Death Hulk

by Matthew Sprange

  "Did we set up a signal fire?" Corbin asked as he flashed a grimace back to Kennedy. He had hoped to keep this scene quiet. Now, it was unavoidable that rumours would sweep through the ship.

  "Sorry, Sir," said Murphy. "We was on our way back to the beach when we 'eard voices."

  Bryant stepped forward, trying to avoid staring at the blood and gore as he adjusted the weight of his dead party member across his shoulder. "Lost a marine, Lieutenant," he reported to Corbin. "To that," indicating the dead cat now suspended from a pole.

  Corbin shook his head. The death toll of this little expedition was beginning to rise beyond all reason. "We'll talk about it later," he said. "Get back to the beach."

  Seeming as if he wanted to say something else, Bryant instead took one more look at the raw flesh before them and then instructed the rest of the party to follow him as they left the trail.

  After watching them trudge away to disappear into the trees and shrubbery, Kennedy spoke up. "You think this was caused by one of them beasts, Sir?"

  Corbin eyed the dead sailors out of the corner of his eye before facing the Bosun. "I don't see how, Mr Kennedy. Seems too small and it did nothing like this to the dead marine that group was carrying. Do what you can here and then make sure everyone gets back to the beach. We should leave as quickly as possible."

  "No arguments from me, Sir."

  The midday sun beat down hard on the Whirlwind, blinding any man foolish enough to look upwards for more than a few seconds. However, the constant breeze coming from the sea was a blessed relief to everyone working above deck or on the side of the hull. Within the bowels of the ship, anyone unlucky enough to be working just cursed and sweated.

  Appearing to be everywhere at once, Havelock moved form prow to stern, monitoring all aspects of the repairs, occasionally making a suggestion to the work teams and, once, rolling up his sleeves to help move a large wooden splint to the foremast before it was hauled up into the sky.

  Lieutenant Hague had briefly appeared back on board, asking permission to trade firearms with a native tribe he had managed to locate, though he had also been vague about what they were receiving in return. In the end, Havelock had reluctantly agreed to the exchange, though it went against his grain to trade advanced weaponry with primitives. On balance, however, he had much preferred to win his race to repair the Whirlwind and locate the Elita once more before the French frigate could make good its own damage. This did not stop him from keeping an eye trained on the beach when the natives emerged with their offerings. He did not have much experience in dealing with such people and had heard of many trades turning rotten in the closing moments. He was glad to have Hague on his crew, who seemed to have at least some affinity with the tribe.

  Once the beached jolly boats had been filled with supplies from the natives, as well as wood, food and water from the parties that had been dispatched, they were turned around into the sea by their crews and then oars were plunged into the churning waves as they struggled to fight the initial current and head back to the Whirlwind. Havelock waited on the quarterdeck for Corbin to climb up the side of the ship and make his report, though he had already seen through the telescope that less men were coming back than had been originally dispatched.

  Corbin was only faintly apologetic in his tone but he gave a full and frank account of the landing as he had seen it, which Havelock appreciated. He regretted the loss of life but paid close attention to Corbin's report of the supplies that had been gained.

  "We have some fresh water, as I said, Captain," he stated. "But far more milk, from the natives. Seems that is what they usually drink, not sure what it is from though."

  "Best not to ask, I imagine," Havelock said.

  "Aye, Sir. The natives were also able to supply us with some kind of cloth and wood, though it will need working by the carpenter," Corbin said. "And they gave us all the nuts, roots and fruit we could carry - that should keep the men happy for a few days. Some fresh meat was brought in by our parties, though I doubt it is enough to go round."

  "Officers and crew from the landing parties first," said Havelock. "Anything left can be dished out by the Bosun as reward for hard work."

  "As you say, Sir."

  "You have no idea what caused the deaths on shore?"

  "None, Sir," Corbin said. "I don't know what could have done that. One party lost a marine to some kind of wild cat. We buried him on the beach while waiting for the natives."

