The Scent of Corruption (The Fighting Sail Series Book 7) (15 page)

But he knew King and Lewis were sound enough. Banks had sailed with both in previous vessels and over several commissions; they could be trusted to keep their heads, even if Davison were to lose his.

Prometheus
duly reached the end of her northward leg, and Brehaut began taking her round to starboard with the two cutters lying ready for when the evolution was complete. The ship could then heave to, and allow both to be swung out, followed by the launch, already cleared of the small pinnace that usually stowed inside her. Banks estimated all three boats should be in the water within ten minutes, and bearing down on the stranded Indiaman in fifteen. He reached for his watch, just as eight bells were struck, making the effort redundant. Four o'clock; the hands would have to wait both for supper and their second issue of spirit. But they could still get all back on board, along with as many survivors from the wreck as could be rescued, before dark. And it should be a simple enough operation, he assured himself. There was really nothing to worry about.

* * *

K
ing's cutter had provisions for eight oars, but only four held her steady as the short, twin masts were erected. Chivers, the midshipman he had detailed to accompany him, was at the bows, supposedly supervising the operation although, as most of the cutter's crew had been at sea before the youngster was born, none appeared in need of his wisdom. King, manning the tiller himself, kept the boat's stern to the wind. He glanced across to where Lewis, in the black cutter, was slightly behind in raising his masts, and also noted that Davison's launch had only now been lifted on the stay tackles. Being a heavier load, the launch required top burtons rigged to the fore and main topmasts; it must then be transferred to the yardarm tackles, and finally lowered onto the water. King knew the procedure was likely to take a while longer, whereas the cutters would be ready to put off for the wreck at any time. He pondered, unsure if it would be politic to wait for the younger man, who was also his superior officer and in overall command, then gave a private sigh. He had not even begun what promised to be a complex and dangerous rescue operation, and had already found a dilemma.

Lewis' thoughts were clearly running along similar lines, though. King noticed the fifth lieutenant looking to him for guidance and, in turn, began searching
Prometheus'
busy decks for some sign or indication. All were far too busy with the current operation; he might close with the ship and seek advice, but such caution was verging on indecision and neither quality figured highly in King's nature. Both masts in his boat were secured now, he gave a nod to Chivers and a wave to Lewis: the twin lug sails were run up with all the speed he could have hoped for and, as the heavens suddenly opened and rain began to beat down upon them, the cutter took to the wind. In no time they were bearing down on the stricken ship, and King was already soaked.

As they drew closer, more could be seen of the Indiaman. The hull was wedged at an acute angle on a bank of rock that seemed to be the only area of land where jagged edged boulders were not so prominent. Basically she had run aground, although a small channel remained to leeward that was regularly filling and emptying, and might just be large enough to allow a boat alongside.

Despite the wind, the rain, and what lay ahead, King still found himself pondering on the cause of the Indiaman's predicament. Inattention on the part of the officer of the watch was the classic finding in such situations, although it was commonly accepted that such a verdict was frequently misleading. An absentminded lookout, or some fool at the lead was far more likely to be the actual culprit, even if the blame ultimately fell on an unfortunate lieutenant. King's mind automatically drifted to Ross, and it was with an effort that he brought it back to the job in hand.

Whoever was to blame, the Burlings had accounted for many such vessels in the past, and to remain in what was relatively good condition, the ship could not have been there for more than a few hours. The Indiaman might even have struck in broad daylight and been deliberately run aground. It would have taken considerable skill to place her so, when razor like edges of granite to either side were ready to tear the bottom from her on impact. And why anyone should attempt such an exploit was a mystery; surely, if that had been the intention, the crew would have hauled in their wind before striking?

But now set, and apparently immobile, the merchant was taking a pounding and beginning to show signs of breaking up. Much of the crown glass had disappeared from her ornate stern, part of the starboard quarter gallery was crumbling and there were visible cracks along and above the wales that suggested the hull itself had twisted. With both the fore and main masts effectively lost, her boats could not be launched conventionally, although a spirited team were doing their best to manhandle a pinnace amidships. As King's boat drew closer he could see the small craft poised, stern first, over the windward top rail, and watched it fall, apparently unchecked, into the swirling waters beneath. There was then the briefest of pauses before the incoming rollers accounted for it.

