'Heave to, if you please, Mr Frey,' Drinkwater ordered, rubbing his chin. 'I'm going below for a shave.'
'Aye, aye, sir,' Frey replied, grinning at the captain's retreating back. The sight of the East Indiamen, splendid symbols of their country's maritime might, transformed the morale of the Patrician. Idlers and men of the watch below had turned out to see the marvellous panorama; Frey could forgive the cross-patch Drinkwater, even provoke a grudging acknowledgement of his misjudgement from Mr Wyatt.
'Told you so, Wyatt,' Frey muttered, reaching for the speaking trumpet beside the master.
'You're right — for once.'
Frey grinned and raised the megaphone: 'Stand by the chess trees and catheads! Clew garnets and buntlines there! Rise tacks and sheets!'
'Three ships, you say, Lieutenant?' Drinkwater handed a glass to the young officer from the brig-of-war Sparrowhawk.
'Aye, sir, in two attacks ...'
'And the last when?'
'The day before yesterday, sir. If the wind had been lighter we would have lost more, sir. As it was the India Johnnies gave a good account of themselves. We did our best but...' The young officer gestured hopelessly.
'You were outsailed by Yankee schooners.'
'Exactly so. Beg pardon, but how did you know, sir?'
'Intuition, Lieutenant...'
'Wykeham, sir.'
'Well, Lieutenant Wykeham, return to Captain Sudbury and tell him we shall do our best to assist you. Your ship is wounded?'
'Aye, sir, we lost the main topmast. One of those confounded Americans had a long gun, barbette-mounted amidships on a traversing carriage. She shot the stick clean out of us and hulled us badly. We lost four men with that one shot alone.'
'How many of them, enemy schooners, I mean?' Drinkwater wiped a hand across his face as if to remove his weariness.
'Six, sir,'
'Any sign of a frigate?'
'An American frigate? No, sir.'
Drinkwater grunted. 'Does Captain Sudbury anticipate another attack?'
'I don't think so, sir. We gave them a bloody nose last time. One of them was definitely hulled and with her rigging knocked about.'
'It doesn't occur to you that the hiatus may be due solely to their effecting repairs to that schooner?'
It had clearly not occurred to either Lieutenant Wykeham or his young commander, Sudbury.
'Young men are too often optimists, Mr Wykeham.' Drinkwater paused, letting this piece of homespun wisdom sink in. 'I have already given my squadron written orders as to their dispositions upon meeting with you. I think you had better cover the van of the convoy. Tell Captain Sudbury to act as he sees fit in the event of another attack, to throw out his routine convoy signals as has been his practice to date. My squadron will act according to their orders. However, I shall not condemn him if he gets his ship into action with one of these fellows. Tell him to aim high, langridge and bar shot, I think, if you have it, otherwise the galley pots and the carpenter's best nails, cripple' em, clip their confounded wings, Lieutenant, for they are better flyers then we.'
'Very well, sir.'
'By-the-by, in which direction did they retire?'
'To the east, sir, that is why we were ...'
'To the east of the convoy, yes, yes, I understand. You had better return to your ship. Tell Captain Sudbury he is under my orders now and I relieve him of the chief responsibility, but I expect him to carry on as normal, entirely as normal, d'you see? Perhaps we may deceive the enemy, if he returns, into not noticing our presence until it is too late. D'you understand me?'
'Very well, sir.'
After the young man had gone, Drinkwater turned and stared astern. The sea, so lately empty of anything but his own squadron, was crowded with the black hulls and towering white sails of the Honourable East India Company's ships. Craning round, he could just see Cymbeline making her way to the windward station. Ashby should be doing the same on the other wing. Once Wykeham's boat had gone, Patrician must take up her own position.
There was no American frigate; not yet, anyway, Drinkwater mused. On the other hand, Wykeham had informed him that the last ship to be lost was the Indiaman Kenilworth Castle and she had been carrying a fortune in specie.
It cost Drinkwater no great effort to imagine Captain Sudbury's mortification at losing three such valuable ships to the enemy; he had once been in the same position himself. [See A Private Revenge.]
