On this particular morning all hands were called early from their hammocks to an even hastier meal of oatmeal gruel and toasted ship's biscuit, washed down with a tankard of ale.
As one elderly seaman commented gloomily, `To get such a good fill-up this early means the cap'n's expectin' trouble!'
Then, as the first hint of dawn showed itself in the eastern sky, and the cooks doused the galley fires, the pipe came from aft, `Hands to quarters! Hands to quarters and clear for action!'
Urged on by the frenzied tattoo of the drummer boys as they beat to quarters from the poop, by the additional shouts and threats from warrant officers and senior hands alike, Gorgon's company went into one more drill, one which they had practised and practised until their limbs had ached through sleet and boiling sun alike until they knew where every man, each piece of equipment, every line and halliard should be when the ship was called to action.
Some of the seasoned men took greater care this time, perhaps they expected that today's drill meant more than it showed. Others, and the very young like Eden, went to their stations like excited children, unquenched even by curses from exasperated lieutenants and threats from their companions.
Down on the lower gundeck Bolitho felt his own heart beating faster than usual. In the near-darkness of the low-beamed deck he could see seamen ducking and clambering around each great thirty-twopounder, heard their bare feet grating on the sand which some ship's boys had sprinkled liberally around the decks to stop them slipping or falling during the drill.
Some light filtered down from the companion on the upper deck, and he was able to see the gun crews checking their gear and casting off the breechings to check the training tackles and test their handspikes.
High overhead they could hear the muffled squeal of blocks as nets were rigged above the deck and its guns to protect the men underneath from falling spars and broken rigging. How many times had they done it over the four thousand miles?
He felt men hurrying past, guided by the boatswain's thick voice. Screens were still being torn down, chests, tables and unwanted clutter being taken below to the orlop.
Tregorren's voice boomed in the gloom, `Lively, you scum! It's taken far too long already!'
On the lower gundeck, apart from the mass of seamen needed to work the double battery of thirtytwo-pounders, were two lieutenants, Tregorren being in charge, and Mr Wellesley, the ship's junior lieutenant, his assistant, and four midshipmen. The latter were evenly placed along the various divisions of guns, and were supposed to relay orders, fire independently if need be, and carry messages to the quarterdeck. Bolitho and Dancer shared the larboard side, and a sulky youth named Pearce and little Eden had the starboard battery.
Halfway along the deck Tregorren stood with his back to the mainmast trunk, arms folded, his head bent down to peer along his domain. Nearby a marine sentry stood by the companion ladder, as did others at every hatch, so that in the event of battle he could prevent the less brave from running below to hide.
Wellesley, the sixth lieutenant, hurried down the larboard side, his sword flapping against his thigh as he paused by each gun captain just long enough to hear the man snap, `Ready, sir!'
At last it was all still, and only the gentle heave of the deck, the regular creak of tackles as the guns tugged or nudged to the ship's roll broke the silence.
Bolitho could smell the tension, the men around him, the hull deeper still under his feet. He tried not to think of the midshipmen's berth on the orlop, the after cockpit as it was called, which too had been transformed. There now would be the surgeon and his assistants. Lanterns lit, instruments gleaming in. the open cases. Just as they had done it to Captain Conway's orders on countless occasions.
Tregorren yelled, `Mr Wellesley! What kept you?'
The sixth lieutenant scuttled towards him and almost went sprawling across a ring-bolt.
He gasped, `Lower battery cleared for action, sir!'
On the deck above they heard a whistle and someone calling, `Cleared for action, sir!'
Tregorren swore savagely. `Beaten us again, damn them!' He added harshly, `Mr Eden! Pass the word, at the double V.
Eden returned, his breath wheezing as he reported, `The first lieutenant's compliments, sir, and the ship cleared for action in twelve minutes.' He hesitated. `But -'
`But what?'
The boy gulped. `It took us longer than anyone else, sir.'
More orders were being piped, the calls of the boatswain's mates shrilling like birds on a Norfolk fen.
`Open ports!'
