Until the Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead (39 page)

“When we reach Barbados, sir,” Hayden said evenly, “you may plead your case to my admiral. Until then, you must give me your entire support or we will all be the prisoners of privateers within the hour.”

“Sir,” the Spaniard said evenly, “this will be considered an act of war against Spain. Are you certain you are willing to create a rift between our nations . . . you, a mere post captain?”

“If there were no Spanish prisoners aboard this ship,” Hayden said, “she would be considered a British prize without question. It would then be up to our two governments to decide what should be done with her. I am only a mere post captain; it is not my place to return this ship to Spain. We have no time to argue the finer points of the laws of the sea. You will either submit to my command or we will lose this ship to the French. I must have your answer this instant.”

The Spaniard looked around, glancing towards the not-so-distant privateer, where boats were now in the water.

Ransome appeared at that moment. “Sir, we have rigged the spring.”

Hayden looked at the Spanish officer, who hesitated yet.

“Until we reach Barbados,” the man stated evenly.

“Thank you, Captain Serrano,” Hayden ceded, making a small bow. “Mr Wickham is forming crews to man the guns. Will you aid him? And we must be prepared to repel boarders.” He glanced up at the rigging. “There is not a breath of wind upon which we might escape.”

“Where is Mr Wickham?” the Spaniard asked.

“Mr Hawthorne will take you to him.”

Captain Serrano made a small bow and immediately attached himself to Hawthorne, calling out orders in Spanish as the two retreated towards the companionway.

“Veer the bower cable, Mr Ransome. Bring us beam-on to the other ships.”

“Aye, sir.” Ransome went off at a run. Hayden had no doubt that he had men standing ready to veer cable. He was becoming a surprisingly competent officer.

The deck guns were manned by Spaniards, and Hayden was surprised to find they were all long guns—there were no carronades.

“Shall we fire grape at the approaching boats, Captain?” one of Serrano's officers enquired of Hayden.

Hayden assented to this suggestion.

The bower cable was veered and the head of the ship payed off so that the ship would have wind on the larboard quarter—assuming the wind, when it returned, would come from the north or north-west. The small current moved the bow of the ship at an almost languid pace, causing Hayden to worry that they would not bring their guns to bear before the first boats reached them.

He raised his night glass and realised, though boats appeared to be manned and away from the ship, that they were backing oars and hovering in place. Waiting for reinforcements, Hayden realised, knowing that
the retaken frigate would now be, with all the prisoners moved aboard her, very-well-manned indeed.

Hayden estimated that the nearest privateer was just out of range of the Spanish guns, but he went to the waist and called down to the gun-deck. He was very happy to find the Spaniards at their guns, silent and purposeful.

“Mr Wickham . . . ?”

“Sir?”

“Elevate a gun to its greatest degree and fire a shot at that ship. I believe she is out of range, but let us be certain.”

“Aye, sir.”

Orders were given to one of the British gun crews, the gun elevated and, at a word from the midshipman, fired.

Hayden had walked away a few paces to be clear of the smoke, raised his glass to his eye, and watched with some anticipation. There was a sudden fountain of water, not just short of the ship but shy of the gathering boats as well.

Wickham's head appeared at the top of the companionway ladder. “We could remove the aft wheels, sir . . . ?”

“Let us keep the wheels in place. Rate of fire might be our advantage yet. Reload with grape, Mr Wickham. Some of these boats might reach us, but we will make them pay for it.”

Hayden returned to the rail and gazed off towards the privateers through his night glass. A wandering patch of moonlight illuminated them a moment, and though it was difficult to be certain, Hayden thought there were at least eight boats gathered there and perhaps as many as ten. There could be two hundred privateers in those boats. He hoped the Spanish gunners knew their business.

Without any order that carried across the water, the boats all set off at once, their bows aimed directly at the Spanish frigate so recently taken. Hayden was more than a little surprised at this, as he would have divided his force in two, circled round, and approached the ship from both bow and stern, where only chase pieces could be brought to bear.

Hawthorne appeared at his side at that moment.

