Death Hulk

by Matthew Sprange

  "And if it is the Frogs - the living Frogs - we end up fighting, we'll win, right?" said Brooks with a confident smile.

  "It will still be a hard battle, make no bones about that," said Bryant. "She'll pound us with cannon and you best keep your head down, lad. And then, even if we win the duel, the French may not surrender immediately. That will mean we have to board the ship, and there are far more of them than there are of us."

  "Ah, Bryant, still grumblin', eh?" Jessop's familiar growl caused more than one of Bryant's crew to roll their eyes.

  "I thought you were managing the supplies today Jessop," said Bryant, immediately feeling a little weary.

  Jessop shrugged. "The ship still ain't quite right, know what I mean? Not everyone is being watched all the time, an' the officers don't want to make a fuss where it ain't needed. 'Sides, I wanted to talk with you."

  Making a show of stacking the planking he had brought to the forecastle, Bryant raised his eyebrows in question, and Jessop stooped quickly to help, lest an over curious officer wonder just what task could be found for four sailors who stood about chatting near the prow.

  "Me an' some of the lads 'ave been talkin'," he said and Bryant inwardly groaned, guessing what was coming next. "That last floggin' was unfair. The Cap'n has sailed us into God knows what, and 'e is lookin' for someone to blame. That means us."

  "Jessop, I told you before, I'm not interested in any of this."

  "Ah, you say that now. You goin' to be playin' the same tune when more dead Frogs come swinging over the side? You goin' to be sayin' that when Brooks 'ere gets 'is throat slit by a walkin' corpse?"

  "It won't come to that. The Captain's too good. He has too many years at sea to be put on the back foot for long."

  "Maybe you're right," said Jessop, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "Maybe e'll win all 'is battles, then sail us straight for 'ome, with a couple of nice prizes. 'E does that, an' I'll be the first to admit I was wrong."

  That admission drew sceptical glances from Bryant, Brooks and Murphy.

  "Then again, maybe it doesn't go the way the Cap'n expects. Maybe the curse catches up with 'im. Maybe 'e isn't thinkin' too straight right now. What then?"

  Bryant exhaled heavily. "I can't see it," he said. "Look, we faced the worst possible enemy under the worst possible circumstances. And we are all still here."

  "Plenty o' the crew ain't," said Jessop flatly.

  "Well, I don't want to seem callous, but men die at sea. The ship is still here though, as are you and I. The Captain saw us through."

  "Some might say the Cap'n led us into that battle without thinkin' things through, and the rest of us paid for it."

  Beginning to lose patience, Bryant turned to face Jessop squarely. "Look, you've spoken to me about this before and I made my position clear. What is it you are after? This talk is dangerous and I have no intention of being flogged or hung for your loose mouth."

  "Well, we 'ave to be careful, sure, if there is a free floggin' for every jack on this ship," Jessop said candidly. "An' if we have to face that Frog frigate an' fight, you won't see me complainin.' It seems to me that a frigate is somethin' worth fightin' for. Plenty o' prize money to go round there."

  "Your patriotism overwhelms me," said Bryant. "It has, presumably, occurred to you that your share has gone up now there are less crew to claim it."

  Bryant was sickened to see Jessop give half a smile as he rolled this thought around for a few seconds. "That's besides the point," he said. "What concerns me and some of the other lads is that ship 'o the dead. We can't be facin' that again. We got lucky last time. Won't 'appen twice."

  "I know where you are going, Jessop, but you won't drag me into it."

  "I ain't askin' for nothin'," said Jessop. "All I'm sayin' is that you should keep your eyes open, that's all. If that ship appears again, me an' some of the lads are goin' to make a move."

  Holding up a hand to halt Jessop, Bryant looked squarely across to the other members of his crew. "Murphy, Brooks, get below for the rest of the supplies."

  "Oh, come on, Bryant," said Murphy. "We're just listenin'... "

  "Now, Murphy - before one of the officers sees you lazing around." It was Bryant's tone, as much as his words, that caused Murphy and Brooks to reluctantly walk away from the forecastle and disappear below deck. He turned back to Jessop.

