Blue Horizon c-3

by Wilbur Smith

  Beshwayo's men had not yet realized the effects of close-range musketry. Before the warrior could make the stroke, a volley of musket fire swept over where Mansur lay. A ball hit the warrior in his elbow and his arm broke like a green twig. The assegai flew from his grip and he reeled back as another ball slapped into his chest. Mansur rolled over swiftly to face the other two warriors but one was on his knees clutching his belly and the other was on his back, kicking convulsively, half his head shot away.

  "Come, Prince Mansur!" Kumrah called, through the veil of gunsmoke that had enveloped the boat. It blew aside, and Mansur saw that every man of the crew had fired the volley that had saved him. He dragged himself to his feet and staggered to the boat. Now that mortal danger was past he lacked the strength to pull himself over the gunwale, but many strong hands reached out for him.

  Tom and Dorian had knelt side by side in the gun emplacement and rested their telescopes on the parapet. They studied Zayn's squadron of ships, which were anchored in a group below the walls of the fort on the far side of the bay and bombarding the walls.

  Dorian had sited the long nine-pounder cannons with great care. From this height they could bring every part of the bay under fire. Once'; it came through the entrance no ship was safe from them. It had been a'; Herculean task to get the guns up to this eyrie. The sides of the bluff I were too high and steep, and the guns too heavy, to lift them straighti up from the shore.

  Tom had cut a track through the thick forest along the rising spine of the ridge and, using this as a ramp, he had dragged the guns up with teams of oxen until they were directly above the chosen site. Then, on heavy anchor cable, he lowered them down into the concealed emplacements Once the guns were sited they ranged them on targets set up around the shore of the bay. Their first shots had flown far over and crashed into the forest beyond.

  Once they were satisfied with the position of the guns, they built the charcoal furnace fifty paces from the powder magazine to reduce the danger of sparks flying from one to the other. They plastered the furnace with river clay. They made the bellows with fifty tanned ox hides, sealing the seams with tar. A gang of cooks, labourers and riffraff worked the handles to force air into the furnace. Once it reached full blast, it was not possible to look with the naked eye into the white-hot glare of the interior so Dorian had smoked a sheet of glass with the flame of an oil lamp: peering through this, they could judge when the shot was hot enough. Then they manhandled each cannon ball out of the furnace with long-handled tongs. The men doing the job wore thick leather mittens and aprons to protect them from the heat. They dropped each glowing ball into a specially prepared cradle, with long handles. These were carried by two men across to the gun, which was waiting with its barrel raised to the maximum possible elevation.

  Once the ball was dropped down the muzzle, it was not long before it burned away the wet wads and spontaneously ignited the powder charge behind them. A premature discharge while the barrel was pointed skywards would tear it off its carriage, wreck the gun emplacement and kill or maim the gun-crews. This allowed only the briefest respite to lay the gun on its target and fire it. Then the whole dangerous, lengthy process had to be repeated. After a few shots the barrel overheated until it was on the point of bursting and the recoil was monstrous; it had to be sponged out and buckets of seawater poured down the sizzling muzzle before they dared ram a fresh charge of powder into it.

  Over the previous weeks, while they awaited the arrival of Zayn al Din's fleet, Dorian had instructed and exercised the gunners in handling hot shot. They had encountered all these complications for themselves and learned by hard experience, which culminated with the explosion of one of the guns. Two men had been killed by flying fragments of the bronze barrel. All of the crews now had a deep respect for the glowing cannon-balls, and none was looking forward to firing the remaining three weapons in earnest.

  The foreman had come from the furnace to report to Dorian with an expression of awe and dread: "We have twelve balls ready, mighty Caliph."

  "You have done well, Farmat, but I am not yet ready to open fire. Keep the furnaces hot." He and Tom turned back to continue their surveillance of the action taking place below them. The bombardment

  from Zayrv's ships covered the whole bay and the edges of the forest with smoke, but through it they saw the defenders abandon the fort and run out through the gates.

  "Good!" said Dorian, with satisfaction. "They have remembered their orders," He had ordered a token defence of the fort merely to lure Zayn's fleet deep into the bay.

  "I hope they remembered to spike the guns on the parapets before they left," Tom growled. "I do not fancy them being turned on us."

  The bombardment died away, and they watched the boats filled with the assault party leave the war-dhows and head in for the beach, to occupy the deserted fort. Both Tom and Dorian recognized Guy Courtney in the bows of the leading boat.

  "His Britannic Majesty's honourable consul general in the flesh!" Dorian exclaimed. "The scent of the gold was too strong for him to ignore. He has come in person to retrieve it."

  "My beloved twin brother!" Tom agreed. "It does my heart good to see him again after all these years. When we last parted he was trying to kill me. It seems that things have changed not at all since then."

