Palliser rasped, “God dammit, Pearse, we’re neither blind nor bloody deaf!”
Pearse grinned at Palliser’s back. “Palliser, you’re a real pig!” But he was careful that nobody should hear him.
“Deck there! Sail on the starboard bow! And ’nother to larboard!”
Palliser clapped his hands together. “We did it! Damn their eyes, we’re into them!”
At that moment a gun fired, making an orange flash on the dark water.
Slade said anxiously, “There’s a third to wind’rd!”
Bolitho gripped his hanger and pressed its scabbard against his thigh to calm himself.
Three vessels, the centre one was doubtless the Rosario, with her two attackers standing off to form one great triangle. He heard a slithering sound and then a splintering crash, and vaguely through the darkness ahead he saw a jagged patch of spray as some spars and rigging hit the water.
Stockdale nodded. “Chain-shot right enough, th’ buggers.”
“Stand by on deck! Watch your slow-matches!”
There was no need for stealth now. Bolitho heard a shrill whistle from the nearest vessel and the crack of a pistol. It had either exploded in error or had been used as a signal to warn their consort.
With their muskets and powder-horns ready to use, cutlasses and boarding pikes within easy reach, the Destiny’s seamen peered into the darkness.
“Take in the forecourse!”
Men ran to obey, and as the great sail was brailed up to its yard the growing light revealed the crouching figures and trained swivels like the rising of a curtain.
There was a series of bangs, and Bolitho heard the chain-shot screeching overhead like tormented spirits in hell.
Little said between his teeth, “Too ’igh, thank the liven’ Jesus!”
The deadly chain-shot threw up broken spray far to starboard, but in direct line with the brigantine’s two masts.
“Lee helm!” Palliser was gripping a backstay as he studied the enemy’s blurred outline. “As close to the wind as you can!”
“Man the braces!”
The brigantine crept round, until her remaining sails were rippling in protest.
“Nor’-west by west, sir! Full an’ bye!”
The other vessel fired and a ball slammed down within twenty feet of the Heloise’s bow and hurled spray high over the beak-head.
Then firing began in earnest, the balls wide and haphazard as the gun crews tried to guess what the newcomer was trying to do.
Another ball ripped through the driver and left a jagged hole in the canvas large enough for a man’s head.
Palliser exploded, “That bloody fool brig fired at us.”
Little grinned. “Thinks we’re pirates, too!”
“I’ll give him pirates!”
Palliser pointed at the vessel which was rising out of the darkness to larboard and shortening as she changed tack to run down on the brigantine’s impudent approach.
“Schooner! Take her first!”
Little cupped his hands. “On the uproll, lads!”
Men were still dragging one of the swivels across to mount it on the opposite side and yelled at Little to give them more time.
But Little knew his trade well.
“Easy, lads!” It was like hearing a man quietening a beast. “Fire!”
Like glow-worms the matches plunged down and the swivels barked viciously at the oncoming vessel. A murderous hail of closely packed canister swept across her forecastle, and Bolitho thought he heard screams as it found a target.
“Stand by to come about!” Palliser’s voice carried easily even without his speaking-trumpet. “Lee braces!”
Palliser walked jerkily down the sloping deck to join Slade by the helm. “We’ll go for another one. Put up your helm.”
Heeling hard over, the brigantine ran to leeward, her canvas banging lustily until the seamen had hauled the yards round again. The second vessel seemed to pivot across the jib-boom until she lay to larboard, her stern end on to the charging Heloise.
Palliser yelled, “Rake her poop, Little!” He swung on Slade and his gasping helmsmen. “Steady as she goes, you fool!”
Bolitho found time to pity Slade’s concern. The Heloise was rushing down on the other vessel’s stern as if she was about to smash bodily through her quarter like an axe.
“Fire!”
Flashes lit up the decks of both vessels as their guns spat out darting orange tongues, accompanied by the crash of iron hitting home.Heloise’s canister must have wiped the other vessel’s poop clean. Helmsmen, gun crews, there was not enough room to escape as the “daisy cutters’” jagged charges swept amongst them. She began to fall downwind, to be raked yet again by Little’s other swivels.
“Set the forecourse!” Palliser’s voice was everywhere.
Bolitho could see him clearly now, his lean body moving about the poop and framed against the brightening sea like an avenger.
“Fire!”
More balls shrieked overhead, and Bolitho guessed that their first target had regained his courage and was closing to the aid of his companion.
He saw the Rosario for the first time, and his heart sank at the spectacle. Her foremast had gone completely, and only half of her main appeared to be standing. Wreckage and severed rigging trailed everywhere, and as the sun lifted above the horizon Bolitho saw the thin scarlet threads which ran down from each scupper. It was as if the ship herself and not her defenders was bleeding to death.
“Hands wear ship!”
Bolitho jabbed a seaman’s shoulder and yelled, “Join the others!” He felt the man jump before he ran to throw his weight on the braces. He had imagined it to be hot iron and not his hand.
There was a tremendous crash, and Bolitho almost fell to his knees as two hits were scored on the Heloise’s hull.
Bolitho saw Ingrave staring at the nearest vessel, wide-eyed and unable to move.
He shouted, “Get below and attend to the damage!” He strode to the midshipman and gripped his sleeve and shook him like a doll. “At once, Mr Ingrave! Sound the well!”
Ingrave stared at him vacantly, and then with unexpected determination ran to the companion.
Stockdale unceremoniously dragged Bolitho’s arm and held him aside as a massive block fell from aloft, broken cordage whipping behind it. It struck the bulwark and bounced over the side.
Palliser shouted, “Stand to!” He had drawn his sword. “Ready to larboard!”
Against the schooner’s cannon, small though they were, the swivels sounded insignificant. Bolitho saw the canister blast through the schooner’s fore-sail and hurl two men into bloody bundles before more balls smashed through Heloise’s lower hull. He heard the havoc tearing between decks, the crack of splinters and collapsing timbers, and knew they had been badly hit.
Someone had managed to get the pumps going, but he saw two men fall bleeding badly, and another who had been working on the topsail yard trying to lower himself to safety with one leg hanging to his body by a muscle.
Palliser shouted, “Come aft!”
As Bolitho hurried to join him he said, “We’re doing no good. Get below yourself and report the damage.” He blinked as more shots thudded into the reeling hull, and somewhere a man shrieked in agony. “Feel her? She’s going!”
Bolitho stared at him. It was true. The Heloise’s agility had given way to an ungainly response to both helm and wind. It did not seem possible. So quickly, and their roles had changed. There was no aid at hand, and their
