Until the Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead (41 page)

Hayden's night glass arrived and he quizzed the darkness with it, but the mass of smoke hanging over the water hid her quite effectively.

“Aloft there . . .” he called out. “Did we do any damage to that privateer?”

A second of silence, and then an English voice: “Sir . . . Much of our shot fell short.”

“By what distance?” Hayden called up.

“A cable length, sir.”

Hayden went to the waist and called down into the darkness of the gun-deck.

“Did you hear, Mr Ransome?”

“A cable length shy, sir. We are elevating guns, Captain.”

“Fire when you are ready, Mr Ransome.” Hayden stared up into the rigging. “Aloft . . . have you a night glass?”

“We do not, Captain.”

“I will have mine carried up.”

Gould sent a man scurrying Hayden's way, and he swiftly bore the valuable glass up to the lookout. Hayden wished to go aloft himself, so he could assess what the enemy was doing, but did not want to cede the deck to Serrano.

Ransome called out again, and the larboard battery hurled fire and smoke into the night. The smoke hung so thick about the deck that Hayden could hear men coughing from all points. For a moment an
unnatural silence overspread the ship and then the lookout called down.

“
On deck!
Our fire struck home, Captain.”

Hayden called down to the gun-deck. “Well done, Mr Ransome. Let us pour in as many broadsides as we can.”

He stood at the rail while the gunners plied their trade. It was soon obvious that the Spanish gun crews were not nearly so efficient as the British, whose rate of fire was almost double that of the Spanish and never less than three for two.

It was a strange battle, the two ships drifting down-current, firing, through dense clouds of smoke that hung in the air, at an enemy who could barely be glimpsed.

With direction from aloft, Hayden was able to concentrate his fire so that much, if not most, of it found its mark, while the fire from the privateer was far less effective, much of it passing overhead, some landing in the water, short.

Using numerous eighteen-pound balls, Hayden made up two “anchors” and deployed them, one at the stern and one at the bow. When the frigate exhibited a tendency for either her head or her stern to get a little ahead, the “anchor” was deployed long enough to slow that part of the ship and keep the frigate square to her enemy. All the while, Hayden glanced aloft and watched for the smallest signs of wind.

Scrivener appeared with a Spaniard bearing a rolled chart.

“You appear terribly grave, Mr Scrivener,” Hayden observed, beckoning the two men forward.

“I have been consulting with the frigate's master, sir.” He nodded to the man and introduced him. “My Spanish is less than perfect and his English is not up to my Spanish, but the charts and a pointing finger are the same in all languages. The sailing master believes we might very well be swept up onto shoals within the hour, sir.”

Hayden had ordered all deck lamps extinguished, so the three repaired below, where they unrolled the chart in the dim light of a lamp.

The Spanish sailing master tapped the chart. “We anchored here, Captain Hayden. The current in this channel can vary from one to as many as four knots, though at this time of year I would estimate it to be two knots.” He put his finger on a conspicuous reef. “Therefore, we must not be too distant from the reefs that lie off this island.”

Hayden gazed at the chart only a moment. “We cannot go aground. Given a little wind, the enemy would be upon us of an instant.”

He looked quickly along the gun-deck, where the crews went about their business. The guns had been traversed a little aft at the directions of the lookouts.

“How certain are you of our position?” Hayden asked.

The two men glanced at each other. “Quite certain.”

“How near to the reef do you dare to take us?”

The Spaniard blew air through his lips in a small explosion. “Well, Captain, I should not like to risk going too near. It is dark, the speed of the current not precisely known . . .”

“I understand,” Hayden said. He looked around. “Find Captain Serrano and bring him to me, if you please.”

Hayden went back up onto the deck, where the gun crews were also hard at work. Again he looked for signs of wind, but found none.

A moment later, the sailing master appeared with Captain Serrano, the two deep in conversation. Before Hayden could speak, Serrano began.

“I do not think it wise to risk going near these reefs, Captain Hayden.”

