'What? What?' he shouted. 'What means this, woman?'
'I could not stay below,' Sue insisted. 'In that darkness? That stench? Matt is here. I belong beside him.'
Rodney almost smiled. 'Proof enough, madam. Proof enough. Now get back to your place as a woman, or I'll set a marine to you.'
'Please,' Matt begged.
She gazed at him for a moment, and her tongue came out to circle her lips, and then she turned and disappeared into the gloom. Impossibly, a trace of musk hung on the air for just a moment.
'God damn,' Rodney said. 'You Hiltons. You Hiltons.'
She seemed to take the battle with her. A bugle rang out, and the guns fell silent. It took some moments for the smoke to clear, and even then for some minutes it was difficult to decide what had happened, what was still happening. There was still firing on every side, although most of it was distant. Closer at hand there was endless heart-rending sound, the crashing of timbers, the screams of tormented men. For the smoke was at last lifting, to reveal that the French line had been split in three places, whether by accident or design Matt could not tell. The ships were scattered, several were sinking, others were on fire, drifting helplessly while the wind carried the contending fleets apart. The Formidable had herself suffered, and parties of marines were taking wounded men below, but no British ship had experienced anything like the beating received by the French.
' 'Tis the speed of our firing,' Arbuckle said, his voice hoarse. 'Why lads, we sent off three to every one we took.'
'Aye,' McLeod said sombrely. 'Or we'd be taking the fate of those poor lads.'
Matt looked down at the sea, and nearly retched with horror. The Formidable was perhaps half a mile from the nearest French ship, which was clearly sinking. She had lost her foremast and even as he watched her mainmast went overboard, and her foredeck was already running water. Her boats being as shattered as her bulwarks, her crew were taking to the sea. But what a sea. "Wherever he looked there were black fins, carving the tortured waves, almost seeming to shout their joy at the feast which had been granted them. The men already in the water were shrieking their terror at the fate which was about to overtake them, and the very blue was turning red as the sharks started their attack.
Matt looked aloft to see if there was sufficient wind to move the Formidable back towards her victim, but the breeze had died, and the sails were drooping against the yards. He turned towards the cluster of officers gathered round the admiral, offering their congratulations, for there could be no question that the victory was his, even supposing there was tidying up to be done.
'Sir George,' Matt cried. 'Those men are being eaten alive.'
The officers stared at him in amazement, and Arbuckle, about to grasp him by the shoulder and drag him back to the gun, stood still, face crimson with embarrassment.
'And you would rescue them?' Rodney demanded. 'Do you imagine a boat could live in the midst of those monsters?'
‘I would try, sir.'
'You Hiltons,' the admiral muttered, and glanced at Douglas. ‘You Hiltons.'
'The battle is recommencing, Sir George,' said Lord Cranstoun, pointing to the west where the English van and the main French body were drifting back within range.
'So it is,' Rodney agreed. 'We should get over there, by whatever means we can.'
'Sir George ...' Matt said again.
Rodney turned to him. 'You are a confoundedly impertinent fellow, Matthew Hilton. Were you destined for a career in the navy I doubt it would be a very long one.' Then he smiled. 'But it might carry its share of honour. One boat. You'll command, Mr. Arbuckle.'
'Me, sir?' Arbuckle cried in consternation.
'I must have a quartermaster in a boat, sir,' Rodney said. 'But Mr. Hilton has spent his entire life in these waters. He'll know how to deal with the sharks.'
'Volunteers,' Matt shouted. 'I'll need volunteers.'
Several men came forward at once, and one of the few undamaged boats was hastily swung out.
'By Christ,' Arbuckle grumbled as he took his place in the stern. 'I hope you know what you are about.'
Matt said nothing. He was in the bows, a boarding pike in his hands, gazing in disgust as they approached the water, watching the seething, bubbling waves as the sharks coursed to and fro, listening to shriek after shriek as here a leg, there an arm, there a whole waist was taken in the gnashing jaws.
'Give way,' Arbuckle bellowed as the falls were cast free. 'Give way, as you value your lives.'
The oars thrust into the waves, and the boat surged away from the battleship's side. Now the entire gunwale was lined with men, breaking into cheers as Matt dashed his pike into the water to drive a fin to one side, and into shouts of warning as a row of serrated teeth would seize upon one of the blades. But the stout ash was too much even for the sharks, and they were hurled aside, revealing their white underbellies as they rolled over.
'There are none alive,' Arbuckle shrieked, heaving on the tiller.
'There,' Matt bellowed. 'There.'
Four men were clinging to the fallen mainmast, legs dangling in the water, while the fins circled closer.
'Easy,' Arbuckle bawled. 'Easy. Should that lance hole us, we are dead men.'
'Back your oars,' Matt shouted. 'Back your oars.' For indeed the mast was coming close. And the first Frenchman was reaching for him, arms outstretched. 'Here. Ici. Ici.'
But even as their fingers touched there was a flurry of red-tinged water, and the man shrieked and disappeared. Matt struck down with vicious anger, again and again, and the boat heaved as a heavy body struck it.
'You'll capsize us, you crazy fool,' Arbuckle shrieked.
