An Eye of the Fleet

dominions,' he said, aware that cynicism was a great relief, 'with his bollocks in his mouth…'

Somehow he found White's shocked look amusing…

Chapter Sixteen The Cutting Out

April 1781

If the remnants of the landing party expected rest after their labours they were to be disappointed. After a bare three hours exhausted sleep several found themselves rowing a guard-boat cautiously down stream to prevent a surprise attack by La Creole or her boats. Hope was especially concerned since he had seen the enemy stand southwards.

Although he could not know it La Creole had missed Cyclops in her search, but the last of the onshore breeze the next afternoon brought her back. An hour before sunset she had anchored on the bar. There was no longer any doubt that she had found her quarry.

The twenty-four hours that had elapsed since the return of the landing party had proved tiring and trying for all. Without exception the members of the expedition had about them the smell of defeat and their low morale affected the remaining men. The immediate failure of the mission was forgotten in the urgent necessity of alleviating the sufferings of the wounded and preparing the frigate for sea. The topgallant masts were re-hoisted and the upper yards crossed. It may well have been this that discovered her to La Creole but no one now cared. Action was infinitely preferable to lying supinely in the stinking jungle-surrounded Galuda a moment more than was necessary. Appleby and his mates worked harder than anyone else, patching up the walking wounded so that they might man their guns again, or easing the sufferings of the badly wounded with laudanum.

The time passed for Drinkwater in a daze. Outwardly he carried out his duties with his customary efficiency. When the roll was called he answered for Sharples having been killed at the mill.

When Threddle's name was called his mouth clamped shut. His eyes swivelled to Morris. The enigmatic smile still played around the mouth of his adversary but Morris said nothing.

Strain and fatigue continued to play havoc with Drinkwater's nerves as the day wore on until, when the news of the arrival of La Creole on the bar spread rapidly through the ship, he seemed to emerge from a tunnel. He had found his second wind. Morris was just Morris, an evil to be endured, Achilles had been a brief and colourful intrusion into his life and was so no more; Cranston was dead, just that, dead; and Threddle… Threddle was discharged dead too, killed in action at the mill… or so the ship's books said…

It was only when he received the summons to attend the Captain, however, that his mind received the final jerk that returned him to sanity. As he entered the cabin in company with all the other officers he found himself standing next to Morris. It came to him then, the awful truth, the fact that his numbed mind had automatically excluded in its pain…

Sharples had not died in action. Sharples had been shot down in cold blood under the cover of action. And the man next to him had done it…

'Well, gentlemen…' Hope looked round the ring of tired yet expectant faces. They were all here. The welcome features of Devaux and Wheeler, the careworn, lined face of old Blackmore, the younger Keene and youthful Skelton. Behind the commissioned officers the mature warrant officers; the gunner, the bosun and the carpenter, and the eager yet apprehensive faces of his midshipmen and master's mates.

'Well gentlemen, it seems our friend has returned, I suspect with reinforcements. I imagine he will attempt a cutting out so I am not intending to warp the ship round. If we see La Creole approaching then we shall have to do so and for that eventuality the spring is already rigged, but I do not foresee this. The wind during the night will be offshore and therefore favour an attack by boats. I have a mind to bait a trap and for that purpose have summoned you all here… Moonset is about two o'clock. We may, therefore, expect his boats soon after in order that, having taken us,' here Hope looked round and swept what he believed to be a sardonically inspiring grin around the company, '…he may carry the terral to sea…'

A little shuffle among the officers indicated a stirring of interest.

Hope breathed a silent sigh of relief. 'Now, gentlemen, this is what I intend that we should do…'

Cyclops settled down to await the expected attack. The hands had been fed and the galley fire extinguished. The men had been told off to their stations and the most elaborate dispositions made. Apart from a watch the hands were, for the time being, ordered to rest on their arms.

Anxious to stimulate the morale of his crew Hope had accepted several suggestions for improvisation in the frigate's defence. Of these the best had been suggested by Wheeler. Cyclops's two largest boats were hoisted by the yardarm tackles fitted to the extremities of the fore and main yards. By this means the boats were slung outboard of, and higher than, the frigate's sides. In each boat a party of the ship's best marksmen lay hidden, awaiting the order to open fire upon the anticipated boarders as they scrambled up Cyclops's sides.

The lower deck gunports were all secured and the hands issued with small arms.

An hour after moonset the faint chuckle of water under a boat's bow was heard from downstream. Peering intently from the stern cabin windows Devaux touched Hope's arm.

'Here they come, sir,' he whispered. He turned to pass word forward but Hope held him back. 'Good luck Mr Devaux…' Hope's voice cracked with age and emotion. Devaux smiled in the darkness. 'Good luck to you, sir,' he replied warmly.

The first lieutenant slipped through into the gun-deck, passing a whispered warning to the men stationed there. Emerging on to the upper deck he ordered the men to lie down. In a crouching position he moved up one side and down the other. At each post he found the men waiting eagerly.

Drinkwater was one of the party waiting in the forward gun-deck. Commanded by Lieutenant Skelton their task was to counter attack once the enemy had boarded in the manner that had been so successfully used in the previous action. Up on the fo'c's'le O'Malley, the Irish cook, scraped a melancholy air on his fiddle and several men sang quietly or chatted in low voices as might be expected from a casually maintained anchor watch…

The boats came alongside at several points. Faint grunts and bumps told where they secured. Devaux waited. A hand reached over the rail and grasped the hammock netting, another followed. One groped upwards and a moment later a knife was sawing through the boarding netting, another followed. Another hand came over the opposite rail. It was followed by a head.

'Now!' bellowed Devaux, expelling his pent up breath in one mighty roar that was taken up by the waiting seamen. The tension burst from them in smoke, flame and destruction. Fifty or sixty twelve-pound cannon balls were dropped overside to plummet down through the bottoms of La Creole's boats. From her own boats, suspended high above, Cyclops's marksmen opened a lethal fire on the invaders. This desperate refinement quickly cleared the frigate's sides.

From the deck too a withering fire was poured down at the hapless privateersmen now struggling in the river…

Aft the attacks had been driven off with similar success. Hope looked round. He was suddenly aware that his ship was swinging, her head falling off from pointing up river. Someone forward had cut Cyclops's cable and instinct prompted Hope to stare over the stern, searching in the darkness for the spring. Shouting anxiously for Blackmore to get sail on the ship he sprung himself for the wheel in case the spring parted and the ship was in danger of going aground.

Forward the rebels had had more success than the mere severing of the frigate's cable. Having driven a boat in under Cyclops's figurehead where access was comparatively easy via the bowsprit rigging and the foretack bumpkins, twenty or thirty men had gained access to the deck under an enterprising officer and a fierce hand to hand engagement now took place. Several of the privateersmen were engaged in turning one of the bow chasers inboard along the length of Cyclops.

The situation became critical and Devaux shouted for Skelton's reserve.