“Do they row directly for us, Captain?” the marine officer asked quietly, as though the privateers might overhear.

“It appears they do, Mr Hawthorne.”

“Is that not the height of folly? Do they not realise we have brought our ship around?”

“I cannot say. A moving boat is a difficult target to hit, especially by night, as you well know. They may simply believe our gunnery is not up to the task . . . but at a hundred yards grape will cause great slaughter.”

“Perhaps they are admirers of Nelson, Captain, and believe you must always ‘go straight at her.'”

“Which will catch up with even Nelson one day.”

“Luck to you, Captain,” Hawthorne said, touching his hat.

“And you, Mr Hawthorne.”

The marine retreated to take command of his men and whomever else Ransome had assigned him. Men began to climb aloft with muskets at that moment, many of them Spaniards. Hayden raised his glass again and gazed a moment at the flotilla approaching. Privateers often favoured boarding as a tactic—their ships seldom bore enough guns to offer an advantage—but men could be had at small cost. A privateer usually sailed with a surprisingly large crew. And it appeared the privateers intended to use that advantage here.

A gun fired on the deck below, catching Hayden entirely by surprise. He stormed over to the opening to the gun-deck, where he could hear shouting in both English and Spanish.

“Mr Wickham?” Hayden cried over the voices. “What goes on down there? Where is Captain Serrano?”

Wickham appeared directly below Hayden, his face a shadow surrounded by a halo of pale gold hair. “It was a Spanish gun crew, sir. Captain Serrano has disrated the gun captain and replaced him with another. I believe the man fired the gun as a protest against the British taking his ship, sir.”

Hayden turned immediately away. “Pass the word for Mr Hawthorne!” he called. He had no time for this now and felt his anger boil up.

The marine appeared on the run, having no doubt registered the tone of his captain's voice.

“Take your marines to the gun-deck, Mr Hawthorne. If there are signs of insubordination or mutiny among the Spaniards, you may deal with it as harshly as you see fit.”

“Aye, Captain,” Hawthorne replied quickly. He began calling for his men, and in a moment they were thumping down the companionway.

Hayden returned to the rail, only to find the flotilla of ship's boats dividing into two. He let out a string of frustrated curses. Ransome appeared just then.

“Do you see the boats, Captain?”

“Yes. These privateers are not so foolish as we hoped. Is the spring rigged so we can let it run?”

“Indeed it is, sir, though it would be quicker and easier to cut it.”

“We might have need of it again. Clear everything the cable might foul and be prepared to let it run on my command.”

“Aye, sir!” Ransome touched his hat and went off at a run.

Hayden went immediately partway down the steps to the gun-deck. “Pass the word for Captain Serrano!” he called out, and the Spanish officer appeared a moment later, very grim-faced and appearing to suppress anger.

Wickham stood a few paces distant, a pistol in hand, and Hawthorne and his marines claimed the centre of the gun-deck with their muskets ready.

Hayden had no time to mollify an angry Spaniard. “We shall have the privateer's boats approaching from bow and stern. Both batteries must be ready. Once the boats are too near to be fired upon, gunports must be closed tight. All men will then be needed to repel boarders.” Hayden turned to Wickham. “Mr Wickham? Have you heard?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Then let us be about our business. Good luck, Captain,” Hayden offered to the sullen Spaniard.

He mounted the ladder and returned to the rail with his night glass. The privateer's boats had split into two small flotillas, each of which carried somewhere near a hundred men. Hayden dearly wished he'd had more time to prepare his defence, assign the men to stations, and create a plan with his officers. The truth was, though, that every experienced man aboard—both officers and hands—comprehended exactly what must be done. Fire upon the boats with the great guns until they drew too near, then take up arms and prepare to defend the ship. As his former captain, Bourne, often said, “War at sea is not a complicated business.”

The two flotillas were giving the frigate a wide berth, but Hayden needed to keep them as distant as possible for as long as possible. “Mr Gould,” he called out to the midshipman who was commanding the forward deck guns. “Jump down to Mr Wickham. Have him traverse a pair of guns, one fore and one aft, and fire on the boats. Let them not become too bold.”

