The Torrid Zone (The Fighting Sail Series) (25 page)

Banks looked from one to the other. Ignoring the fact that they were of a different service, he outranked them both, and yet they were treating him like an annoying stranger.

“You will address me as sir,” he said, enunciating each word distinctly.

“We shall call you anything we wish,” Morris informed him blithely. “Inter-service courtesy is exactly that: courtesy: something I will not waste upon the man who killed my uncle.”

Banks snorted with disgust; in the current excitement he had quite forgotten the relationship to Hatcher. But they were in action: his ship was in danger – this was hardly the time to bring up old quarrels.

“I do not care who your relations are, or were; if you do not defend my ship I shall have your hide,” he said with feeling.

“Oh, we shall be opening fire shortly,” the major conceded. “But even I know enough about wind and speed to guess it will be fifteen minutes or more before such a thing will be necessary. And I am far more informed about land-based artillery than you, Captain Banks. So if you wish to watch the remains of the action from the emplacement, you will kindly leave us now.”

“But waiting will endanger my ship, and when you do finally open fire she may be hit by your guns!”

Both men looked to the other and laughed. “When last seen your command was all set to take a final dive into the deep,” Morris said with obvious satisfaction. “Although I do intend to destroy that Frenchman, which is something that you have proved incapable of. Should your ship be damaged further in the process, then it is of little concern to me, and frankly I fail to see the problem.”

“You might be in direct charge of the battery, but I intend to make a report, and your attitude and performance will not impress.” Banks said; he was properly angry now and could feel the blood fairly rushing through his veins. He longed for some physical activity to purge the energy inside, but was only faced by amused and contemptuous looks from the two young officers.

Morris placed the glass down from which he had been sipping and sighed. “Captain Banks, let me explain the situation in words even a sailor might understand. Both of our main batteries were constructed in the last few months and, as far as we know, the French are unaware of the existence of either. With luck they should consider that those on the eastern headland they were trying this afternoon are all we possess, which is why we have only been firing the lighter cannon. It was a ruse to lure them into our trap, and one that has apparently worked. Now, contrary to what you might require, we would like them to continue deeper into the bay, where we should be able to destroy them completely. Consequently I will be delaying my main fire until the Frenchman is comfortably within range. Better than that, a moving target is never the easiest to hit, especially at night, so I will wait until she stops, which she should do when she comes alongside your own vessel. Once that occurs I shall have no hesitation in ordering my guns to open up and, with luck, may even sink her: a feat that you have proved woefully unable to achieve. I am sorry if that sounds too far fetched to your ears, but assure you it will read well enough at any subsequent enquiry.”

Banks felt his fury rise still further.

“Now in the interest of keeping our position secure, I will shield this lantern,” Morris continued. “I expect you to be gone, and the door closed behind you, by the time the light is revealed once more. If you are not, I shall have no hesitation in seeing you removed, and held in custody – for your own protection, of course. Indeed it is a pity you did not extend the same courtesy to my uncle.” He picked up the cap and held it against the light. But Banks had heard enough and stormed out of the small room, and back into the darkness outside.

––––––––

S
ix eighteen pounders, housed in what had been the captain's quarters, were still in position, and Caulfield ordered them cleared away as soon as it become obvious that an enemy ship was close by. Such a paltry broadside would do little damage to a heavy frigate, and may even disrupt the delicate balance of barge, anchors and steadying cables that was currently keeping
Scylla
upright, but some reply was necessary, if only to give the forty or so men still aboard a degree of hope.

The French had already fired one broadside, but the target had been a light battery on the eastern headland, and the angle at which they continued to approach meant that none of their main armament could reach them. Only one nine-pound shot, probably from a chase piece, had hit the British ship, and partially penetrated the starboard bulwark, but there had been no significant damage or casualties. Several minutes had passed since then, though, plenty of time for the French to reload. The moon was also rising in the east and the frigate could now be seen relatively easily against its warm glow. She was steadily altering course to starboard and, rather than being held on the very edge of a luff, was now on a comfortable broad reach under topsails and jib, while all the time inching inexorably closer to where the British ship lay.

Watching, Caulfield could not fail but be impressed; by his estimation the frigate would continue the turn until she drew level with
Scylla.
Then it would just be a question of time before she came down upon their starboard side. She should pass close enough to touch, and would be able to deliver a massive broadside close to and at her leisure. Whether or not she spilled her wind, and continued to fire, or moved on, leaving the harbour with the wind conveniently on her quarter, it would make no difference. Exposed, as she was, and almost unarmed,
Scylla
would probably never recover from that initial hit, and there was very little he could do about it.

* * *

A
s Banks returned to the parapet he noticed that King had been joined by both the lieutenant governor and Henry Booker, as well as another man he did not recognise. There was enough light from the rising moon for faces to be seen. Robson introduced the stranger as one of his staff; he appeared to have been taking notes, and kept peering hard at the watch he held in his left hand so Banks assumed him to be some sort of personal assistant. At the anchorage
Scylla
was in plain sight; her foreshortened masts and extraordinary attitude making what once had been a proud warship appear even more vulnerable as the elegantly rigged Frenchman bore down on her in the fresh breeze.

“These guns will be waiting until the enemy closes,” Banks said, in a tone that betrayed the disgust he felt. In apparent reaction to his words, the secretary began to scribble on his pad: clearly a report was being complied and Banks made a more private note to guard his tongue in future.

“This battery has only recently been extended,” Robson said without emotion. “As has that to the west,” he continued, indicating apparently nothing but darkness on his left. “Neither have shown any light and it is likely the French will either not know of their existence, or if they do, what they are now capable of.” He paused and looked Banks directly in the eye. “All things considered, Sir Richard, I would say Major Morris is playing a very close hand.”