Bolitho leaned forward to restrain one of the gun crews. It was stiflingly hot between decks, but he knew that every port should open as one, here and on the deck above. As the port lids were hoisted upward he felt the cooler air fanning around him, saw the men nearest him take on personality and meaning, their bodies stripped to the waist and shining faintly in the strange dawn light. He glanced aft and saw Dancer give him a quick wave.
During the morning watch Gorgon had altered course slightly and was now steering east-south-east, the wind having shifted to the north and held there. The hull tilted and felt steady, and with the wind coming across the larboard quarter, Bolitho's section of guns was pointing high and free from spray. He saw the lively whitecaps, some strange fish leaping like birds along the ship's wash and keeping level with their slow approach. By leaning out and around a gun muzzle he saw a darker shape on the water'and guessed it to be the City of Athens. He tried to guess what was happening on deck. The prize vessel was obviously leaving her station downwind of her protector and was beating across their line of advance to place herself between Gorgon and the land, wherever that was.
A young seaman asked, `Can you see the land, sir?' He was a good-looking youth who had come from Devon to join the ship. During the night watches and the sweating drill at this same gun he had explained that all his family had worked for their local squire. A hard man, and one taken with abusing the daughters of his tenant farmers and labourers.
That was all he had confided, but Bolitho guessed it likely that he had given the squire a beating and then run to join a ship, any ship, to escape punishment.
Bolitho replied, `Very near, I'd say, Fairweather. I can see some sea-birds now. Coming out to take a look at us, I shouldn't wonder.'
`Silence on the gundeck!' Tregorren's anger seemed to spread itself to officers and seamen alike.
Someone gave a yelp of pain as a gun captain used a rope's end, and from right aft Wellesley's rather ineffectual voice called, `Take that man's name, I say!'
Nobody knew what man, or to whom the order was directed, and Bolitho guessed that the lieutenant was merely trying to avoid Tregorren's tongue.
It was strange how cut off from the rest of the ship it felt. More light was painting the sea in black and yellow patterns, but the horizon and sky were still as one. The square gunport cut in the ship's massive oak side was like a picture, Bolitho thought, but as the light strengthened and spilled down the long barrel of the thirty-two-pounder they all seemed to become part of it. Colour stood out now inside the gundeck. The dark red paint which was used on the
ship's side, and much of the deck beneath them, showed itself for the first time. It was there to disguise the blood of dead and wounded men, everyone knew that. Bolitho glanced down the sloping deck to the opposite side. Those open gunports were still in darkness, broken here and there by some leaping feathers of spray or a crest breaking close to the hull.
He looked towards Tregorren who was speaking quietly with Jehan, the gunner, silent in his felt slippers which he always wore to prevent striking sparks when he was working in his beloved magazine. He vanished down the nearest ladder by the marine sentry, and Bolitho wondered if Dancer was thinking of the fact that the most dangerous mass of gunpowder in time of action was directly beneath his feet.
There was something like a sigh as the first sheen of sunlight filtered across the water and through each open port.
Bolitho lean
ed on the gun's breech and watched it transform the horizon into something real and solid. The land.
Fairweather asked excitedly, `Be that Africa?'
The gun captain showed his uneven teeth. `Don't matter to you where it be, lad. Just attend to old Freda 'ere and keep 'er fed, no matter what! That's all you need to know!'
A midshipman pattered down from the next deck and sought out Tregorren.
`Mr Verling's compliments, sir.' It was a midshipman named Knibb, a boy as small and as young as Eden, but for a month's difference. `And we will not be loading just yet.'
Tregorren snapped, `What's happening then?'
Knibb blinked around him, seeking out his friends. `The masthead has reported sighting two vessels at anchor around the point, sir.'
His confidence was growing, aided by the knowledge that every shadowy figure was listening to him, trying to discover what was going on in that other world above.
`Our captain has ordered the barquentine to make more sail and investigate, sir.'
The gun captain beside Bolitho was explaining to his crew. `I know these 'ere waters, lads. Reefs an' shoals everywhere. Our cap'n'll 'ave two good leadsmen in the chains b'now, takin' regular soundins. Feelin' our way inshore.'
