Stand Into Danger

by Alexander Kent

“Stand by on deck!” Palliser was staring down at the double line of guns. “Run in and load!”

  This was the moment. With fixed concentration each gun-captain watched as his men put their weight on the tackles and hauled them away from the sides.

  Bulky cartridges were passed rapidly to each muzzle and rammed home by the loader.

  Bolitho watched the one nearest to him as he gave the cartridge in his gun two extra sharp taps to bed it in. His face was so set, so absorbed, that it was as if he was about to take on an enemy single-handed. Then the wad, followed by a gleaming black ball for each gun. One more wad rammed down, just in case the ship should give an unexpected roll and tip the ball harmlessly into the sea, and they were done.

  When Bolitho looked up again, the other ship seemed to have drawn much closer.

  “Ready on deck!”

  Each gun-captain held up his hand.

  Palliser shouted, “Open the ports!” He waited, counting seconds, as the port-lids rose along either side like reawakened eyes. “Run out!”

  The San Augustin fired again, but her master had let her fall off to the wind and the whole broadside fell a good half mile from Destiny’s larboard bow.

  Rhodes was striding behind his guns, giving instructions or merely joking with his men, Bolitho could not tell.

  With San Augustin now lying off their larboard bow on an invisible arrowhead, it was hard to keep his crews busy and prevent them from standing to look to the opposite side to see what was happening.

  Palliser called, “Mr Bolitho! Be ready to send some of your hands across to assist. Two broadsides and we will alter course to larboard and allow your guns a similar chance.”

  Bolitho waved his hands. “Aye, sir!”

  Dumaresq said, “Alter course three points to starboard.”

  “Man the braces there! Helm a-weather!”

  With her canvas flapping and cracking, Destiny responded, the San Augustin seeming to go astern as she showed herself to the crouching gun-captains.

  “Full elevation! Fire! ”

  The twelve-pounders hurled themselves inboard on their tackles, the smoke rolling downwind towards the enemy in a frothing screen.

  “Stop your vents!” Rhodes was striding more quickly now. “Sponge out and load!”

  The gun-captains had to work doubly hard, using a fist or two if necessary to contain their men’s excitement. To put a charge into an unsponged barrel where some smouldering remains from the first shot were still inside was inviting sudden and horrible death.

  Stockdale pounded the breaching-ring of his gun. “Come on, boys! Come on! ”

  “Run out!” Palliser was resting his telescope on the hammock nettings to study the other ship. “As you bear! Fire! ”

  This time the broadside was uneven, with each captain taking his time, choosing his own moment. But before they could watch the fall of shot men were already dashing to braces and halliards, while aft Gulliver urged his helmsmen to greater efforts as Destiny changed tack, standing as close to the wind as possible without losing her manoeuvrability.

  Bolitho’s mouth had gone dry. Without noticing he had drawn his hanger and was holding it to his hip as the deck tilted, and then slowly but steadily his gun-captains saw San Augustin’s gilded beak-head edge across their open ports.

  “On the uproll!”

  San Augustin’s side erupted in darting tongues, and Bolitho heard the wild shriek of langrage or chain-shot passing high overhead. He found time to pity Midshipman Henderson clinging to the cross-trees with his telescope trained on the enemy while the murderous tangle of chain and iron bars swept past him.

  “Fire!”

  Bolitho saw the sea bursting with spray around the other ship, and thought he saw her main-course quiver as at least one ball ploughed through it.

  As his men threw themselves on handspikes and rammers, yelling for powder and shot, oblivious to everything but the hungry muzzles and Palliser’s voice from the quarterdeck, Bolitho glanced at the captain.

  He was with Gulliver and Slade beside the compass, pointing at the enemy, the sails, at the drifting smoke, as if he held every act and each consequence in his palm.

  “Fire!”

  Down Destiny’s starboard side, gun by gun, the twelve-pounders crashed inboard, their trucks squealing like enraged hogs.

  “Stand by to alter course! Be ready, Mr Rhodes! Larboard battery load with double-shot!”

  Bolitho ducked away from running seamen and bellowing petty officers. Their constant, aching drills on the long passage from Plymouth had taught them well. No matter what the guns were doing, the ship had to be worked and kept afloat.