Gould touched his hat and disappeared to the gun-deck.

When Hayden anchored his schooner he had been pleased to find the current was not strong—now he wished it were running a great deal faster. He was about to employ it in defence of his ship.

A forward gun fired at that moment, and he turned to see if there was any possibility that he might make out where the shot struck water . . . but he could not. A second gun fired aft, and that ball landed somewhere in the dark ocean as well. Hayden fixed his glass on the forward flotilla and was quite certain it had altered course to keep out of range of the great guns.

“Mr Gould! We will use the chase pieces fore and aft to keep these boats honest.”

Hayden wanted both flotillas to approach from directly fore and aft,
and to be as distant as possible when they began that approach. He turned his head from side to side—the faintest zephyr caressed his cheeks.

Hayden crossed the deck and again called for Mr Wickham.

“Sir?” The midshipman spoke from the darkened deck.

“Inform Captain Serrano that I intend to fire both batteries at once.”

“I will, Captain.”

Even as Hayden gave this order he wondered if it might be a mistake. He would hide his ship in the smoke so that the enemy could not see what he did, but the smoke would also obscure their view of the enemy, making it difficult to aim their guns. He held his hand up again. Was it enough of a breeze to carry the smoke away in time? Once they began firing guns at the enemy boats the smoke would obscure all anyway . . . but the first clear shot is what would allow the gunners to get the enemies' range and to gauge their speed.

Perhaps war at sea was more complicated than Captain Bourne had suggested.

Hayden drew a lungful of air. His course was set and there was no changing it now. It was all a matter of timing. He gazed up at the lookout.

“Aloft there! We shall fire both batteries to hide the ship. Climb as high up as you can to get above the smoke. I will rely on you to tell me what the boats do.”

“Aye, Captain,” came the cry from above, and the man, who was among the musketeers on the main-top, went crawling up.

Hayden turned his attention back to the boats, quizzing both flotillas with his night glass. They were only a few moments distant, but he needed them closer yet. He cursed the privateers who had not replaced the frigate's lost topmast . . . he could have used the mizzen topsail with this little zephyr appearing.

The boats finally drew almost in line with the frigate and Hayden called for Ransome, who appeared at the ladder head.

“Fire both batteries, Mr Ransome, and then let the spring cable run.
Be certain the guns are reloaded with grape. We will hold our fire until the boats are within range.”

Ransome repeated Hayden's orders and disappeared below. There was a mighty blast as all the guns on the gun-deck were fired as one, and a cloud of smoke utterly enveloped the ship and seared Hayden's nostrils and throat.

The spring was let run at the same instant and the ship began a slow turn, her stern swinging with the current, aided to the smallest degree by the faint breeze. The movement of the ship, however, appeared to be so slow that she would never swing to the current in time.

The privateer's boats were obscured by the cloud and the night, and Hayden began to wonder if he'd misjudged the distance in the dark and that they would be upon them before the ship swung around and the guns brought to bear. It would then be a battle against boarders, and Hayden did not have his steady British crew around him. He did not know if the Spanish were more determined fighters than the French. He was, however, about to find out.

He could hear, in the distance, the coxswains crying out the beat in French, exhorting their oarsmen to row faster. The ship continued her turn; Hayden believed he had seen seasons turn more quickly. The smoke swirled around the masts and rigging, caught in eddies and backdraughts. It clung to the ship like a skein of silk entangled in thorns. The faint-hearted breeze could not collect it all and carry it off in one single direction. Hayden had the horrifying feeling that he had made a terrible misjudgement: The French would be upon them before the smoke cleared and guns brought to bear.

Hayden felt himself leaning out over the rail, trying to catch a glimpse of the boats he could hear approaching, but the smoke appeared to mass before him.

“On deck!”
came the cry of the helmsman, who was himself lost in the smoke. “Boats to starboard, three hundred to three hundred fifty yards, sir! To larboard . . . a little less, Captain.”