Bolitho did not hear them. He was thinking of the deserted barquentine, the dead man in her cabin. He wondered if Tregorren's obvious ill-humour was because he had not been given command of the City of Athens.
The third lieutenant, Tregorren's immediate superior, had been sent instead, and was assisted by Grenfell, the senior midshipman. If all went well, this little piece of extra responsibility would see the midshipman well on his way to promotion. Bolitho was glad for him, if envious of his freedom. Grenfell had done all he could to make him, and the awkward newcomers in his midst, welcome. It was not unusual for midshipmen in Grenfell's place to act like little tyrants.
Two ships at anchor, Knibb had said. Pirates or slavers? Both would get a shock when Gorgon made her entrance.
Feet tramped dully overhead and Bolitho heard the squeak of blocks as once again the yards were trimmed, the sails reset while the ship altered course.
He moved inboard and rested his hands on the great capstan which was used for hoisting heavy spars or boats to their allotted positions and listened to Tregorren's harsh voice as he spoke to Wellesley and Midshipman Pearce.
Beyond them the open ports were more sharply defined, and for a moment Bolitho thought that the light was playing tricks on him. The land was probing out to greet them, which was impossible, for he could see it on his own side. He recalled suddenly what the captain had said about an island. This must be it, with the ship steering into a great arrowhead of water between it and the mainland. The anchored ships must be right ahead and invisible to both gundecks.
Tregorren was saying, `Loo'., there's a fort of sorts on the island. Must be as old as bloody Moses.' He chuckled. `Wait till you cast your eyes on some of these black lasses. They're beautiful, like -' He got no further.
Bolitho had seen what looked like a dolphin skipping across the lively inshore current, and then he heard the far off boom of an explosion. The line of breaking crests vanished, and there was a chorus of shouts and curses as a great ball slammed down hard alongside the hull.
The old gun captain shouted with disbelief, `The devils 'ave fired on us, be God!'
The whole ship came alive to confused orders and the blare of a marine's trumpet. Tackles squeaked and gun trucks began to move overhead, and then came the cry, `All guns load and prepare to run out! Starboard battery will engage first!'
Tregorren stared at the messenger's breeches, very white on the companion ladder, apparently unable to believe what he had heard.
Then with a grunt he bellowed, `All load! Stand by on the starboard battery!'
The seaman called Fairweather followed Bolitho to the opposite side as with sudden haste the barebacked figures began to ram home their bulky cartridges and wads, while each gun captain selected a ball from the garlands, feeling it, testing its shape and even finish before allowing it to be rammed and wadded into his waiting gun.
Hand by hand shot up, and every eye was on the burly lieutenant.
`All loaded, sir!'
`Run out!'
They threw themselves on to the tackles and hauled the lumbering guns to the open ports, each truck squealing and protesting like a hog going to market. The guns remained in deep shadow along the starboard side, but the ancient fortress, as it showed itself to each breathless crew, was clear to see. Its rough walls were like gold in the frail light, its shape merging with the rocks which supported it.
Above the ramparts Bolitho saw several dark smudges which he took for an instant to be hovering
clouds of mosquitoes.
He heard a seaman mutter between his -teeth, `Them devils is heatin' shot, sir! They got furnaces
goin' right the way along!'
Tregorren snarled, `I'll flog the next man to speak!' But he sounded anxious.
As well he might, Bolitho thought. His father had told him often enough what heated shot could do to a tinder-dry hull with all its top-hamper of tarred rigging and canvas.
A voice yelled, `Stand by to starboard! Maximum elevation and fire on the uproll !'
A petty officer jabbed a seaman on the shoulder so that he jumped as if he had been shot.
`Wind yer neckcloth round yer ears, man, less you
want to be deaf all yer life V
He winked at Bolitho. The warning had probably been for his benefit, but even midshipmen were
allowed some respect.
`Stand by!'
The ship tilted to wind and rudder, and by each gun its captain was crouching inboard, his eye along every black muzzle towards the sky and the fortress.
`Fire!'
