Hanging Matter

by David Donachie

  The barrel spun through the air, with Harry yelling for his men to get down. Fascinated, they didn’t obey. He spun the wheel in the hope that his rudder would do what his crew would not. The barrel hit the very edge of Blue Checker’s bulwarks and fell towards the sea. As its lower rim touched the water it finally exploded. The great fount of water made his men duck down, so they didn’t see the hole that appeared in the planking of the schooner, right on the waterline.

  The ship lurched to one side, as if in the grip of a huge hand, and started to settle forward. Worse still, she spun round, bows on to Harry’s stern, the way on her carrying back into the fierce coastal current. If she fouled the Miranda’s rigging they might both go down. It was old Gaston, and the enemy helmsman, who saved the day. The old man grabbed the wheel out of Harry’s hand and took the ship into the riptide deliberately, opening up an immediate gap between the two vessels. On board the schooner they knew that current spelt certain doom to their stricken ship. They used wind and rudder to stay clear and the gap increased. The Miranda’s sails, still set as they had been earlier, began to draw again and she was once more under control.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  HARRY EASED her back out of the tide and brought the Miranda in a wide arc round the schooner. Black Hull had hauled his wind when he’d seen what happened and was standing off, trying to make sense of the fate that had befallen her consort. Blue Checker was down by the bows, taking water, with every chance that she might sink. Harry ignored them both and headed north, straight for the barque, which now stood across his escape route. He didn’t want a fight if he could avoid one. If she moved over he would sail on. If not, he’d probably end up ramming her.

  The barque was bearing down on him simultaneously, so the gap closed rapidly. Her master was edging away from the island, trying to force Harry to take the inside course. He declined the invitation to endanger his ship and followed suit till both ships were well away from the Alderney tides. Suddenly, while still out of range of his bow chasers, his opponent went about, sailing on a parallel course.

  It was a clever ploy and increased the danger to the Miranda tenfold, since anything that delayed him increased the chance of the black-hulled schooner joining the fight. Harry had no choice but to hold his course. Even in a running fight he’d weather the headland in pole position, then, with open water on his starboard quarter, he could put up his helm and try to escape.

  Things settled for a spell, so Harry had a chance to assess what had happened. The ships, or at least the crews, were English, which was puzzling. They were not navy, that he did know. Could they be hired by the Revenue to catch him? But that didn’t make sense either. None of the ships flew any kind of flag to identify them. Nor had they made any attempt to signal him to surrender, although he’d scarcely given them the chance.

  The barque eased her braces and took in her courses, reducing to topsails only, which stopped his peregrinations. She was getting ready to fight. The lettering on her stern sprang into focus. Harry spelt it out, but the name Rother meant nothing to him. He followed suit in the matter of sails, for he wanted to give the impression of welcoming a scrap. But he made sure all his crew knew that the minute they came abreast he wanted every stitch set again, so that he could steal a march on his opponent, and get some way ahead.

  They approached each other in complete silence, the Rother holding her fire through choice. Harry envied that. He was doing the same thing so that he could mask his weakness. Then he saw him, standing by the wheel, and all the questions about these ships, and their purpose, were answered. He could not know that the beard was new, that it had grown again since his farcical trial. He only registered that it was shorter. But there was enough of the face, with its piggy eyes, to leave him in no doubt at whom he was looking. The gap had closed to hailing distance, close enough to hear a shout, but too far to catapult a barrel. Trench, with his memorable voice, took advantage of it.

  “Prepare to meet your maker, Ludlow,” he screamed. “And I hope when you see Tobias Bertles you say sorry for ever buying him that ship.”

  Harry wasn’t really listening to Trench. He was trying to stem the anger that seemed to consume him. For with his enemy here, instead of in gaol, it could only mean one thing. Trench had cheated the gallows. And if he’d done that, he’d also been free to take his revenge on Harry’s family and property.

  “Man the guns,” he shouted. “All of them!”

  “Captain,” said Pender, who was equally shocked but less alarmed.

