Neither spoke again until they had crept out through the gap in the stockade. There, they paused as Hal glanced up at the sky and saw, by the angle of the great Southern Cross to the horizon, that it lacked only an hour or so till dawn. This was the witching hour when all human resources were at their lowest ebb. Hal peered back at Aboli's dark shape. "What is it, Aboli?" Hal demanded. "Why did you call me?"
"Listen!" Aboli laid a hand on his shoulder and Hal cocked his head.
"I hear nothing. "Wait!" Aboli squeezed his shoulder for silence.
Then Hal heard it, far off and faint, blanketed by the trees, a shout of uncontrolled laughter.
"Where?"... Hal was puzzled. "At the beach."
"God's wounds!" Hal blurted. "What devilry is this now?" He began to run, Aboli at his side, heading for the lagoon, stumbling in the darkness on the uneven forest floor with low branches whipping into their faces.
As they reached the first huts of the encampment, they heard more noise ahead, a snatch of slurred song and a hoot of crazed laughter.
"The gun pits Hal panted, and at that moment saw, in the last glimmer from the dying watch fire a pale human shape ahead.
Then his father's voice challenged him. "Who is that?" "Tis Hal, Father."
"What is happening?" It was clear that Sir Francis had only just awakened for he was in his shirt sleeves and his voice was groggy with sleep, but his sword was in his hand.
"I don't know," Hal said. There was another roar of stupid laughter. "It comes from the beach. The gun pits Without another word, all three ran on, and came together to the first culverin. Here, at the edge of the lagoon, the canopy of leaves overhead was thinner, allowing the last rays of the moon to shine through, giving them enough light to see one of the gun crew draped over the long bronze barrel. When Sir Francis aimed an angry kick at him he collapsed in the sand.
It was then that Hal spotted the small keg standing on the lip of the pit. Oblivious to their arrival, one of the other gunners was on his hands and knees in front of it, like a dog, lapping up the liquid that dribbled from the spigot. Hal smelt the sugary aroma, heavy on the night air like the emanation of some poisonous flower. He jumped down into the pit and seized the gunner by his hair.
"Where did you get the rum?" he snarled. The man peered back at him blearily. Hal drew back his fist and struck him a blow that made his teeth clash together in his jaw. "Damn you for a sot! Where did you get it?" Hal pricked him with the point of his dirk. "Answer me or I'll split your windpipe."
The pain and the threat rallied his victim. "A parting gift from his lordship," he gasped. "He sent a keg across from the Gull for us to drink his health and wish him God speed."
Hal flung the drunken creature from him and leapt onto the parapet. "The other gun crews Has the Buzzard sent gifts to all of them?"
They ran down the line of emplacements, and in each found sweetly reeking oaken kegs and inert bodies. Few of rthe crews were still on their feet, but even those who were, were staggering and slobbering in intoxication, Few English seamen could resist the ardent essence of the sugar cane.
Even Timothy Reilly, one of Sir Francis's trusted coxswains, had succumbed, and although he tried to answer Sir Francis's accusation, he reeled on his feet. Sir Francis struck him a blow with the hilt of his sword across the side of his head and the fellow collapsed in the sand.
At that moment, Big Daniel came running from the encampment. "I heard the uproar, Captain. What has happened?"
"The Buzzard has plied the gun crews with liquor. They are all of them witless." His voice shook with fury. "it can only mean one thing- There is not a moment to lose. Rouse the camp. Stand the men to arms but softly, mind!"
As Daniel raced away, Hal heard a faint sound from the dark ship across the still lagoon waters, a distant clank of ratchet and pawl, that sent tingling shocks up his spine.
"The cap scan he exclaimed. "The Gull is tightening up on her anchor spring. They stared a cross the channel, and in the moonlight saw the silhouette of the Gull begin to alter, as the hawser running from the anchor to her capstan Pulliede her stern round, and her full broadside was presented. "the "guns are run out!" Sir Francis exclaimed, moonlight glinted on the barrels. Behind each they could now make out the faint glow of the burning slow-match in the hands of the Gulls gunners.
