Dugald Fraser thought afterwards it was something he would record in his log.
Even though most of Audacity’s seamen and marines had been standing to throughout the night, or snatching brief moments to doze at their stations, the crash of her bow-chaser came as a shock. Some ran to the shrouds or climbed the gangways above the tethered guns as if expecting to see something; others, the more experienced hands, glanced at their companions as if to confirm what they already knew.
It was not just another exercise or drill; the plan outlined by the captain through his officers was real. It was now.
A few gulls, early scavengers which had glided down to meet the ship, wheeled angrily away, their screams following the echo of the first shot. They had doubtless flown out from the land. They were that close.
A gun captain pressed his hands on the breech of his twelve-pounder and muttered, “That’s right, tell the whole bloody world what we’re about!”
The air was warm, his shirt clinging to his skin, but the gun was like ice. He heard somebody laugh nearby and added, “Not much longer, my old beauty!”
On the quarterdeck with one hand loosely touching the rail, Audacity’s captain watched the sky. The first hint of a new day; someone less experienced would scarcely have noticed it. In no time now they would see their heavy companion, and all caution would be tossed aside. The real game was about to begin.
He stared along the length of his ship, seeing the waiting gun crews, the sanded decks, the charges ready to be tamped home down each muzzle. Yet there was only darkness. He prided himself that he knew every scar and seam, the faces of the men who would lead, and others who would leap into a gap if those first men fell.
His first lieutenant was beside him; other figures were close by, messengers and boatswain’s mates ready to pipe and carry every command to the point of need. Of strength; and it would all come from aft, from their captain.
He could hear the sailing-master murmuring to one of his men. He would be missing his senior mate, Mowbray, who had been wounded in the schooner’s capture. He was down in the sick bay and the surgeon had already told Munro of his attempts to quit his cot and go on deck where he belonged.
He looked up at the spiralling masthead and felt his lips go dry. He could see the maintop, the black web of shrouds and rat-lines. His best lookouts were in their precarious perches, watching, waiting to be the first to sight the heavy barque.
He thought of the officer who was in charge of the Villa de Bilbao, Roger Pointer, who had been with Captain Adam Bolitho at the commodore’s meeting. He wiped his face. It seemed so long ago, and yet . . .
“Deck there!”
Faces peered up, and Munro heard the first lieutenant say, “Peters is first again! A bet to be settled, I think!”
There were chuckles, too.
The lookout called, “Larboard bow, sir!”
That was all, but again Munro felt a shaft of pride. There were not many ships, large or small, where quarterdeck and forecastle maintained so close a liaison.
He felt a hand touch his elbow and said quietly, “I see it, Philip.”
Like a pale ghost, a curling patch of mist, then stronger as a gust of wind lifted the big ensign up and clear of the gaff, and close to it the metal of a block caught the first ray of daylight.
Dawn. Almost . . .
“Another gun, Philip. Some may still be asleep!”
The gun captain was ready. The bang was louder, and the echo drawn out, as if feeling the land.
It would carry on the wind, and men would be running to identify the ship being chased into their sanctuary.
Pointer and his men would be on their own once Audacity was forced to withdraw. Renegades, pirates, or slavers, it made little difference when the iron began to fly.
Munro tried to empty his mind of everything but the picture of the final approach, and how it would look to San José’s defenders. How it must look. Audacity was fast and agile. But she was no ship of the line like Athena. He thought of the rendezvous, and his own responsibility. The big prize was strangely transformed, with the huge insignia of a crucifix which Athena’s sailmaker and crew had managed to make stitched to her great foresail. Even a good lookout saw only what he expected to see. It might help convince the eyes ashore that the ship being chased by a naval patrol was indeed one of their brotherhood.
But if not . . .
He half turned as a light exploded high in the air before drifting down like a falling star. A rocket or flare of some kind.
He wanted to clear his throat but stopped himself with effort. The light was gone just as suddenly. He saw the chart again in his mind, hidden behind that headland where the first invaders had thrown up their defenses.
“Sou’ west by west, sir!”
One of the helmsmen reached up for a spoke, and Munro realized for the first time that he could see him.
“Very well. Loose t’gallants and have the guns loaded when you are ready, Philip.”
The first lieutenant looked at him, his face still in deep shadow.
“Double-shotted, sir?”
Munro saw the new midshipman, Napier, hurry past, another ensign draped over his shoulder.
He had already been in a major attack, at Algiers. Some were saying it would be the last fleet battle for all time.
Munro looked across the larboard bow and saw the prize. How could any ship so large have remained invisible until now?
He called, “Watch your step, Mr Napier. It will be warm work today!”
Napier paused, his dirk slapping against his thigh.
Two more shots crashed across the dark water, the flashes like orange tongues. The Villa de Bilbao was playing her part, firing back at her attacker.
He heard himself murmur, “And you do the same, Captain.”
Someone was shouting his name and he turned to go.
Like hearing a voice, or feeling a hand on his shoulder. It made no sense. But he was not afraid.
But . . . He shook himself and hurried to the call, the new flag dragging at his shoulder.
In the first light, its red cross looked like blood.
