Dennis Wheatley - The Sultan's Daughter

Roger gave a cynical laugh. 'When you have played tag with the French as long as I have you will realize that since the Revolution the majority of them who now wear officer's uniform are unscrupulous scoundrels and would think no trick too low to get the better of you. But, I repeat, the responsibility of saving this ship from capture is yours, so you must take such action as you think best.'

For some time past he had been increasingly perturbed by recalling his conversation with Georgina, and her fear that through some ill-chance he might be caught out as a spy. Once safely landed in France, he had little fear of that, but there was now no escaping the fact that a few more direct hits by the frigate's cannon balls might force the sloop to surrender.

At best that would mean imprisonment and an indefinite postponement of his mission, but it might have far more serious developments. Should someone aboard the frigate, or in France when he was landed there as a prisoner, chance to have known him during the years he had spent in that country under the name of Breuc, it was going to be no easy matter to explain his presence aboard a British ship-of-war. A little grimly, he realized that he was now in grave danger from exactly that 'lesser risk' of which he had made so light.

3

The Lesser Risk

Barely concealing his disgust at Roger's 'dishonourable' attitude to waging war, Formby ordered the Jack to be run up. The frigate's captain was already doing his utmost to sink the sloop or compel her to surrender, so openly proclaiming her to be British added nothing to their danger. But as the little stern gun could not have sent a shot within hundreds of yards of the enemy, or have done her serious damage even had the shot landed, the Lieutenant's gesture was no more than one of futile defiance.

Roger was not at all surprised that his advice had been rejected; but since it had, and there was no other means of gaining a temporary respite from the frigate's fire, he felt that he should no longer delay taking such steps as he could for his own protection. Within the next quarter of an hour he might be killed or drowned, and that was a risk there was no escaping; but, if he did survive this one-sided action, he meant to do everything he could to preserve his identity of Colonel Breuc and, with his usual resourcefulness, he had thought of a plan which, as far as the French were concerned, should give him a fair chance of doing so.

Turning again to Formby he said, 'The Government having placed this sloop at my disposal to take me to France is sufficient indication of the weight they attach to my mission. If we are captured it is of the utmost importance that the French should not realize that I am an Englishman. Therefore, should you shortly decide that you have no option but to surrender, I desire that you first have me put in irons and locked in the lazaret, then tell our captors that I am a Frenchman and that you picked me up this mid-day endeavouring to get to France in a small sailing boat which was near sinking.'

' If that is your wish, I'll see it carried out,' Formby replied. Then he added with a sudden show of spirit, 'But, dam' me, I'll not surrender my ship; not till she's either dismasted or holed below the waterline.'

Clapping him on the shoulder, Roger smiled. 'To hear you express such a sentiment warms my heart, Lieutenant. Since your crew leaves much to be 'desired in handling ship, let us then continue to take our punishment while forging dead ahead, and pray that fortune may aid us to escape.'

As he spoke, the frigate's bow-chaser boomed again. Next moment the Quartermaster at the wheel gave a single scream and collapsed upon the deck. The cannon ball had taken him squarely in the small of the back, cutting him nearly in half and spattering his blood in all directions.

Luckily the spent shot had not seriously damaged the wheel, only shearing off one of the spokes, and it was quickly secured by the bo'sun. But the ball had cleft the air barely a yard from Roger, so that he had felt the wind of it brush his cheek. More than once he had owed his life to having no false shame about taking cover when under fire and, while others about him were still gaping at the gory remains of the unfortunate Quartermaster, he left the poop in two swift bounds for the greater safety of the well-deck below it.

He had scarcely picked himself up and stationed himself under the ladder, where he would be protected not only from a direct hit but also from flying splinters should a shot smash into the deck forward of him, than the frigate's gun boomed again. This time she missed, but her next shot smacked through the sail above him, leaving a large rent in it.

Crouching there, he thanked his stars that he was only a passenger and had no duty to perform or obligation to set an example by remaining exposed upon the poop, as was the case with Formby.

The young Lieutenant, meanwhile, white-faced but determined, remained at his post, cursing his inability to return the frigate's fire. But he ordered the after gun to be run out and loaded in readiness, for it looked as if their pursuer would soon be in range of his smaller armament.

Dusk had now fallen and the enemy's next two shots went wide.

After the second, knowing there would be a minute's interval before another could be fired, Roger swung himself round the ladder and ran a few steps up to it to get a quick look astern over the taffrail. The semi-darkness obscured the outline of the frigate but her position could still be clearly seen because she had lit her lanterns.

At that moment there came a sharp crack and flash. Formby had just given the gunner the order to fire the little twelve-pounder. Instead of ducking back, as he had been about to do, Roger leapt up the remaining steps of the ladder on to the poop. His action nearly cost him his life. Another ball smacked into the deck only a few feet in front of him. It would have carried off his head had it not landed on a ring-bolt which caused it to ricochet and whine away over his shoulder. Dashing forward he grabbed Formby by the arm, and shouted:

' Are you mad to fire upon the frigate? *

Angered by such arbitrary treatment, Formby jerked his arm away. 'How dare you address me in such terms? ' he cried hotly. 'Get back to your funk hole and leave me to fight my ship.'

'Funk hole be damned,' Roger retorted. 'I've killed more men than you've been months at sea. Unless you want your ship shot to pieces order your gunner to blow out his match.'

Drawing himself up, Formby snapped, 'For this impertinence, sir, I could have you put in irons. I am the Captain of this ship and-'

'1 care not if you are the King of Spain,' roared Roger. 'Have you not the sense to realize that though we can see the frigate on account of her lights, she can scarce see us as ours are still unlit? To her we can now be no more than a dark shadow. Another few minutes and we'll be hidden by the blessed dark. But do you continue to fire your popgun you'll be giving her a mark by which she may yet sink us.'

The frigate's gun boomed again. Seconds later the shot crashed through the stern rail, sending deadly splinters flying in all directions. One caught the Yeoman of Signals in the fleshy part of the thigh, and he gave vent to a spate of curses. But this fourth hit gave point to Roger's argument and Formby had the grace to admit that he was right. Fighting down his humiliation, he gulped:

'1 stand corrected, Mr. Brook. The temptation at least to show fight got the better of my judgment. We'll not fire on her again and in a few minutes we'll chance a tack with the hope of getting clear of her altogether.'

Several more shots came over but no further hits were scored. As eight bells sounded, signifying the end of the first dog-watch, they turned on to a new course and, shortly afterwards, the firing ceased. They had been saved by the early coming of the winter night.