Cut and Run: The Fourth Book in the Fighting Sail Series (24 page)

      
“Problems, captain?” Drayton had appeared on deck wearing his ubiquitous greatcoat. King watched with interest as Rogers gave a brief report on the circumstances, his tone containing an odd mixture of respect and arrogance.

      
The man nodded, apparently understanding. “I notice the guns have been made ready; you will be clearing for action, I suppose?”
 

      
“In good time, sir, in good time.” Rogers appeared to be physically irritated by the civilian's presence. “But first I intend to outrun.”

      
Drayton looked across at the oncoming ship. Her upper sails were clearly visible from the deck now, and the idea that
Pevensey Castle
could increase her lead in any way was clearly laughable. Rogers sensed this and turned upon the man.

      
“Sir, you will do me a great service by allowing me to fight my ship.” The officers on the quarterdeck cringed slightly, although Drayton seemed to take the outburst in good heart.

      
“Of course, captain, of course.” His genial look encompassed the entire deck. “I will leave you gentlemen to what you do best.”

      
Rogers glared about, seemingly keen to find another target. “Mr Seagrove, assemble the male passengers and equip them with small arms. Mr Robbins, attend to the arms chests, if you please.” He paused, long enough for it to seem that he had not been prompted, then added curtly. “Clear for action.”

* * *

      
The women were already heading for the hold, but began to hurry as parties of men started to tear down bulkheads and remove furniture about them. Kate and Elizabeth, who had taken an early meal together, reached the open hatch to find the ladders already in use.

      
“Give us some light, milady,” a dark-tanned seaman spoke, not unkindly, to the first of the bustling line.

      
“We wish to seek shelter in the hold, Matthews,” Kate told him.

      
“That's as may be, ma'am,” the man knuckled his forehead briefly. “But we need to strike all we can below first. Let us carry on, an' we'll see you safe.” He stepped back while a large sofa was manoeuvred past him and down one of the ladders. “Safe and comfortable,” he added, winking broadly.

      
The women withdrew and the men continued with their work.

      
“Most have not dined,” Elizabeth said. “Will you arrange for tea?”
 

      
Kate shook her head. “I fear that might not be possible, although I will try and send some cold victuals down.”

      
“You will not be joining us?” The other girl seemed surprised.
 

      
“I'm sure you can look after the ladies,” Kate replied, while further personal possessions were shunted past, with some all but thrown down the open hatch. “This appears to be a major action, and my place is in the sickbay.”

      
“Can I assist?” Elizabeth asked.

      
“No, you will be better placed below. Share out what food I can find and try and keep everyone talking. Let no man down with you and, if we are taken, do all you can to keep the women together.”

      
Elizabeth reached for her hand. “Do be careful,” she said.

      
“And you, Elizabeth.” Kate nodded and left her.

* * *

      
The bell rang once, it was four thirty, and light was starting to fade. King had been standing on the quarterdeck for over four hours and should have been hungry, although the sight that was on their larboard quarter was enough to quell even the strongest of appetites. The privateer, now in plain view, lay just out of gunshot range, her full sails tight, French national flag flying proudly, and a fine mist of spray breaking from her bow as she broached the Atlantic rollers. King looked away and back to his ship. About him, men stood ready at the larboard battery, and topmen were poised by the shrouds, although there seemed little they could do that had not already been tried. The ensign ruse had failed, as he predicted, although Rogers was not without other ideas. Additional sail was set, only to be taken in again when it was clear the hull would move no faster and they were in danger of losing masts and yards. At one point the captain even decided to wear to the northeast; it had taken the combined efforts of all the officers to dissuade him. A sudden change of direction might have put their adversary off for a while, but there was little that
Pevensey Castle
could achieve that would be both slick and surprising. The privateer, a tidy vessel, well rigged and lithe, was bound to be handier in stays. Now they waited, as the darkness slowly gathered about them, and the enemy grew steadily closer.

      
“She's intending to yaw,” Willis muttered.

      
Sure enough, the ship was starting to turn; within minutes, she would be presenting her entire larboard battery to the merchant.

      
“It will cost her.” Paterson was watching intently. The action was certainly increasing
Pevensey Castle
's slight lead, but any gain would be easily offset by a well-aimed broadside.
 

      
A puff of smoke came from her side to be instantly dispersed by the steady wind. “She's opened fire!” Seagrove's shout came out in a higher pitch than he intended and he instantly turned his attention to the fastenings of his coat. The sound of a single gun rolled across the water, but there was no sign of any shot, and the other broadside guns remained silent. Langlois was studying the enemy through the deck glass, while Rogers paced backwards and forwards in a stride that was becoming increasingly erratic.

      
“She's turning back to her original course,” Willis said, fingering the hilt of his sheathed sword nervously.
 

      
King looked about the crowded deck. It seemed ridiculous that they were simply standing and gaping while the enemy crept closer. Something could be done, something must, else they might just as well surrender immediately. Eventually it became too much, and he approached his captain.
 

      
“If we turned to larboard I could muster a broadside, sir,” he said, already preparing himself for the rebuke. “Chance we might be able to strike a yard or two. It might buy us time.”

      
Rogers glowered round at the enemy ship that he truly hated. No gun could be brought to bear on her on their present course, yet to do as King suggested would all but finish the chase.

