On a Making Tide (17 page)

Farmer’s eyes were fixed on the scene ahead, an East India merchant vessel that had fought off a pirate assault long enough for the attacker to realise that warships were coming to the rescue. Still partly obscured by smoke the attackers had been close to success. The Indiaman’s bulwarks showed several jagged areas where they were stove in, and what sails she had aloft were shot full of holes. Obviously the enemy had lain off her stern, out of the arc of her guns, firing through the casements of the main cabin, which were so shattered as to be non-existent.

The enemy must have been close to the point of boarding through that very cabin, but had disengaged as soon as they spotted
Vixen
’s skysails, running before the wind to make an escape. The East Indiaman cheered first
Vixen
then
Seahorse
as they went by, with all the officers raising their hats to each other in salute. But Nelson observed that blood was running out through the scuppers, and through the shattered sides he could see bodies strewn on the deck, proving that it had been a close run thing.

‘Signal the flag, Mr Durrand,’ said Farmer. ‘Enemy in sight, am engaging.’

Those last words proved to be at best premature. The ships they were pursuing turned out to be a couple of
Chasse
Marées,
small, compact vessels with narrow lines and a low freeboard designed for speed. They were fore and aft rigged, so on their present course the square rigger lost a great deal of the advantage of being able to put aloft more sail. A wind dead aft meant that the maincourse took pressure off the forecourse, which in turn deprived the inner and outer jib, while to come off the wind slightly so that they could draw meant that
Seahorse
had to tack and wear in pursuit. Farmer decided to split with the sloop, himself taking a more southerly course, while
Vixen
trended north. That would create a triangle with the British ships at the base and the chase at the apex.

‘Mr Surridge, we require subterfuge. I want plenty aloft, but I would wish them not to draw too efficiently. They have seen us struggle in their wake, let them see us wallow a trifle on a more favourable course.’

‘If I could be appraised of your intentions, Captain?’

‘We could stay on this course for days, if the wind stays true, and we’ll lose them for sure. Their home port has to be north towards the Kerala peninsula. I want them to turn that way assuming that only
Vixen
stands
between them and safety. Let them also believe that even with the most favourable wind we could never catch them.’

‘Would they not have seen our true ability as we bore down on the action?’

There was a touch of impatience in Farmer’s reply. Nelson surmised that the master had asked one question too many, exceeding his duty in that respect and annoying a man who disliked having to explain himself.

‘That I cannot tell, Surridge. I’m hoping they were too busy to note it. Now you will oblige me by complying with my request so that I may discover if I have the right of things.’

Surridge took the rebuke well, having achieved his purpose, this being that all the men on the ship should know what was required. And Captain Farmer could not have had a better ship’s crew for such a task. Nelson watched carefully as Surridge, employing skills honed over many years, did as he was asked. Now the idea of one sail interfering with the efficiency of another was deliberate, the canvas behind spilling just enough of the breeze to keep the one ahead taut, so that it looked as though it was drawing well, when it fact it was working at only three quarters of its capacity.

‘Who do you think they are, sir?’ asked Durrand.

‘French dogs, for certain,’ Farmer snapped, ‘with local Indian crews, either out of Madras or Pondicherry.’

‘Since we are at peace, they have engaged in piracy.’ Durrand’s peeling face showed real pleasure as he added, ‘We can hang them.’

‘There’s no peace out here, Durrand, regardless of what happens in Europe. The best you can hope for is an armed truce, and those ahead of us have just broken it.’

Farmer threw back his head and shouted to the men in the crosstrees. ‘Keep an eye on the enemy decks. As soon as you see them prepare to alter course, I want to know.’

Nelson, who had considered George Farmer as bit of a duffer, was now looking at him with open admiration. The Captain’s eyes were alight, and his whole frame seemed infused with a new spirit of animation. Horatio Nelson would be a kinder captain than Farmer, less inclined to employ the cat, but he would settle for the same competence as a sailor.

‘Mr Surridge, I will require an increase in speed on this course, since I intend to deny them the opportunity, if they make an error, to correct it.’

‘The chase is manning the braces, Captain,’ the lookout called.

