword and an instant later saw the hull of the Dutch vessel loom athwart their hawse.

'Boarders!' he roared. 'Repel boarders!' He began to move forward, pulling men from the after-guns which had no target now.

'Come on, men! 'Tis them or us!'

Drinkwater felt the jarring crash as the two ships smashed together and to the concussion of the guns was added the howling of boarders pouring into his ship.

'Mr. Mount!'

The marine sergeant appeared out of the smoke. 'Mr. Mount's wounded, sir.'

'Damn! Get a few of your men, Blixoe. You must guard my person.'

'Guard your person, sir?' 'You heard me!'

'Sir.'

It was not the time for explanations, for he alone knew the value of the news he carried. A midshipman appeared. 'Mr. Wickham, what's happening forrard?' 'We're giving ground, sir.' 'Mr. Quilhampton?'

'Down, sir... the first wave of boarders...'

Drinkwater swung the flat of his sword across the breast of a retreating seaman. That was a rot he must stop. He raised his voice: 'Wickham! Blixoe! Forward!' Drinkwater led the after-guard in a counter-attack that looked like a forlorn hope as it lost itself in the melee amidships, where the fighting heaved over the broken ribs of the boats on the booms. Steel flashed in the sunshine and the pale yellow stabs of small-arms fire spurted among the desperately writhing bodies that struggled for supremacy on the deck.

On the fo'c's'le, Quilhampton had been knocked down in the first rush of the enemy boarders. He was not seriously hurt, but his exertions at the guns had left him breathless. By the time he scrambled to his feet the enemy had moved aft and the sight of their backs caused him to pause an instant before charging impetuously upon them. It was clear that things were going badly and he had no idea of the vigour of resistance amidships to the ferocious onslaught of the Dutchmen. He was surrounded by the wreckage of the foremast and the groans of the seriously wounded. He had only to lift his head to see the enemy ship rising above the rail of the Antigone.

With a ponderous slowness the two vessels swung together and a second wave of boarders prepared to pour over the Dutch ship's larboard waist, to take the British defenders aft in flank. A few guns continued to fire from both ships somewhere amidships but generally the action had become the desperate slithering, hacking and cursing of hand-to-hand fighting.

It took Quilhampton only a moment to take in these events. Suddenly there appeared above him the muzzle of an enemy gun. He waited for the blast to tear out his lungs, but nothing happened and in a moment of sheer ecstasy at finding himself alive he swung upwards, one foot on Antigone's rail, and leaned towards the Dutch ship. The gun barrel was hot to the touch, but no boarding pike or ramming worm was jabbed in his face; the gun was deserted!

In an instant he had heaved himself aboard the enemy ship and the sudden gloom of the gun-deck engulfed him. Dense powder smoke hung in the air. Further aft a gun discharged, leaping back, its barrel hot, the water from the sponge hissing into steam, adding to the confusion and obscurity. A group of men and an officer ran past and it was clear that everyone's attention was focused outboard and down into Antigone's waist where the issue was being decided. From the shouts it was clear that the Dutch were having their own way.

A battle-lantern glowed through the smoke and Quilhampton made for it. He found himself above a companionway and face to face with a boy. The child had a thick paper cartridge under each arm and looked up in astonishment at the unfamiliar uniform. Quilhampton held out his right hand and the boy docilely handed the cartridges over, his eyes alighting on the iron hook Quilhampton held up. A moment later Quilhampton was stumbling down the ladder. At the foot a sentry stood with musket and bayonet. Before the man realised anything was wrong, Quilhampton had swung his hook, slashing the astonished soldier's face. The man screamed, dropping his musket, and fell to his knees, hands clutching his hideously torn face. Quilhampton pulled the felt curtain aside and clattered down a second ladder.

The wood-lined lobby in which he found himself was lit by glims set behind glass in the deal lining. Another wet felt curtain hung in front of him. Quilhampton had found what he was looking for: the enemy's powder magazine.

Drinkwater's counter-attack was outflanked as the two vessels ground together, yardarm to yardarm. As he stabbed and hacked he felt the increased pressure of the additional Dutch seamen and marines pouring down from the dominating height of the battleship.

'Blixoe! Here! Disengage!' He caught the marine sergeant's eye and the man jerked his bayonet to the right and stepped back. As the two pulled out of the throng Drinkwater looked round. The waist was a shambles and he knew his men could not hold on for many more minutes against such odds. His glance raked the enemy rail and then he knew that providence had abandoned him. In the mizen chains of the enemy ship, in the very act of jumping across the gap, was a tall French officer. Their eyes met in recognition at the same instant.