  Once again the guns roared out their challenge, a different sound this time, jarring and painful, as the double-shotted barrels responded to their charges.

  Bolitho wiped his face with his wrist. He felt as if he had been in the sun for hours. In fact, it was barely eight bells. One hour since Spillane had been sent below.

  Dumaresq was taking a risk to double-shot his guns. But Bolitho had seen the two schooners working their way to wind-ward, as if to close with Destiny from astern. They had to hit San Augustin, and hit her hard, if only to slow her down.

  Dumaresq shouted, “Fetch the gunner! Lively there!”

  Bolitho winced as water cascaded over the opposite gangway, and he felt the hull jump to a massive pounding. Two hits at least, perhaps on the waterline.

  But the boatswain was already yelling orders, and his men were running past the marine sentries who guarded each hatchway, to examine the hull and to shore up any damage.

  He saw the gunner, blinking like an owl in the sunlight, his face creased with anger at being called from his magazine and powder rooms even by the captain.

  “Mr Vallance!” Dumaresq’s face was split in a fierce grin. “You were once the best gun-captain in the Channel Fleet, is that not so?”

  Vallance shuffled his felt slippers, very necessary footwear to avoid kicking up sparks in so lethal a place as the magazine.

  “That be true, sir. No doubt on it.” Despite the noise, he was obviously pleased to be so remembered.

  “Well, I want you to personally take charge of the bow-chasers and put paid to that topsail schooner. I’ll bring the ship about.” He kept his voice level. “You’ll have to look alive.”

  Vallance shuffled away, jerking his thumb to beckon two of the gun-captains from Bolitho’s battery without even asking permission. Vallance was the best of his kind, even if he was usually a taciturn man. He did not need Dumaresq to elaborate. For when Destiny tacked round to engage the schooners she would present her full length to the enemy’s broadside.

  Destiny’s bow-chasers were nine-pounders. Although not as powerful as several other naval guns, the nine-pounder was always considered to be the most accurate.

  “Fire!”

  Rhodes’ crews were sponging out again, and the seamen shone with sweat which cut runners through the powder-dirt on their bodies like marks of a lash.

  The range was less than two miles, and when Bolitho looked up he saw several holes in the main-topsail and a few seamen working to replace some broken rigging while the battle raged across the narrowing strip of water.

  Vallance was up in the bows now, and Bolitho could picture his grizzled head bobbing over the larboard nine-pounder, remembering perhaps when he had been a gun-captain himself.

  Dumaresq’s voice cut through a brief lull in the firing. “When you are ready, Mr Palliser. It will mean five points to larboard.” He pounded his fists together. “If only the wind would come!” He thrust his hands behind him again as if to control their agitation. “Loose the t’gan’sls!”

  Moments later, answering as best she could to the flapping canvas, Destiny tacked round to larboard, and in seconds, or so it seemed, the schooners lay across her bows.

  Bolitho heard the crash of a nine-pounder, and then the other on the opposite bow as Vallance fired.

  The topsail schooner seemed to stagger, as
if she had run headlong on to a reef. Foremast, sails and yard all crumpled together to swamp her forecastle and slew her round out of command.

  Dumaresq yelled, “Break off the action! Bring her about Mr Palliser!”

  Bolitho knew that the second schooner was hardly likely to risk sharing her consort’s fate. It was a masterful piece of gunlaying. He saw his men sliding down the stays to the deck after setting the extra sails, and wondered how Destiny would appear to the enemy’s gun-crews as they peered through the smoke and saw one of their number crippled so easily.

  It would hardly affect the difference of armament between the two ships, but it would put heart into the British seamen when they most needed it.

  “Steady as she goes! Nor’ by east, sir!”

  Bolitho shouted, “It’ll be our turn next!” He saw several of the seamen turn to grin at him, their faces like masks, their eyes glazed by the constant crash of gunfire.

  The deck seemed to leap beneath Bolitho’s feet, and with astonishment he saw a twelve-pounder from the opposite battery toppled on to its side, two men crushed and screaming under it, while others ducked or fell sprawling to flying splinters.