Reluctantly Banks could only agree, and actually saw matters as clearly from the Company's position as his own.
Scylla
, to them, was nothing more than a liability, and one that was taking up almost all the resources of their small dockyard. In time they might be able to restore her to fighting fitness, but to do so would take a good deal of effort, and even then there was no guarantee she would deal with the current problem. But as bait for a trap, one that would lure that same menace into the grip of their brand new heavy guns, she was indispensable. A few well-sighted broadsides and any future threat to the Company's precious island, as well as their visiting merchant ships, would be wiped clear. And if a Royal Naval warship was also lost in the process it would be of little concern to them; and considered nothing more than collateral damage. In their position he would have no hesitation in mirroring Morris' actions – it was just unfortunate that the man had connections with the late governor, and was also a prig of the first water.

“I understand all that you say, Colonel,” Banks said, trying for an even tone. “But would suggest that opening fire now might still wound the Frenchman sufficiently, without endangering one of his Majesty's ships.”

Once more the assistant began to scratch frantically.

“I am sure you are concerned for the welfare of your command, Sir Richard,” Robson replied soothingly. “As are we all. But our prime worry must be the destruction of that enemy raider. The first fleet from China will have received the Grand Chop by now – it is a strange expression, I know,” he explained. “But in essence simply means that the Hoppo will have permitted them to sail. They can be expected within the month, and a powerful raider such as we see before us now could do untold damage, were she to encounter them.”

“Will they not have protection?” Banks asked.

“Oh, yes,” Booker replied. “The Company has an extensive fleet of armed ships that can sail with their fleet when the Royal Navy is unable to assist. They have been successful on numerous occasions, usually against pirates and small privateers, but none are larger than what you would term a sixth rate, and even those merchants that carry guns would be no match for a professional warship of such a size. You must understand, Sir Richard; our primary concern has to be the destruction of that frigate.”

That was the trouble; he did understand; he understood all too clearly. But he could also see his own ship was likely to be destroyed in the attempt – indeed he would shortly be witnessing exactly that.

* * *

C
aulfield also understood. From his position on the sloping quarterdeck of
Scylla
, he had the most to lose, and already guessed why the batteries that lay not three hundred yards off were still shielded in darkness, their guns cold and silent. Beside him the midshipman, Middleton, was shifting his weight from one foot to another as if eager for action of any sort, or desperate to answer some urgent call of nature. But he was merely a boy, whereas Caulfield remained the product of an older Navy: he had been taught about controlling emotions and was far more composed. The Frenchman was less than three cables off and sailing sweetly in the offshore breeze. She need only continue for a short while longer; extend the sweeping turn that he grudgingly admitted was a graceful curve, to bring her broadside to bear on them at a truly deadly range.
Scylla
would reply, of course: on the deck below men were ready now, and should not miss a target that large. But whatever damage the British were able to dole out would be repaid several times over by the enemy when they drew alongside.

Caulfield wondered at the result.
Scylla
might be knocked off her precarious perch, and, with the gaping wound to larboard, was certain to sink, right there at the anchorage. But even if such a thing were avoided, with the rear half of her hull almost clear of the water she was as open and vulnerable as any ship could be. Most of the shot would be taken effectively below her waterline, calling for truly extensive repairs or, more likely,
Scylla
would just have to be towed out to sea and scuttled.

But the enemy still had to reach them and, as he watched, an extra manoeuvre was being carried out aboard her. The anchorage was reasonably constant at ten to fifteen fathoms, but he remembered a slight area of shoal just about where the frigate now lay. It shelved, but not extensively, probably down to eight fathoms. Nowhere near enough to ground her, but possibly sufficient to cause a measure of alarm should the French be taking soundings, or if their charts were not completely accurate.

Caulfield's attitude of calm started to waver, and he found himself begin to twitch slightly. Even as he watched the enemy turned more sharply to starboard. Deep water would be found almost immediately, but now the Frenchman was positioned slightly further out into the bay, and at a less advantageous angle. She would not be able to close on
Scylla
without further manoeuvres and must continue towards them, almost head on, and then make a last minute turn, in order to lay herself alongside.

His foot began to tap as an idea formed in his mind, and soon he was every bit as restless as the midshipman next to him. Cahill was in charge of the guns below; he was a capable enough fellow, and one who held the respect of all the hands, but Caulfield wondered if he would also have the sense to direct their fire to where it would do the most damage. He decided there was only one way to be certain.

“Stay here,” he snapped at the boy. “If the French make it alongside secure the men. I shall endeavour to return should they try to board.”

The child looked doubtful, but Caulfield was already heading for the officers' companionway. To desert the quarterdeck in the face of an oncoming enemy might be considered bad form, but there was a chance, just a slight one, that what he had in mind might cause damage enough to mitigate the danger.

On the lower deck men were gathered about the three guns that were run out to starboard. The ship was cleared for action, so no bulkheads or partitions of any sort lay between them, and the crews were openly discussing the oncoming enemy, while Cahill paced back and forth behind them.

“How are you loaded?” Caulfield demanded as he approached.

“Single round, sir,” Cahill replied quickly. “But I was about to order a dose of grape into the bargain.” He seemed surprised, but not sorry that the senior officer had joined them.

“Belay that, but retain the round,” Caulfield snapped. “And hold your fire.”

“They are almost in range,” the master's mate protested. “Hind's pretty much got sight of her prow, an' the others aren't that far behind,” he continued, as the men stared back at Caulfield in disbelief. “We was thinking to get two, maybe three shots in before they reached us.”

“Hold your fire!” the first lieutenant repeated, as he bounded up the sloping deck towards them. “I have an idea.”