The wind made the great sails bang noisily, and the poorly-made rigging looked as if it might tear apart at any second. But it must be stronger than it appeared, Bolitho decided. He watched Hoggett supervising the helmsmen, the easy way the dhow turned to starboard to let the nearest rocks slip past the quarter with a bare twenty feet to spare. The, dhow handled well. He smiled tightly. So it should. Arab sailors were using them long before ships like Gorgon were even dreamed of.
Pearce said, `There's the fortress.' He grimaced. `God, it looks a mite larger from this side!'
It was still shrouded in gloom, with only the upper tower and battery catching the first feeble light.
There was a sharp bang, and for an instant Bolitho imagined the fortress had seen through Captain Conway's ruse and could not restrain the gunners from firing.
He ducked as a ball whipped high overhead and threw a fanlike waterspout amongst the rocks.
`Sandpiper, sir!' A seaman almost prodded Verling in his excitement to point across the larboard beam. `She fired!'
Verling lowered his glass and studied him coldly.
`Thank you. I did not imagine it was an act of God V
Another shot banged out, and this time the ball smashed down across the bows in direct line with their approach.
Verling gave a thin smile. `Let her fall off, Mr Hoggett. I know Mr Dallas has an excellent gun captain with him in Sandpiper, but we'll not take too many chances.'
The dhow tilted steeply as the helmsmen brought her further round towards the island.
`Fire the er, stern-chaser.'
Verling stood aside as some seamen who had been working on one of the old bronze cannons plunged a slow-match into the pitted touch-hole and jumped clear.
The ancient bronze barrel was almost worn out, but the resonant bang was far louder than anyone had expected.
Verling said, `That should do it. If we fire it again, I fear it will explode in our midst.'
Bolitho saw the brig for the first time. Close hauled on a converging tack, she was heeling well over to the wind, her sails merged into one pale pyramid in the dawn light.
He saw the flash of another gun, and winced as the ball pounded close to the waterline, dousing seamen and crouching marines in falling spray.
Verling remarked angrily, `Mr Dallas is too good
an actor. A few more like that and I will have to take him to task.' He smiled at the boatswain. `Later, of course.'
`He's worried.' Dancer peered through the bulwark. `I've never heard him make jokes before.'
`Listen!' Verling held up his hand. `A trumpet! We've roused them at last V
He became serious. `Divide up the people, Mr Tregorren. You know what to do. There is some kind of jetty on the eastern side, right beneath the fortress. I am told it is where the traders bring the slaves, and from whence they ferry them to seagoing vessels.'
He placed his hat on the deck and glanced quickly at the others around him.
`Remove any items of uniform which might be recognized, and keep out of sight as much as possible. Pass the word to the marines to stand fast and wait for the order. No matter what.'
The brig was closing fast, several of her snappy six-pounders loosing-off shot, some of which fell dangerously near to the dhow.
A great boom shattered the air, and seconds later Bolitho saw a waterspout shoot skywards just beyond Sandpiper's bowsprit.
Her sails were in disarray as Lieutenant Dallas brought her even closer, running up his ensign to the gaff as if to further infuriate the enemy.
Several more flashes lit the battery wall, and the splashes, although as big as the first, were haphazard and nowhere near the brig.
Bolitho supposed that the gun crews were still half-asleep, or could not believe that a vessel so frail, one which had already been seized below these same cannon, would dare press any nearer.
He bit his lip as another heavy ball passed between the brig's two masts. It was a miracle that neither was hit, but he saw several lengths of cut rigging drifting in the wind like jungle creeper.
One direct hit in a vital spot was all the battery needed to render the Sandpiper helpless. At least long enough for her to drive ashore and be taken. Verling's voice was right in his ear.
`Don't keep staring at Sandpiper. Keep your eyes and mind ahead. We could be quite wrong about the entrance. Mr Starkie's memory may have played tricks on him.'
Bolitho darted a quick glance at Verling. Without his hat to balance it, the nose looked even beakier and larger. He saw something else on his face. Determination, anxiety, both were there. But also a kind of recklessness.