In the right circumstances Indiamen could, and had, given the enemy a thrashing. An unescorted convoy of them under Commodore Nathaniel Dance had manoeuvred like men-of-war and driven off a marauding squadron of French ships under Admiral Linois eight years earlier. Their batteries of cannon were effective enough, if well handled, but they could not outmanoeuvre swift gaff-schooners stuffed with men spoiling to tweak the lion's tail and seize rich prizes to boot. During the following day Drinkwater pored over his charts, trying to divine what Stewart intended, for he was convinced Stewart commanded this aggressive group of letters-of-marque.
Stewart would come back, that much was certain, like a pack of hounds baying for more meat once the smell of blood was in their nostrils, but with one of his vessels damaged and three rich prizes to shepherd to safety.
Drinkwater considered the alternatives open to the enemy. Manning the prizes would not prove a problem. The privateers would have a surplus of men, indeed they signed on extra hands for the purpose, engaging prize-masters in anticipation of a profitable cruise. In all likelihood Stewart would gamble on another attack, cut out what he could, and then return triumphantly to the Chesapeake.
Drinkwater could recapture the Kenilworth Castle off the Virginia capes, but to act on that assumption would be dangerous. Now that he had encountered the convoy he could not so easily abandon it. Yet he was prepared to wager that if another attack was mounted it would argue cogently in favour of his theory; and if events fell out in this fashion a spirited pursuit had a good chance of recovering the lost ships.
It was true Baltimore clippers could outsail a heavy frigate, but the same frigate could outsail a laden Indiaman, and even a two-day start would make little difference.
'Sentry!' The marine's head peered round the door. 'Pass word for the midshipman of the watch.'
When Porter's red face appeared, Drinkwater said, 'Make Sprite's number and have her close us.'
'Messages, sir?'
'Just so, Mr Porter.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
Drawing pen, paper and ink towards him he began to draft new orders to his squadron.
Drinkwater's judgement proved uncannily accurate. Five jagged pairs of sails broke the eastern horizon two hours before sunset, an hour and a half after Sprite had delivered the last packet to Cymbeline. Thorowgood threw out the alarm signal without firing a warning gun, which proved he had digested his orders on receipt. Patrician had not yet made the acknowledgement before her marine drummer was beating to quarters and she was edging out of line, skittering laterally across the rear of the convoy, as, far ahead, Sudbury's little Sparrowhawk fired a warning gun and signalled the convoy to turn away from the threat. With luck, Drinkwater calculated, he could close the distance between himself and the point of attack as he had outlined to Wykeham. If he could trap any of the privateers within the convoy, hamper their manoeuvrability, he might...
He felt his heart thump uncomfortably in his chest. Already the sun was westering. He hoped the Americans could not see too well against the brilliant path it laid upon the sea ...
'Steady, steady as you go,' Wyatt intoned, standing beside the men at the wheel, gauging distances as they lifted to a scending sea and threatened to overrun the plodding Indiaman, the Indus, upon whose quarter they sought to hide until the privateers singled out their quarry and struck. Two officers on the Indiaman's quarterdeck were regarding them, their attention clearly divided between the following frigate and the predatory Americans on their opposite bow. Wyatt turned to Drinkwater: 'We're overhauling, sir ...'
&n
bsp; 'Let fly a weather sheet, or two. I want to cross under this fellow's stern in a moment, not across his bow.'
'Aye, aye, sir. Ease the fore an' main tops'l sheets there!'
'And start the foresheet…'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
It took a few moments for the adjustments to take effect, then Patrician slowed appreciably.
'What's Thorowgood doing, James, can you see him?'
Quilhampton was up on the rail, telescope levelled and braced against a shroud. 'Aye, sir. He's tucked in behind the Lord Mornington ...' With his one hand Quilhampton deftly swivelled his glass at the schooners. 'They don't suspect a damned thing yet.'
'Perhaps they can't count.' Drinkwater looked at the setting sun. The privateers' strategy of attacking from the east allowed them to escape into the darkness, and silhouetted their victims against the sunset, but it made precise identification tricky. He hoped his frigates might be lost amid the convoy and thus steal a march upon the brash predators. The sooner they were occupied by the business of capture, the sooner he could attack.
