'I intend to come about directly, Sir Graham, and rake their defenses as we leave. Without those guns to support them they'll crack, and Commander Pointer will get his chance. Until then…' He winced as a seaman fell from the mainyard and hit the deck, his face staring at the copper sky.
'Sir! ' It was Kirkland, the lieutenant of Royal Marines; surprised, shocked, it was beyond either.
Adam strode to the nettings and climbed on to them. He felt cordage cutting his knee where his breeches had been torn open. It was madness. There was more blood by a stanchion, where another man had been cut down. Yet all he could hold in his reeling mind was a picture of Bowles, and his horror when he had seen his captain donning his best uniform before beating to quarters.
The smoke was thinner down on the low foreshore, and he could see some upended boats near the water close to a rough road or track. No fifes or drums, no commands to bark out the pace or the dressing, but the scarlet coats and white crossbelts of Athena'?' Royal Marines marched in perfect order, Captain Souter in the lead, hatless and with a bandage around his head, but with all the style of a barracks parade.
There were flames at the top of the bay: a ship ablaze, or Pointer's own signal of success.
'Stand by to come about! '
He heard the leadsman's cry. 'Deep four! ' No doubt wondering if any one heard or cared with iron beating into the hull, and men dying.
The sailing master had heard well enough.
'Christ, she'll be sailing on wet grass in a minute! '
Athena drew eighteen feet.
Men were running to the braces, while somewhere high overhead axes were slashing away broken cordage and sails torn apart by haphazard shots from the land and from the barque, which had taken the full brunt of Athena'?' vengeful broadside. For revenge it was. Adam looked at Bethune's face. There was no deception now. If anything, it was despair.
He looked at the marching figures on the land, joined now by others, sailors from other ships of English Harbour, redcoats from the garrison. He had heard Bethune's servant speak of them, an English county regiment. Not what they had been expecting when they had left home.
He measured the distance again, and gauged the wind. It had to be now.
He heard more shots hammering into the hull, men shouting, saw the tell-tale smoke seeping from one of the hatch gratings. The gun crews were poised with handspikes ready, slow matches in their tubs in case the flintlocks should fail at the moment of action.
Small scenes stood out and gripped his attention, even though every fibre was screaming for him to begin what might be his last moments in this, the only world he truly understood. A midshipman writing busily on his slate, as if it was all that mattered. Bethune shaking his head as Troubridge tried to offer him the heavy coat again, perhaps because of a tall splinter which had been levered from the deck like a quill a few yards from where he was standing.
Adam knew Stirling was watching him, judging the moment, and the remaining time for Athena, his ship, to come about.
He walked swiftly to the rail and touched the sailing master's arm, but did not take his eyes from the upper yards and the masthead pendant.
'Remember what you said to me when I came to Athenal That she was a fine sailer even close to the wind?'
He saw Eraser stare at him, and then nod. 'Good as any frigate, sir! ' Determination, and perhaps relief that his captain had not cracked under the strain.
'Stand by to come about! ' He saw Bethune walk across the deck, his eyes on the nearest land, the ground and hillside still smoking from their first broadside.
'Aim for the battery.' He leaned on the rail. 'Put the helm down! '
The spokes were spinning round; the helmsmen needed no urging.
'Helm a-lee, sir! '
Some one had loosened the awning across the empty boat tier, and some of the released water was surging across the deck where seamen were already forming a bucket chain.
'Off tacks and sheets! '
Still turning into the wind, a few boats pulling away as if they imagined they were the new target.
Adam felt the deck tilting, the land sliding past, the rounded hill suddenly standing like a marker on the opposite bow. The yards were as tightly braced as they could bear, the canvas almost aback as the ship came slowly into the wind. Small things stood out. The hole punched in the topsail had spread across the full breadth of canvas; torn rigging trailed down toward the deck like dead creeper. Then the tip of the headland itself, some crumbling fortifications clearly etched now against the sky. And directly beyond it, like water piled in a great dam, was the open sea.
'Steady as you go! '
He could see a tiny pyramid of sail, like pale shells in the strengthening sunlight as the frigate Hostile hurried to obey Athena's last signal, to close on the flagship.
He saw Bethune by the poop ladder, leaning across an unmanned swivel gun to stare at the small schooner. He wondered what Jago would think when he saw Athena sail past, heading once more for open water.
'East by north, sir! '
He saw Fraser watching him from the compass box. He knew. It was as close to the wind as Athena would come. Perhaps even better than he had promised.
Each gun captain was ready. Here a handspike moved to adjust the muzzle's elevation, or a tackle squeaked to train a gun a fraction more, until the eye over the breech was satisfied.
'Ready, sir! ' That was Stirling again. The ship had come about and was on the opposite tack. The drills and careful selection of seamen known for their skill and reliability, in all weathers and in the face of death itself, had been his main concern, a first lieutenant's role, ship of the line or little sixth-rate like Audacity.
Adam knew that Bethune had joined him. Perhaps already trying to gauge the final outcome, perhaps the blame when the repercussions began, as they surely would. Renegades or not, this was Cuba, Spanish territory. Face would have to be saved, until the next time.
Bethune watched Adam raise his hand over his head.
He said, 'After this, Adam. I have to know.' His eyes were steady, even calm. 'I must know! '
Adam saw the nearest gun captain testing his trigger line. It was taut. To him, nothing else mattered. He was right. Leave questions to others.
His arm sliced down. 'Fire! '
It took even longer for the dust and smoke to settle. The hillside looked much as before the broadside, but merged now with the fallen walls and rooftops where the battery had been sited to command the approaches.
'Reload, sir?'
Adam shaded his eyes to stare along the foreshore, where he could just discern the scarlet coats of the marines. They would wait to ensure there was no further resistance while the slavers were seized by Pointer's prize crews, or scuttled where they lay.
'I think you should see this, sir.' It was Troubridge, pale and tight-lipped. But somehow more mature, confident.
Adam trained the glass on the bearing Troubridge was indicating. Faces leaped into focus, vignettes of excitement, and pain. And pride. The sailor's lot.
He saw the little schooner, boats still tied or drifting alongside. His fingers tightened on the warm metal. And a flag. A smaller version of the one which Athena had flown since leaving English Harbour.
Jago had done it. As they had arranged. So he must be safe. He looked across the bay where they had seen the last of Audacity. If only…
'I propose to anchor directly, Sir Graham.' For a moment he thought he had not heard, but Bethune said, 'Do so. I shall see that your part in this affair does not pass unnoticed.'
He knew Troubridge was watching, perhaps realizing for the first time that he knew his admiral better than he had thought.
Bethune said quietly, 'I should like to go across, Adam.'
He was not demanding. If anything, he was pleading.
