Their Lordships Request: A Harry Heron Adventure

by Patrick G Cox

  "One of them is coming our way," called the lieutenant striding toward the forecastle. "Wait until you can be sure of a hit, these pop guns have not the range or the punch to do much damage at long distance."

  The Master's Mate grimaced at Harry and nodded. "Mister Rogers be right, sir. These twelve pounders aren't much better. Them zeebeckers carry twenty-fours or thirty-twos on 'em. Better hopes they go fur our spars and not the hull, sir, or this tub will fall to pieces fair quickly!"

  As he finished there was a bang followed by a sharp crack aloft and the clatter of falling cordage which made Harry jump. "Seems you will have your wish, Mister Bates, they seek to disable us," said Harry, conscious that he felt a cold despite the heat. He jumped again as the bowchaser spat viciously. "They must be close," he began, wondering if he should take the initiative and order his guns run out.

  ***

  The double report as the small six pounders on the forecastle fired almost deafened Ferghal even though he had a neckerchief wrapped over his ears and knotted on his forehead. He half ran, half jumped, to the gangway with his cartridge buckets empty and hurled himself down to the tiny powder store where the Gunner's Mate was now surrounded by filled cartridge bags. Refilling his cases he ran for the upper deck even as the guns barked again above him. He was already returning below with another pair of empty cartridge buckets while the gun crews sponged and rammed their next loads. Instinct and training took over as he dodged obstacles and his companions fetching charges for the other guns. Belatedly he noted as he ran that the Maid's own crew were attempting to arm themselves, though some seemed more dangerous to each other than to an enemy.

  "Mister Heron," called the lieutenant. "Run out and be ready to fire as soon as you bear."

  Harry turned to give the order and found the men already busy. He threw his own weight against the nearest gun as it ran up and then moved to peer through the open port. At first he could see nothing. Leaning out a little, he saw the approaching xebec. She was much closer than he thought. He darted back inboard, forcing himself to control his fear, his voice cracking in excitement as he ordered, "We shall have to train the guns as far forward as we can, else he will be too close before we can bear or fire."

  "Tail on there," the Master's Mate took charge. "Get them spikes to work, lever her round as far she will go."

  Harry jumped out of the way as the men rushed to obey, his heart hammering. This promised to be very close fighting he reckoned. All his encounters with the French thus far had been exchanges of gunfire at a distance or accompanying an officer with a boarding party to take possession of a prize which had surrendered under the threat of his previous ship's guns. He checked his dirk, then checked again the heavy pistol he carried was primed and ready for use.

  "Sir." The Master's Mate broke into his thoughts. "Our number one gun will bear on the bastards in a minute. Do you want me to fire when it does?"

  Harry hesitated, thinking desperately and trying to show that he was calm. Then he said carefully, "No. Wait until the second one also bears. That way we can be sure of hitting him."

  The Master's Mate smiled slowly. "You're a cool one, sir. Right, lads, let's make this count. You heard Mister Heron."

  Taking station at a gunport, Harry forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly and tried to gauge the approaching ship's angle and when his four guns might be able to bear. The bowchasers were now firing at regular intervals and he found time to wonder how Ferghal was faring. The xebecs bow guns were also busy and more debris falling from above told of effective shooting – or lucky strikes on the rigging and sails aloft.

  The Master's Mate broke into his thoughts, "Sir, I'm thinking we can hit him at this angle, 'specially if we fire on the roll sir."

  Harry considered, taking time to compose himself, and agreed. "Very well, Mister Bates, fire when we bear."

  "Aye, aye, sir!" The Master's Mate crouched behind the second gun and sighted carefully along the barrel. The ship rolled heavily. Aloft, another loud crack was accompanied by the sound of splintering of timbers and cries of alarm from the gangways and quarterdeck. The lieutenant's orders were lost as the first of the broadside guns roared its spite, followed almost instantly by the second.