From somewhere ahead a ragged broadside rumbled out.
'Deck there,' Belchambers hailed from his action station in the main-top, 'Indiaman has opened fire.'
'Can you see the Sparrowhawk?' Drinkwater called, levelling his own glass at the mass of sails ahead of them. Sudbury's little brig must be five or six miles away.
'Yes, sir, she's on the wind, starboard tack, just ahead of the eastern column.'
It was this column which was under attack and Sudbury was doing what was expected of him, attempting to cover his flank. His puny aggression was, however, being ignored by the Americans. The two leading schooners, the stars and bars streaming from their main peaks, huge pennants bearing the words Free trade and sailors' rights flying from their mastheads, were coming down fast upon the third ship in the column, the Lady Lennox.
All the Indiamen in the eastern column were firing now, filling the air with dense clouds of powder smoke which trailed along with the ships, driven, like them, by the following wind. The approaching schooners shortened the range with the rapidity of swooping falcons, leaving alongside their respective wakes an impotent colonnade of water-plumes from plunging shot.
'Down helm, Mr Wyatt, let us try to keep those fellows in sight.'
In obedience to Drinkwater's order Patricians head swung slowly to starboard. From the quarterdeck the end of her jib boom seemed to rake the taffrail of the Indus as the heavy frigate edged out from the column of Indiamen.
'Haul aft those sheets,' Wyatt was calling. 'Steady there, steady...'
'Set stuns'ls, if you please, Mr Wyatt, and bring us back to the convoy's course,' Drinkwater ordered, keeping his voice measured, fighting the rising tension within.
With all her sails drawing again, Patrician increased her speed and began to overhaul the Indus on a parallel heading. Beyond the Indiamen and taking his cue from Drinkwater, Captain Thorowgood followed suit. Cymbeline made sail past the Lord Mornington, which ceased her own fire, and both frigates, in line ahead, the Cymbeline leading, bore down upon the enemy schooners, partially hidden in the pall of smoke drifting in dense wraiths about the convoy.
This smoke, which half-concealed their approach, also masked their quarry from them. The last glimpse Drinkwater had caught of the privateers had revealed the most advanced of the pair slipping under their chosen victim's stern preparatory to ranging up on the Lady Lennox's port side, while her confederate did the same on the starboard beam.
The boom of a heavy gun floated over the water and Drinkwater recalled Wykeham's report of a traversing cannon mounted amidships in one of the schooners. The moment to press his carefully planned counter-attack had arrived.
He swung around. The remaining three corsairs were in the clear air to windward and astern of them, working round to the southward of the convoy.
'Where's Sprite?' he asked Quilhampton.
'There, sir!' Quilhampton pointed. In a gap between two Indiamen Drinkwater caught a glimpse of the British schooner beating up to place herself between three ships and the convoy. Sundercombe carried his little vessel into action with an apparent contempt for the odds against him.
'And there's Icarus!' Ashby's frigate was in silhouette. Only her foreshortening against the sunset as she swung identified her as a warship. Even as Drinkwater watched, the bulk of the Lord Mornington interposed itself as they swept past. He would have to depend upon Ashby's steadiness in support of Sundercombe to guard the convoy's rear.
'Cymbeline's coming up alongside the outboard schooner, sir!' Quilhampton reported, his voice shrill with excitement, and Drinkwater whirled round.
They had dropped the Lord Mornington astern and were almost up with the Windsor, the East India Company ship next ahead of her and directly astern of the Lady Lennox. The Windsor was hauling her yards, a row of white-shirted lascars straining at the braces clearly visible, as she pulled to port to avoid the fracas erupting under her bow. She was also still firing her guns and these presented a greater threat to the overtaking Patrician than to the low, rakish schooners grappling her sister-ship ahead.
'Cease fire, damn you!' Drinkwater roared at the offending Company officers who turned in astonishment at the apparition looming out of the smoke astern. They must have been aware of Cymbeline overtaking them, but had clearly not seen Patrician coming up hand over fist in her wake.