“It is not my intention to go any nearer, Captain Serrano. But here is what I intend to do. I will fire every gun on the ship at once and create an impenetrable cloud of smoke. Immediately thereafter, we will drop anchor and swing head to wind.”

“But they will rake us, Captain, three times, perhaps.”

“Only if they see us. Either they will pass close by to starboard, whereupon we will rake them, or they will tangle in our bowsprit, swing alongside, and we will board. How many men do you think this privateer carries?”

“Not so many as we, I should think,” Serrano replied, “but I am not even certain which ship it might be, nor was I ever aboard her.”

“But do you believe their numbers greater?”

“I very much doubt it.”

“Then we will board if we have the chance. If not, we will weigh and drift down on them. If they strike the shoals, we will anchor and fire on them until they strike or we inflict so much damage to their ship it can never float free.”

Serrano shook his head, his face drawn tight as if in pain. “With all respect, Captain Hayden, it is a very risky plan. So many things could go wrong. We might be raked from bow to stern, they might drop their own anchor and be only a pistol shot distant. They might carry away our bowsprit and jib-boom—”

“But there are spars aboard to replace these,” Hayden interrupted the man.

“Yes, in time, that is true, but we could lose our foremast . . .”

“I do not think there is much chance of that—with so little sea running and no wind at all.”

“I simply think it is too great a risk, Captain Hayden. I say this with all respect; I have been at sea twenty years longer than you and I should never attempt such a thing.”

“And I say this with equal respect, Captain Serrano: I think the risks are smaller than you imagine. It is a dark night, we will be hidden by a dense cloud, if they penetrate our intentions and anchor, then we must have the advantage in weight of broadside; if they tangle in our rig and swing alongside, then we will have the advantage in men. If they pass us by, we will rake them and drift down until they either anchor or are swept onto the reefs. It is not without risks, I realise, but we cannot continue onto the reefs and must anchor sooner or later at any rate.”

This last argument even Serrano could not counter, though he appeared to be desperately searching for a rebuttal. The man might have been at sea twenty years longer, but Hayden wondered how many
battles the man had fought, for he seemed to be the type who could envision only the disasters and never the successes.

“Station men to drop anchor, Captain,” he said, no longer able to tolerate the man's indecision, “and to fire both batteries at once on my order. We will prepare to fight the starboard battery or board, as the situation requires.” He made a small bow—a respectful dismissal, he hoped—and turned back to Scrivener. “Pass the word for my officers, if you please, Mr Scrivener.”

The Spaniards went off and, within a few yards, were whispering to each other. Hayden watched them retreat, thinking as they went that boldness in battle was ever more preferable than caution, for the enemy almost always expected what they would do themselves. Serrano would never expect what Hayden was about to do, and he hoped the privateers were of the same mind.

Hayden lurked about the deck, listening to the orders given to the Spanish sailors. It appeared that Serrano's lieutenants approved the plan more than their captain, for they passed the orders along with barely concealed enthusiasm, which revealed more about Serrano than the man would have liked, Hayden guessed.

Ransome, Gould, Hawthorne, and Wickham were quickly informed of Hayden's plan and approved it most heartily. Guns were run out on both sides, and at an order from Hayden, all fired at once. The cloud this created roiled for a second from the violence of the explosion and then settled into a languid mass. For a long moment it clung to the ship, and then the ship appeared to drift away from it. Hayden attempted to calm his racing heart and counted to sixty slowly. He then gave the order to let the anchor go, which was managed with only the smallest splash, the cable running out ever so slowly. Immediately upon being snubbed, the ship began to swing.

The deck guns were then reloaded with grape—an order Hayden almost hated to give.

Shot from the privateer continued to land near, but in only a few
moments Hayden noticed that most passed overhead and none struck the hull. As the ship turned, she presented a smaller target and even more shot hissed by to either side. The dense storm of black smoke continued to hang over the water, hardly dissipating, only a few tendrils reaching out towards the Spanish frigate, as though reluctant to let it go.

The boats, which lay alongside, were moved aft and streamed with the current.

