Almost a Scandal (19 page)

“D’you hear that, lads? Look sharp.”

“Deck!” came the jubilant cry from a young sailor dangling from the crosstrees above the royals not more than a minute later. “Sail! Northwest by west on the starboard beam.”

“What is it?” Willis called up to the lad.

But even as the lad answered, “Dunno. Never seen the like,” Sally had the strange speck of a ship in her sights.

“Xebec, fitted as a frigate. Spanish or I’m the queen’s uncle. Check the guns, Willis. I’ll report.” She passed Willis her glass, and swung down the backstay.

“Twelves and eights,” he called as she moved deckward. “Twelve and four per battery, and two small carronades, I reckon, as well.”

Sally spilled her news as soon as she reached the weather rail where the captain, the master, and Col all had their glasses trained to the southwest.

“Spanish frigate, xebec-rigged. Flying before the wind with studdingsails set. Twenty-four twelve-pounders in the main battery, with a further eight eight-pounders on the quarter. Only two twenty-four-pounder carronades forward.” Such a complement of guns gave
Audacious
scant advantage. The English ship had a greater number of guns in their broadside, but of a smaller weight. Their only obvious advantage lay in the greater number of versatile carronades of heavier weight. But she had no idea how to take advantage of such a configuration.

But her captain showed no such hesitation. “By God.” McAlden’s satisfaction was palpable. “Run me up to his sterncastle, Mr. Colyear, but see if you can keep us in the lee. I want to be between him and the coast. Wear and make all sail.”

*   *   *

The orders were flowing out of Col’s mouth before the captain had even finished speaking. “Wear ship. All hands to wear and make all sail.” Col put everything into his voice to carry above the din of rushing feet and straining canvas.

Kent went pelting forward to return to her division, out of his immediate control. She scrambled back aloft where the topmen were hauling hard to keep up with his relentless orders, as the helm put over and Col worked the men to squeeze every last bit of speed he could from the sails.

“Steady on, Martin. Watch that block doesn’t become fouled. Haul away, flying jib. Clew down. Clew down.”

And on it went until
Audacious
was flying before the wind, with every available inch of canvas spread and driving the ship forward. With such a strong following wind, the ship leapt forward in great rocking strides, like a huge galloping beast. In the tops they would be hanging on for dear life with fingers and toes. At least he hoped Kent was.

Mr. Charlton had set a course so
Audacious
crept up on the Spaniard from behind, and Col could see the moment when the Spanish ship became aware that they were being stalked. Through the glass, he could observe a sudden flurry of attention to the sails as the Spanish captain tried to spread enough canvas to make his escape and show
Audacious
a clean pair of heels. But it was too late. Col had done his work, and the xebec was being overtaken.

When it became clear that the xebec would not outrun them, Captain McAlden began to smile and rub his hands together in anticipation.

Col knew the feeling. The excitement of the hunt was coursing through his veins. The ship, his ship, was leaping and tossing beneath him like an ambitious racehorse. Under his feet the inanimate combination of wood, rope, and canvas became a living thing, taking on a life force of its own. And he loved it. It was a day for the ages, the kind of high, bright, windy day and fast sail every sailor lived for.

“Well done, Mr. Colyear. We’re within an hour of him. You may clear for action.”

The praise lodged firm in Col’s chest and filled him with pride, but only for a moment. Duty always came before pride. It was the order they had all been waiting for. “Clear for action!”

The call went up and in the next moment the bo’sun’s pipes rent the wind with their shrill call. “All hands, all hands to clear for action.”

The men sprang to their tasks, the thought and talk of prize money lending urgency, as if they had already counted the money in their pockets and could not allow it to get away. Anything movable was hauled off and stowed away. Furniture was removed and set off in one of the ship’s boats swayed efficiently over the side and manned by ship’s boys. The canvas and batten walls of the cabins were taken down and every last fire was extinguished.

Above deck, chains were hauled into the rigging to secure the spars from shot, and a full course of net was rigged over the deck to prevent injury from falling spars. The men stripped to the waist and took off their shoes as the decks were sanded down for traction. The change that transformed the ship into a fighting platform took only minutes.