  "I swear, if any of my men get caught up in what you are planning... "

  "Consider them out of it," said Jessop. "I'm just sayin', if that ship appears again, somethin' is goin' to 'appen. We'll be goin' for the Cap'n and Lieutenants first, the Bosun too. An' anyone else who disagrees. But it would 'elp if you were with us. You'll bring a lot of the lads round to our way of thinkin'."

  Bryant knew that Jessop was right, at least in part. He had no illusions about his overall popularity on the Whirlwind, indeed, he would be surprised if many sailors on board knew him as anything other than the leader of his gun crew. However, he also knew that it might take only a few voices acting in concert to win an entire ship over to the idea of mutiny.

  "You haven't thought this through. Have you even begun to plan what happens after that?" He inwardly cursed as he saw Jessop's triumphant smile. Of course the man had a plan, however half-baked. He was far too opportunistic for anything else.

  "We will 'ave a fightin' ship an' the entire ocean to hide in. We'll roam the coast and grow rich on merchant pickin's. We'll even just grab Froggie ships if you like," Jessop said. "Look, I ain't askin' for your support and if there's ever a trial, you can rightly say you were against the idea. But if that death ship comes at us again, somethin' will 'appen - that's all I'm sayin'. What you decide to do then is up to you."

  "Don't you get it?" Bryant said. "I don't want to know this. I don't want to know what you are planning and I don't want to know when you are planning to do it. The Captain still has my support. As far as I see it, he has done nothing wrong and will see us through the next battle, and the one after that, and even the one after that, whoever it may be against. We got a tough fight ahead of us, Jessop, I agree on that. But we'll get through it. For the love of God and all that's holy, don't throw your life away by going against the Captain. It ain't worth it."

  Jessop smiled. "Well, I don't plan on throwin' my life away, you got that right. Anyway, I told you what's goin' to 'appen. What you do then is up to you." He stood and walked away, passing Brooks and Murphy who had returned with more supplies from the carpenter's list.

  "So, what did 'e say?" Murphy asked, ever eager for shipboard gossip.

  "Never you mind," Bryant said. "What ever that man says is not worth listening to, remember that - both of you."

  Murphy seemed a bit subdued at Bryant's hard words but his ears soon pricked up at a cry from the lookout high above on the mainmast.

  "Sail to starboard!"

  All three strained their eyes to the horizon but they saw nothing through the far haze.

  "Now what?" Bryant said quietly.

  Once again, Havelock trained his telescope on the horizon, aware that Corbin stood at his shoulder, anxious to hear what ship was in their vicinity. Though it took him a moment to focus properly, a familiar shape soon coalesced through the lens and he smiled.

  "It is our old friend, the Elita!"

  "Can you spy her condition, Captain," Corbin asked.

  "I see three masts, all with sail," said Havelock after a moment's pause. "However, that may mean little. Her condition will become apparent in the next few minutes. She is currently heading towards us and her captain will now be aware of our presence. Thus... ah, there you see. She has turned! She runs!" Havelock lowered his telescope and slid it into his belt. "Mr Corbin, we pursue! Change course to match her and raise the stuns'ls. Our girl will give us all the speed she can!"

  Corbin grinned. "Aye, Sir! Raise the stuns'ls and pursue!"

  Sailors across the deck leapt to the Lieutenant's commands and soon the Whirlwind was sailing with its full deployment, a mass of canv
as that captured every breath of wind, causing the frigate to skit across the sea as though it were glass. Already, Havelock could sense the change in the crew's demeanour. It happened every time a ship was about to go into battle but it was all the more poignant now, after his men had faced the supernatural. Here was an enemy that was flesh and blood. One they had defeated before and were confident of doing so again. Nothing could rally morale better than the chance of a captured prize and Havelock intended to pursue the Elita until she could be engaged and forced to surrender.