  "Sponge out, you buggers! Load wi' round shot only. Save the grape for when they close to board." The Master's Mate seemed to be everywhere as the men worked frantically to reload the guns and run them up ready to fire a second time. Again the sharp reports as the guns belched their flame and smoke, but now the Master's Mate was ordering the guns trained to a more normal bearing and Harry leapt forward, realising the enemy must be drawing abeam, a chance for the after pair of guns to fire as well. The hull lurched even as the forward guns roared again, and now there was a new sound, an unearthly howling and ululating noise which Harry realised was the boarders trying to frighten their crew.

  "Master's Mate," he yelled above the din. "Load with grape and keep firing." He snatched a quick look out of the nearest port and saw with alarm that the xebec had managed to grapple them, its prow almost level with his position. A horde seemed to be swarming from its deck and clambering up the wallowing hull of the Maid of Selsey. Screams, curses and the unearthly howling of the attackers grew in crescendo as they found a foothold on the gangways and forecastle, driving the defenders back by sheer weight of numbers. To add to the confusion, the prisoners were crying out in alarm and terror, trapped as they were below decks in the stinking prison that could so easily become their tomb. Harry looked about him for direction and swallowed hard. To the idle pair of crews, he said, "Come with me – we must help the lieutenant fight them off."

  On the forecastle Ferghal found himself in the midst of a swaying mass of attackers and defenders. He dropped his cartridge cases and snatched up a fallen cutlass. He did not have much skill yet, but at least knew how to hold it and slashed at the large corsair whose attention was on attacking the man in charge of the guns. By lucky stroke, he managed to distract the slaver and gave Sykes the opening to strike the big pirate a fatal blow. But the corsairs kept adding to their number and slowly the Spartan's were driven back.

  ***

  Drawing his pistol, Harry cocked it and led the twelve men from the aftermost guns toward a ladder leading to the gangway. The world seemed to have become a fearsome place of noise, the stench of blood and the frightening ululations of the attackers. He was almost at the ladder when a huge figure landed in front of them and slashed at him with a great curved blade. Instinctively Harry ducked and the blade whistled over him. He brought up the pistol and jerked the trigger, feeling the gun kick as it fired. Where the shot went was not immediately apparent but the big Moor toppled slowly backwards. One of the men slashed at the fallen corsair even as they scrambled up and onto the gangway above.

  The scene that met Harry's eyes was one of mayhem. He was shaking and wished he had Ferghal at his side. Ferghal always seemed to steady him, but now his friend was in the melee on the fo'c's'le, perhaps already dead. The fo'c's'le itself was a seething mass of boarders and defenders, with the defenders apparently holding their own at this point. Harry looked overside and found himself staring downward at several more boarders attempting to clamber up the ship's side. "At them men," he shouted and stabbed wildly at the nearest boarder with his dirk. Several men joined him and soon they had dislodged all but one corsair, a wiry individual, who succeeded in reaching the deck and now gave a good account of himself as he confronted two of Harry's men. Another group began to clamber up the ship's side, making use of trailing rigging and shot damage to the hull to do so. Harry took stock. His men were slowly being drawn into the general melee and he could not hope to hold off another group without help. Then he spied something that would make a difference.

  "Palmer, Ellis. Get that swivel and ship it here. We can use it to clear these boarders!"

  The two men glanced at where Harry was pointing and jumped to obey. It took the combined efforts of both to move the gun from its mounting on the rail wher
e it could fire through the grating on the main deck, and carry it to where Harry found another mounting point on the gangway.

  "Quickly, get it set in. Have we some match?"

  "I'll get it, sor," gasped the quicker of the pair. He dashed below to the nearest gun and snatched some slow match from the tub, running back with this to where Harry waited.

  Taking the match, Harry swung the swivel until it was aimed along the hull towards the clambering enemy. He touched the glowing tip to the priming hole and, for a heart stopping moment, nothing happened. Then with a bang, the gun belched fire and a hail of musket balls. Without waiting to see what effect this had, Harry squeaked, his voice, to his annoyance, breaking in the excitement, "Reload!"