“Ease off, if you please, Mr. Colyear. Just a bit, let him gain back half a cable.” The men who were near enough gaped and muttered to each other, but Col had little time to spare for their understanding. They would learn soon enough that their captain was as canny and sharp in the water as a shark. And just as deadly.

When the orders were given and the xebec had worked ahead of the wind, Captain McAlden gave his next order. “Head up a point or two at most. I want him to think we’ll try to overtake him on his starboard bow before we hove to and engage.”

“Aye, sir.” Mr. Charlton gave the command to the helm.

The men may not have understood either order, and may even have wondered if their captain was not up for the fight, but they would be wrong. Col understood. He saw Captain McAlden’s eyes alight with a pleasure that was almost hunger for the fight to come. And he knew the man’s detailed way of thinking.

Col would lay a guinea against the proposition that the captain was not going to engage the xebec on her rail at all, but fall off and rake her stern, with each gun in the starboard battery paying off as they were brought to bear. So when
Audacious
drew within two cable lengths of the xebec, Col gave the command. “Starboard battery, stand to. The xebec runs high in the water, you’ll need to elevate the guns.”

As most of the gun crews had gathered at the larboard battery or above on the gangway rail, and could not follow his reasoning, there was much consternation and not a great deal of action. Which was when he realized his mistake—that he had made his order without the captain giving him the command. “Your pardon, sir.”

Captain McAlden’s lips twisted in amusement. “No need, Mr. Colyear. Your value to me lies not only in carrying out my orders with exemplary diligence, but also in correctly anticipating my orders. You’ve the right of it. I will want to rake them astern. But don’t run out the starboard battery yet. They may have sharp eyes upon us.”

Which gave Col ideas of his own. “Here, Redmond. Pass a message up to Mr. Kent to advise me on the lay and manning of their guns. Tell him to report to the deck.” If the xebec had eyes, she also had ears. Col didn’t want the information trumpeted across the water.

It was only a matter of moments before Kent was sliding hand over fist down a backstay and streaking down the larboard gangway with her particular quick agility. Col had to breathe away the tightness in his chest—the unaccustomed worry.

The report was just an excuse. The simple truth was that he wanted her near. God only knew why. Experience told him the quarterdeck could prove no safer than the foretop, and even if she were near to him, there was nothing he could do to protect her without compromising his duty and thus the safety of every other member of the crew. It could not be done.

And the foretop should be a safe enough place for her. Only the height of the xebec’s free board worried him. The height of the Spanish ship in the water meant that her guns would fire high, into
Audacious
’s rigging.

But Kent’s agile mind was with the captain’s, observing everything and leaping ahead to the correct conclusion. “They’re all to starboard, Mr. Colyear. The xebec’s guns on the larboard are still bowsed tight against the port-lid.”

She understood the captain’s tactics exactly, without being told. She was different from everyone else, even the other officers, as capable as they were—Lieutenant Rudge’s face was still flush with consternation at Col’s orders. But Kent saw all the possibilities.

The enemy was still frantically making sail, concentrating all their effort on outrunning
Audacious,
and Kent was just like him, already looking up at the sails and back at the xebec, gauging the distance, judging the exact moment for letting the helm fall off.
Audacious
hovered just within range, but in their position off their starboard quarter, the xebec’s guns could not be brought to bear.

“Stay.” The word was out of him before he understood his intent. “Put.” He fished around in the back of his brain for an excuse. There had to be another assignment belowdecks, below the waterline, where she would be safe from all shot. But there was no time.

Because like a shark that could smell blood in the water, Captain McAlden struck. “Cast loose your guns, lads, and load with double shot.” And in another half minute, as the guns were loaded and primed, he turned to the helm. “Fall off, Mr. Charlton. Lay me on her stern timbers. Mr. Kent, run up the colors.”

Mr. Charlton needed no further instruction to understand his captain’s intentions, and swung
Audacious
’s bowsprit smartly across the xebec’s exposed stern. Col was instantly at his speaking trumpet, calling for the sails to be trimmed to maintain their speed as they lay onto the larboard tack. But the hours and hours of sail drill were standing him in good stead. His men hardly needed instruction to know what to do.

“Run out and fire as you bear.”