  He heard Rhodes yelling to restore order and the responding bang of several guns, but the damage had been bad, and as Timbrell’s men ran to haul away the broken timber and upended gun, the enemy fired again.

  Bolitho had no way of knowing how many of San Augustin’s shots found their mark, but the deck shook so violently he knew it was a massive weight of iron. Woodwork and pieces of broken metal clattered around him, and he covered his face with his arms as a great shadow swooped over the deck.

  Stockdale pulled him down and croaked, “Mizzen! They’ve shot it away!”

  Then came the thundering crash as the complete mizzen-mast and spars scythed across the quarterdeck and down over the starboard gangway, snapping rigging and entangling men as it went.

  Bolitho staggered to his feet and looked for the enemy. But she seemed to have changed position, her upper yards misting over as she continued to shoot. Destiny was listing, the mizzen dragging her round as men ran and stumbled amongst the tangled rigging, their ears too deafened by the noise to react to their orders.

  Dumaresq came to the quarterdeck rail and retrieved his hat from his coxswain. He glanced quickly around the upper deck and then said, “More hands aft! Cut that wreckage clear!”

  Palliser seemed to rise out of the chaos like a spectre. He was gripping his arm which appeared to be broken, and he looked as if he might collapse.

  Dumaresq roared, “ Move yourselves! And another ensign to the mainmast, Mr Lovelace!”

  But it was a boatswain’s mate who swarmed up the shrouds through the smoke to replace the ensign which had been shot down with the mizzen. Midshipman Lovelace, who would have been fourteen years old in two weeks’ time, lay by the nettings, torn almost in half by a trailing backstay.

  Bolitho realized that he had been standing quite motionless while the ship swayed and shuddered about him to the jar of gun-fire.

  He grasped Jury’s shoulder and said, “Take ten men and assist the boatswain!” He shook him gently. “All right?”

  Jury smiled. “Yes, sir.” He ran off into the smoke, calling names as he went.

  Stockdale muttered, “We’ve less than six guns which’ll bear on this side!”

  Bolitho knew that Destiny would be out of control until the mizzen was hacked free. Over the side he could see a marine still clinging to the mizzen-top, another drowning as he watched, dragged under by the great web of rigging. He turned and looked at Dumaresq as he stood like a rock, directing the helmsmen, watching his enemy and making sure his own company could see him there.

  Bolitho tore his eyes away. He felt shocked and guilty, as if he had accidentally stolen Dumaresq’s secret.

  So that was why he wore a scarlet waistcoat. So that none of his men should see.

  But Bolitho had seen the fresh, wet stains on it which had run down on to his strong hands as his coxswain, Johns, supported him by the rail.

  Midshipman Cowdroy clambered over the debris and yelled, “I need more help forrard, sir!” He looked near to panic.

  Bolitho said, “Deal with it!” What Dumaresq had said to him about the stolen watch. Deal with it.

  Axes rang through the smoke, and he felt the deck lurch upright as the broken mast and attendant rigging drifted clear of the side.

  How bare it seemed without it and its spread of canvas.

  With a start he realized that San Augustin lay directly across the bows. She was still firing, but Destiny’s change of direction which had been caused by the mizzen dragging her round, made her a difficult target. Balls slammed down close to the side or splashed in the sea on either beam. Destiny’s guns were also blind, except for the bow-chasers, and Bolitho heard their sharper explosions as they reopened fire in deadly earnest.

  But another heavy ball smashed under the larboard gangway, toppling two guns and painting the decks red as it cut down a group of men already wounded.

  Bolitho saw Rhodes fall, try to recover his stand by the guns and then drop on his side.

  He ran to help him, shielding him from the billowing gun-smoke as the world went mad around them.

  Rhodes looked directly at him, his eyes free of pain, as he whispered, “The lord and master had his way, you see, Dick?” He looked up at the sky beyond the rigging. “The wind. Here at last but too late.” He reached up to touch Bolitho’s shoulder. “Take care. I always knew. . . .” His eyes became fixed and without understanding.

  Blindly Bolitho stood up and stared around at the destruction and the pain. Stephen Rhodes was dead. The one who had first made him feel welcome, who had taken life at face value, a day at a time.