"Satan's breath, they're going to fire on us! Down!" shouted Sir Francis. "Get down!" Hal leapt over the parapet of the gun pit and flung himself flat on the sandy floor.
Suddenly the night was lit brightly, as if by a flash of lightning. An instant later the thunder smote their eardrums and the tornado of shot swept across the beach and thrashed into the forest around them. The Gull had fired all her cannon into the encampment in a single devastating broadside.
The grape shot tore through the foliage above and branches, clusters of leaves and slabs of wet bark rained down upon them. The air was filled with a lethal swarm of splinters blasted from the tree-trunks.
The frail huts gave no protection to the men within. The broadside slashed through, sending poles flying and flattening the flimsy structures as though they had been hit by a tidal wave. They heard the terrified yells of men awakening into a nightmare, and the sobs, screams and groans of those cut down by the hail of shot or skewered by the sharp, ragged splinters.
The Gull had disappeared behind the pall of her own gunsmoke, but Sir Francis leapt to his feet and snatched the slow-match from the senseless hand of the gunner and glanced over the sights of the culverin and saw that it was still aimed into the swirling smoke behind which the Gull lay. He pressed the match to the hole. The culverin bellowed out a long silver gush of touc smoke and bounded back against its tackle. He could not see the strike of his shot, but he roared an order to those gunners down the line still sober enough to obey. "Fire! Open fire! Keep firing as fast as you can!"
He heard a ragged salvo but then saw many of the gun crews heave themselves up and stagger away drunkenly among the trees.
Hal jumped onto the lip of the emplacement, shouting for Aboli and Daniel. "Come on! Each of you bring a match and follow me. We must get across to the island!"
Daniel was already helping Sir Francis reload the culverin, swabbing out the smoking barrel to douse the burning sparks.
"Avast that, Daniel. Leave that work to others- I need your help," As they started off together along the shore, the fog bank that covered the Gulf drifted aside and she fired her next broadside, It had been but two minutes since the first. Her gunners were fast and well trained and they had the advantage of surprise. Again the Storm of shot swept the beach and ploughed into the forest with deadly effect.
Hal saw one of their culverin struck squarely by a lead ball. The tackle snapped and it was hurled backwards off its train, so that its muzzle pointed to the stars.
The cries of the wounded and dying swelled in the Pandemonium of despair as men deserted their posts and fled among the trees. The desultory return fire from the gun pits shrivelled until there was only an occasional bang and flash of cannon. Once the battery was silenced, the Buzzard turned his guns on the remaining huts and the clumps of bush in which the Resolution's crew had taken shelter.
Hal could hear the crew of the Gull cheering wildly as they reloaded and fired. "The Gull and Cumbrae!" they shouted.
There were no more broadsides, but a continuous stuttering roll of thunder as each gun fired as soon as it was ready. Their muzzle flashes flickered and flared within the sulphurous white smoke bank like the flames of hell.
As he ran Hal heard his father's voice behind him, fading with distance as he tried to rally his shattered, demoralized crew. Aboli ran at his shoulder and Big Daniel was a few paces further back, losing ground to the two swifter runners.
"We will need more men to launch," Daniel panted, "They're heavy "You will not find them to help you now. They're all hog drunk or running for their very lives," Hal grunted, but even as he spoke he saw Ned Tyler speed out of the forest just ahead, leading five of
his seamen. All seemed sober enough.
"Good manNed!" Hal shouted. "But we must hurry. The Buzzard will be sending his men onto the beach as soon as he has silenced our batteries."
They charged in a group across the shallow channel between them and the island. The tide was low so at first they staggered through the glutinous mud-flat that sucked at their feet, then plunged into the open water. They waded, swam and dragged themselves across, the thunder of the Gull's barrage spurring them onwards.
