“We’ve got to board him. Our guns could kill the prisoners, he won’t be built to withstand shot and they could be held anywhere in his hull. I intend to come against his larboard bow, forward of that bank of oars. That way we block off his wind and the only way he can get clear of us is backing his oars and that will be slow. By then we will have him secured with grapnels. What do you think?”
“I agree that’s the only way onto him, but I’m betting he’ll have a large crew. He’ll have embarked a lot of men to do his raiding, and we’ll be going over only at one narrow point. It’ll cost us lives and we may even be pushed back and fail.”
Argent returned to his telescope, then spoke again.
“You’re right. So……?”
The last word was long drawn out. Argent studied and thought and was about to answer his own question, but then changed the subject. At their present speed, within half a glass they would lose the weather gauge. He leaned over the foretop and shouted down, grateful to see Bosun Fraser.
“Mr. Fraser. Up helm and heave to. Furl all sail.”
He saw Fraser hurry back to the quarterdeck, at the same time issuing orders to both men and mates. Soon he reached Zachary Short on the wheel and the spokes were swung across for Ariadne to come up into the wind and rapidly slow to a halt. Argent and Fentiman were on their foretop and so, as they climbed upwards to pass, his bargecrew foretopmen asked their question.
“Is that the slaver, Sir?”
Both Fentiman and Argent nodded and, grinning, the topmen passed on up to take in the press of sail, including the extending stunsails. Argent returned to the topic.
“We close him to our starboard, so, we get at least one our larboard carronades across to support the starboard and fire through the entry port, to sweep his deck. Musket on grape should do it and through the entryport a carronade will take his defenders from behind. The other carronade, we’ll have to think about, perhaps it can fire across from the foremast if we can improvise some mountings, but we’ll have the Marines on the fo’c’sle, to add their muskets. After we board, then the Marines follow us over.”
Argent re-used his telescope.
“Do you think we are higher than him?”
Fentiman took the glass and made a study
“Yes, just, but not by much and mostly at our fo’c’sle.”
Argent nodded, growing excited at their plan, but another part of him grew calmer as they dealt with each point and, coping with each, released the tension within him.
“Any other ideas?”
“Yes. Lobbing some of Mr. Tucker’s shrapnel things from here, onto his deck, on a short fuse. A job for our Midshipmen.”
“Agreed.”
Fentiman paused for another think.
“Sir. Do you think our topmen could swing across, over his oars, to give us another boarding party?”
“I do, but only after we’ve boarded at the bows. Men dropping off a rope into the middle of them wouldn’t last long.”
“And Officers, Sir?”
“We’ll lead the boarders. You and me. Wentworth and Sanders can lead the topmen from the gangway. Tucker and his men directs the guns, McArdle has the ship, with Fraser and his Mates.”
Argent looked at Fentiman, who was now silent.
“Right. That’s our plan.”
Argent released his hold on the shrouds.
“You see Wentworth and Sanders. I’ll see Tucker. Meantime clear for action.”
As soon as they reached the deck the order to “clear” was given and the men responded. Whilst Ariadne idled in the choppy sea, Master Gunner Tucker had the most onerous task, to bring forward the larboard quarterdeck carronade and secure the awkward carriage to some anchor points at the entry port, but anyone idle tailed on and the heavy gun was soon dragged over. Gunner Tucker pronounced that the larboard forecastle carronade could be brought into action, although with a limited arc of fire completely aft. A section of railing had to be removed and a complex web of hawser rigged to restrain the recoil, but its crew set about their work more than content that their gun, “The Preacher”, would play its part.
Argent and Fentiman walked the gundeck and selected 30 men each. They included Morris, Bearman and Pierce from number three starboard. Sanders and Wentworth selected most of the topmen, the remainder would be needed for sailhandling back aboard and boarding ropes were rigged from the ends of the yards.
Back on his quarterdeck, Argent studied their opponent and saw no change. He looked for the Officer of the Watch and saw Wentworth.