  "It will not take him long to find that the cupboard is bare,1 Dorian said, 'so now it is time to slam the door shut behind them." He called to the runner who waited eagerly at the back of the redoubt for just this summons. He was one of Sarah's orphans, and he rushed forward grinning widely and trembling with eagerness to please. "Go down to Smallboy, and tell him it is time to close the gate." Dorian had barely finished speaking before the boy had jumped over the wall and was racing down the steep pathway. Dorian had to shout after him, "Don't| let them see you!"

  Smallboy and Muntu waited with the teams of oxen already hitche to the heavy anchor cable. This was strung out across the entranc of the bay to the heavy piles of logs on the far bank. The slac cable was weighted to lie on the bottom of the channel until pulle taut. The war-dhows had sailed in over it without being aware of it! presence under their keels.

  The boom was made up off seventy huge logs. Many had been felle the previous year and stacked in the sawmill yard at the back of fort, ready to be sawn into planks. Even with this stockpile, they we still short of twenty logs to span the channel.

  Jim and Mansur had taken every available man into the forest to ci down more of the giant trees, and Smallboy's ox teams had drag

  them to the beach. There, they had bolted them lengthwise to the spare anchor cable that they had lifted out of Arcturus's orlop. The cable was almost twenty inches in diameter and had a test strain of over thirty tons. The logs, some of them three feet in diameter and forty feet in length, were strung along this massive hemp rope like pearls on a necklace. They would form a barricade that Tom and Dorian calculated would resist the onslaught of even the largest of Zayn's dhows. The heavy line of logs would tear out a ship's bottom before it could break through.

  As soon as Zayn's fleet was sighted from the top of the bluff Smallboy and Muntu in spanned the ox teams and led them round to the south bank of the entrance channel. They kept the teams hidden in the dense bush, and watched the five big dhows sail past within easy pistol shot of where they lay. When the messenger lad had come racing down from the gun emplacements with the order from Dorian, he was so out of breath and wild with excitement that he was incoherent. Smallboy had to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. "Master Klebe says to close the gate!" the child had squeaked.

  Smallboy fired his long whiplash and the ox teams took the strain, then plodded away with the end of the boom cable. As it came up taut, the cable rose to the surface of the channel and the oxen had to lean into the traces. The line of logs answered the pull. They slithered down the far bank from where they had been stacked, and snaked across the channel. The head of the boom reached the north side of the channel, and Smallboy chained it fast to the tru
nk of a huge tam bootie hardwood. The mouth of the bay was corked up tightly.

  Tom and Dorian had watched as Guy led his shore party at a rush through the gates of the captured fort and disappeared from their view. Then they turned their telescopes on the entrance to the bay and saw the massive cable rise to the surface of the channel as the oxen drew it tight.

  We can load the first gun," Dorian told his gunners, who responded without marked enthusiasm. The gun captain relayed the order to the foreman in charge of the furnace. It was a lengthy business to fish the mst shot from the furnace, and while they waited Tom kept a watch on the enemy.

  Suddenly he called to Dorian. "Guy is back on the parapet of the fort, He must have discovered the epistle I left for him in the treasury." He chuckled aloud. "Even from this distance I can see he's fit to burst with

  rage." Then his expression changed. "Now what's the crafty swine up to? He is heading back to the beach. He is saddling up the horses that have come ashore. There is some kind of fracas. By God! You will not believe this, Dorry. Guy has shot one of his own men." The distant pop of the pistol shot carried to them on the heights, and Dorian left the cannon to join Tom.

  "He has mounted."

  "He is taking at least twenty men with him."

  "Where in the name of the devil is he going?"

  They watched the troop of horsemen, with Guy at the head, set out along the wagon road. It dawned on both Tom and Dorian at the same moment.

  "He has seen the wagon tracks."

  "He is going after the wagons and the gold."

  The women and little George! They are with the wagons. If Guy catches them--' Tom broke off. The thought was too painful to express. Then he went on bitterly, "I blame myself. I should have considered this possibility. Guy does not give up readily."

  "The wagons have had a start of many days. They will be leagues away by now."

  "Only twenty miles," Tom said bitterly. "I told them to go as far as the river gorge, and make laager there."

  "It's my fault more than yours," said Dorian. The safety of the women should have been my first concern. What a fool I am."

  "I must go after them." Tom jumped to his feet. "I must stop them falling into Guy's clutches."

  "I will ride with you." Dorian stood up beside him.

  "No, no!" Tom shoved him back. The battle is in your hands. Without 1 you all is lost. You cannot desert your command. That goes for Jim and] Mansur too. They must not come rushing after me. I can take care of j brother Guy without their help. You must keep the lads here with you| until the job is done. Give me your word on it, Dorry."

  "Very well. But you must take Smallboy and his musketeers with you;| By the time you reach them, their job with the boom will be done." He slapped Tom on the shoulder. "Ride for all you are worth, and God gc with you every step of the way." Tom sprang over the bank of the emplacement and ran to where the horses were tethered.