"There is only a breath of wind from the sou'-west," Big Daniel gasped, as they staggered out, streaming water, onto the beach of the island. "It will not be enough to serve us."
Hal did not reply but broke off a dead branch and lit it from his slow-match. He held it high to give himself light to see the path and ran on into the forest. In minutes they had crossed the island and reached the beach on the far side. Here Hal paused and looked across at the Gull in the main channel.
The dawn was coming on apace, and the night fled before it. The light was turning grey and silvery, the lagoon gleaming softly as a sheet of polished pewter.
The Buzzard was training his guns back and forth, with the use of his anchor spring, swinging the Gull on her moorings so that he could pick out any target on the shore.
There was only the odd flash of answering fire from the gun pits on the beach, and the Buzzard responded immediately to these, swinging his ship and bringing to bear the full power of his broadside, snuffing them out with a whirlwind of grape, flying sand and falling trees.
All of Hal's party were blown by the hard run across the mud-flats and the plunge through the channel. "No time to rest." Hal's breath whistled in his throat. The devil ships were coveted with mounds of cut branches and they dragged them clear. Then they formed a ring round the first of these vessels, and each took a handhold.
"Together now!" Hal exhorted them, and between them they just lifted the keels of the double-hulled vessel clear of the sand. It was heavy with its cargo, faggots of dried wood drenched with pitch to make it more flammable.
They staggered down the beach with it, and dropped it into the shallows, where it wallowed and rolled in the wavelets, the square of dirty canvas on the stubby mast stirring idly in the light puffs of wind coming down from the heads. Hal took a turn of the painter around his wrist to prevent it drifting away.
"Not enough wind!" Big Daniel lamented, looking to the sky. "For the sweet love of God, send us a breeze."
"Keep your prayers for later." Hal secured the vessel, and led them back at a run into the trees. They carried, shoved and dragged two more of the boats down to the water's edge.
"Still not enough wind." Daniel looked across at the Gull. , In the short time it had taken them to launch, the morning light had strengthened, and now, as they paused for a moment to regain their breath, they saw the Buzzard's men leave their guns, and, cheering wildly, brandishing cutlass and pike, swarm down into the boats.
"Will you look at those swine! They reckon the fight's over, "grunted Ned Tyler. "They're going in for the looting." Hal hesitated. Two more devil ships still lay at the edge of the forest, but to launch them would take too long. "Then we must give them aught to change their opinion," he said grimly, and gripped the burning match between his teeth. He waded out as deep as his armpits to where the first devil ship bobbed, just off the beach, and lobbed the slow-match onto the high pile of cordwood. It spluttered and flared, blue smoke poured from it and drifted away on the sluggish breeze as the pitch-soaked logs caught fire.
Hal grabbed the painter attached to the bows, and dragged her out into the channel. Within a dozen yards he was into deeper water and had lost the bottom. He swam F_ round to the stern, and found a purchase on it, kicked out strongly with both legs and the boat moved away.
Aboli saw what he was doing and plunged headlong into the lagoon. With a few powerful strokes he reached Hal's side. With both of them swimming it out, the boat moved faster.
With one hand on the stern Hal lifted his head clear of the water to orientate himself and saw the flotilla of small boats from the Gull heading in towards the beach. They were crowded with wildly yelling seamen, their weapons glinting in the morning light. So certain was the Buzzard of his victory that he could have left only a few men aboard to guard the ship.
Hal glanced over his shoulder and saw that both Ned and Daniel had followed his example. They had led the rest of the gang into the water and were clinging to the stems of two more craft, kicking the water to a white froth behind them as they pushed out into the channel. From all three boats rose tendrils of smoke as the flames took hold in the loads of pitch-soaked firewood.