  “Do as I say!”

  “The barky won’t stand it, you know that!”

  Harry spun round, his eyes blazing. They were nearly abreast now, nearly to the point of commencing battle. It wasn’t Pender who brought him to his senses, but Trench. “Time to pay you out,” he screeched. “In like coin.”

  “Everybody down,” yelled Harry, throwing himself to the deck. Old Gaston and his sons were a mere second behind him, so they felt the rush of air and heard the innumerable cracks as the grapeshot swept across the deck. Harry was back on his feet right away, counting off the time it would take them to load again. He only had one of his own guns ready to fire. He grabbed Pender.

  “Load every cannon, then see to the sails.” He could see the worry in Pender’s eyes, the fear that his captain was so maddened by the sight of Trench that he was blind to common sense. “I know what I’m doing. I want to give him something to remember me by. But more than that, I also want to live.”

  The side of the Rother erupted again, much quicker than Harry anticipated. But it was round shot this time. Bits of the Miranda’s bulwarks flew in all directions, dangerous splinters that could kill and maim, as the well-aimed broadside took its toll. Harry managed two shots before Trench paid him out again. Near point-blank, the Miranda shook with the impact as the balls hit her hull, making her timbers groan like a sea monster.

  Pender, who knew which orders to obey and which to ignore, had sent most of the men aloft to tend the courses, leaving only a few to load the guns. They were drawing ahead, but only for a moment, for the Rother increased her speed as well, keeping abreast. And they were still a full mile from the point at which they could turn away. The next broadside was fired too late, on the downroll, and most of the round shot ended up in the water. Harry was making his way up the side, black from head to foot, firing each gun in turn, doing his best to reply to the onslaught. But it was feeble stuff by comparison.

  Trench reverted to grape again, this time aiming into the rigging, trying to kill Harry’s crew; only a miracle kept them all in one piece, for the sails were riddled with holes. He turned to round shot, and a pounding continuous fire that made the Miranda stagger each time she was struck. Harry wasn’t so engrossed in his weapons that he couldn’t hear the sounds from below. And what he heard did nothing to make him feel more confident. And even deeper down, on another level, he wondered what would befall him if he landed up at the mercy of Trench. It didn’t bear contemplation. And his crew would suffer the same as those on the Planet.

  “They’re preparing to board, Captain,” shouted Pender, whose mouth had to be close to Harry’s ear, to penetrate his captain’s near deaf state. Harry stood upright. He looked at the approaching headland, the northern tip of Alderney, and calculated the timing. Then at the darkening sky, with the cloud cover breaking up showing an occasional patch of blue. As he replied his voice sounded strange, confined, as the sound was, inside his head.

  “They want to bring us to before we reach clear water. If Trench takes us he’ll kill us all, regardless. Not much point in trying to keep the Miranda afloat, if we’re going to die anyway.”

  Pender thought about that for a second or two, to ensure that his captain was talking sense. He, too, had heard the screams from the Planet. Then he grinned, his white teeth flashing in the fading light.

  “All guns, Captain.”

  Harry smiled back. “And grape, Pender. He’ll hate that.”

  Harry looked across
the narrowing gap, as the Rother edged down on the Miranda. True to his salt, Trench remained beside the wheel, content to let others risk their skin. He had a sudden temptation to shout back, to tell Trench that he was wrong. They were all wrong. Him, Temple, Braine, and the rest of the smuggling fraternity. He’d never put a penny towards the purchase of the Planet. But he held his tongue, for it would do no good. They hadn’t believed him before and Obidiah Trench wasn’t going to at the point of total revenge.

  His voice echoed in his head again. “Keep a sharp eye out for where they place their lashings, Pender.”

  “Axes ready, your honour,” Pender replied, but Harry didn’t hear him.