“Aloft there!” Hayden called to the lookout. “Can you see our privateer?”

“I cannot make her out, Captain.”

“Inform me the moment you can.”

“Aye, sir.”

“If we cannot see them,” Hawthorne said quietly, “does it mean they cannot perceive us?”

“So we might hope.” Hayden looked up at the clouds sailing over and the moonlight knifing down through the channels between the clouds. The sea was still illuminated here and there by shafts of moonlight, but none of these drew near.

The men at the deck guns on the quarterdeck were silent and unnaturally still, as though they listened for their pursuers' footsteps. No one knew when the privateer would appear and whether she would come through the cloud dead ahead with raking fire or if she would pass to starboard, as Hayden had predicted.

“Which do you expect, Captain,” Hawthorne whispered, “that we will rake her as she passes or that she will tangle with us and we will board?”

“I do wish I knew, Mr Hawthorne. Certainly, she appeared to be ever so slightly south of us, nearer the coast, but precisely where the current will bear her . . . Anyone's guess would be as accurate as mine.”

“I rather doubt that, Captain. Your ‘guess' is the one I should take most seriously.”

The two stood at the rail—“friends,” as much as their respective ranks and positions allowed, and Hayden found comfort in the marine
lieutenant's presence. He wished he felt less like he was proceeding to his own hanging, but thus were the trials of command—the captain was the individual who would be held accountable for decisions such as the one he had just made; the captains of the court-martial would be told of Serrano's expressed reservations. Hayden hoped his youth and inexperience would not lead to a disaster here, costing many lives from both his and Serrano's crew—there would almost certainly be a Spanish mutiny at that point.

He could not allow the Spanish to regain control of their ship. Somewhere, beyond the cloud of smoke, he imagined his bride, lying awake, hoping with all her heart that Hayden would not fail her. The marine officer standing beside him had once warned him of this propensity in men—to attempt the rescue of maidens in distress—but they had then been discussing the doctor and the maid of all work whom he had rescued. Hayden, however, seemed as prone to this as any man—as his recent history proved.

“
On deck!
She is coming through the cloud, Captain.”

A shaft of pale moonlight fell upon the cloud at that instant, illuminating it and, if anything, making it more impenetrable. And then the masts and yards of a ship appeared, high up, and then the ship itself, beam-on and a little to starboard. Her stern was to them and she fired a broadside, none of which struck Hayden's Spanish frigate.

It was so silent aboard the ship that Hayden could hear the shouting in French as the privateers realised their situation.

He pushed off the rail and called down to the gun-deck. “Mr Ransome, we will rake her as she passes. Fire each gun as she bears.”

Before the lieutenant could answer, Hayden heard the splash of the privateer's anchor being let go in panic. The captain is certainly no fool, Hayden thought, as he must have had his cable faked upon the gun-deck and ready to veer. The privateer was not seventy-five yards up-current from them and would certainly pass just beyond pistol shot, stern-on if the anchor did not hold immediately.

Hawthorne ordered his men to open fire, and the crack of musket
fire sounded from both ships. A ball struck a gun on the quarterdeck, ricocheted, and came so near Hayden's ear that he swore he felt the wind of its passing. He touched his ear to be certain it was intact.

The bottom of the channel was, as Hayden knew, uncertain. Much of it was sand, but there were numerous coral heads as well. The Frenchman's anchor might snag one of these and they would be able to snub her up on very little cable. They might also try to snub her to lay her alongside the Spanish frigate, only to find their anchor ploughing ineffectually through soft sand. If the Frenchman's anchor held as it should, the two ships would be less than pistol shot distant and Hayden would not have the usual advantage provided by his British crew—a higher rate of fire. If this was one of the privateers Jones had told him about, she would likely carry only twelve-pounders, and Hayden's ship bore the Spanish equivalent of the British eighteen-pounder.

With one eye on the enemy ship, Hayden ordered guns traversed as far forward as possible. He then positioned himself a few yards behind one of the deck guns so that he might sight along it. There was no shot.