Adam Bolitho climbed on to the tightly packed hammock nettings and waited for Midshipman Vincent to hand the big signals telescope up to him. Only two hours or so since they had gathered in the chartroom and tried to seek out any possible flaws in today’s attack. Now it was as if a vast curtain had been rolled aside, with only a dark purple line to divide sea from sky.
He half listened to the faint shouts of command, the clatter of blocks as men threw their weight on the braces to swing the yards still further and contain the wind.
With great care he held the telescope steady, his forearm resting on hammocks stowed with particular attention, creating a barrier to withstand a musket ball or deadly splinter. If you were lucky.
He waited for the ship to lean over on the new tack and saw the land spreading away on either bow, some still lost in haze or shadow, other areas keen and bright in the first sunlight. The sea, too, was shark-blue again, the depths varying in shade like fresh paint on a canvas.
He held his breath as he saw the two other ships, the barque with every sail set, changing colour even as he watched as the morning light found her and opened up her side. Almost in line and close astern, small and graceful by comparison, the frigate appeared to be touching her.
There were more flashes, the report almost lost in shipboard sounds and the hiss of spray along the weather side.
The glass moved again and he saw the low, craggy headland, and some tiny islets directly ahead, caught in Athena’s mesh of rigging. There were soundings on the chart, although any experienced sailor would give that part of the bay a wide berth. But somebody had discovered this place, had taken all the risks. He blinked to clear his eye. And some had paid dearly for it, he thought.
He tried to contain his impatience while the hull plunged heavily in an offshore swell. Then he found it again: the old fortifications, and a lower stretch
of land where a slipway and some storehouses were said to be located. People, too, some of whom would be waiting and watching from the headland, and the other end of the bay where the deep moorings lay.
He saw Audacity’s low hull lengthening as she changed tack yet again, her gunports a checkered line beneath her flapping canvas. He could almost hear the yards turning to refill the sails, see men scampering up the shrouds in response to more commands. All in his mind; he had heard those sounds so often that they were part of himself, his very life.
Something made him twist round to look behind him. He saw Bethune with Troubridge at his side, pointing at the land, stabbing the air with one finger to emphasize something. Perhaps his purpose was faltering, considering the aftermath if the slave ships were already gone, and the whole operation wasted. There would be enemies who would use it against him quickly enough.
He gripped the glass again. Bethune had changed since the discussion in the chartroom, and was wearing a long, dark coat with a caped collar, as he might have worn for riding in poor weather. He remembered that Tolan had been carrying it over his arm while they were examining the chart and comparing notes with the sailing-master.
Beneath his own coat his body felt hot and clammy. He glanced down at his gold lace. A ready target for any marksman, they said. Was that what Bethune thought?
Somebody said, “Wind’s easin’ off, sir.”
He heard Stirling’s blunt response. “It’s the land. Look at the pendant, man!”
Adam trained the glass once more. The others were turning now across Athena’s jib-boom, sails rippling in confusion as they headed toward the final approach.
There was more gunfire, a different bearing this time. The masthead lookouts would be reporting any change of play as soon as they saw anything.
He turned his head slightly and heard more shots, heavier this time. If any fell near the Villa de Bilbao they would know that the ruse had failed. He felt his jaw tighten as what seemed tiny feathers of spray floated past Audacity’s stern. Close to, they would be bursting columns as tall as the frigate’s counter.
He touched his coat again and saw the shop in his mind, and the boy’s surprise, his pleasure.
He shifted the glass very slightly on the hammocks, and could almost feel Vincent’s irritation.
He forced himself to remain quite still, moving the glass only slightly when the hull dipped over toward the brightening water.
He remembered it suddenly, as if someone had spoken of it to remind him. When he had been a child, so young he could not put a date or time to it.
He had been lying in some long grass, and his mother had been with him. There had been a line of tall trees along the edge of a nearby farm where he had sometimes done little jobs to earn some money, or be allowed to ride in one of the wagons with their huge horses.
He had seen some small clouds rising and twisting above those same trees. Up and down, never getting any closer. Somebody had laughed at his anxious questions, and then his mother had said, “It’s the time of year, Adam—they are only insects. Thousands of them. You mustn’t worry so much!”
He spoke over his shoulder. “Fetch the first lieutenant, Mr Vincent.” He wanted to control the rasp in his voice. “Jump to it!”
Not insects this time. He lowered the telescope and dabbed his eye with his wrist. They were tiny balls of smoke. He could imagine the urgency, the crude bellows, the fuel in the ovens changing from red to white around the shot for those hidden guns.
“Take care, David.” He had spoken aloud. “For God’s sake, be careful!”
“You called for me, sir?”
Adam clambered down to the deck and saw Stirling’s eyes move briefly to the stains on his breeches.
“They’re heating shot. They must have sighted us earlier than we thought.”
Stirling almost shrugged. “Or been warned, sir.”
Adam swung round as a seaman shouted, “Audacity’s been hit!” He was shaking his fist in the air, as if he could see every detail.
Adam raised the heavy telescope again and watched as Audacity’s fore-topmast tilted toward her bows, and then, as the rigging snapped, gathered speed down and over the side like a broken wing.