  Then, beyond the broken nettings and punctured hammocks he saw the sea. The sluggish swell was gone. He peered up at the sails. Holed they might be, but they were thrusting out like breast-plates as they pushed the frigate forward into the fight. They had not been beaten. Rhodes had seen it, the wind, he had said. The last thing he had understood on this earth.

  He ran to the side and saw San Augustin startlingly close, right there on the starboard bow. Men were shooting at him, there was smoke and noise all around, but he felt nothing. Close to, the enemy ship was no longer so proud and invulnerable, and he could see where Destiny’s claws had left their mark.

  He heard Dumaresq’s voice following him along the deck, commanding, all powerful even in its pain. “Ready to starboard, Mr Bolitho!”

  Bolitho snatched up Rhodes’ beautiful sword and waved it wildly.

  “Stand to! Double-shotted, lads!”

  Musket-balls hammered across the decks like pebbles, and here and there a man fell. But the rest, dragging themselves from the wreckage and leaving Rhodes’ guns on the larboard side, shambled to obey. To load the remaining twelve-pounders, to crouch like dazed animals as foot by foot the San Augustin’s towering stern loomed over them like a gilded cliff.

  “As you bear!”

  Who was shouting the orders? Dumaresq, Palliser, or was he himself so stunned by the ferocity of the battle that he had called them himself?

  “Fire!”

  He saw the guns sliding inboard, the way their crews just stood and watched the destruction as every murderous ball ploughed through the Spanish man-of-war from stern to bow.

  None of the gun-captains, not even Stockdale, made any attempt to reload. It was as if each man knew.

  The San Augustin was drifting downwind, perhaps her steering shot away, or her officers killed by the last deadly embrace.

  Bolitho walked slowly aft and on to the quarterdeck. Wood splinters were everywhere, and there were few men left at the six-pounders to cheer as some of the enemy’s rigging collapsed in a welter of sparks and smoke.

  Dumaresq turned stiffly and looked at him. “I think she’s afire.”

  Bolitho saw Gulliver, dead by his helmsmen, and Slade in his place, as if he had been meant for master fro
m the beginning. Colpoys, his red coat over his bandaged wounds like a cape, watching his men standing back from their weapons. Palliser, sitting on a cask, while one of Bulkley’s men examined his arm.

  He heard himself say, “We’ll lose the treasure, sir.”

  An explosion shook the stricken San Augustin, and figures could be seen jumping over the side and trampling down anyone who tried to stop them.

  Dumaresq looked down at his red waistcoat. “So will they.”

  Bolitho watched the other ship and saw the smoke thickening, the first glint of fire beneath her mainmast. If Garrick was still alive, he would not get far now.

  Bulkley arrived on the quarterdeck and said, “You must come below, Captain. I have to examine you.”

  “Must!” Dumaresq gave his fierce grin. “It is not a word I choose—” Then he fainted in his coxswain’s arms.

  After all that had happened it seemed unbearable. Bolitho watched as Dumaresq’s body was picked up and carried carefully to the companionway.

  Palliser joined him by the quarterdeck rail. He looked ashen but said, “We’ll stand off until that ship either sinks or blows up.”

  “What shall I do, sir?” It was Midshipman Henderson, who had somehow survived the whole battle at the masthead.

  Palliser looked at him. “You will assume Mr Bolitho’s duties.” He hesitated, his eyes on Rhodes’ body by the foremast. “Mr Bolitho will be second lieutenant.”

  A greater explosion than all the previous ones shook San Augustin so violently that her fore and main-topmasts toppled into the smoke and the hull itself began to turn turtle.

  Jury climbed up and joined Bolitho to watch the last moments of the ornate ship.

  “Was it worth it, sir?”

  Bolitho looked at him and at the ship around them. Already there were men working to put the damage to rights, to make the ship live again. There were a thousand things to do, wounded to care for, the remaining schooner chased and caught, prisoners to be rescued and separated from the Spanish sailors. A great deal of work for one small ship and her company, he thought.

  He considered Jury’s question, what it had all cost, and what they had discovered in each other. He thought too of what Dumaresq would have to say when he returned to duty. That was a strange thing about Dumaresq. Dying was like defeat, you could never associate it with him.