  For all the pace the Whirlwind could muster, the Elita was still some distance away and, it turned out, had a good turn of speed herself. The English ship was clearly the faster of the two but it was also evident that the French crew had managed to make good repair. Havelock began to fear they might not make much progress in the chase before night fell which would allow the Elita to escape without battle. However, he was also heartened by the French captain's decision to run rather than fight, for it suggested that his ship was still hurting from their last encounter. Perhaps they had sustained greater casualties than Havelock had supposed or they had many guns out of action.

  Members of the Whirlwind's crew occasionally whooped and cheered, clearly enjoying the speed. It was quite rare for a frigate's true speed to be unleashed in this manner and even Havelock openly smiled as he felt the motion of the ship under his feet, rising with each wave and dropping slightly after their crest.

  He could not shake a growing mood of foreboding though and, every now and again, cast a look over his shoulder at the Whirlwind's long wake. The Elita could be feigning weakness, of course and if it truly were in league with the Deja, then a trap was possible. He kept expecting to see the massive dark form of the death hulk streaming over the sea behind them, but the ocean remained clear.

  They remained on a course of south-south-east, as the Elita continued to run in an arrow straight line, and Havelock began to wonder if she were not heading somewhere specific. Though her sails were now clearly visible to the naked eye, there was still more than a mile between the two ships and the yards ticked away with agonising slowness. The sun was plummeting fast to the western horizon and Havelock's fears of his prey escaping began to resurface. If night fell while they were still out of range, the Elita could easily change course and retreat without his lookouts noticing. However, the lookouts were to surprise him with their next cry.

  "Land! Dead ahead!"

  "Mr Corbin, with me," Havelock called as he quickly marched to the prow of the Whirlwind to get a view unobstructed by acres of sail. The Lieutenant joined him and together they peered forward, soon seeing the small but growing land mass, standing proud but alone in the vast ocean.

  "That is where she is heading, Sir," said Corbin.

  "Aye, Mr Corbin, I believe we have found her harbour. This is where she made repairs - no doubt they have created their own little piece of France on that island. Not on the charts, of course."

  "We won't lose her now!"

  "Caution, Lieutenant," said Havelock. "We have little more than three hours before the sun sets. Plenty of time for her to swing round the island and strike out on a new course without us seeing. Still, I think you are right. I would wager she plans to anchor there in some cove that will make an approach difficult, if not impossible."

  "Orders, Sir?"

  "Continue the pursuit for now, Mr Corbin. Let us see what she is up to first."

  The sight of land and, with it, the prospect of landfall, further galvanised the crew as they began to dream of fresh water, fruits and, probably, meat. The island was small, perhaps no more than three miles across, and it looked like paradise. Beaches of white sand gave way to thick jungle which stretched up to a line of tall grey cliffs in its centre. It looked like a land of verdant promise, rich enough to support the sailors of a warship indefinitely.

  Sailing past the island, the Elita changed course to swing behind the landmass, quickly disappearing from view. The Whirlwind now appeared to be very much alone on the ocean but every man on board still tensed for battle.

  Now, let us see what play you make, thought Havelock. He ordered Corbin to maintain their course, but to keep a greater distance from the island than the French ship. It seemed unlikely to him that the Elita would reverse its course with the intention of bearing down on them with all guns blazing but he had not come this far to fall to so simple a trap. A little extra distance as they circumnavigated the island would not unduly delay their pursuit and caution was the watchword of any good captain, he believed.

  As the Whirlwind skirted the island, all eyes were locked on the beach. Flocks of dark-feathered birds rose from the trees, though none crossed the water to investigate the frigate. No other life made itself apparent on the shore but the whole island appeared inviting, seeming to tempt the sailors onto its sands.

  Maintaining a distance of no less than a half mile from the shore, the Whirlwind slowed slightly as Havelock ordered the studding sails to be furled, the extra canvas sheets serving no function in the expected battle. Like a hawk, he watched the coastline, keen to see if the French frigate had sailed on or anchored. It was not long before he spied an inlet that marked the entrance to a natural cove, carved from the island by the sea's constant motion. As they sailed past the inlet, Havelock cried out in triumph.

  "There she is! Do you see, Mr Corbin? There she is!"