5
Change of Fortune
WITH the order to open fire being yelled from deck to deck, each gun captain thrust his slow-match to the vent and jumped aside. A split second, and yet to Bolitho, who stood between a pair of thirty-two-pounders, it seemed like an age. A long-drawn-out moment when everything was crystal-clear and unmoving, as in a painting. The barebacked seamen crouching at tackles or holding handspikes. Individual gun captains, grim-faced and concentrating only on their own ports and aim. And through each square port the sunlight on the fortress, the sky very pale without even a puff of cloud.
And then everything changed. The lower gundeck exploded to the thunder of cannon fire, the hull and timbers bucking as if caught beneath an avalanche. Gun by gun crashed inboard on its tackles, its crew running to sponge out, to ram home a charge and another gleaming ball.
Taken by the wind, the dense clouds of smoke
drifted away from the hull, shutting out the fortress, masking the sky in brown fog.
Tregorren was yelling, `Stop your vents! Sponge out! Load!'
But his voice seemed to be coming through a curtain, the first broadside having rendered eardrums and minds almost senseless.
But the effect of firing the starboard battery was plain to see. The first nervousness was gone, instead there was a sort of wildness as gun crews peered at each other, grinned and gestured like children. It was not just another drill, it was real, and they were firing in earnest.
`Run out!'
Once more the trucks squeaked on the deck, the crews hurling themselves on their tackles to be first through the open ports.
Bolitho heard Wellesley say excitedly, `They'll pipe another tune now, by heaven!'
Tregorren rasped, `Whoever they may be, dammit!'
In the pause, as each crew peered along the angled muzzles, Bolitho heard the clatter of movement from the deck above. Gorgon must make a brave sight if there was anyone to care, he thought. Under shortened sail, no doubt, her guns bared to the early sunlight, she must be heading close inshore. He did not even know who had fired on the ship, or why, and he was surprised to discover that it did not seem to matter. In these brief minutes the men around him
, the ship around. all of them, had become one.
`Stand by! As you bear!' The suspense was breathstopping. `Fire!'
Again the hull shook like a mad thing, the planking jarring under the feet as the guns crashed inboard, their smoke belching like a curtain beyond the ports.
Eden was cheering, despite several angry glances from Tregorren, and some of the seamen were actually laughing.
Dancer called, `I hope they can see what we are about on the quarterdeck! We could be shooting at the sky!'
He winced as something jarred against the hull, followed immediately by a chorus of shouts from overhead.
Bolitho nodded towards him. It was a direct hit. They, whoever they were, had struck back.
Somewhere a pump began to clatter, and he guessed that a heated ball must have penetrated the timbers and water was needed to quench it before the wood took light.
A seaman near him gestured towards the deckhead. `Give they lazy dogs summat to do, eh?'
But nobody laughed, and Bolitho saw Wellesley rubbing his chin in quick nervous movements as if he was unable to believe that someone should dare to fire at a King's ship.
`All loaded, sir!'
A messenger appeared on the companion ladder, his voice shrill. `We are going about, sir! Prepare to engage with the larboard side!' He vanished.
Fairweather peered at Bolitho, his teeth white in the eddying smoke. 'We'm hitting 'em proper, eh, sir? Giving t'other guns a chance!'
The gun captain darted a quick glance at the breechings and snapped. `They've got us beat. We're runnin' away, you soft fool!'
Bolitho saw the amazement on Fairweather's face and felt the gun captain's blunt words moving to the other men nearby.
Tregorren strode past, his head dipping between the massive beams.
`Stand to your guns! Prepare to run out!' He paused and glared at Bolitho. `What th' hell. are you staring at?'
`We're coming about, sir.' He kept his voice steady, aware that there was more gunfire from the far distance. Whoever commanded the fortress had plenty of artillery.
`What a masterly appraisal, Mr Bolitho !' Tregorren gripped a deckhead beam as Gorgon began to tilt steeply, the sea lifting towards the open ports as she swung heavily into the wind. `Was the din of battle too much for you?'
Richard Bolitho Midshipman Page 5