The Corvette (34 page)

Drinkwater sat a moment longer and considered the news. One of the ships would be
Requin
and the second almost certainly
Nimrod
. Was the third
Conqueror
or that damnable lugger? He sighed. He would have to go on deck to see. Whatever the third ship was, Drinkwater was uncomfortably aware that he was outnumbered, outgunned and might, in an hour, have followed Germaney and Rispin into the obscurity of death.

The third ship turned out to be the lugger, her big sails proving more efficient to windward than the other two. He had been right about them. They were indeed
Requin
and
Nimrod
. He studied them through his glass.
Nimrod
was astern of
Requin
, hiding behind the more numerous guns of the big privateer, but ready to bring the smashing power of those heavy carronades to bear upon a
Melusine
that, in her captain's mind's eye, was already a defenceless hulk under the
Requin
's guns.

Drinkwater summoned Singleton and requested his help after the action which, he confided, he expected to be bloody. He also asked about Meetuck's interrogation.

‘It is a complicated matter, but there is much about a big, bearded man with eyes the colour of, er, “shadowed ice”, if that makes sense to you.'

‘I am indebted to you.' Drinkwater smiled and Singleton felt an immense compassion for the cock-headed captain and his terrible profession. ‘And now, Mr Singleton, I'd be further obliged to you if you would read us the Naval Prayer.' Drinkwater called the ship's company into the waist. Seamen and officers bared their heads and Obadiah Singleton read the words laid down to be used before an action.

‘Oh most powerful and Glorious Lord God, the Lord of Hosts, that rulest and commandest all things . . .'

When it was over Singleton exceeded his brief and led the ship's company into the Lord's Prayer with its slurred syllables and loud, demotic haste. He finished with the Naval Prayer and Bourne, casting an agonised look at the closing enemy, hastily ordered the men back to their stations.

Scarcely less impatient, Drinkwater ordered more sail and turned to Hill, explaining his intentions and those he thought that would be the enemy's.

‘
Requin
will seek to disable us, Mr Hill, aiming high from a range that will favour her long guns. The instant we are immobilised he will board while the
Nimrod
ranges alongside and pummels us with those damned carronades. He hasn't many of them, but I'll wager they'll be nasty.'

‘Beg pardon, sir, but is
Nimrod
manned by a prize crew?'

‘I don't believe she is, Mr Hill. I'm not certain, but I am sure that she's commanded by her British master, one Jemmett Ellerby who deserves to swing for his treachery.'

‘Jesus . . .'

‘Very well. Now we will bear up and put the ship before the wind. Mr Bourne! A moment of your time. We will run down on the lugger. She is in advance of the other vessels and is doubtless ready to run alongside and pour in men when
Requin
boards. If we can hit her hard with round shot and canister I'll be happy. Then I intend to manoeuvre and avoid
Requin
, using
our
long guns to come up with
Nimrod
and disable her . . .' He outlined Ellerby's treachery for Bourne's benefit and saw the astonishment in his expression harden to resolution. Drinkwater did not say that he intended to destroy
Nimrod
in the belief that they stood little chance of ultimate survival after an action with
Requin
.

He knew now that word of Ellerby's treachery would spread like wildfire and his men fight better for the knowledge. He smiled at his first lieutenant and sailing master. ‘Very well, gentlemen. Good luck. Now you may take post.'

They bore down on the lugger which attempted to sheer away. Drinkwater had decided that the jury rudder would take such strains that their manoeuvring might throw upon it. If the enemy did not shoot it away
Melusine
might be relied upon to handle reasonably well, despite the leaky condition a few months in the ice had caused. Her superior height and the fury of her fire cleared the lugger's deck and wounded her mainmast, but her doggedness worried Drinkwater. He was almost certain the officer commanding her had been trying to work round his stern, within range of his light carriage guns to attempt to hit the rudder. This intention to disable the British sloop argued that they knew all about her weak spot. Whatever their intent, the enemy's first move had been thwarted, now he had to deal with the real threat. The
Requin
was on their starboard bow, close hauled on the larboard tack. In a few minutes she would cross their bow, rake them and then bear up astern, holding the weather gauge and assailing their vulnerable rudder.

Drinkwater ordered the course altered to starboard, to bring
Melusine
's guns to bear as the two ships passed.

‘For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful.'

A murmur of blasphemous ‘Amens' responded to Hill's facetious remark.

‘Fire!'

The gun captains jumped back, jerking their lanyards and snapping the hammers on the gunlocks.
Melusine
's larboard six-pounders recoiled inboard against their breechings and as their crews moved forward to sponge and reload them the storm of shot from
Requin
's broadside hit them. Uncaring for himself Drinkwater watched its effect with anxiety, knowing his enemy possessed the greater weight of metal and the risk he had taken in turning back instead of running from his pursuers. But he knew any chase would ultimately lead to either damage to
Melusine
's exposed jury rudder or capture due to her being overtaken under her cut-down rig. Besides, he had already determined that Ellerby should reap the just reward of his treachery and that duty compelled him to exercise justice.

He therefore watched the smoke clear from the waist and saw, with a pang of conscience, that Bourne was down and perhaps eight or nine other men were either killed or badly wounded.