  They had the guns loaded in record time and the Mirandas ran them out. The Rothers jeered, convinced it was a bluff, and leapt up on to their bulwarks in defiance, jabbing with their weapons. One of them spun round and dropped his trousers, insulting them with his bare arse. A huge gale of laughter erupted from their throats and others followed suit. It was an expensive mistake, as Harry, feeling his ship rise on a wave, gave the order to fire. Every gun went off at once, shooting back in recoil and wracking the ship’s frame. Harry could feel the wood wrenching through his feet. But it was the damage his guns had done that took his attention. The side of the Rother was completely clear of boarders.

  More than that she’d sheered off, losing speed. Even Harry could hear the screams coming across the water. That was, until the Miranda was too far ahead. They weathered the tip of Alderney and as he gave the order to change course he looked back at the scene behind him. It wasn’t over yet, for Trench was still standing. He’d wounded the crew of the Rother, not the ship. And judging by the sounds from below, he done the opposite to the Miranda. There to the south was Trench’s second schooner, Black Hull coming up at speed. There was no sign of Blue Checker, which gave him some comfort.

  Night was falling. In a sound vessel he would have headed north-west, into open water, in the general direction of Plymouth, relying on darkness to evade pursuit. But he knew the Miranda wouldn’t stand it if they encountered bad weather. That last broadside had effected too much damage. A heavy sea, pounding her hull for any length of time, and she could break up altogether. Turning towards Braye was no longer a choice, it was a necessity. He’d have to fight them again tomorrow, either at sea or on land, for he knew in his heart that Trench would never give up, as long as he had breath in someone else’s body.

  Harry went below, only to have his worst fears confirmed. The Miranda was shipping water everywhere. Even now the pumps could barely cope and it would only worsen as the sea worked on the sprung planking. Down in the depths of the ship he could hear the masts groaning, loosening themselves from their seating.

  Back on deck, old Gaston, who had been pushed off the wheel by Patcham, sidled up to Harry at the same time as Pender, just beating him to the captain’s ear. They rattled away in French and it was clear that what the old man was saying brought no pleasure to Harry’s ears. Pender could see him swearing softly under his breath, but the only word he could make out was the oft-repeated “swinge”; since it was either French, or the local dialect, it was a mystery.

  Gaston’s arms were waving frantically, and he seemed as upset by Harry’s replies as the captain was by his information. Harry, who’d been looking at the deck, lifted his eyes to Pender’s and his one-time servant thought he saw despair. Then he looked over to Patcham at the wheel. Harry’s words, softly delivered, did nothing to lift Pender’s spirits.

  “We’re going the wrong way. We should have tried to weather Burhou, it seems, that island slightly further west.”

  Pender followed Harry’s outstretched finger. He could just make out the grey hump in the gathering gloom. “What odds does it make?”

  Harry’s tone was harsh. “There’s a tidal bore that sweeps up this channel. They call it the Swinge. It can go as high as fifty feet, a solid wall of water which will sink every ship in its path.”

  “Fifty feet,” said Pender, his voice full of disbelief.

  Harry conferred with Gaston and the old man made a lot of noise and many gestures, which were translated for Pender’s benefit. “That’s an exception, fifty feet. It’s more like thirty, he says.”

  “Well, thank God for that,” said Pender, with an artificial expression of relief.

  Harry looked at him coldly for a moment. Then he suddenly laughed. Pender joined in and Gaston, caught between them, put his finger to his head, gesturing to his two sons that les Anglais were mad.

  “We can’t go back, for we’ll run straight into Trench, and if we go on …” Harry left the rest of that sentence hanging in the air. But when he spoke again, his voice had a new note of urgency.

  “We have one thing in our favour. We know about the danger, and Trench doesn’t.”

  “You’re goin’ on?” asked Pender.

  “No choice. All the guns over the side, since they make us top-heavy. Get everything loose off the deck. Better still sling anything that might injure someone into the sea. We’ll need to lash the wheel. I want the hatches battened down and covered with tarred canvas.”

  He bent to talk to Gaston again, asking how long they had.