'God damn, we've got 'em!' shouted Quilhampton jubilantly, dancing a jig on the rail and bringing a laugh from the men at the wheel and the quarterdeck guns whose comprehension of events was as confused as that of the officers of the Windsor. Drinkwater drew himself up in the mizen rigging to get a better view. The pall of smoke rolled slowly along with them, lifting like fog, but at sea-level it was clear and he could see the hull of yet another Indiaman, her name blazoned in gold letters across her stern below the windows of the great cabin which reflected the glory of the sunset: Lady Lennox. A schooner was fast to either of her sides like hounds on a stag's flanks, except that the privateer on the Indiaman's starboard beam was crushed between Cymbeline's hull, and boarders were pouring down the frigate's tumblehome like a human torrent, the air full of their shouts and the spitfire flashes of small arms.
Even as Thorowgood's men scrambled down the side of their frigate to board the schooner, men from the second schooner to port were boarding the Indiaman.
'Mr Moncrieff!'
'Sir?'
'Your men to open fire on those boarders.'
'Aye, aye, sir!'
'What is it?' Drinkwater addressed Midshipman Porter, redder than usual from his run up from below.
'Mr Frey says the guns won't depress enough to hit the enemy, sir.'
'Boarders, Mr Porter, through the gun ports as soon as we're alongside.'
Beside him Moncrieff's marines jostled, levelling their muskets on the hammocks in the nettings, drawing back the hammers and flicking the frizzens. The air crackled with the vicious sputter of musketry and the solider boom of cannon as somewhere forward, in defiance of the laws of ballistics, several guns were fired. Amid the smoke and racket, Wyatt, Quilhampton, Moncrieff and Drinkwater bawled their orders as Patrician ranged up alongside her quarry.
'Douse the stuns'ls ... rig in the booms and look lively there!'
'Steady, steady as you go ...'
'Another point to starboard, Mr Wyatt, if you please. Crush 'em, damn it, and don't overrun her!' 'Aye, aye, sir!'
Drinkwater looked up, gauging the diminishing distance, before Patricians bulk sandwiched the Yankee schooner against the Lady Lennox. At the Indiaman's stern an American officer was hacking at the ensign halliards, the last rays of the sun flashing on the sword blade. He looked up, suddenly aware the ship bearing down on them from astern was not another Indiaman, as he had supposed, but a second British frigate. Drinkwater could clearly see him turn and bellow something, he even thought he caught the noise of his order above the shouts and screams and clash of steel. Moncrieff had see
n the man too.
'Marine!' he bellowed, his face distorted by excitement, 'Hit that bastard beside the ensign halliards!'
'Yessir!'
There was a crash which sent a tremor through the Patrician as the big frigate's starboard bow drove into the larboard quarter of the American schooner and she ground her way past. The ebb and flow of men upon the Lady Lennox where American, Briton, lascar and Chinaman contended for the deck in a dozen desperate fights, seemed to freeze for a brief moment as the impact of the Patrician's arrival made them stagger.
Into this melee Moncrieff's marines poured a withering fire. Drinkwater saw the man at the Indiaman's ensign halliards drop his sword, spin round and fall from sight. Men began sliding down the Lady Lennox's side, Americans, Drinkwater guessed, trying to regain their own ship. Beyond the Lady Lennox's farther rail, the bulk of the Cymbeline dominated the second schooner, invisible to Drinkwater's summary gaze. He looked down. The deck of the crushed schooner lay exposed, the caulking worming from her sprung deck planking, the long gun on its traversing mounting jammed as its crew fought to swing it round at the Patrician. With a thunderous crash the main and fore chain-whales gave way under the compression of the Patricians hull and the schooner's masts came down, a mass of spars, sails and cordage which obscured the marines' targets and hid the unfortunate Americans from their vengeful enemies.
From the gun ports below, like imps of hell intent on some terrible harvest, dark shapes in the gathering shadows, the gun-crews squeezed through, dropping on to the schooner's decks. They rooted under the canvas with their pikes, savagely pitch forking at every movement in a wild catharsis of relief after weeks of fruitless cruising, venting pent-up emotions and repressed urges in an orgy of licensed butchery so that the schooner's deck assumed the bloody aspect of an ampitheatre of death.
The sight revolted Drinkwater and he picked up a speaking trumpet.
The flying squadron nd-11 Page 23