Nelson strained to see, but from his position on the deck, with a running sea creating waves fifteen feet high, he only glimpsed the two enemy ships when all three vessels crested at the same time. But he could imagine the men on the ropes, half an eye on the pursuing frigate, the other on their own captain, waiting for the orders that would change their course.

‘Mr Surridge,’ said Farmer.

‘Aye, aye, sir,’ the master replied. Having discussed what would happen next more words were superfluous. The main course was goose-winged into
a triangle, the raised corner allowing the wind full play forward. Braces were tightened and yards trimmed so that every one drew, with the driver boom, holding the fore and aft gaff sail, hauled to leeward to take full advantage of the wind.

‘Enemy going about, sir,’ said Durrand. There was then a moment while he waited for them to sheet home again on their new course. ‘Heading north-north-east.’

‘Mr Troubridge, a signal to
Vixen,
if you please, to read, “Disengage, course north-north-east”. Mr Surridge, stand by to go about. Mr Nelson, a message to the gunner. I intend a mixture of bar and case shot to be ready and loaded as soon as we clear. Tell him I require double charges to make them fly.’

‘Sir,’ Nelson replied crisply, running for the companionway. Desperate not to miss anything on deck he raced to the lower depths, hauling back the wetted screen on the hanging magazine to relay Farmer’s order.

‘Belay there, you daft swab,’ the gunner growled. He was bent over, sorting charges by the glimmer of candlelight that filtered through the glass window. ‘Don’t you know better, boy, than to rush in here when there’s powder laying about?’

‘Sorry,’ Nelson replied, before delivering the Captain’s message. He got back to the deck just in time to hear Farmer order the new course. The chase was now off the starboard beam, with
Seahorse
at the end of a near straight line drawn from
Vixen,
through the two
Chasse
Marées.

The months at sea paid off now as the
Seahorse
came about almost in her own length. The deck was a mass of men hauling and running, first easing the ropes that held the yards in place, then, as the rudder bit and the ship began to turn, pulling even harder to tighten them at an angle to the wind, which was now coming in right over the frigate’s quarter. Surridge was yelling and waving his arms, calling for a mass of adjustments, some tiny, others major, so that he could get the best out of the top hamper.

Farmer, immobile through all this, waited until
Seahorse
was settled on the new course, until the master himself, taking the wheel, nodded to say he was satisfied, before turning to Durrand. ‘I think we may now clear for action.’

They pursued the
Chasse
Marées
for hour after hour, the distance closing imperceptibly, while ahead of the enemy
Vixen
barred their escape. Having overheard the discussion, Nelson knew that Captain Farmer had no intention of exposing
Vixen
to a fight with two of the enemy. In such a small fleet and far from home the number of ships had to be maintained. Capture of these two pirate vessels would avail little if the sloop was rendered useless in the process.

Both the enemy helmsmen were good, as were the crews, quick to see an extra puff of wind or a path through the run of the seas that would keep them clear. The hands were fast workers when it came to slight alterations
to the set of a sail, the combined skills keeping them out of danger for longer than Captain Farmer had thought possible.

As the sun began to sink, they saw the enemy trying to lighten their ships, throwing overboard anything deemed unnecessary to survival; water, food and personal possessions that bobbed on the water until the frigate ploughed through them. Having eased away from the Captain, Nelson had questioned Surridge as to what was likely to happen.

‘He won’t request
Vixen
to haul her wind unless the pirates throw overboard their guns. She will stay ahead of them, avoiding battle until we can overhaul.’

‘But it will be night soon.’

‘Aye, lad, and if you look at the sky you’ll see nary a cloud. There’s a moon due, and that will be bright enough for us to work by.’

‘Why don’t they change course?’

‘Because, no matter which way they turn, the wind and leeway favour one of our ships. And that wind can hold steady for a week in these parts. They should have held to the west and run for two days, if need be, to get clear, waited for a dark night to go about and get home safe.’

‘How long, sir?’

‘See that one that’s a touch laggardly?’ he answered, pointing to the rearward enemy ship. ‘We’ll have him within long gunshot by dawn.’