  "Good. I'll mark the other deaths in the log as victims of an animal attack as well."

  "Sir, with respect, I am not sure... " Corbin started.

  "Yes?"

  "Nothing, Sir. How go the repairs?"

  "Well enough, though she'll never be truly right until we can pull into a proper dock," Havelock said, a little wistfully. "The foremast is being supported by a tight splint and we daren't risk a topsail on it."

  "That will only drop our speed and mobility a little, Sir," said Corbin.

  "I would have preferred not to lose anything when in a fight with a ship like the Elita. The odds are close enough as it is. Still, we must play the cards we are dealt. The repairs to the hull and gun ports, at least, have proceeded apace. We have even started on the fittings, fixing the non-essential things. It all goes towards... "

  "Sail to starboard!" The lookout cried far above them, breaking Havelock's train of thought.

  "Damn!" He muttered and drew up his telescope with lightening reflexes as he stared out to sea, slightly northwards.

  "What is it, Sir?" Corbin asked.

  "She's back again," said Havelock quietly to himself, before handing the telescope to Corbin and pointing to where he should look.

  "This is the third time," Havelock said. "She keeps appearing, in the same place every time. Stays a few minutes and then appears to retreat. Never gets close enough for identification. The best I can do is tell she is a three-master. Can you see anything else?"

  Corbin squinted hard but a combination of distance and haze foiled his efforts. "Sorry, Sir, no. Could it be the Elita?"

  "I don't see how. Repair her masts and sails, then get here so soon? Then again, if it were a British ship, why would she not approach? It's damned peculiar."

  "Could it be a companion ship to the Elita? Maybe a replacement?" Corbin said.

  "That might explain a few things," Havelock said. "I think we have to assume she is indeed hostile, until we know better. I have a bad feeling in my bones about that ship and I am damned if I know why."

  "What are your orders, Captain?"

  Havelock took the telescope from Corbin and raised it to view the distant sails once again.

  "She is already retreating back north," he said. Then, to himself, he muttered. "What is it you want?"

  Dropping the telescope, Havelock made a decision. "I don't like this. Prepare to set sail, Mr Corbin, set our course due west until I give the word. The crew can carry on with the repairs as we travel. We'll try to sweep round and approach from behind. If she turns out to be friendly, we'll discover soon enough why they have been playing silly beggars. If she is a French ship, we'll have the windward advantage once again."

  "Right you are, Sir," said Corbin as he turned to the main deck to begin relaying orders. "All hands ready! Prepare to weigh anchor!"

  They did not see the mysterious ship again after they set sail, though Havelock posted a double watch among the lookouts and constantly scanned the horizon himself through the telescope. He had ordered the Whirlwind to sail due west with all speed until late afternoon, then changed course to sail north for nearly three hours before sweeping back east and then south to run past the coast. Hoping that he had plotted the manoeuvre accurately, Havelock moved to the prow of the ship where his telescope was never far from hand. If he had done this properly, they would now be behind the ship, assuming it had not spotted them at some point and simply fled the area. As the sun began to dip ever lower in the west, with shadows lengthening on deck, he began to fear that this was exact
ly what had happened.

  From time to time, he shouted up at the lookouts among the masts, as much to see if they remained awake and alert as hoping a query from him might suddenly cause the ship to materialise in front of them. Still no vessel showed itself and Havelock's hopes began to fall. Corbin made regular reports as the crew continued to work on repairing the Whirlwind but Havelock knew the ship was already fit for battle. What remained was of a superficial nature only.

  Twilight was descending when one of the lookouts gave the cry Havelock had been waiting for.

  "Sail to starboard!"

  Grabbing his telescope and quickly extending it, Havelock glanced up at the lookout to see where the man was pointing and then followed suit himself. Focussing the glasses, he soon picked out a three-masted ship, sailing west away from them, into the setting sun. He could not have asked for a better position.