The carronades on the forecastle were the first to let go their deadly volley. At such close range—and Col knew the gunners considered anything within three hundred yards as point-blank range—the first shot ripped through the xebec’s exposed stern, wreaking havoc the length of her deck. The second smasher obliterated the stern gallery and carried away the taffrail.

The gun crews were on their mettle now. Gun captains touched their golden earrings to sharpen their sight and weigh the roll of the ship before angling the big irons just so, like duelists upon a green.

“Fire as you bear,” came the captain’s voice, unruffled and confident that his men could do exactly as he had bid them.

The gunner brought two guns at a time to bear, and let go a double-shotted volley careening down the length of the xebec’s hull. The third volley worked against the after section of the Spaniard’s quarterdeck, dismounting the guns on the starboard quarter, before
Audacious
’s remaining guns sent a crippling blast into the enemy’s mizzen.

Just when the xebec’s larboard battery might have been brought to bear as
Audacious
crept up her larboard quarter, Captain McAlden ordered the helm put over again.

“Come about,” Col was calling at the top of his lungs. With the wind now on the quarter, it was an easy trick for the curtailed sail crew to swing the bow around and lay her large on the starboard tack, and repeat their deadly barrage with the larboard battery.

As the broadside paid off, and the captain was calling down to the waist, “Reload. Double shot,” the xebec hauled close on her starboard tack to try and engage.

“Run me under her lee, Mr. Charlton.”

“Elevate the guns!” Col barked. With the xebec beginning to heel over as the wind took the sails, her guns would be canted high above
Audacious
’s deck, while their own elevated guns would find their mark in the xebec’s hull.

Mr. Charlton ran
Audacious
’s bowsprit straight into the xebec’s forecourse.

“Fire!”

The gunners did their captain proud and produced a full broadside that pounded the Spaniard’s hull, and shattered the mizzenmast. As the tangle of sails and spars fell to the xebec’s lee rail, the captain was shouting, “Get a hook in her. Prepare to board.”

The men assigned to boarding parties surged up from the gun crews and crowded the rail.

“She’s striking!” Kent was behind the captain. “Sir, the enemy is striking!”

Col wanted to stifle her. He wanted to yell at her to shut up, to stop making herself known and open to the enemy’s fire. Yes, they were striking, but they hadn’t yet struck and there was still fire— “Hold your fire.”

“Lay me alongside her, Mr. Charlton. Get a line into her.”

“Boarders, away. Mr. Rudge, take possession of that ship before she sinks, and get off her what you can. Mr. Lawrence,” Captain McAlden called to the nearest lieutenant, “assist him. Take a party with the carpenter. Mr. Sanders, see what you can do to keep her afloat. Get across and go below to the cabin, Mr. Kent. Look sharp. Keep them from destroying anything if you can.” Captain McAlden handed her his own pistol and shoved her in the direction of the rail.

And Col could do nothing but watch her go.

Chapter Twelve

Sally ratcheted back the hammer of the pistol in her right hand and clambered across the rail in Mr. Rudge’s wake, shouting,
“Detener!”
and hoping to God she was using the correct Spanish word for “halt.” But the command wasn’t much needed, as the portion of the enemy crew that remained uninjured had already abandoned their guns and their stations.

The men from
Audacious
were disarming and crowding the Spaniards forward, but Sally and Rudge turned aft toward the companionway ladder. They burst below into the shattered stern where the captain’s cabin would have been, to find the man attempting to light some papers heaped on the deck on fire.

“Avast!” Mr. Rudge cried, and forced the man back at the point of his sword.

Sally sprang forward and grabbed up the candle with her free hand, and attempted to stamp out the licking flames. Pieces of burnt paper floated up and she felt the sharp sting of an ember spending itself against her calf.

“Mr. Kent, take that man’s sword.”

Sally was unsure of the exact protocol of relieving an officer of his command, and her Spanish was desperately rusty, and she was out of breath. She meant to say “On behalf of Captain Sir Hugh McAlden of His Majesty’s Royal Britannic Majesty, I compel your surrender.” What she actually said was, “
Para Capitano Don Hugh McAlden yo obligo
— Oh, bother.”