  ***

  Ferghal was in a desperate fight with a skilled and agile corsair who seemed to be taking care to press him, but not injure him. The man drove him steadily backward until he trapped him against a rail. Knocking Ferghal's weapon aside with almost casual ease he struck out suddenly with a belaying pin in his other hand. Ferghal saw the blow coming and dodged sufficiently to avoid the full force of it. The blow still opened a cut in his scalp and caused him to stumble to his knees. He looked up at the grinning corsair in time to see a figure rise behind the pirate and the descending axe.

  ***

  The two men with Harry obeyed his order and a minute later he fired the weapon again, this time seeing several corsairs shattered by the scything shot. Again the gun was reloaded, just in time, for the corsairs were suddenly on the gangway, their leaders racing toward him, their fearsome swords raised to strike. He swung the muzzle to point at the onrushing attackers and fired again. Snatching up his dirk he prepared to defend himself. It was not much of a weapon against the sword held by the nearest survivor of his last shot; a fact proved as the man cut down Palmer and lunged at Ellis. Harry swung himself into the shrouds and struck through them in desperation as the man tried to cut at him where he clung to the ratlines. Harry's blade found flesh and frantically he pushed as hard as he could, driving it into the man's chest, fear lending strength to the thrust. He wrenched it free and prepared to strike again, even as the corsair sagged, and then slowly toppled from the gangway. Feeling sick and trembling with fright and adrenalin, Harry now swung himself back onto the gangway and ordered Ellis, "Reload the swivel. We must clear the forecastle."

  Ellis responded, his own voice sobbing with fright and effort as he shouted, "Ready sir – give them bastards some more for Josh, sir."

  Harry found the match still in its stock and, taking time to train the muzzle on the now retreating corsairs, applied it to the touchhole. The bang of the gun was echoed from further away by a rolling thunder, followed by screams and crashes from astern.

  "It's t' Spartan sir," gasped Ellis. "She's found the wind and given them bastards a full broadside!"

  Harry glanced aft and saw one of the xebecs slowly capsizing. He felt a shiver pass through him as he realised that, but for Spartan's intervention, the xebec must have soon been in a position to attack over their stern. With a start he noticed the remaining corsairs were leaping and scrambling back to their own ship as the breeze found their own sails. They had won – more than that; he had beaten his own fear. He called, "Quick Ellis, back to the guns – we may have a chance to speed them away with our own in a moment."

  Recklessly he jumped from the gangway to land heavily, but without injury, on a corpse below him. He picked himself up and scrambled to where the Master's Mate, one sleeve torn and bloodied from a slash wound, was trying to muster his remaining men. "Quick, Mister Bates, we must fire on them as they pull away. He surely cannot avoid our guns now."

  "Aye, Mister Heron, and so we will if we can but get these grinning idiots of our'n to jump to it. Get moving you idlers," he bawled. "Get them guns loaded – and no skimping on the charge. I want full charge and double shot. Move!"

  ***

  Ferghal recovered his fallen cutlass and, more carefully now, gave his support to the older man who had saved him. His head hurt, and the blood from the cut he had received ran down his face, but his fighting temper was now up and he locked blades with a corsair and drove at him with a skill born of cold, calculating fury. If they wanted to take him for a slave they'd best be prepared to have a hard fight. The thunder of the broadside distracted him briefly, just long enough to see Harry leap to the maindeck and then he was once more slashing and cutting at any who crossed his path.

  ***

  Harry found himself dancing a little jig as he waited on the loading and watched the xebec slowly opening the gap between herself and the Maid of Selsey. He realised it was her oars which made it possible for these ships to escape so rapidly and he shouted to the Master's Mate as that worthy indicated the guns were ready, "Aim for the oars. If we can cripple those she will be easy meat for the Spartan!"

  The Master's Mate gave him a strange look, then nodded, "Very good, sir. You heard him lads – make sure of them, take the outriggers as your mark and wait for my signal." He paused until all the captains indicated readiness then bawled, "Fire!"