  "Mr Corbin!" he called, summoning the Lieutenant from the main deck. "Change course to follow her! And order the men to beat to quarters!"

  Corbin complied as Havelock returned to his place on the quarterdeck. Around him, the crew of the Whirlwind rushed to their positions, manning sail, rope and gun as they prepared to go into battle once again. Orders relayed, Corbin climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck and announced that all crew were ready for action.

  "This is perfect, Mr Corbin," said Havelock excitedly. "You might find yourself in a position like this just once in your career!"

  "Sir?"

  "We are cloaked by the night sky, Mr Corbin," Havelock said in explanation. "While she is silhouetted against the fading sun. Thus, we can approach unseen while maintaining an eye on her at all times. Her captain will never know we are here until it is too late."

  "A credit to your navigation, Captain," said Corbin, not without a hint of reverence as he realised the position of superiority in which Havelock had managed to place them.

  "Now we can see just who she is," said Havelock. "Lieutenant, run up the colours but order the crew not to light any lanterns. We must not give our position away. Let them chat among themselves for the next hour as we make our approach but when we get close, I don't want to hear a single sound from this ship."

  For two hours, the Whirlwind closed the distance with the other ship, gratifying Havelock that his was still the faster vessel, even with a damaged foremast. Night was now completely wrapped around the frigate, causing crew moving across the main deck to take a great deal more care when traversing ropes and fittings. Though the western sky was quickly darkening, it was still pale enough for everyone on deck to see the ship before them, growing steadily larger. The entire crew, having at first been disquieted with the news from shore of a few deaths, now held their breath in excited anticipation. Having had the order to beat to quarters, there were not many who did not automatically presume they chased an enemy. The veterans among them knew the position of advantage they had been placed in and appreciated the seamanship of the Captain, their words of praise serving to steady the nerves of younger sailors who still remembered their first battle with the Elita.

  Havelock and Corbin were once again at the prow, this time seeking to penetrate the growing darkness in an effort to identify the ship they chased. Corbin had already remarked on its large size.

  "Aye," said Havelock. "That is a ship of the line, and no mistake. Third-rater at the very least. Perhaps seventy guns. Maybe more. This does indeed explain a great deal."

  "The list of missing merchant ships?"

  "Indeed. I always wondered whether the Elita was operating alone and now, it seems, we have our answer. This is as much part of our mission as capturing that damned oversized frigate."

  "Are we wise to pursue such a ship thus, Captain?"

  "We are in no danger at this moment, Mr Corbin," Havelock reminded him. "If she did see us, we are fast enough to sail away before she could make a decent move. That's if she proves hostile. If that is a British ship, we may have found a valuable ally in our mission. If not, it is our duty to do what we can to disable or sink her."

  "A daring idea, Sir," Corbin said diplomatically.

  "We have complete surprise, and are approaching unseen from the stern. Few of their crew will be alert and we should get several volleys in before any reprisal is possible. We will then make the decision to fight or run, depending on how badly damaged she appears."

  "A frigate conquering a ship of the line always makes for a fine tale, Sir!"

  Havelock handed his telescope to Corbin. "Now you are thinking like an officer of the King's Navy! Here, see if you can make out any markings. There is a flag flying at the stern but I can't make it out. Can younger eyes do better?"

  "I'll try, Sir," said Corbin, holding the telescope aloft and squinting as he tried to focus on the tiny fluttering cloth trailing the ship. He spent over a minute trying to gain a steady glimpse. When he did, he dropped the telescope straight down to his side, clearly excited. "It's French, Sir!"

  He looked back at Havelock who now wore a wolfish smile. "Time to make some history, Mr Corbin," said the Captain. "We'll retire to the quarterdeck - but do so down the larboard side of the ship, reminding each man that he must keep deathly quiet for the next few minutes. I'll do the same starboard."