      
“They are brim full of men, damn it!” the captain spat back. “Even a point will give them sea room; she'd be alongside before you can say knife.”

      
“I don't see many aboard.” It was Langlois’s voice, slow and measured. He was still examining the privateer closely. “I'd say they were undermanned, sir.”

      
Rogers strode across and roughly snatched the telescope from his hand, while Paterson and Nichols inspected the ship through their own personal glasses.

      
“Undermanned?” Rogers gave a short dismissive laugh. “Why, I can see enough to take this ship and several others after.” He thrust the glass roughly back at the fifth mate.

      
“We could load round on grape.” King felt unable to keep quiet. “That might gain us time, and cut the numbers down.”

      
“You will be silent!” Rogers bellowed, then added more softly, “If anyone else has the temerity to offer advice, I shall dismiss them from the quarterdeck. Do I make myself clear?”

* * *

      
Manning and Keats had removed a canvas bulkhead and extended the sickbay to incorporate an area of adjoining deck, although the space was still less than twelve foot square, far smaller than the section of orlop reserved for dealing with the wounded in
Pandora
.

      
“Can I assist, Mr Keats?” Kate asked, as she entered.

      
The surgeon regarded her doubtfully. “I think not, ma'am; the work will be hard and not in the least pleasant.”

      
“Kate served in the cockpit at Camperdown,” Manning said simply.

      
Keats visibly relaxed. “Then you will indeed be welcome; we have no loblolly boys in this ship.”

      
“And little space,” she said, looking about the meagre area.

      
“I fancy we will not need more,” the surgeon continued. “I do not expect a great number of casualties,” he smiled grimly. “This will hardly be a fleet action.”

* * *

      
The privateer had yawed again, and another shot came from her. This one struck them, hitting their taffrail and sending up a cloud of small splinters. The debris caught the wind and fluttered down about the men on the poop and quarterdeck like so many snowflakes. Nichols glanced across at Langlois, who grinned winningly back as he brushed the dust from his jacket. Rogers had withdrawn slightly and now stood at the lee side of the quarterdeck, with the bulk of the mizzenmast between him and any French guns.

      
King moved to the break of the quarterdeck and looked down to the waist where most of the male passengers and some of the afterguard were sheltering under the lee of the gangboards. All were armed, although he wondered how many of those carrying edged weapons were able to use them. The Company blunderbusses, evil-looking beasts with short stocks and gaping barrels, might be a better bet. Even the more reticent of civilians would be likely to have handled a firearm in the past. King knew from experience how much easier it was to squeeze a trigger and watch men fall from a distance, than moving in closer, exposing your own body to injury, and attempt to physically butcher another human.

      
The privateer did not alter course and a further shot was fired, although this one passed by and fell harmlessly into the sea. The enemy were being left behind, but he fancied he could see movement on their deck. He moved back and collected a glass. Yes, hands were going to the braces. A group clustered about the two cannon that had been fired, but it appeared that the other broadside guns were left unattended. He glanced across at Rogers, still fidgeting nervously by the fife rails. It was useless arguing with the man, his mind was made up and yet, properly handled, King was sure
Pevensey Castle
could put up more of a fight.

* * *

      
The hold was dark, even with four lanterns burning and Elizabeth found it difficult walking amongst the seated women. Kate had sent down some cold duff that was to have been their dessert, and she was distributing this, along with drafts of lemonade from a large pewter jug. All had been in high spirits at first, the earlier brush with enemy ships having instilled confidence and even bravado in some. But as soon as they received their first hit, the mood changed rapidly. Now they sat, most in stunned silence, although somewhere far away Elizabeth thought she could hear the sounds of gentle sobbing.

      
“Ain't you got nothin’ stronger?” It was Susan, one of Mrs Drayton's maids; her mistress was at the other end of the group.

      
“Only lemonade,” Elizabeth said, offering the jug.

      
The girl held out her cup to be filled, just as another shot struck. Two women shrieked and the sound of crying was now very apparent. The shock caused the jug to jolt, and liquid spilled over Susan's hand. Elizabeth apologised, but the girl shrugged. “Worse things have 'appened,” she said.
 

* * *

      
The privateer was pierced for fourteen guns, all of which were bound to be far lighter than
Pevensey Castle
's main armament. Granted, the enemy's weapons were probably more modern, better served and rigged to allow a greater arc of fire. And any boarding party the French might summon would also be made up of bloodthirsty thugs who were certain to have no interest in mercy. Still, King felt restless as he watched—watched and did nothing. Of them all, he was probably the only true fighting man; certainly no one else had seen action on so many occasions. He alone knew that, carefully planned, they could put up some form of resistance. To do nothing was tantamount to suicide.
 

      
The broadside idea was not so far off the mark, he thought, and provisions should be made in case they were boarded. Even now, the men in the waist could be receiving instruction; maybe being formed into individual groups, each under the command of an officer. He felt his fingers physically twitch as yet another shot came past overhead, this time punching a neat hole in the mizzen topsail. The privateer was on their larboard quarter and coming in fast, her guns trained as far forward as they could bear.
Pevensey Castle
's cannon had antiquated tackle and would not be in range for several minutes. By then the French would be up with them. Alongside or, if King had been in command of the enemy ship, across their stern, with a raking broadside to knock out any remaining fight.