  Crewmen rushed to the starboard side of the Whirlwind as the ship passed by the mouth of the cove. Lying before them was the Elita, already anchored close to the shore, its French ensign flying defiantly in the late afternoon breeze.

  "She has trapped herself, Captain," said Corbin but Havelock shook his head.

  "Do not be deceived, Lieutenant. Her guns face to sea and she will be a far steadier platform than we. If we try to negotiate the entrance to the cove, she will punish us for it, heavily. Once inside, if we are still afloat, we will find there is little room to manoeuvre. The advantage would be hers. We would be outmatched by both her guns and number of crew." He took another long look at the Elita before his ship sailed past the cove and out of sight of the French ship. "We must try another tactic."

  "A land attack?" asked Corbin.

  "You read my mind. Yes, Mr Corbin, we will find somewhere safe to anchor ourselves, a little further on, then make landfall. The jungle will mask our approach. I doubt we will have the luxury of complete surprise but if we co-ordinate our efforts, the advantage will turn to us, as their crew will be split between ship and shore. If we can deal with those on land without warning to the Elita, we may just be able to snatch her before an effective defence can be mounted."

  "A bold move!"

  "Fortune favours those who make such moves. We'll sail two miles onwards and then anchor. Get the men to prepare the boats."

  "Aye, Sir!"

  Though no more coves presented themselves to Havelock, he was nonetheless happy to anchor a little way beyond a protrusion of land that snaked a short distance from the rest of the island. The heavy vegetation would serve to shield the position of the Whirlwind from curious eyes either on land or the sea, should the Elita raise anchor and sail in pursuit of them. Either way, Havelock felt confident enough that a skeleton crew left on board would be able to keep the ship out of the reach of the French should the tables be turned and the attack repulsed.

  As the crew heaved the three landing boats to the side of the Whirlwind, Havelock called for their attention. He could tell immediately from their anxious expressions that few feared for their lives in this venture. Their captain had presented to them an enemy that was not supernatural in nature and a plan of attack that stood a reasonable chance of success.

  "Mr Hague," he said, loud enough to be heard by the whole crew. "The ship is yours. You will take command of the skeleton crew and keep the home fires burning until we return!"

  "Yes, Captain!"

  "Mr Wynton, Mr Corbin, you will both join me ashore to lead the attack. Mr Wynton, you will land first, takin
g your men into the jungle to deal with any sentries the French may have stationed. Do so quickly and quietly. Mr Corbin and I will be right behind you with the main body of men. We will join our forces before launching an attack on their beach shelters."

  "As you say, Captain," said Lieutenant Wynton.

  Satisfied that his officers would act as he had previously briefed them, Havelock turned his attention to the rest of the crew. "Men of the Whirlwind, we near our mission's end. The Elita lies in yonder cove, stationary and inert, her crew tired and battered. They will have no fight in them! As we march through the jungle to battle, remember you are part of the greatest Navy the world has yet seen. Whether we fight on sea or on land, you have no equal and, indeed, it would take ten French sailors to match any one of you!"

  Wry grins began to spread through the crew and Havelock smiled in return. A reminder of the innate superiority of the British sailor never failed to instil courage, it seemed.

  "I promise you, in perhaps just two hours, we will be sailing out of that cove on board a captured French frigate. Then, together, we will set sail for home - and our just rewards! Men of the Whirlwind, can you find it within yourselves to boot the French off this island and take their ship?"

  The roar that answered his words was nearly as loud as that which had greeted his speech at the beginning of the voyage, and Havelock nodded his appreciation. He began to dare hope that their encounter with the death hulk would turn into nothing more than a memory, a tale to be told in taverns that no one listening would seriously believe. If this next battle was won, perhaps everything would be set right.

  "Mr Wynton, lower your boat and set away. You have your orders!"

  Sailors strained on ropes as the first landing boat was hoisted over the side. Crewmen soon clambered down the ropes to take their place in the small boat, raising the oars before pulling away with strong, confident strokes. Immediately, another boat was swung over the side of the Whirlwind and Havelock marched down to the main deck, determined to be the first on board in order to lead his men onto the shore.