Until the Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead (44 page)

“It is such an unusual idea that I am in need of others to knock it down.”

“I am sorry to have failed you in that office. By all means, let us ask Ransome and Wickham . . . and Reverte as well. I am gaining a hearty respect for the man.”

The named officers were summoned and Hayden's proposal was put to them.

“If the charge is strong enough to damage the rudder beyond repair,” Reverte asked after but a moment's thought, “might it not sink the ship? The stern is ever a vessel's most vulnerable part.”

Ransome and Wickham both nodded.

“It is a point well made,” Hayden said. “And I am not certain I have an answer for it. Sinking the frigate would be no bad thing if it were not
for the bullion aboard, which I have been charged to preserve by my admiral.” He did not add that his own bride was on that ship.

“It is dangerous because we have already used boats to take this frigate, so they will have watchmen in place and be highly alert.” He looked about. “It is not such a dark night that we cannot be seen, even after the moon has set.”

“We must have them looking somewhere else,” Wickham pronounced.

“We could feign an attack on another ship,” Ransome suggested, “though I am not certain how we might manage that without men being wounded or killed.”

No one could think of a way to feign an attack that would be believed by the enemy without actually attacking or at least getting within pistol range.”

“Fire ships!” Wickham blurted out.

“I do not believe we have ships we can put to such purpose, Mr Wickham,” Hawthorne observed, “unless we have escorts of which the rest of us are unaware.”

“No, but we have boats—our own from the
Themis
and the frigate's boats. I suggest we find some way to put fire aboard them—perhaps in barrels we could line with copper. Take them up-current from the privateers, set them alight, and position them to drift down on the enemy ships. They might not cause any real difficulties or even come terribly near the ships, but they will certainly have every eye upon them.”

This idea received much approval. Discussion then began as to which ship to attack and how the barrels might be lashed together in such a way as to keep the powder dry.

It was soon clear that the ship to be attacked would be the aft-most privateer, as any ship farther up the line would have men upon the bow staring forward at the fire boats, so any British boats would likely be descried as they came to the stern of the ship ahead.

The French ships had not anchored in a perfect line, bow to stern, but were spread over a small area, the frigate perhaps fifty yards to starboard of the ship ahead, and the next two ships staggered yet again. It might
be possible to send the boats drifting in among them, therefore, which would cause great panic, or so it was hoped. Fire was one of the seaman's greatest fears.

Small water barrels were commandeered to contain the fire, as the staves were thoroughly soaked through. Wickham took charge of this, having them lined with thin copper plates used upon the bottom of ships.

The others put their minds to making the craft that would bear their explosion. Four small barrels were weighted with shot until they floated half out of the water with their round ends up. A fifth barrel was set in the centre of these, so that it was above the water for the most part, and then filled with powder. All this was lashed together with a small frame of wood and then lowered into the sea. It floated much as expected but was too large to be carried aboard a boat and then got over the side. A towing bridle was arranged.

Night wore on, so the work was done as quickly as possible. Not long after midnight, the two fire boats rowed off with a third to take off the crews. They were to skirt the enemy ships beyond their sight and row up-current of them before setting alight the old rope and tar in the barrels and releasing them to drift down on the privateers. Hayden took command of the boat that would lay the explosive charge against the rudder, as he would not send anyone else on such a mad endeavour. It had been, after all, his idea to begin with, and he was not about to ask another to perform it.

It was the task of Hayden's boat to hold position just beyond sight of the aft-most privateer and wait until the fire boats had been released and caused what Hayden hoped would be considerable confusion.

The “mine,” as Hawthorne had named it, for so the sappers called their tunnels, was not easily towed, even against so weak a current, but it showed no signs of going over, so at least there was a chance they would get it to the ship with the powder still dry.

Childers steered them faithfully out onto the dark sea, and when it was believed they were just beyond the distance where their darkly
painted boats might be seen, the rowers slacked their pace to hold position; and glad they were of it, for towing the mine was difficult work.

They waited for the sight of fire drifting down on the French ships.

From where they lay in the dark, Hayden could easily make out the lanterns on the nearest ship's stern, and through that light marched a sentry every few moments. One of these made a brief stop and a second figure appeared. It took a moment for Hayden to realise that the first man was the stern sentry and he had likely been wakened. Unfortunate timing, he thought. If the man were asleep when they arrived, it would make their task much simpler.

A light appeared within the master's cabin, illuminating the transom gallery windows, which would certainly be open on such a close night. He thought he could see someone moving about in the light, and prayed this man would make his nightly toilet and fall asleep easily. Hayden reminded himself that this hardly mattered—once the fire boats were discovered, everyone should soon be awake . . . with their attention fixed forward.

The rowers worked their sweeps in utter silence, and the depth of that silence told him how frightened they really were.

“Where are Mr Wickham's boats?” Childers muttered, perhaps unable to remain silent a moment longer.

“Be patient,” Hayden whispered. “If they had been discovered, there would be firing and noise, so they are not yet to their places.”

Hayden glanced back to be certain their strange tow had not turned over and drowned the powder barrel or broken loose to bear down upon their own ship. Hayden himself had coiled down a short length of match cord into the powder hole on top and then pressed in a bung to keep all dry.

There had been a lively debate about how much powder would be required to damage a rudder beyond repair, and the side that argued they would only get one chance at this, better make it count, won, so there was powder enough to do the job, Hayden was quite certain.

Childers touched his arm and pointed. Far off, before the anchored
ships, a flicker, which then disappeared. But then it appeared again and began to swell. Somehow it then split in two and began to burn in earnest. Hayden was just wondering how long it would take the privateers to discover fire bearing down on them when a cry went up, carried over the open water.