“Mr. Wentworth. Set topsails and jibsails and put us in his wake.”
Whilst Wentworth mangled the order relaying it to Fraser, Argent studied the galley again and he could not even see a lookout. Ariadne’s jibsails caught the wind and pushed her around, and soon after Argent heard Short call out the new course.
“Steady on Sou’west, Sir.”
Ariadne was now following the galley, one point free on the larboard tack and holding the distance between them, the wind almost astern, but the galley had shown no reaction, as though her Captain was undisturbed at this new and threatening arrival. His three big lateens continued to draw and the banks of oars dipped regularly into the waves. No change. However, Argent was unperturbed, there were hours of daylight left and so he occupied himself with ensuring that all was ready. With Gunner Tucker he inspected the carronades himself and oversaw the hoisting of the shrapnel shells up to the foretop, then Tucker, a rare occurrence, climbed to the foretop himself and admonished the three Midshipmen, each with a match and flint.
“Now just you make sure, you three shavers, that these lands on his deck and not ours. They goes far out. Are you sure you can throw ‘em that far?”
Each Midshipman hefted a shell and nodded, Berry, the strongest, lifted one two- handed above his head. Tucker wasn’t thoroughly content, but he was satisfied enough.
“Well, even you mites should be able to clear our deck, even if it ends up in the oggin.”
Tucker descended as the drummers beat to quarters, but many were not in their usual position, especially those of the boarding parties, for the guns would not be used. Argent saw no reason to delay. He looked around his quarterdeck and saw Smallsize, now re-assigned as a powder monkey on the carronade. Argent was almost lightheaded.
“Ship’s Boy Wheeler. Would you care to run up The Colours? Show these scurvy knaves who they’re dealing with?”
Smallsize looked confused, but a Signalman pointed to the locker.
“In there, lad.”
Smallsize extracted The Colours and bent them onto the halliard himself, then hauled up the Ensign, his own weight barely adequate for the job, his feet often leaving the deck. Nevertheless, with the task complete, Smallsize stood back, delighted, to admire his work; the huge White Ensign billowing out to starboard, snapping in the strong breeze. That done, Argent turned to Fentiman.
“Courses and Driver.”
Whilst Fentiman shouted the order to Fraser, Argent lifted his telescope to further study the galley. After a moment he made his decision.
“Take us past and lay us across his larboard bow, Mr. Short.”
All topmen worked the new sails and soon Ariadne was increasing her speed, up to double that of the galley. The distance shortened very quickly and Argent climbed onto the quarterdeck gunwale, where he braced himself against the starboard shrouds and waited for Ariadne to make her turn which would bring the galley into his view. When his view arrived, Argent focused his glass onto the details of the galley that could now be seen. His upperdeck had no gunwale, merely a rail with many uprights, but not so many as to hide the fact that the upperdeck was crowded with men, Fentiman had been right, the slaver was heavily manned. He continued to look and he could see no weapons in any hand, but he lowered the telescope, curious but not concerned. Ariadne was little more than one cable away, closing to overtake and then Short would swing to starboard to place Ariadne’s hull square across the slavers larboard bow, only
minutes remained. He returned to the telescope but it was barely needed, only for the finer details and his own crew were in the shrouds monitoring their approach. Argent put the glass to his eye and concentrated on the quarterdeck. What looked like the Commander, better dressed perhaps, certainly more colourful, was making hand signals to his crew, waving some to come back to the stern.
Short minutes passed and Ariadne was down to one cable away, when Argent, through his telescope saw what was developing. A number of tiny figures, wrapped in white, were being pushed onto the quarterdeck. In seconds all had been lifted to stand on the rail, five in all, with a sailor holding them from behind and, through his glass, Argent could see the terror on the face of each, a child. They were not just wrapped, they were bound and Argent’s stomach turned over as one was pushed from the rail. The helpless figure slid perfectly through and under the waves, making no splash and leaving no sign, as though the ocean itself felt the need to instantly hide the evidence of so heinous a crime.