Bolitho looked away. He had seen a similar expression on the face of a highwayman as he had been driven to the gibbet.
Sunlight felt its way gingerly over the land and played across the fortress walls. There were several heads peering from the weathered embrasures, and then Bolitho saw what appeared to be a flagstaff poking out of the ground at the foot of the furthest wall.
Verling had already seen it.
`The entrance.' He turned to Hoggett. `That must be a mast, just inside. Another dhow most likely.' He wiped his narrow face with the back of his arm. `Steer for it.'
Tregorren hurried aft, hard put to hide his great bulk beneath the litter of spare sails and fishing gear which covered the slaver's filthy deck from side to side. `All ready, sir.'
He saw Bolitho and met his gaze without blinking. Defiance? It was difficult to see any emotion in the man. Even his colour was returning, and Bolitho wondered what would happen if he found time to take more drink before the attack.
`Sandpiper's going about, sir. She's going to try another attack.'
Bolitho held his breath as two balls fell on either side of the brig's sleek hull, as with sails flapping and banging she turned across the wind's eye for another attempt to head off the dhow.
He saw the first sunlight shining on weapons above the battery wall and imagined the defenders jeering at the brig's retreat. Small she might be, and recaptured from them was a hard fact to swallow. But she was still a symbol of power of the world's greatest navy. And now, against their massive cannon, she was as helpless as a sick horse.
`There are men on the jetty, sir!' Pearce was in the bows, kneeling beside one of the swivels. `They're watching us.'
Bolitho saw Hoggett's weatherbeaten face harden. The next minutes were vital. If the pirates suspected what was happening, the guns would soon be firing down on them. At this range there was no escape. And in a few more moments the island would lie between them and safety.
He felt his stomach rumbling noisily and glanced quickly at Dancer. His friend was breathing very
quickly, and jumped as Bolitho gripped his shoulder and pulled him down to the deck.
Bolitho tried to smile. `If they see your fair hair, they'll know we are not likely to be friendly!'
He turned as Verling snapped, `Well said. I should have thought of that myself.' He turned away, already thinking far ahead of the slow-moving dhow.
The guns were firing again, but the sound was muffled, for the brig was hidden now by the fortress.
Nearer, and nearer. Bolitho tried to lick his lips as the top of the main fortress showed itself above the bulwark where he lay. Did the enemy recognize the dhow? Had she been here before?
He glanced up at Verling, who was standing with his arms folded beside the helmsmen. One of the latter was a Negro, of whom there were several in Gorgon's company. It would make the little group seem genuine, he thought, and Verling certainly
looked every inch a slaver.
`Take in the mains".'
Sunlight flooded into the deck as the mass of patched canvas and leather lashings came tumbling into the hull.
There were a dozen or more figures at the end of the jetty. Motionless, with only their long white robes lifting to the wind as the dhow edged round the crumbling stonework. Beyond the jetty there was a high, cavelike entrance, directly below the main wall. Several small vess
els were moored there, and the largest one, a dhow, very like their prize, was tied up at the outer end, unable to dip her masts beneath the curved archway.
Thirty feet. Twenty.
Then a man yelled something and a figure ran to the steps to peer down at the dhow with sudden alarm.
Verling called tightly, `Put her alongside! They're on to us!'
Then he tore his sword from its scabbard and was leaping long-legged from the poop before Hoggett's men had begun to lever their great oar.
Everything seemed to happen at once. From the bows and the bulwark the swivel guns were bared and fired at extreme angle into the men on the jetty. Those in the front fell kicking and screaming before a torrent of canister shot, and others caught on the end of the wall were cut down by the swivel on the poop.
Bolitho found his legs were taking him after the lieutenant, although he did not remember moving from the bulwark. Seamen surged from the hatches, cheering and yelling as they hurled themselves over the side and began to run for the entrance. Muskets banged from the wall and a few seamen fell before they had gone twenty yards.