  Pacing carefully down the main deck, Havelock stopped every few feet to remind one sailor then another to keep his spirits up but also to keep his mouth shut. Everything depended on silence now, as one errant noise could spark the interest of a lookout on the French warship. While the Whirlwind would be difficult to see, its huge white sails made sure that it was not impossible.

  With both ships travelling in the same direction, it took nearly twenty minutes for the Whirlwind to close range, and still Havelock wanted to get even closer, intending to sail within point blank range of its stern and then heave hard to larboard, sending a volley of cannon fire directly into the rear of the ship, just as he had done with the Elita. While his small guns would have a limited effect on the huge ship of war, they would be at their most effective at this point.

  During this interminable wait, the crew sweated with apprehension and excitement. They knew the advantage was theirs but, being forced to silence lest they be discovered too soon, each man was locked in his own private thoughts of what might happen in the next few minutes.

  Guiding the Whirlwind slightly off the French ship's beam in order to avoid his sails cutting the wind from its own masts, Havelock forced himself to relax, not wanting to appear too eager in front of his crew. Quietly, he gave Corbin the order to fly the colours, run out the starboard guns and wait his signal to open fire, imagining the enemy captain to perhaps be sitting down to a fine meal in his cabin, maybe with his officers. They would soon be rudely interrupted as the full weight of metal from the Whirlwind's guns came crashing through the huge glass windows.

  Yard by yard, the distance between the two vessels shrank, the French ship of the line now beginning to tower somewhat over the British frigate, its three layers of gun decks making the Whirlwind seem almost puny by comparison. Yard by yard, Havelock counted down the seconds until he judged the time to be right. He waved to get his Lieutenant's attention.

  "Now, Mr Corbin," he said, in barely more than a whisper. "Make the turn, hard to larboard."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Leaning far over with the force of the turn, the Whirlwind pulled hard to larboard, sweeping behind the massive French ship of war. Havelock could not help but marvel at the size of the enemy vessel as he ran to the railings of the quarterdeck to get a better view. Looking to his left the windows of the great cabin buried within its stern were level with his position on the Whirlwind, though he was a little disappointed that no lights were flooding out of them. The possibility remained, however, that the captain of this other ship had retired early and was about to be roused from bed by a very painful alarm.

  He hissed over his shoulder. "Mr Corbin, open fire!"

  The order was quietly relayed back until Lieutenant Hague, on the gun deck, received i
t. He shouted to ensure the order was not misunderstood by any of the cannon crew. They, in turn, had already been primed to fire when they saw the stern of the enemy lying in full view of their gun port. However, the stern of this ship of the line was so vast that they were still able to fire almost simultaneously, with the forward guns blasting away just a few seconds before those at the rear of the Whirlwind.

  Thunderous explosions and bright light, temporarily blinding those who had become accustomed to the night sky, tore the darkness apart and the familiar smell of spent powder filled the air. Already, Havelock could hear Hague's order to reload float up from the gun deck and then the Whirlwind's speed had carried it past the smoke cloud of its guns and he looked eagerly at the enemy ship to see the results of his surprise attack.

  The windows of the great cabin had been shattered by the assault and large sections of the stern had buckled under the weight of the frigate's metal. Havelock was somewhat irritated that no cries from the wounded could be heard, nor had any fires started. He passed a few course corrections to the helmsman, sailing the Whirlwind on a tight line that kept the French ship in line with his guns, then focussed his attention back on the enemy.

  Havelock was somewhat nonplussed to see a lot of figures on the deck of the warship and not a little alarmed when he realised that the huge vessel was already changing its course to match his own. His lieutenant noticed this as well and ran up to his side.

  "Were they expecting us, Sir? Is this a trap?" Corbin asked.

  Mystified, Havelock shrugged. "Makes no sense. To just stand and take the damage we inflicted if you know what the enemy is up to. And yet, Gods, they reacted quickly! Their lookout must have spotted us right at the last moment - you see they are not yet running out their guns?"