  The four guns leapt backwards in a ragged broadside. The men sprang to reload and Harry dived for a port to see what happened. The smoke eddied clear and he saw to his initial delight more than half the oars on the xebecs port side were a tangled, shattered mass. Then he felt the cold clutch of horror as he saw the oarsmen attached to them were now broken shattered rags. As he watched some of the survivors began to struggle to free themselves, hindered by the chains he could now see held them to their benches. His horror turned to rage as he saw the corsairs attack these wretched scarecrows with whips, forcing them back to the effort of rowing. He leapt back from the port and said, "Master's Mate, I want each gun aimed and fired at the gangways and the quarterdeck of that ship," not noticing his voice was suddenly deeper and firmer. "I want as many of those fiends destroyed as possible – see to it, Mister Bates."

  "Aye, aye, sir!" The Master's Mate looked at the child suddenly a man and ordered, "Dudley, stand aside there, stand by the training spikes, this bastard isn't going to escape."

  Harry watched dispassionately as the Master's Mate pointed each gun as carefully as he could and fired. The first struck on the decorated transom raising a great shower of splinters, the second struck nearby, but obviously caused more damage for the ship slewed round, exposing her side to the next shot which struck a mast and sent a shower of splinters scything through the corsairs clustered near it. The fourth shot, by lucky chance, struck near the xebecs bowchasers, overturning one gun and careening off it to scythe through another cluster of men gathered at the fore end of the ship. Further firing was rendered unnecessary as the sky darkened under the shadow cast by the towering canvas of HMS Spartan as she tacked across the Maid of Selsey's stern, her ports open and her great batteries run up and ready to fire. On the corsair, panic ensued as the pirates scrambled to throw themselves into the sea even as Spartan's broadside began to thunder across the intervening space. Harry turned away as the lightly framed xebec disintegrated, torn apart by the smashing power of the great thirty-two pounders of the lower battery and the lighter twenty fours of her upper tier.

  "Don't fret for the slaves, sir," the Master's Mate said softly, "At least now they will be free, not like the poor sods on this tub."

  "I shall hope that at least they die quickly then," said Harry bitterly, still not aware of the change in his voice. He went to find the lieutenant wondering where Ferghal was and praying he would not be among the dead on the forecastle.

  -

  Chapter 11 — Landfall

  "Master Harry, you're safe then." Ferghal's relief was evident in his voice.

  "Aye, Ferghal." Harry managed a smile. "And so I see are you. It seems we have both denied the devil his prize for now. Where is the lieutenant?"

  "Aft. The ship's Master is wounded I think. Certainly he ran below as soon as the corsairs boarded us, and the rest of this crew would have followed him if our people hadn't made
them stand." Ferghal grinned. "It was hot work there for a moment – but then you got that swivel working and it gave some a distaste for their position I'm thinking."

  "So it did," Harry replied, conscious of tiredness and a desire to sit down and cry. He looked at Ferghal and noticed that his friend seemed to be bleeding from a wound, "You are wounded. Have you had it attended to?"

  "This? It is no great thing." Ferghal smiled touching at his broken scalp. "A scratch, no more. Most of this." He indicated the blood splattering his shirt and trousers. "Is from he who gave it me. He was so intent on taking me that he saw not Ben Hawking with his boarding axe."

  "Well take care, I must find the lieutenant and obtain his instructions." Realising that his friend was grinning at him, he asked, "What amuses you?"

  "Why, Master Harry." Ferghal said mischievously, "You ask where I got my scratch, yet you have your coat torn half from your back, blood on your head and hands – and by the sound of it have lost your choirboy voice into the bargain. I scarce knew you when you approached."

  Harry frowned, then laughed. "Ferghal you rogue. You tease me. I should have you flogged for it. Now delay me no longer – I am sure the Master's Mate has work for you yonder." He hurried away to the break in the poop and ducked beneath it to find the door to the Captain's cabin open. From within came Lieutenant Rogers' voice sounding angry and disgusted. Harry knocked and waited until his senior snapped, "Yes? Oh, Mister Heron, come in. Make your report lad."