Wicked (25 page)

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Standing on the deck, Beau gazed at the ships ahead. "What's their flag?" he shouted to the lookout clinging to his perch on the foremast.

"French, sir, the
Généreux
and escorts! She's altering course and leaving us to the cruisers, sir!"

The
Généreux
had survived Aboukir, Beau knew. She must have been blown off course en route to the French port at Toulon. He took note of the corvettes wearing 'round to face about and challenge them.

The
Siren's
carronades were in plac
e
—
t
he new lighter guns designed for close-range fightin
g
—
t
he decks were wetted and sanded against fire, the hoses rigged to the pumps should they take a hit below the waterline, and all fires
extinguished.
⁵
In short, the
Siren
was readied by her well-drilled crew in a matter of minutes.

Each corvette carried eighteen or twenty guns, perhaps as many as forty, against their ten. Not exactly an even fight, Beau reflected. But if they turned and ran, they had a great distance back to Gibraltar through hostile waters with two fast ships on their heels. Minorca was only short hours away. "Make the
Siren
fly, Mr. Berry," Beau ordered, training his glass for a moment on the corvettes bearing down on them. "We're going through them and make a run for Minorca. Mr. S
l
ade," he called down to the seaman in charge of the gunnery, "see that the matches in your tubs are alight." With all the spray breaking aboard, the flintlock trigger mechanism couldn't be relied on until the guns grew hot, and the old-fashioned method of ignition might have to be used. Beau stared again at the vessels advancing toward them. "Mr. Berry, I want the best quartermaster at the wheel. There's not going to be much of a gap between the corvettes. I need a steady hand."

"We'll be passing mighty close," Berry cautiously noted, always dependable but aware of the tight maneuvering necessary.

"Unless they panic and veer off. We'll see," Beau murmured, standing utterly still, the strong wind whipping his hair into disheveled curls, his face without emotion. The possibility they would collide bow to bo
w
was a calculated risk.

But if they went through them, they had a chance.

He was dressed simply, like his men, stripped for action down to breeches; some had bandannas tied around their heads to keep the sweat from their eyes, while the gunners had their ears covered against the noise of the cannon. Cutlasses, swords, pistols were at their waists and they all knew the drill should boarding be required.

Crowding on all sails, the
Siren
surged forward, slicing through the seas, making straight for the French ships, the rigging snapping in the wind, the crew poised for action.

"Stand by, Mr. Slade," Beau called down. "Fire your chase guns at eighteen hundred yards. Let's see if we can slow them down." Then from the corner of his mouth to the man at the wheel, he said, "Hold her on course."

The
Siren
was only a year old, adapted from Ozanne's designs for the French
D
i
ligente,
regarded as the fastest vessel ever built. Or the second fastest now, those familiar with the
Siren
asserted. And in the next few minutes, if the
Siren
could elude the corvettes' guns, she could outrun the French ships.

"They've opened fire, sir," Berry said, standing beside Beau.
"Larboard bow."
⁶

Beau looked just in time to see a puff of smoke blown to shreds by the wind. The sound of the shot didn't reach them. It was bad policy to open fire at long range, he thought, his anxiety over the enemy's skill lessening. Better to wait until there was possibility of doing maximum harm.

"Steady, Mr. S
l
ade," Beau shouted. "Hold your fire."

Another puff of smoke from the corvette on the starboard bow and this time they heard the sound of the shot as it passed overhead between the yards.

Beau took a last glance up at the weathervane and at the shivering topsails. "Now, Mr. Slade," he rasped, "let's show them what English gunners can do."

Beau's gunnery crews were superb, their regular training assuring them a high degree of accuracy, and both bow guns went off simultaneously in a rolling crash that shook the ship to her keel. The billow of smoke that enveloped the deck momentarily was blown away almost instantly by the strong wind so they could see both shots crashing into the corvettes.

"Right on target, sir," Berry said, sniffing the bitter powder smoke eddying around them.

"Good shooting, Mr. Slade," Beau called out. "Use the long guns until we meet and then hold your fire on the carronades until I give the orde
r
—
a
nd dismantling shot in every other carronade."

Staring narrow-eyed at the French corvettes coming down remorselessly on them, shot pouring from their guns, foam rushing by their bows, Beau made rapid calculations, judging wind and sea, time and distance, comparing their speeds, visualizing the minimum clearance they'd need to slide through the narrow gap, hoping the French aim didn't improve for a few minutes more. They were firing wild.

"Go at them," he said, steadying his quartermaster, the distance closing between them. If the French ships let them through, they weren't apt to fire at the
Siren
and risk hitting each other. And his gunners would have one chance for a broadside. The corvettes' other option was a high-speed collision. So a bluff was a bluff was a bluff. Beau felt his pulse racing, his glass to his eye, sweeping the corvettes' gun ports, thinking the steady whine of cannonball overhead either clumsy shooting or an attempt to dismantle their sail.

With a hundred yards separating the vessels, the
Siren's
long guns struck home, battering the corvettes. The din of firing was prodigious.

Seventy yards to close.

And not enough room to run between them.

"Steady," Beau sharply ordered the man at the wheel as the
Siren's
deck was swept from end to end with shot for the first time. And it seemed for a minute as though the heavens were falling around him. He felt the deck leap as the shots struck home, heard screams from his men, felt splinters and debris shriek by him, and then he was struck and flung down into the blood on the deck, some of the
m
izzen rigging falling down and entangling him. Struggling to free himself, he got to his feet, dizzy and shaken. But he saw the quartermaster still at the wheel and knew the
Siren
was on course. "Afterguard," he roared, his voice sounding raspy in his ears. "Axes here, cut away that rigging!"