'Monsieur,' cried the remaining Frenchman. 'Monsieur.'
His face was pale, but it was a fine face, and he did not lack courage, leaving the mast to swim for them. Matt struck again as a fin loomed close, and then discarded the pike and leaned into the water. His fingers touched flesh, and then cloth, and the leather of the man's belt. He heaved with all his strength and fell backwards, and for a moment supposed he had fallen overboard, his entire heart seeming to cloud into his mouth in horror. Then he found himself lying in the bottom of the boat, panting.
'Give way,' Arbuckle bawled above him. 'Give way.' He looked down at Matt. 'All that risk,' he said. 'All that risk, to save one man.'
'Indeed, sir,' gasped the Frenchman, speaking perfect English. 'The risk was unwarranted. But then, you could have saved no one better.' He leaned across the dripping bilges, and seized Matt's hand. 'I'm your slave for life, sir. My name is Louis Corbeau.'
Gunfire rippled from end to end of Kingston Harbour. The fort on Port Royal point had begun it, but the feu de joie had been taken up by every vessel at anchor, and was replied to in kind by the fleet as it slowly handed its sails and turned up towards the wind before letting its anchors go, to bring each great battleship to anchor in a perfect line.
Already the boats were setting out from the shore, the leaders containing every dignitary in Jamaica; Rodney's frigates had done their work of spreading consternation and joy amongst the plantocracy.
In the first boat, making for the flagship, was the new Governor, Sir Archibald Campbell. With him were the members of his Executive Council, and also the leader of the Jamaican plantocracy, Robert Hilton. The boatswains' whistles sounded, and the red-coated marines clicked to attention in the waist as the guests climbed the ladders to the deck.
'Sir George.' Campbell hurried forward, perspiring in the heat of the brilliant midday sunshine. 'Blessed is your name. Why, sir, from this day forth Jamaica has no other national hero. This I declare, sir, for all time.'
Rodney bowed, a trifle stiffly; he supported himself upon his stick. 'I was fortunate enough to be able to perform my duty, Sir Archibald. May I have the honour to present His Excellency Monsieur Francois Joseph Paul de Grasse-Briancon, Knight of Malta, Grand Cross of the Order of St. Louis, Chevalier of the Order of Cincinatus, Comte de Grasse and Marquis de Grasse-Tilly; Sir Archibal
d Campbell, K.C.B., Governor of Jamaica.'
'My pleasure, Your Excellency,' said the French admiral, a tall, heavy man, with the swarthy complexion of the Provencal, also bowing as he took the Governor's hand.
'Bless my soul,'Campbell acknowledged. 'This is an honour I'd never have supposed possible, in these circumstances.'
'The fortunes of war, Your Excellency,' de Grasse agreed. 'I can but hope that, had our circumstances been reversed, I should have been enabled to grant your admiral and yourself as much courtesy as I have received.'
'Bless my soul,' Campbell said again. 'Bless my soul. You'll not have met Mr. Robert Hilton.'
'Alas, no,' the Count said. 'But I have heard sufficient of your name, sir. One of your ancestors fought with DuCasse.'
'That would be Christopher Hilton, the buccaneer, Count,' Robert said. 'They were friends as boys.' But he was more anxious to speak with Rodney. 'My congratulations, George,' he said. 'You are all of a hero, and as you have saved my plantation from the Dons, you have in any event my deepest gratitude. Now tell me you have also saved my cousin, and I shall be your friend for life.'
Rodney smiled. 'You'll excuse us, gentlemen.' He limped in front of Robert into the shelter of the poop, where Matt waited, with Sue and Louis Corbeau. Once the battle had been won it had been possible for the officers' quarters to be restored to their normal comfort, and Sue had been installed in the admiral's own suite for the three-day voyage to Jamaica; she had had the luxury of a bath and now looked as cool and self-possessed as ever in her life. 'Why, Robert,' she smiled, at the utter consternation on his face. 'You'd think I was a ghost.'
'By God,' Robert cried. 'By God. But where did you find her, George? She was for St. Lucia when last I heard.' 'And caught up with us there, as she intended,' Rodney agreed. 'But as we were at that moment informed that the frogs were putting to sea, why, she had no choice but to come along.'
'By God,' Robert said again. ‘You were in the battle?' 'And more than that, Robert,' Rodney said, before Sue could reply. 'She found herself on deck fighting a gun.' 'What? What?'
'I was like to be violently ill, below decks in the heat and the smoke and the scent of blood,' Sue explained. ‘I but sought the fresher air on deck.'
'At a sad cost to discipline,' Rodney said. 'But none the less, it is actions like hers which give this glorious old navy of ours its legends and its tradition. And truth to tell, I think she was concerned about her cousin.'
Robert gazed at his sister, his mouth opening and then closing again, and turned to look at Matt. 'By God,' he said. 'Another survivor.'
'And all of a hero, I do assure you,' Rodney said. 'Let me present Monsieur Louis Corbeau.'