The boat's destruction was not without benefit however, and had actually served a useful purpose. As soon as the waves collected, lifted, and smashed the frail vessel against the big ship's hull it was clear the narrow avenue between the Indiaman's leeward side and the rocks was the only viable route for a rescue. With the constant but regular change of water level, it would not be an easy approach, but still infinitely preferable to coming alongside to windward. King had also learned that, though the merchant's crew were hardly of the highest order, they did not lack enterprise: something that might prove useful in what was to come.

There was no sounding rod aboard the cutter although such an unwieldy device would have been useless in the current conditions, as the channel was visibly filling and clearing with encouraging regularity. King ordered the sails down, then pointed forward, indicating to Chivers, stationed at the bow, and Flint, who pulled stroke, that he intended to ease the boat into the Indiaman's lee. The oars picked up their speed, and the boat surged forward, but there was a dwindling gap of less than twenty feet of eddying water between ship and shore, and they would have to manhandle the tiny cutter beyond the merchant's quarterdeck to bring her to a place suitable for transferring survivors.

“Way enough,” King called, as they rode in towards the gap on the head of a wave. Then, at the last possible second: “Boat your oars!”

He might have been fractionally late as Chivers yelled “Steady, there!” when the starboard bow's sweep struck the merchant's side. Then each man unshipped his oar, and used it to fend the boat off against rock or hull. Between them they could hold the cutter stationary as the water beneath ebbed and flowed, but forward movement was almost impossible. Someone in the Indiaman must have noted their predicament, as a fall was tossed down. The midshipman secured it forward, and they were dragged into the wedge of space that gave them precious, if temporary, shelter.

It was even narrower now, and the boat grounded every twenty seconds or so, before rushing up the side of the Indiaman, only to fall back and hit what must have been solid rock beneath.

“I can take twelve,” King yelled above the din of crashing waves, screaming women and bellowing animals that was surely more suited to a believer's concept of Hades than any beached merchant. A line of faces stared blankly down at him from the big ship's larboard side. Actually he had already decided they might manage fifteen. With a crew of ten, counting himself and Chivers, that was just conceivable for such a boat, and in the present conditions. But he had no wish to risk breaking the cutter's back with too much weight on the first attempt.

An agile young man scaled down the side of the ship, finally landing in the stern between King and Flint. He was dressed as an officer, although King could not place the flamboyant uniform.

“David Carroll, of the
Belle Île,
” he announced in a strong Irish accent. Then, meeting the lieutenant's surprised eyes directly, added: “We greatly welcome your assistance, sir.”

“Are the passengers ready to disembark?” King asked. This was only one of many questions that came to mind, but the small boat would not stand up to endless punishment: it was important they took whoever they could and moved off, to give Lewis a chance.

“Indeed they are,” the Irishman replied. “I have organised a fair mix of civilians and crew for each load.”

King nodded approvingly; that made sense; it might be sentimental to rescue all the passengers first, but to crowd their cutter with unskilled landsmen would be downright foolish. And he had no wish to command a boatload of hysterical wives.

At a wave from the officer, two seamen descended. One, a lascar, was wearing robes that were totally impractical, and needed to be tucked up into his girth in a manner that was both awkward and undignified. When the passengers followed, the women were no more elegant, being lowered on a mixture of boatswain's chairs and bowlines, and needing to be guided aboard the constantly shifting boat in a flurry of cloth, lace and bare flesh.

But King soon learned he could leave the embarkation arrangements to Carroll, and concentrate instead on keeping his boat clear of lethal obstructions. The Irishman proved worthy of the trust, arranging for a seaman to be alongside every group of civilians while chivvying both with a mixture of good humour and authority that seemed to draw any hint of danger from the situation.