But shock and surprise were taking effect. Perhaps the defenders had grown complacent and careless. Too long treated to the spectacle of terrified, beaten slaves being driven up this same jetty. The charging mob of seamen, the lethal glitter of cutlass blades and axes held some of them spellbound, so that when the Gorgon's men swept amongst them they were cut down where they stood.
`Follow me, Gorgons!' Verling's voice needed no trumpet. `At 'em!'
As they ran haphazardly beneath the archway and past some smaller boats there was a rattle of musket fire from the fortress itself, as at long last the defenders were made to realize what was happening.
Gasping and cursing, their legs apart, chests heaving painfully, the attacking sailorss were slowly compressed by two adjoining walls, their advance steadily reduced as more and more men came from the wall above.
Bolitho locked swords with a great giant, who mouthed and screamed with every savage slash of his heavy blade. He felt something slide against his ribs and heard the seaman, Fairweather, gasp, `Take that then!'
The touch had been Fairweather's pike, which was almost dragged from his grasp as the pirate toppled shrieking over the side of the stairs.
But other seamen were falling. Bolitho could feel his shoes catching on sprawled limbs as he lurched shoulder to shoulder with Dancer and Hoggett, their arms aching, their swords and hangers as heavy as lead.
Someone pitched sideways and was trampled underfoot.
Bolitho only got one glance. It was Midshipman Pearce, his eyes already dull and without recognition as blood ran from his mouth.
Sobbing, half blind with sweat, Bolitho drove his sword-hilt against a man's head who was trying to strike at a wounded seaman. As he lurched away he turned his blade, felt his balance steady on one foot and then drove it under the pirate's armpit.
Verling was yelling, `Stand fast, lads!' There was blood on his neck and chest, and he was almost separated from the bulk of his men by slashing, screaming pirates.
Bolitho turned as Dancer let out a cry and dropped amongst the others. He had slipped on some blood, and as he fell his hanger clattered away out of reach.
He rolled over, staring wide-eyed as a robed figure ran at him with a raised scimitar.
Bolitho tried to cut a man down to reach him, but was in turn knocked aside as Tregorren charged through the mob like a bull and slashed the pirate across the face, opening it from ear to chin.
Then above the cries and clash of steel Bolitho heard the blare of a trumpet, followed instantly by Major Dewar's thick, familiar tones.
`Marines! Advance!'
Bolitho dragged his friend away from the interlocked figures, holding him clear of thrusting blades, his mind cringing from noise and hate.
Verling's reckless attack had been for one thing only. To lure down the bulk of the pirates from the wall to defend the entrance from the dhow's crew. What it must have been like for the marines, crouching in the hold, hearing their messmates and friends being butchered while they waited for the signal to advance, Bolitho could barely imagine.
But they were coming now. Their scarlet coats and white cross-belts shone in the sunlight as if on parade, and as Verling waved his sword to call his seamen back from the stairs, Major Dewar bellowed, `Front rank, fire!'
The musket balls swept through the packed bodies on the stairs, and as the marines paused to reload; their ramrods rising and falling as one, the next rank marched through them, knelt, took aim and fired.
It was more than enough, the defenders broke and stampeded through the entrance.
Dewar lifted his sword. `Fix bayonets! Marines, charge!'
Yelling like madmen, his men forgot their discipline and lunged for the entrance.
'Huzza! Huzza!' The seamen, breathless and bleeding, lowered their weapons as the marines charged past.
Dancer said, `Let's get George out of the way.'
Together they dragged Pearce's spread-eagled body into the shadow of the wall. He was staring straight up at the sky, the shock of death frozen on his face.
Hoggett was shouting, `Through 'ere, sir!' He gestured at some great iron-studded doors. `It's full of slaves!'
Bolitho stood up shakily and took a firmer grip on his curved hanger. He caught Tregorren's eye, and the lieutenant asked curtly, `You all right?'
He replied shakily, `Aye, sir.'
Tregorren nodded. `Right. Take some hands and follow the marines -' He paused as a sound like distant thunder rolled across the bay and against the headland. Then came the crash of iron, the clatter of falling stonework.