‘Mr Nelson,’ called Farmer, ‘gun crews to worm every second cannon. Please go round the officers and tell them to split their men into watches. Two hours’ sleep each.’

‘What about food, sir?’ asked Durrand. ‘They have not been fed.’

That remark surprised Nelson, who had always thought Durrand a hard-case premier who would see the men suffer rather than appear soft.

‘Neither have we!’ Farmer snapped, proving where the indifference lay, also killing any hope that the cook might be able to re-light his coppers. ‘Give them cold water and biscuit.’

Night turned slowly to day, the sky full of moon and stars fading to a cold grey before the orange ball of the sun lit the western horizon. The first bow chaser fired, at extreme range, just after four bells in the morning watch, by which time any enthusiasm for what was to come had evaporated among the crew. They were hungry, and so was Nelson. And he was tired, not having been allowed to leave the deck all night. The ball skipped across the waves, dropping short on the second vessel’s stern. Immediately the two ships changed course, heading in opposite directions.

Surridge was yelling again, bringing them round in the lead ship’s wake, while a signal went out to
Vixen
to engage the other. The frigate was closing fast on her quarry. And since they knew their fate the pirates were determined to fight, lining the side in the low, brilliant sunlight and casting off their guns.

‘Six pounders, Durrand,’ said Farmer. ‘I doubt we have much to fear from those.’

‘Shall I reload the wormed cannon, sir?’

‘No. Put the men into a boarding party, to gather on the forepeak. You, Mr Durrand, may lead it.’

The premier’s cratered face positively glowed. If the ship was taken by his boarding, the honour would belong as much to him as to Captain Farmer. And if the Admiral at Calcutta bought it into the service, he might even get it as his first command.

‘Message to Mr Foster, Nelson,’ Farmer said. ‘I want his maindeck cannon aimed well forward. He’s to clear those swine away from their guns so that when we touch Mr Durrand can board.’

Going forward to relay this allowed Nelson to look over the hammock nettings. He could see several Europeans clustered around the enemy wheel, in breeches and shirts, but the rest of the crew were dark skinned, wearing nothing but white cloths around their loins.

By the time he was back on the quarterdeck, the range had shortened and Durrand had his party ready. Slowmatch smoke drifted up from below, the smell of saltpetre lingering on the nostrils. But that disappeared as Farmer gave the order to fire.

Nelson felt the vibrations through his feet, as the whole ship shuddered, the result of half a dozen guns going off at two-second intervals, sending a frisson of fear through him, not helped as, simultaneously, the balls from the
Chasse
Marée
thudded into the frigate’s side planking. The boom was deafening, the great cloud of greasy black smoke rising to obscure the target. Surridge, on the command, put the helm hard down, so that
Seahorse
ran alongside the chase. A second salvo was exchanged, the pirates aiming high at the elevated bulwarks of the frigate. Durrand, standing on the hammock right by the forward shrouds yelling to his men, took a ball that went right through him. Even over the din of battle, Nelson could hear him scream in agony, before he dropped back on to the deck, twitching like a freshly stuck Pig.

Farmer’s voice seemed devoid of emotion, even though he had just seen his first lieutenant killed. ‘Ask Mr Stemp to take over the boarding party, Nelson. You take his place on the guns, which are only to fire if the chase looks like getting clear.’

Going below to the maindeck was to enter a different world, darker, full of smoke and sweating men, the only radiance coming in through the open gunports, streaks of sunlight on the red painted deck. The crews were kneeling by their pieces and only the gun captains stood, crouched, peering through at the target, which was now a few feet away.

‘What do I do, sir?’ he asked Stemp, as the lieutenant hurried away.

‘Fire them one at a time, and let the gun captains do the aiming.’

‘What else, sir?’ he shouted to the retreating back.

‘Stay clear of the recoil, or you’ll forfeit a leg.’

Every time the frigate’s bows rose he could see the enemy’s side, splintered and broken where the guns had struck home. Above his head, he
heard the yells of the men getting ready to jump for the side. He was in command, with only the sketchiest idea what to do. True he had orders, but they were so vague as to be useless. Suddenly there was a voice in his ear. ‘It’s all over bar the shouting, young Nellie.’