“Up helm. Heave to.”
A howling came to Argent’s ears, this from his own crew who had just witnessed for themselves the cold-blooded murder of a prisoner, plainly a mere child. Short had swung the wheel over and soon all Ariadne’s sails were flapping in the wind, no longer drawing. Fraser was yelling to all around to get aloft and secure the canvas. His crew obeyed, but not before yelling a foul insult across the water and shaking a fist. Argent focused the glass; there were still four. Ariadne breaking off had saved the lives of those remaining, but the crew of the slaver were all in their rigging gesturing and shouting at this warship that had halted her attack merely to save the lives of a few slaves. For such squeamish men they had only contempt, they obeyed the absurdity of being bound by a humanity of which they had no understanding.
Argent dropped down to the quarterdeck, his face white with anger, his mouth grim, his eyes narrow slits. He looked at Short and McArdle.
“This isn’t the end. Not by a long shot, by all The Saints, no.”
He walked to the beginning of the gangway.
“Mr. Fraser. Stand the men down. Tell Mortimor to get them some food.”
Then he saw Henry Ball.
“Mr. Ball. Request Messrs Fentiman, Sanders, and Wentworth to come to my cabin.”
He almost jumped down the companionway to the gundeck and turned to enter his cabin, but it wasn’t there, the ship was cleared for action. He ordered the nearby guncrews to get up his cabin screens and furniture from the hold and he paced and fumed whilst it was done. The men saw their Captain’s mood and all was done quickly and silently. Once inside he sat at his desk with his hands over his eyes, but the image was too painful, of the tiny white figure entering the water, a bound, white, helpless shape. He slammed his hands on the desk and waited, then he noticed that he was wearing his sword. He unhooked it and threw it onto the floor behind. With its clatter came a knock on the door and the three entered. He looked at each and in each face he saw the abhorrence that he felt himself.
“Take a seat.”
Each arranged themselves around the desk and looked at him, but, before he could begin, there came a knock on the door. From the shout of enter, McArdle came in.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Sir. But what are your orders?”
McArdle was right. He had been so beside himself that he had neglected his ship.
“Sail downwind. Take us out into the Bay, then come back to follow, from far out, keeping him just in sight, us showing nothing above topsails. Double the lookouts and you, Mr. McArdle, plot his course. He’s a galley, heading for Finnisterre.”
A feint trace of shock came across McArdle’s stony face at the last, most obvious of statements, but he paid his respects and left. Argent returned to his audience and voiced his own thoughts.
“If we renew any attack, he’ll throw his prisoners overboard. He knows that if he’s captured, all his crew are dead men, so the prisoners can die as well. He saw us coming and made his preparations, namely children, bound and stood up on his rail. We have to come up, when he thinks he’s safe and has made no preparation for his Devil’s work.”
It was Wentworth who spoke. His own anger easing his speech.
“That means a n-night attack, Sir.”
“Agreed. So how do we make that work? We have to come against him at the place we planned today, his larboard bow. So we regain the weather gauge, which is easy, but what then.”
Wentworth continued.
“If we are t-to come up on him unseen, we must d-darken the ship, Sir. P-paint out the gunports and d-d-darken the sails we are c-carrying.”
Argent was calming down.
“A good suggestion, Mr. Wentworth. That can be done and it improves our chances. But boarding him? We cannot slant in from far out, to get onto his bows in the dark, if the likelihood is that we will not be able to see him.”
Sanders spoke up.
“Galleys make a lot of noise, Sir. The oars for one thing, and that gang aboard, they’ll be cock-a-hoop at having seen us off so easily. And for another thing, the disturbance of the oars and his wide hull, leaves a long, wide wake.”
Argent grew hopeful, but it was not yet any kind of workable scheme. He summarized.
“We get into his wake, then close from behind with a darkened ship. How do we board?”
The three looked at him, but he had his own ideas.
“We come up at full speed. If this wind holds, that’ll give us nine, perhaps, ten knots, with that we can get past quickly and bore in. But this wind must hold.”