‘Mr Gorton! Take command of the batteries!' Gorton crossed the deck and saw Bourne carried below as Drinkwater swung round to study
Requin
, already half a cable astern on the larboard quarter. The big privateer had been closed hauled on the wind and her gunnery had suffered from the angle to
Melusine
and the heel of her deck. Nevertheless it was a heavy price to pay for a single broadside. Drinkwater hoped the effects of his own shot, fired from the more level deck of a ship before the wind, had had greater effect. He could see
Requin
's sails begin to shiver as her captain brought her through the wind to bear down on
Melusine
's undefended stern. If her gunners were anything like competent they could catch the British sloop with a raking broadside.

Drinkwater turned resolutely forward and raised his glass. They were already very close to
Nimrod
. Ellerby's big figure jumped into the image lens with a startling clarity. Drinkwater closed the glass with a vicious snap.

‘Starboard battery, make ready!' Quilhampton looked along the line of guns, his sword drawn. He nodded at Gorton.

‘All ready, canister and ball.'

Drinkwater raised his speaking trumpet. ‘Sail trimmers to their posts,' he turned to Hill. ‘Bear up under his stern, Mr Hill, I want that broadside into his starboard quarter.'

‘Aye, aye, sir.'

They raced down upon the approaching whaler. Her bulk and ponderous motion gave her an appearance of greater force than she possessed. Her gunwhales were only pierced for three carronades on each side, but they were of a heavy calibre.

Drinkwater ran forward to the starboard cathead and raised the speaking trumpet again. The two ships were already level, bowsprit to bowsprit.

‘Captain Ellerby! Captain Ellerby! Surrender in the King's name before you consign your men to the gallows!'

Ellerby's violent gesture was all that Drinkwater knew of a reply, although he saw Ellerby was yelling something. Whatever it was it was drowned in the roar of his guns, their wide muzzles venting red and orange flame at point-blank range.

Drinkwater nodded at Quilhampton and as Hill put the helm down and
Melusine
began to lean over as she turned, the starboard guns poured ball and canister into the whaler's quarter. Drinkwater fought his way aft, through the sweating gun crews and the badly maimed who had been hit by the langridge from Ellerby's cannon. A man bumped into him. He was holding his head and moaning surprisingly softly seeing that several assorted pieces of iron rubbish protruded from his skull. Drinkwater regained the quarterdeck and looked astern.
Nimrod
continued apparently unscathed on an easterly course.

‘Put her on the wind, Mr Hill, and then lay her on the starboard tack!'

Hill began to give orders as the waist was cleared of the dead and wounded, the guns reloaded and run out again. The days of practice began to pay off. Each man attending to his allotted task, each midshipman and mate supervising his half-division or special party, each acting-lieutenant, marking his subordinates, attending to the readiness of his battery while Hill, quietly professional on the quarterdeck, directed the trimming of the yards and sheets to get the best out of the ship.

Melusine
turned into the wind, then swung her bowsprit back towards the
Nimrod
, gathering speed as she paid off on the starboard
tack. Beyond the whaler, Drinkwater could see the
Requin
and was seized by a sudden feeling of intense excitement. He might, just
might
, be able to pull off a neat manoeuvre as
Requin
and
Nimrod
passed each other on opposite courses. He pointed the opening out to Hill.

‘She'll do it, sir,' Hill said, after a moment's assessment.

‘Let's hope so, Mr Hill.'

‘Never a doubt, sir.'

Drinkwater grinned, aware that
Melusine
with her jury rudder and ice-scuffed hull was no longer the yacht-like ‘corvette' that had danced down the Humber in the early summer.

They crossed
Nimrod
's stern at a distance of four cables. Not close enough for the six-pounder balls to have much effect on the whaler's massive scantlings. But there was no response from the
Nimrod
's carronades and Drinkwater transferred his attention to the
Requin
, whose bearing was opening up on the sloop's starboard bow.

‘He's not going to let us do it, Mr Hill . . .' They had hoped to cross the
Requin
's stern too, and pour the starboard broadside into her but the privateer captain was no fool and was already turning his ship, to pass the British sloop on a reciprocal course. They would exchange broadsides as before . . .

‘Up helm! Up helm!' Drinkwater shouted. ‘Starbowlines, hold your fire!'

‘Stand by the lee braces, there!' Hill bawled at his sail-trimmers, suddenly grasping Drinkwater's intention.

‘Pick off the officers!' Drinkwater yelled at the midshipmen and marines in the tops.
Melusine
was already turning, an ominous creaking coming from the rudimentary steering gear as a terrific load came on it.
Requin
's guns roared as the
Melusine
's stern swung away from the arc of her fire, and although a shower of splinters flew from the taffrail the rudder stock and supporting timbers and spars were untouched.

‘Steady her and then bring her round onto the larboard tack. So far so good.'

Drinkwater felt the exhilaration of having called the tune during the last half hour, despite the losses
Melusine
incurred. He was aware of a mood of high elation along the deck where the men joked and relived the last few moments with an outbreak of skylarking equally uncaring in the heady excitement for those below undergoing the agonies of Singleton's knife.