And as a rush of men came pounding up with axes and cutlasses, others were dragging wounded men along the deck and down the hatchways to the cockpit below.

He steadied himself against the rail, waiting for the dizziness to pass, wiping away the blood dripping down his cheek.

Thirty yards and still on collision course. There wasn't much time. He forced his mind to concentrate. "Hold your fire," he yelled, his voice hoarse from the smoke.

Twenty yards separated the
m
—
s
econds at this speed.

Would the French risk a head-on collision?

And then the corvettes swerved violently to port and starboard and the
Siren
shot between them, passing within a dozen feet of each. Bow slipped by bow, foremast passed foremast, and then foremast passed mainmast. Beau was looking aft and as soon as he saw the aftermast gun bore on target, he shouted, "Fire!"

Mr. Slade's gunnery crews opened broadside, the
Siren
lifting to the recoil of the guns. The carronades raked the corvettes' decks from stem to stern, the sound of discharge ear-splitting. Then even before the wind had time to blow away the smoke the guns were reloaded, run out, and fired again. Once more, the
Siren's
guns pounded the French vessels, the carronades so hot that the dripping sponges thrust down their bores sizzled and steamed at the touch of the hot metal.

Beau counted three broadside
s
—
a
n unbelievable loading tim
e
—
b
efore the
Siren
broke free of the gauntlet. The smoke banked thick about the ship so it was impossible to see individuals, only the long orange flashes of the guns.

Of the corvettes all that was visible was their ta
l
l topmasts jutting above the high cloud of smoke.

"Look at that, sir!" Berry said, his form rising out of the greasy trailing wreaths of gunpowder. "They're wrecked!"

Beau tried to look through the eddying mist and then a breeze rolled away the smoke, revealing the scene behind them.

The two French vessels were in ruins, their sails hanging in tatters,
m
izzen, foremast,
m
izzen topsail, and all the crossjack yards shot away.

A loud cheer went up from the men, a screaming, jubilant cry of victory as the gap between the
Siren
and the enemy swiftly widened. Through his glass Beau could see the corvettes' decks black with men struggling with the wreck of the masts. Pursuit was impossible now. He exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and snapped the glass shut.

"That was fine shooting, sir," Mr. Berry said, his grin shining through the haze of gunpowder still shrouding the deck.

"We blew them to hell," Beau happily agreed, smiling broadly. "Give the men my compliments, Mr. Berry."

"The frogs haven't learned to shoot any better since last time at Noir
m
outier, sir," the captain said. "We took only light damage."

Beau's gaze swept the
Sire
n
's
masts and rigging; only one topsail and the
m
izzen were damaged. "After the wounded are attended to, see to those sails, Mr. Berry. I've Miss Blythe to calm and then I'll be back to help."

"Ladies don't run into this excitement every day, I warrant," the captain said, still beaming at their triumph. "You leave the rest to me."

"Tell the crew there's shore leave for everyone in Minorca and an extra month's wages to spend on the ladies," Beau said.

"Very good, sir. You're wounded yourself, sir," Berry briskly added, restraining himself from suggesting that a doctor's care might be in order.

"I'll see to it later," Beau replied and, turning away, he made for the hatchway, the haze of powder still thick belowdecks. He called out to Serena as he reached the cabin to allay her fear, to give her some warning of who was approaching her door. But she gasped nonetheless when he stepped over the threshold, shocked at the sight of him.

His body was streaked with gunpowder and splashed with blood from flying splinters and from the cuts he'd sustained when the rigging had fallen. A long gash over his right eye was still bleeding, a rivulet of blood coursing down his cheek.

"It's nothing serious," he said, his tone temperate, hoping to alleviate her alarm. And then he saw how pale she was and swiftly moving toward her he anxiously asked, "Are you hurt?" He looked for shot damage that could have harmed her as he crossed the cabin, broken glass crunching beneath his feet.

She shook her head, not capable of speaking, her ears still ringing from the cannons, the taste of gunpowder bitter in her mouth, the sight of Beau covered in blood contradicting his bland statement of good health.

"I'd hold you but I'd ruin your clothes," he said, leaning over her huddled, frightened figure. "We're free of the French," he gently added. "All's well and we're making for Minorca. Are you
sure
you're not hurt?" he tenderly repeated. "Let me have the doctor check you."

Swallowing hard, she forced herself to speak because she didn't want him to think her so timorous and cowardly. "I'm not hurt," she whispered, trembling despite every effort to appear brave.

"Could you stay alone for just a short time more?" he quietly asked, squatting down so their eyes were on level, touching her hand lightly with his bloodstained fingers, torn between her distress and his men's injuries. "I have to help with the wounded."

She tried not to shudder at the thought of wounded, at the sight of his bloody hands and the stain on her skin where he'd touched her. "Yes," she said on a suffocated breath, nodding in additional affirmation, still too shaken by the stark reality of battle stations to converse in a normal tone.

"A half hour, no more, and I'll be back," Beau promised, standing upright, brushing away a drop of blood that had fallen into his eye. "I wouldn't go on deck yet," he softly warned.

"I won't," she whispered.

"A half hour then."

And he was gone. But it wasn't a half hour. Mr. Berry came down an hour later to bring Beau's regrets. "Lord Rochefort's had a few more things to see to," the captain said. "Could he have some food sent down?"

It was another hour yet before Beau returned because two of his men had been badly hurt and he stayed with them while the surgeon ministered to their wounds.