'My great pleasure, Mr. Hilton.' The Frenchman bowed. He was as tall as Matt, but not so broad in the shoulder. Indeed, if there was a single word to describe him, it would be elegant, even in his ill-fitting clothes, borrowed from Lord Cranstoun. Nor were his features less distinguished, with the high forehead and long nose hanging over the tremendous wide gash of a mouth and the big chin. His hair was black as midnight, and lay loose on his shoulders, and his eyes were also black, and more filled with life than any Robert could recall.
'Corbeau?' he asked. 'Corbeau? You'll not pretend your father was Pierre Corbeau.' 'The same, Mr. Hilton.'
'By God,' Robert said. 'Why, sir, I sat you on my knee when you were a babe. And was christened by your bladder. By God. And does Rio Blanco still thrive?'
'It yields to no plantation in the Indies, Mr. Hilton. Save Hilltop, of course.'
'Aye. Aye. Your father was always a diplomat also. I was sorry to learn of his death, boy, even if he was a froggie. Yellow fever, they said.'
'It is the curse of St. Domingue, Mr. Hilton.'
'But... you were with de Grasse in Martinique?'
'You forget, sir, I own a plantation at Trois Islets, as well as Rio Blanco, much as you also own Green Grove. And I was there, endeavouring to repair the damage done by that storm of two years ago - you will not credit this, Mr. Hilton, but there was scarce a house left standing on my estate -when the Count de Grasse arrived with his ships, calling for volunteers, gentlemen, as well as common people, to help him beat Admiral Rodney here.' He paused and smiled.
'And got beat himself, by God,' Robert shouted. 'I like that, sir. I like that.'
'But you have not heard the heart of the matter, sir,' Corbeau said. 'My ship was sunk, and I was thrown into the most busy water I have ever seen. I suspect every shark in the Caribbean had found its way to that spot.'
'It was quite horrible, Robert,' Sue said. ‘I shall never forget the screams of those men to my dying day.'
'And your young cousin here would have a ship's boat away to see what could be done,' Rodney said. 'With the rest of the battle still to be fought. But it was a brave thing.'
'And so you see me, forever in the Hilton debt,' Corbeau said, still smiling, but now at Sue. 'Nor could I have found a more charming family to owe my gratitude.'
'So you are all of a hero, Matt,' Robert said. 'Have you nothing to say?'
'I wondered perhaps what you might have to say to me, Robert,' Matt said. 'You will observe that I am no longer in Statia.'
'Aye. Aye.' Robert was suddenly serious. 'There is much ... aye, much to be discussed. Have I your permission to take these two rascals ashore, George?'
'With my pleasure,' Rodney said. 'I doubt not we could make Matt into a brilliant seaman, given time. But I also doubt whether the Royal Navy has that much time. As for you, Mistress Huys, you may be sure that if the Battle of the Saintes will fill my memory for every day of the rest of my life, your role in it will be a considerable part of that recollection.' He kissed her hand. 'It has been my pleasure.'
'You'll excuse us, Corbeau,' Robert said. 'My family is in a state of turmoil. But you'll dine. Oh, yes, you'll dine. And you, George. I'll expect you tomorrow night.'
'But I am coming with you,' Corbeau said, looking from Matt to Suzanne to the admiral in a mixture of amusement and dismay.
'What? What?'
'Monsieur is a prisoner of war, Robert,' Rodney said. 'But he is also a prominent planter, and a gentleman, and it was your cousin dragged him from the mouths of the sharks. I have agreed to release him into your custody, on parole, until the conclusion of peace.'
'By God,' Robert said. 'By God. Then you'd best come along.' He stamped to the gangway, where Arbuckle waited, with McLeod and the gun crew.
'God bless you, Mr. Hilton,' said the quartermaster. 'You'll do well, sir. You'll do well.'
Matt shook their hands and discovered to his distress that his eyes were moist. ‘Do you know, I almost wish I were staying, and a week ago I'd have regarded such a thought as sheer madness. Mr. Arbuckle, may your prize money amount to millions. McLeod, I'll never hear a cannon again in my life but I'll think of you.'
'And God bless you, mistress,' they shouted after Suzanne, who was already on her way down to the boat. 'We'll drink to you for fifty years, on how you served the gun at the Saintes.'
Suzanne smiled and waved even as she flushed; her eyes were also bright.
'By God,' Robert said. 'You're a right pair. A right pair.' He stared at the warship as the boat pulled for the shore. 'You'll not credit this, Corbeau, but I had considered this cousin of mine as little better than a dandy. Cricket, bah.'
'Cricket?' Corbeau asked. 'What is this cricket?'
'We'll not go into that now. So you're a hero, Matt. And you're set fair to becoming a legend, Sue. By God, but you'd best prepare to become one sooner than that. There's not a woman in Kingston but will spit in your teeth, given the chance.'
Suzanne's face was as composed as ever. 'Be sure that I also am capable of spitting, Robert. And what of Dirk?'
'By God,' Robert said. 'By God. I don't see how you dare utter his name. One whore in the family is bad. But two ... how can a man have ever been so cursed.'
'You have not answered my question,' she said coldly.
'He is pr
esently unable to leave Statia, because of this confounded war. Which is as well for you.' He gazed at Matt. 'Both of you. But he has written. He wishes to know, reasonably enough, how I stand in this lamentable matter.'
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