Hayden held his men in check for a moment longer—until he hoped all eyes aboard the ships were focused on the burning boats—and then he sent them away, as stealthily as they could row.

It would be a matter of timing, he thought. The attention of the privateers would be drawn forward to begin with, but at some point, he was certain, some man who had his wits about him would think to look around to see if their enemy could be found on any other quarter. The English sailors needed to have their mine in place before this occurred.

Fixing his eyes on the transom of their intended target, Hayden tried to gauge the reaction aboard this particular ship. There was both consternation and confusion, of that he was certain. Men were rushing onto the deck and all seemed to hurry forward. There were calls for poles to fend off the fire boats, though he suspected they did not yet quite know the nature of the threat drifting down on them. In the darkness and at distance, they might be actual ships.

Orders were called out aboard the privateer. Men were sent to stand by the anchor cable lest it need be cut or let run. Others were sent out to the tip of the jib-boom with poles to prepare to protect that delicate spar from collision or fire. Others soaked down the deck forward and even the topsides. All the while, Hayden's black boat crept nearer, as though he and his men were crawling through the undergrowth to surprise their prey. He even felt at that moment like a heartless predator.

The stern of the ship took on height and then loomed over them. Aft, Hayden could see no sign of sentries and hoped they had been sent off to soak down decks, or to some other task to protect the ships from fire.

Childers could not bring the boat neatly alongside—the tow being dragged back by the current would not allow it—so he nudged the bow up to the ship's transom so that the men there could grasp hold of the
rudder. Hayden scrambled forward through the rowers, a rope from the tow in his hand. There was very little purchase on the rudder, and the men attempting to hold on had it slip free of their grip. Without a thought, Hayden shrugged off his coat, pulled free his boots, and went over the side as silently as he was able.

In two strokes he had his hands on the rudder. Feeding the rope in around it took a moment, as it was not a small timber, but he managed, and then, bracing his feet against the hull, he pushed with all his might, hauling in a length of rope and then another. It was almost more than he could do, the current's drag on the tow was that great. Four times he did this, and then had to pause a moment to recover. The boat was unmanaged now, the men pulling the mine along its starboard side, but with no oars in the water, it was quickly being swept aft.

Again Hayden braced his feet and pushed. And again. The mine was not two yards off now. Another heave and it was all but home. A final push, and it brought up short. Quickly, he made it fast and then clung to a barrel a moment, gasping and shaking from the effort. Childers got the boat under control and brought the bow up to Hayden.

The lamp, closed to let no light out, passed from hand to hand forward, and the man in the bow held it, waiting for Hayden to regain his strength. He forced himself to put a foot on one of the narrow boards that made up the frame, and very, very tentatively put his weight upon it, hoping all the while the mine would not turn over. It heeled to his weight, but all the ballast in the barrels resisted him and it stayed more or less upright.

He was dripping wet and dared not open the bung or handle the match cord for fear of getting it wet. As he perched there, trying to think how he would dry at least one hand, a cry came from directly above his head.

“Les Anglais! Les Anglais!”

Immediately, a musket fired and the man in the boat's bow fell back, his lamp falling into the sea with a splash and disappearing. Fire was returned from the boat, which began to drift aft on the current. More
men came running to the transom rail and began firing, and Hayden crouched low and pressed himself up against the transom planks, the overhanging stern hiding him from the men above.

Childers ordered the rowers to take up oars, and the desperate men sent the boat off to larboard, seeking the protection of darkness. Hayden did not know how many had been hurt—and they were being fired on yet.

Footsteps came thumping across planks almost overhead, and a man leaned out the transom gallery window a few feet above Hayden's head and fired. With all haste, he set to reloading, and when his gun emerged again, Hayden stepped up on one of the barrels, grabbed the startled man's arm, hauled him half out of the window, and clubbed him several times over the head with his drowned pistol. When he was utterly still, Hayden reached the sill and pulled himself up and then swiftly in. There was no one else in the cabin, and Hayden dried his hands on the abandoned bedclothes in a swinging cot and snatched down the lantern.

For a second, he hovered at the window, listening. Childers had steered the boat to larboard, and most of the men on the deck above had moved to that quarter, where they were still shouting and firing muskets. Even so, Hayden hesitated. He was about to go out of the window, bearing a lantern, which would almost certainly reveal him to the enemy. He would have to carry the lantern in one hand and climb with the other, which he realised would be all but impossible.

Hayden looked around the cabin in desperation, and his eye lit upon a pistol lying on the floor near the man he'd clubbed to death. It must have fallen from his belt. He seized it, checked that it was loaded, made certain the flint was both new and firmly in place, and went to the cot. He tore a piece of sheet free and wrapped the pistol in it before shoving it into his belt, then went again to the window.

He glanced up to see if anyone looked his way, but could not be certain. No one had spotted the English mine, it seemed, and with a deep breath he lowered himself out of the window. It was far enough down
that he was forced to drop the last foot onto the centre barrel, which held the powder. Half falling from that, he landed on one of the lower barrels and managed not to go into the water altogether. He paused there a moment, still, but when no cry went up he went to pull the bung from the powder barrel, when he realised he had left too much water there.

Carefully, he unwrapped his pistol and used the cloth to dry the barrel head, then pulled the bung. He fished out the match cord, positioned the bung so that it covered most of the hole, and then added the damp cloth to this, covering the hole completely but for the tiniest hole where the match emerged. Balancing himself, he held the cord in one hand and the cocked pistol in the other. For the briefest second he hesitated, took a long deep breath, then aimed the pistol at the cord, which dangled a few inches from his hand, and pulled the trigger.

He turned away from the smoke for an instant and then opened his eyes, which were swimming from the flash. The match burned! Gingerly, he pulled the cloth away, expecting all the while that the powder would light and blow him to his final glory, but it did not.