“What if he changes course, Sir? In the night.”
This was Sanders.
“He won’t, not yet.”
But the words died in Argent’s throat. He was being far too hopeful and he knew immediately that he could not be that certain. His breath left his body in a deep resigned sigh.
“Yes, he may, but we have to hope. I’m reasoning that he’ll expect us to expect a change, and, so, most likely, he’ll not change, but keep downwind to make Finisterre.”
“He could just turn in the night and row upwind.”
“He could, yes.”
Argent had no other answer. He had countered his own argument.
“So, do you want to attack tonight, Sir?”
Argent paused and thought. Rationality was returning.
“I’d like to, but we can’t. We can’t risk being seen far out from him. White sails and yellow gunports will stand out, especially if this clear sky holds, even at night. We must prepare the ship for this to work, as Lieutenant Wentworth describes. That will take longer than the few hours of daylight left. Also, they must feel secure; get through a night and a day without seeing us. We’ll hang onto him through this night, and tomorrow we’ll make our preparations and hold off, just over the horizon, coming over just enough to check on him. We’ll plan for the following night. If he does see us, he must think it’s not us, so, for now we disguise the ship. Tonight we must hold onto him, which means dropping in behind to follow, as Mr. Sanders has put it, all the noise and rowing racket.”
The three left, but Argent felt no better. It was a half baked plan, more likely to fail than succeed. He thought further; Sanders was right, he could change course and go where the Hell he liked and as for following a wake at almost half a mile distance, as was needed, that was almost fatuous, but he steeled himself. He was doing all that could be done. He reached for the Log and began writing.
At four bells in the Second Dog Watch the light was fading. They had no sails above topsails which would give the slaver anything to see of them, as they kept watch upon him from far out on the horizon, with one lookout on each bare topmast, each with an Officer’s telescope. They kept watch until the darkness grew which ensured that the slaver could no longer see them, but at that time he, also, was lost to them. McArdle had plotted his course as West South West and so, in the deepening evening, Ariadne came upwind on staysails and made to match the slaver’s course behind him. There was a half moon vei
led in medium cloud to give some light and extra lookouts were placed in the foremast to discover the slaver’s wake from the passage of her broad hull. They came onto station to find the sea choppy and, in the restless waves, nothing telltale could be seen. Argent ordered an increase in sail to perhaps close up and Ariadne tracked back and forth, left and right, hoping for signs in the dark ocean, but nothing. They strained their ears forwards to perhaps hear the beat of the oars but all they heard were the sounds of their own ship. Argent and Wentworth joined the lookouts and their eyes became sore and their minds deranged from staring at the water. Still nothing. Argent swallowed hard, having no choice but to stay far out on the slaver’s horizon, they had left it too late to try to catch up in the growing darkness.
Then, for some reason, Wentworth looked fully off to starboard, at right angles to their hull.
“Sir. Wh-what’s that, almost off our b-beam? It’s a li-light, Sir, a tiny light.”
Argent looked and pulled around his telescope, hung by a cord down his back, but he looked first at the light through a naked eye. A ship about her proper business, far out on the ocean, showing any lights at all, would be carrying more than that, for night safety, and brighter. He fixed on the light and raised his telescope, then he found the light and studied. Just barely visible and only because he was looking for them, against a sky slightly less dark than the black sea, were three masts with three lateen spars raised between them.
“That’s him. He’s come around in the night and doubling back. Not downwind, just doubling back, using both oars and sails.”
He looked again.
“But that light. How the Hell?”
Argent snapped the glass shut.
“No matter. We can follow him, and come dusk tomorrow we must not look like Ariadne, at least as he remembers us. He’s made a mistake, not using his oars to take him where we can’t go, just changing course in the dark.”
Argent raised his voice just enough for the lookouts in the bows.
“Stand down. He’s out there, off to starboard. See that light? He’s doubling back.”
A Question of Duty Page 41