“Take a couple extra?” Carroll asked, when all had been accommodated: King considered his load. There were bodies crammed next to each of the rowers, with more huddled miserably between. In theory, a couple could be squeezed in, but their freeboard was already low. Besides, there was still the dangerous passage back to
Prometheus
, and the cutter was now grounding with a worrying thump.

“No,” he snapped. “We shall return presently, and another two boats will be calling before.”

The officer seemed to understand, then looked up and bellowed: “One more, Charlie!”

King was about to object when Carroll made a leap for the ship's side, and landed expertly on the upper sill of a gun port. In a few more slick moves he had clambered back aboard the Indiaman, his place being taken by a flushed and overweight woman who seemed liable to burst at any moment.

“Very good, be ready to ship your oars!” King shouted, when she was seated. They were being pulled back and into the turmoil again, with whoever was supervising the towing waiting sensibly for sufficient water beneath them. Then the boat was clear and free to be hit by breakers once more; the painter was cast adrift, and the tiny vessel left to wallow in the boiling seas.

Oars at the bow were pressed against the Indiaman's counter where the name,
Duke of Cambridge
, could be read. The cutter was painstakingly manhandled round, with Flint, and the man immediately behind, ready to fend off against nearby rocks if need be.

“Out oars!” Again, the order could have been mistimed, but King considered there to be room enough to gather speed, and so it proved. The current was now thrusting them hard against the merchant's side, and he held the rudder over as each rower dug deep into the maelstrom for a purchase. Slowly they gained water until the waves were cheated and, rather than rolling the cutter sideways in a threat to tip her over, broke with far less effect over the prow. Within thirty seconds a considerable distance had been gained, and some of the seamen were attempting to rig the sails. King glanced back; Lewis' boat had been backing water behind them, and was now intending to copy their example in approaching the lee of the Indiaman. Further off, Davison's launch seemed to be in more confusion. She was in the water but stood close to
Prometheus
, which was hove to, and slowly being swept southwards. The launch's single mast was in the process of being stepped, but had apparently jammed at an angle and the boat, under-loaded with what was obviously a minimal crew, was leaping and shying like a young foal. King relaxed the cutter's rudder and felt her sails take the wind, then began aiming for a point a good way ahead of the drifting battleship.

“Very good, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, glancing once more at the selection of moon-like faces that stared back at him in hope and wonder. “Welcome aboard, you are now guests of the Royal Navy.”

* * *

T
he cutters made five trips each and were far more successful than the launch, which failed to complete even one. After Davison's first, almost disastrous, attempt, Banks was forced to call him back; despite her size and greater capacity, the boat was not ideally suited to such conditions and proved more of a liability than an asset. It was possible that someone in command with more experience, or perhaps a stronger personality, might have made a better fist of things, although the captain felt no blame could be placed on the second lieutenant’s young shoulders. And still the rescue could be considered a success, even though it took almost until nightfall and, at the end, King and Lewis looked to have aged a good ten years.

Between each run,
Prometheus
emptied the boats of their human cargo before being obliged to wear round, head back, and then tack at the northernmost leg of the circuit. There the cutters, which had been towed behind her, were released to ply back for more and the entire procedure could begin again. It was a laborious business, hardly helped by the warm but continuous rain that kept all comprehensively sodden, or the effects of almost constant concentration that started to play strange games with their minds on the latter trips. Over a hundred and ten souls were recovered, however, which apparently amounted to all aboard the Indiaman, and every one of
Prometheus'
men returned safely, if a little bedraggled.

Throughout the rescue, the same young man who had boarded King's boat at its first visit was very much in evidence. If not briefly with one of the cutters, and calling the survivors down to embark, he remained on the Indiaman's deck carrying out a similar role. And it was not an easy task. To ensure a boat had the correct number of trained seamen aboard: even deferring a mother and child in their favour, took an iron will, with authority to match and King was impressed. In the past he had found Company officers, though different in outlook from those of the Royal Navy, to be of a reasonable standard. But Carroll who, by his youth, could hardly be more than a cadet or junior mate, had a natural ability to command that was worthy of any ship's master.