Hal dropped back beside Aboli and set himself to work doggedly with both legs, pushing the boat ahead of him, down the channel to where the Gull lay at anchor. Then the incoming tide caught them firmly in its flood and, like a trio of crippled ducks, bore them along more swiftly.
As Hal's boat swung its bows around he had a better view of the beach. He recognized the flaming red head and beard of the Buzzard in the leading longboat heading into the attack on the encampment, and fancied that, even in the uproar, he heard peals of his laughter carrying over the water.
Then he had something else to think about for the fire in the cargo above him gained a firm hold and roared into boisterous life. The flames crackled and leapt high in columns of dense black smoke. They danced and swayed as their heat created its own draught, and the single sail filled with more determination.
"Keep her moving!" Hal panted to Aboli beside him. "Steer her two points more to larboard."
A gust of heat swept over him so fiercely that it seemed to suck the air from his lungs. He ducked his head beneath the surface and came up snorting, water cascading down his face from his sodden hair, but still kicking with all his strength. The Gull lay less than a cable's length dead ahead. Daniel and Ned followed close behind him, both their vessels wreathed in tarry black smoke and dark orange flame.
The air over them quivered and throbbed with the heat like a desert mirage.
"Keep her going," Hal blurted. His legs were beginning to ache unbearably, and he spoke more to himself than to Aboli. The painter tied to the bows of the devil ship trailed back, threatening to wrap around his legs, but he kicked it away there was no time to loosen it.
He saw the first of the Gull's longboats reach the beach and Cumbrae leap ashore, swinging his claymore in flashing circles around his head. As he landed on the sand he threw back his head, uttered a blood-curdling Gaelic war-cry, then went bounding up the steep beach. As he reached the trees he looked back to make certain his men were following him. There he paused with his sword held high, and stared back across the channel at the tiny squadron of devil ships, blooming with smoke and flame and bearing down steadily upon his anchored Gull.
"Nearly there!" Hal gasped, and the waves of heat that broke over his head seemed to fry his eyeballs in their sockets. He plunged his head underwater again to cool it, and this time when he came up he saw that the Gull lay only fifty yards ahead.
Even above the crackling roar of the flames he heard the Buzzard's roar. "Back! Back to the Gull. The bastards are sending fireships at her." The frigate was stuffed with the booty of a long, hard privateering cruise, and her crew sent up a wild chorus of outrage as they saw the fruits of three years so endangered. They raced back to their boats even faster than they had charged up the beach.
The Buzzard stood in the bows of his, prancing and gesticulating so that he threatened to upset her balance. "Let me get my hands on the pox-ridden swine. I'll rip out their windpipes, I'll split their stinking-" At that moment he recognized Hal's head at the stern of the leading fire ship lit by the full glare of the swirling flames, and his voice rose a full octave. "It's Franky's brat, by God! I'll have him!
I'll roast his liver in his own fire!" he shrieked, then lapsed into crimson-faced, inarticulate rage and hacked at the air with his claymore to spur his crew to greater speed.
Hal
was only a dozen yards now from the Gull's tall side, and found fresh strength in his exhausted legs. TireIlessly Aboli swam on, using a powerful frog-kick that pushed back the water in a swirling wake behind him.
With the Buzzard's longboat bearing down swiftly upon them, they covered the last few yards and Hal felt the fire ship bows thump heavily into the Gulls stern timbers. The push of the tide pinned her there, swinging her broadside so that the flames were fanned by the rising morning breeze to lick up along the Gulls side, scorching and blackening the timbers.
"Latch onto her!" bellowed the Buzzard. "Get a line on her and tow her off!" His oarsmen shot straight in towards the fire ship but, as they felt the full heat blooming out to meet them, they quailed. In the bows the Buzzard threw up his hands to cover his face, and his red beard crisped and singed. "Back off!" he roared. "Or we'll fry." He looked at his coxswain. "Give me the anchor! I'll grapple her, and we'll tow her off."
Wilbur Smith - C09 Birds Of Prey Page 18