  A Tom galloped away down the track, two men came staggering from the furnace. They carried between them by its long handles the cradle on which lay the cannon-ball red as a ripe apple. Dorian could spare only one more quick glance after his elder brother, then hurried to supervise the gunners as they began the dangerous task of coaxing the ball into the muzzle of the gun. As it rolled down the smooth bore, two gunners rodded it up hard against the wet wadding and it sizzled and hissed. Clouds of steam poured out of the muzzle as they lowered the barrel.

  Dorian wound down the elevation screw himself, trusting no other with this precise adjustment. Two other men with crowbars levered the barrel, traversing it as Dorian called to them, "Left, and a hair more left!" Then, satisfied that the largest enemy dhow lay exactly in his sights, Dorian yelled, "Stand clear!" and seized the lanyard. The gun-crew responded to his command with alacrity. Dorian yanked the lanyard, and the huge gun leaped like a wild animal charging the bars of its cage.

  They could all follow the flight of the sparkling ball as it arced out across the waters of the bay, then fell towards the anchored dhow. A ragged cheer went up as they thought it must strike, then turned into a groan of disappointment as a tall white fountain jumped up close alongside the dhow's hull.

  "Wet her down well!" Dorian had ordered. "You have seen what will happen if you do not."

  He scrambled out of the emplacement and ran to the second gun. Already the next ball was being carried from the furnace and the crew was waiting for him. Before they could load and lay the gun, the five vessels had fled their moorings and were headed back across the bay towards the channel. Dorian peered over the sights. He had marked the angles of elevation in white paint on the gauge, and the men on the crow-bars nudged the long barrel round. He fired.

  This time there was a roar of triumph from every man on the hill as, pounds en from this range, they saw the shower of bright sparks as the ball struck the hull of one of the dhows and the shot ripped through her timbers. Dorian ran to the third gun, leaving the crews of the other two sponging out. By the time they had loaded again, the stricken dhow was blazing like a bonfire on Guy Fawkes night.

  They are trying to break through the boom!" one of the men shouted, s they saw the burning ship steer into the entrance channel and, without checking its speed, bear down on the line of floating logs. They

  cheered again as it struck the boom, the mast tumbled down and the fire spread through her. Her crew leaped over the sides.

  Dorian was bathed in sweat as he worked over the guns, loading and laying. Even though the crews doused them with buckets of water, the metal still crackled like a frying pan, and at each successive shot the guns leaped more violently on their carriages. However, within the next hour they fired another twenty hot balls, and four of the dhows were ablaze. The vessel that had struck the boom had burned down to the waterline, another drifted aimlessly across the bay, abandoned by her crew, who had rowed ashore in the boats. Two more had been beached and the crews had abandoned them to burn while they escaped into the forest, all too aware that the ships' magazines were crammed with kegs of black powder. Only the largest dhow had so far escaped the fire Dorian aimed at it. But it was locked into the bay, and could only tack back and forth across the open water.

  "You can't dodge me for ever," Dorian muttered. As the next ball was carried from the furnace, he spat on it for luck. The globule of saliva hit the heated metal and disappeared in a puff of steam, and at the same moment a huge shock-wave of hot air blew across the hillside. It thumped painfully into their eardrums, and every man stared down into the bay in awe.

  The drifting dhow had blown up as the powder in her magazine ignited. A tall mushroom-shaped cloud of smoke boiled up into the sky until it reached higher than the hilltop. Then, as if in sympathy, one of the beached dhows blew up with even greater force. The blast tore across the bay and lifted creaming waves from the surface. It raced through the forest above the beach, flattening the smaller trees, tearing off branches from the larger trees, raising a storm of dust, leaves and twigs. The men who watched it were struck dumb by the extent of the damage they had created. They did not cheer again but stood and gaped.

  "One more left." Dorian broke the spell. "There she is, pretty as a bride on her wedding day." He pointed down at the big dhow as she came about and started back towards the beach below the fort.

  The cradle men lifted the ball, smoking and crackling, to roll it into the muzzle of the gun. Before they could do so another shout went up from every man: "She is scuttling herself. Praise God and his angels, the enemy has had enough."

  The captain of the remaining dhow had seen the fate of the rest of the squadron. He made no effort to tack again but bore straight down on the sloping beach. At the last moment the dhow dropped her sail and went aground with such force that they heard her belly timbers snapping. She canted over heavily and lay quiescent, transformed in the

  instant from a thing of grace to a broken hulk. Her crew swarmed out of her, and left her lying abandoned at the water's edge.

  "Enough!" Dorian c
alled to his men. "We have no more need of that." With obvious relief they tipped the hot ball out on to the earth. Dorian scooped a ladleful from one of the buckets of drinking water and poured it over his head, then wiped his streaming face in the crook of his arm.

  "Behold!" screamed the foreman of the furnace and pointed down. Immediately there was an excited clamour from the gun-crews, as they recognized the tall figure in cloud' white robes who clambered down from the stranded dhow and, with his distinctive limp, led his men along the beach towards the fort.