At best it would slow her down. At worst . . . In his mind he could still see the clouds of insects above the line of trees.
He said, “We must signal Audacity to withdraw, Sir Graham. They’re heating shot at this moment.” He saw Bethune’s face and knew it was pointless.
Bethune brushed something from his heavy riding coat.
“They would know at once what we are doing. The Villa de Bilbao would have no time to come about. No chance at all!”
Troubridge said something but Adam did not hear what it was, only Bethune’s sharp reply. “When I say so and not before!”
Adam shaded his eyes and watched the Audacity, shortening once more as she tacked past an out-thrust shoulder of rocks. There were more shots, but no sign of another hit or near miss. But once in the wider part of the channel she would be within range of the main battery. He did not trust himself to look at Bethune. It was his decision; his word would be upheld. It was his responsibility. He looked again at the frigate, smaller now as she sailed into the span of the channel. And it was my suggestion.
Bethune said, “You may load and run out, Captain Bolitho. Make a signal to Hostile. Prepare for battle.”
The halliards squeaked again and the signal broke from the yard. As planned.
Adam walked to the quarterdeck rail, his hands clenched beneath his coat.
He heard the sullen bang of a heavier weapon and saw the land slowly falling back to reveal the bay and the anchorage, still partly covered in mist. Or smoke.
He watched Audacity’s shape lengthening again, her graceful line marred by the missing topmast. Men would be up forward, hacking the mast and cordage away, and the sodden canvas, too, before it acted like a sea anchor and dragged the hull round and across those guns.
Captain Munro would know and maybe blame himself.
The guns fired together. It was already too late.
17 THE RECKONING
VICE-ADMIRAL Sir Graham Bethune walked to the companion ladder and shaded his eyes to stare at the land. The rugged hills were touched with a bright copper glow, like the sea. He groped for one of the guns to steady himself as the deck tilted and the helm went over. The metal was no longer cold. It might have just been fired.
The lookout’s voice pealed out again.
“One ship underway, sir!”
Bethune snapped, “Find out what the fool has seen, will you?”
Adam called, “Go aloft, Mr Evelyn, and take a glass.”
It was hard to keep his tone level and unhurried.
Evelyn was the sixth lieutenant, Athena’s most junior officer. But there was nothing wrong with his sharp intelligence or his eyesight.
A vessel big enough for the lookout to see at this distance could mean one thing only. The alarm had gone out. Any experienced slaver would rather risk a clash with the ships converging on the bay than meekly surrender. Once in open water there was always a chance of escape.
He forced himself to remain calm. In control. He had even remembered the lieutenant’s name.
Evelyn must have chased up the ratlines like a monkey. His voice carried easily above the wind and sea.
“Two ships making sail, sir!” A brief pause, probably to discuss it with the lookout. One of Stirling’s best, whatever Bethune thought.
He watched a tiny hump of land far across the starboard bow. Like a basking whale. But too dangerous to ignore.
He breathed out slowly as one of the leadsmen in the chains began to heave his line up and over his head, as if he were oblivious to the ship at his back and everything else.
The heavy lead soared away and splashed into the water well ahead of Athena’s massive bows.
Aft came the cry: “No bottom, sir!”
Adam had taken chances in the past, and could admi
t it. He had seen his ship’s entire shadow on the seabed once, and known he had been within a fathom of losing his command, and his life.
The leadsman was already coiling his line, his fingers automatically feeling and separating the distinguishing marks of leather, knots, and bunting. An experienced leadsman could tell one from another in his sleep.
“Deck, there!” Evelyn again, his voice shrill with effort. One of the gun’s crew nearby grinned at his mate.
Adam waited, thankful that sailors could still share a private joke, danger or not.
Evelyn shouted, “One small vessel, sir. The first is a barque!”
Bethune dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief. “They’ll all be scattering if we let ’em!”
The leadsman, unperturbed, yelled, “By th’ mark ten!”
Adam saw the sailing-master peer at his notes. Sixty feet under the keel.
Bethune said, “We must anchor if it shelves.” He turned, caught off guard as two more shots echoed across the water. “We’ll engage them after they try to break out!”
“An’ deep sixteen!”
Fraser glanced at his master’s mate and blew out his cheeks.
Adam pictured Athena’s shadow as she moved slowly into deeper water. He stared along the starboard gangway and saw Lieutenant Barclay beside one of the crouching carronades. Doubtless listening to every sounding, ready to drop anchor at a few seconds’ notice.
Another face fixed in his mind, when he had thought he would never become a part of this ship.
There was a chorus of groans and shouts. Audacity had been hit again; her whole foremast lay over the side. And there was smoke.
Adam climbed into the shrouds and tried to shade his eyes from the coppery glare. He saw the barque which had up-anchored, turning bat-like past some other moored craft. But he kept his eyes on the frigate, knowing she had been hit by heated shot, how badly he could not determine.
He heard Bethune call, “Where’s Tolan? I want him here!”
The leadsman’s voice was unimpressed. “No bottom, sir!”
Man of War Page 29