Verling wrapped a rag around one bloodied wrist and tightened the knot with his teeth.
'Gorgon has arrived.' It was all he said.
Again and again, the seventy-four poured a broad side into the island fortress. The bombardment made little difference to the defences, but attacked and harried from within by the jubilant marines, and with two ships-of-war sailing unhampered below the wall, it was enough.
Major Dewar appeared at the top of the steps, his hat gone, a deep cut above one eye. But he was able to grin as he reported that the defence had crumbled.
To prove his words, the black flag above the battery floated down like a dying bird, and was replaced, to wild cheering, by one of the ship's ensigns.
Their minds still shocked by the savage fighting, they climbed the steps to the high ramparts where the unmanned guns pointed impotently across the blue water. There were dead and dying everywhere, and too many red coats sprawled amongst the rest.
Bolitho and Dancer stood on the wall and watched the ships far below. The little brig was already quivering in the early haze, but Gorgon was clear-cut and splendid as she tacked ponderously towards the island, her depleted topmen shortening sail, but pausing to wave and shout towards the figures on the wall, their cheers lost in distance.
It was very quiet, and when Bolitho looked at Dancer he saw there were tears cutting through the grime on his checks.
Bolitho said, 'Easy, Martyn.'
'I was thinking of George Pearce. How it was nearly me. And you.'
Bolitho turned to watch as Gorgon's great anchor plummeted into the placid water.
He said quietly, 'I know. But we are alive, and must be grateful.'
Verling's shadow merged with theirs.
`God blast your eyes !' He glared at the pair of them. 'Do you think I can do everything on my own?' He looked past them at the ship and gave a tired smile. 'But I know how you feel.' The strain dropped from his sharp features like a shadow. 'I never thought I'd live to see that old lady again!' He swung away, already barking orders.
Bolitho watched him gravely. 'Well, it shows you never really know a man.'
They pushed themselves from the wall, as wearily, obediently, the seamen and marines began to muster beneath the flag.
When Verling spoke again to the assembled men his tone was as usual.
'Smarten yourselves up. Remember this, and remember it well. You are Gorgons. It is a reputation hard to live by.' For the briefest instant his glance fell on Bolitho. 'Often easy to die for. Now, clap the prisoners in irons and attend to our wounded. After that' - he looked up and beyond the gently-flapping flag, as if surprised to be able to see either - 'we will take care of those who were less fortunate.'
By evening most of the wounded had been ferried across to the anchored Gorgon. The dead were buried on the island beneath the wall, where Bolitho heard
an old seaman say as he leaned on his spade, `I reckon this place'll be fought over again an' again. These poor lads will get the best view of it next time.'
As shadow hid the scars of Gorgon's bombardment, Dancer and Bolitho stood side by side on the larboard gangway watching the last rays holding onto the drooping flag above the battery.
Despite a careful search, they had found no trace of Rais Haddam. Perhaps he had escaped, or had never been in the fortress at all. The pirates would say nothing about him, or betray his whereabouts. They were more frightened of Haddam than they were of their captors. The latter offered only death by hanging.
It would all have to be sorted out by Captain Conway, Bolitho thought wearily, his eyelids drooping. The slaves to be ferried ashore, the battery spiked and thrown into the sea. So many things.
A step fell on the deck behind them and they turned, lurching upright as the captain paused to speak. He was impeccably dressed. The same as if nothing had happened, and none had died.
He examined them impassively. `The first lieutenant informs me that you all did very well. I am glad to know it.' His gaze shifted slightly. 'Mr Bolitho, he told me that you in particular acted with the finest qualities of a King's officer. I shall mention as much in my report to the admiral.'
He nodded curtly and strode aft towards the poop.
Dancer turned, his smile fading as he saw Bolitho bent over the nettings, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
But Bolitho faced him again, gripping his friend's arm to reassure him.
Between gasps he managed to explain. `Things have changed, Martyn. The captain remembered my name!'
Richard Bolitho Midshipman Page 11