  “He thinks we’ve got about an hour. Board up the sternlights, but leave a small gap, so that when you light the lantern it will look like a glimmer shining through the drapes. Make it appear as though we’ve made an error in our blacking out. I want Trench to follow us. In fact I want him to try a night attack. And I hope he’s right alongside the Miranda, just on the turn, when that water hits.”

  “Pity I stove in the rum,” said Pender. “A tot now would cheer the hands.”

  “There’s brandy in my stores, hand that round. But don’t let anyone get drunk too soon. We don’t want them drowning.”

  The thin sliver of light was clear to the Rothers. They used a shaded lantern to call up the schooner and put on more speed to overhaul Harry. Trench was so excited he dribbled as he explained how he would take the Miranda between the two ships in darkness, boarding her and recovering her without a shot being fired. He looked at the sky as the cloud cover began to break up and blessed the extra light that would let him see his prey.

  Aboard Harry’s ship the crew were working to capacity, even as they passed round the bottle. The pumps clanked away in an endless litany. Old Gaston, appraised of Harry’s intentions, crossed himself, then went into another huddle with his sons. They made much, it seemed, of the changing weather, as the temperature dropped and the sky cleared. He collared Harry and dragged him on to the poop, to look over the stern.

  “What is the old sod about now,” said Flowers.

  “Don’t tempt Providence, mate,” Pender replied. “That old sod has saved our bacon once already today.”

  Harry called softly for some rope and a boarding pike. Pender, full of curiosity, obliged personally. When he arrived he found his captain hanging out over the stern.

  “We’re going to jam the rudder, Pender. Gaston doesn’t think we’ll be able to hold the wheel, even if it’s lashed, and if our head comes round even a fraction we’re done for. And he also suggests we stop pumping. The higher we float, the more we’re likely to broach.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  The crew were sent below, to be strapped to the side of the lower deck by ropes. Their hands were, of course, still free to pass the brandy. Harry didn’t need them sober now, they might as well be drunk. Even he didn’t feel very confident about survival. Gaston was up in the bows, sniffing the air, which he assured Harry would give them ample warning of the approaching Swinge. From the stern the ghostly outlines of Trench and his consort were visible as they closed the distance. They certainly wouldn’t see him go over the side and slip into the cradle he’d rigged to jam the rudder.

  Gaston’s two sons were by the wheel with Pender, ready to run for the hatchway as the order was given. Gaston would set their course, so that the Miranda’s bows were aimed straight at the oncoming wave. They saw
him hurry back from the prow. He took the wheel himself and spun it slightly, sending Pender to tell Harry it was time for the boarding pike. As he leant to lash the wheel he glanced over the side. The two ethereal bowsprits, rocking gently at each side as they closed in on the Miranda, shocked him, for he’d had no idea that Trench had actually overtaken them.

  “It’s time, Captain,” whispered Pender.

  Harry turned, and his teeth showed in the faint light. They heard it together, a low rumbling that sounded like a distant thunderstorm. Both men froze for a moment, till Pender reminded Harry that Gaston was waiting by the wheel. His hand shot out and Pender took it, returning the firm shake.

  “Good luck, friend. Now get below.”

  Harry swung his leg over the rail and disappeared. Pender stood there for a moment, with tears in his eyes for the second time this trip. Then he spun round and ran to warn Gaston. The rumbling was now a roar and the air was full of a sudden freezing wind. The old fisherman tugged at the wheel, which didn’t budge. With a glance back towards the stern, he allowed Pender to push him through the hatch.

  “Lanterns out, lads,” he called, as he pulled the canvas cover tight. Gaston grabbed his arm and gesticulated wildly, to add to the stream of words. Pender just shook his head. He knew as he stood on the poop that Harry Ludlow wouldn’t be coming.

  Harry felt reasonably safe. If the ship was heading into the tidal wave, the stern was a good a place as any to hide. If the Miranda went down, he’d drown a little quicker than his crew. Either way, he’d have the satisfaction of seeing what happened to Obidiah Trench. He could hear the wind whistling past the ships, but that was as nothing to the deep thundering roar which accompanied it. The very earth itself seemed to tremble.