He took a silk bandanna from his hip pocket, and wiped his face and eyes of spray and the other wetness, then he blew his nose noisily, stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket, jumped on to his deck and strode back to his quarterdeck. Mr. Ferris, he said crisply, 'please send up a flag hoist under Huron's nAme and make the following 'I am sending a boarding party to you. '' The pale sapphire eyes shone with a zealot's intensity. ''If you resist I shall fight you.'
It was a long message, and while Ferris called for the pennants from the flag locker, Clinton turned to Denham. His voice shook with passion. Please clear the ship for action, Mr. Denham, and we'll run out our guns now.'
Above the gale Clinton heard the clatter of the opening gunports, the rumble of the gun carriages, but all his attention was concentrated ahead upon the crippled slave ship.
He saw and understood the desperate attempts that her Captain was making to get her before the wind. He knew what a feat it had been to take down that tangled mast of canvas and rope in such a short time, yet he felt no admiration, only cold fighting fury.
Huron was showing only a storm jib.
St. John was clearly trying to break the grip of the gale upon her for she was fast 'in irons', her bows to the wind, and he was attempting to bring her round, but the tall ship that was usually so compliant and obedient was baulking, resisting him, and every minute Black Joke was swarming down upon her, closer and still closer. She's got serious structural damage, Denham gloated aloud. 'I'd hazard a guess that she's lost her rudder.'
Clinton did not answer him, he strained ahead, half exultant, half fearful that St. John's efforts would succeed and he would watch helplessly as Huron turned her stern to him once more, and went plunging away at the speed which Black Joke could never hope to match.
Then, as he watched, it happened. Huron swung her long, low length nearly broadside to him, beam on to the wind once again, and hung there for infinite seconds, then she shuddered and shook herself free of the gale's grip and went through the eye of the wind. Instantly the scraps of sail on her foremast snapped open, she came around presenting her stern to Black fake and was sailing again.
Even in his bitter chagrin, Clinton could at last feel admiration for that barely credible feat of seamanship, but beside him his officers were struck dumb, paralysed with disappointment to see their prey slipping away from them once more.
More sails bloomed upon her tall bare masts, and the gap between the two ships was no longer narrowing; instead, it began to widen once more; slowly, infinitely slowly, Huron was forging away, and the night was coming. She's streaming a warp behind her, Denham lamented quietly. It's a small ship's boat, Ferris corrected him.
They were already close enough to make out such details, Huron was only three or four nautical miles ahead of them, all her bull was in plain sight and they could even make out the tiny human figures on her decks with the naked eye. 'Damned clever, what! Ferris went on with professional interest. 'Who would have believed it would work. Like as not the damned Yankee has the legs of us still Clinton's chagrin turned to anger at his junior's unnecessary commentary. Mr. Ferris, instead of chattering like a washerwoman, will you not read the signal Huron is flying? ' Huron's signal flags were blowing almost directly away from the watchers on Black Joke's deck, making them difficult to spot and interpret, and Ferris, who had been fixing all his attention on the towing whaler, started guiltily, and then dived for his signal book and began busily scribbling on his slate. Huron sends under our name, 'Stay clear of me, or I will fire upon you. ''Good. ' Clinton nodded and drew an inch of bare steel from the scabbard of his cutlass to make sure the weapon was free before thrusting it back to the hilt. 'Now we all know where we stand! ' But, slowly, inexorably, Huron even partially crippled, and steering only by the sails on her foremast, was drawing away from them, and she was still far out of random cannon shot. The fire has taken hold in the steering- gear under the doctor's cabin. ' The third mate came hurrying back on deck to make his damage report. 'I got her out of there.'
He jerked a thumb as Robyn came up on deck clutching her black leather valise into which she had hastily crammed her journals and other small valuables. It's got through into the cable her and the lazaretto, it will be into the stern quarters in a minute. ' The mate's arms and face streamed with oily sweat, and the soot had blackened them like a chimney sweep. Put the hoses in through the poop companionway Mungo, told him calmly. 'And flood the stern section abaft the main hold.'
The mate hurried away and within seconds there was the tolling clangour of the pumps as a dozen men threw their combined weight on the handles and the canvas hoses filled and stiffened, ejaculating solid jets of seawater down the stifling ladderways where already the air was trembling with heat like a desert mirage. Almost immediately hissing clouds of white steam began to boil from the ports and stern lights.
Satisfied, Mungo turned away, shot one glance over the stern to make sure that the gunboat was still falling away behind the limping clipper, then let his gaze linger a moment longer on the thick hawser that was secured to the port stern stanchions and ran through the fairlead to the bobbing whaler that Huron was dragging half a cable's length astern. The whole complex arrangement of the wind and sails and drogue was critical and unstable, the slightest change might upset it. He decided he could not risk hoisting another square inch of canvas, nor could he send a party below to rig a jury tackle on the useless rudder until the fire was brought under control.
He lit a cheroot, frowning with concentration over the simple and familiar task, and then he raised his eyes to look directly at Robyn for the first time since she had come up on deck.
For a second they stared at each other, and then Robyn looked astern at the ugly little gunboat that was still plugging along after them. I keep making the mistake of trusting you, ' Mungo said beside her. I only made that mistake once, with you, she replied, and he inclined his head slightly, accepting the riposte. How did you get into the steering gear, he began to enquire, then snapped his fingers irritably at his own oversight. 'Of course, the inspection hatch. Yet, your ingenuity, Doctor, has been of no avail. Your friends still cannot hold us and as soon as it is dark, I will have the rudder cables repaired.'
For the last minute Muago had been studying her face, oblivious to the sea and the ship and the gale. He did not see the fresh squall racing down upon Huron. When it struck, there was no helmsman to hold her. She saw the flash of alarm in his eyes, the realization of danger.
His voice, as he yelled an order down the length of the deck, had for the first time the crack of fear in it. Get the sails off her, Mr. Tippoo. Quick as you can! ' For the squall had upset the nice balance of Huron's drogue and sail. The ship lunged forward sharply, the long bellied length of cable trailing astern. lifted itself above the broken surface of the sea, straightening and coming under such strain that the seawater spurted from the hemp cords in tiny feathery jets.
The empty whaler, with her tarpaulin cover still lashed down over her in an attempt to keep her dry, was at that instant canted steeply over the crest of a breaking swell. The shattering impact transmitted by the taut cable to her bows pitched her forward and heaved her clear of the crest, so that for a moment she was airborne, like a leaping porpoise and then she struck bows first and was snatched below the surface.
