The Devil's Own Luck (28 page)

Suddenly Carter, standing to hack at a heavy cable, slipped and fell off the bowsprit. His foot caught in a rope and he was dangling upside down as the
Magnanime
dipped into the waves. He went under, with the ship, for what seemed like an age. The bows lifted and Carter came out of the water again. He still had his sword in his hand, but to slash at the rope round his foot was to invite certain death, since that was the only thing holding him to the ship.

Harry looked back at the hands still cutting away. There seemed to be very few lines still holding the foremast. They were nearly clear. He edged out as the bows went under again, clinging desperately as the freezing water came up around his chest. Up again, and Carter was there, still held by the foot. Harry lunged forward and grabbed the rope. His head was now lying on the furled-up canvas of one of the bowsprit sails. He clamped his mouth shut as the
Magnanime
dipped again and he was plunged into the foaming sea. As he felt the ship begin to lift itself out of the water he hauled with all his strength on the line.

By the time the
Magnanime
was at the height of its travel he had Carter’s foot in his hand. Then it started to dip again and Harry just held on, as best he could, while they both received another icy ducking. This time, as the ship breasted itself out of the water, he reached down and grabbed the front of Carter’s shirt, hauling furiously to bring him upright. He felt the man searching for some part of him to hold on to. Eventually their hands met and Harry had him. Under they went again, but as they resurfaced Carter was ready to throw his leg over the bowsprit and haul himself up. Harry swung his axe and cut the line that held the man’s foot.

There was a loud snapping sound as a line further up parted. A cable whistled past Harry’s head like a bullet. The mast went slowly over the side and spun clear. That danger was past. But the crashing of the waves was loud now and the water before the bows was disturbed by more than the
Magnanime
’s progress. Harry inched backwards off the bowsprit followed by Carter. As soon as he reached the deck, Carter staggered back towards the quarterdeck. Harry was bent double, trying to retch the water he had swallowed at the same time as he gasped for breath. He staggered as the
Magnanime
spun in its own length, vaguely aware that all the sails were flapping wildly. She was now stern-on to the shore, the roar of the sea outdoing the noise of the howling wind. Men fell over as the movement of the ship was checked. The anchor was over the side and, at this moment, it was holding. He could hear the shouted commands at the capstan, exhorting the hands to haul away and, by shortening the cable, pull the ship back from danger.

Short of air as he was, Harry stopped breathing now. This was the last throw. If the anchor would not hold, or the cable snapped, they were done for. The motion of the ship steadied as the strain was taken on the huge hawser. He sensed the ship moving. The cable, a twenty-three-inch diameter rope, was holding, as was the anchor. No one would want to spend the night here held by a single anchor. But if it held long enough they could pay out another cable somehow, and put down another anchor. With two they stood a real chance.

The wind was freezing for a man soaked to the skin. Harry, holding the man-ropes for support, clawed his way towards the quarterdeck.

“Mr Ludlow, quick!” It was Pender, shouting above the howling gale. Harry, exhausted after his efforts, was slow to respond.

“You must come now, sir,” said Pender. Harry felt a sword pressed into his hand. “Some of the hands are talking about slinging your brother overboard.”

“What?”

“Someone has fired them up with tales of a Jonah aboard.”

Harry was being pulled bodily towards the gangway, his mind still trying to grapple with what Pender was trying to tell him.

“Jonah?”

“Stupid bastards. Believe any old tale.”

Pender had got Harry down the first few steps. Being out of the screaming wind seemed to help clear his brain. They ran across the gundeck and down the companionway, with Pender explaining breathlessly.

“Some of the men shirked their duty, thinkin’ that the ship was done for.”

“The spirit room?”

“Drunk as lords they all are. And claimin’ that it’s all James Ludlow’s doin’.”

“Carter put a guard on there.”

“Well, God knows where he is, for the door’s wide open. There’s a party of the worst cases heading for the cable tier.”

They shot down the stairwell on to the orlop-deck. The sound of voices, raised in anger, came up towards them. As Pender reached the bottom he stopped. Harry fell on his back trying to do likewise, nearly knocking his servant over.

Half-way along the passage was a group of sailors. Two of them were holding James by the arms, pushing him along. He had the blood of fresh wounds on his face where he had tried to fight them off. They stopped as they saw Harry and Pender. Harry rushed past Pender who was still on his knees, yelling as if possessed, and waving his sword as much as he could in such a confined space. He knew that if he gave these men time to think, there would be a knife under his brother’s throat, and no chance of rescue. Pender, hauling himself up, followed on.

The sailors on either side of James, surprised at the sudden assault, halted and fell back slightly. James immediately tried to get away from his captors. His efforts distracted them long enough for Harry to get close. The temptation was to run one of them through, but angry as he was, Harry had the sense to see the dangers in such a course. Instead he aimed to wound, choosing the man that was holding his brother’s left arm. His sword took him in the shoulder, and the man swung round screaming in pain. Harry followed through by just barging the other sailor aside. Trying to ward Harry off, he had released James, who grabbed at his elder brother, arresting his forward movement before he fell into the mass of the mutinous party.

The rest of the sailors started to crowd forward, after the few seconds they needed to recover their senses. Hemmed in by the lack of space, they could not all come at the Ludlows at once, but there were still too many of them to fight. Harry, pushing James behind him, held out his sword and backed towards the stairwell. The sailors came on, emboldened by the retreat, growling and cursing, ignoring their wounded companion, and stepping on, rather than over, his prostrate form.

“James, up the stairs, while Pender and I hold them off. See if you can find an officer.”

“And leave you to the mercy of this lot?”

The sound of the gun going off beside his ear nearly deafened Harry. He ducked away from the sound, and Pender pushed past him, the other pistol held out.

“Now which one of you buggers wants a bullet in the guts, instead of over your head?”

The noise had halted the forward progress of the sailors. They stood looking at Pender, trying to decide what to do.

“The ship’s at single anchor and safe. If you lot don’t want a rope at the yard-arm for mutiny, you’d better get to where you are supposed to be, and damned quick.”

“He can only shoot one of us,” said the sailor at the front.

“You’re right, Smithy. You take the bullet and I promise that you won’t go unavenged.”

Drunken crowds are strange, being able to turn from humour to a fatal form of anger in a flash. But they can go the other way just as quickly. One of their number laughed at the absurdity of the remark made by the man urging Smithy to sacrifice himself. Another joined in. Suddenly they were all laughing, repeating the line, some of them jokingly pushing Smithy forward.

“Take my advice, lads,” said Pender. “The officers ain’t going to be busy much longer.”

The ugly mood had gone out of them, as they each began to consider their position. Harry touched James and Pender, and they moved away up the stairwell, leaving the crowd to figure out how they could get back to their proper stations without being observed.

Harry led James towards the wardroom. The acrid smell of gunpowder still permeated everything. The wardroom itself was in total disarray, as the hands who had been erecting the bulkheads, and replacing the furnishings, had been called away to attend to the more pressing duty of saving the ship. Harry righted a set of chairs.

“Water, Pender,” he said, pushing James down into a chair.

“What has been happening?” asked James. “First I am dragged from tending the wounded, and slung back in the cable tier, by one set of men. Then I am hauled out by another lot, this time as drunk as lords.”

“They were going to sling you overboard,” said Harry grimly. He had grabbed the first piece of cloth he could find and was dabbing the blood off James’s face. “I noticed some right odd looks before the mast went by the board.”

“The mast?”

“We have had an interesting time of it today, first a battle, then a full gale, the foremast threatening to broach us, and a near run thing with a lee shore. O for the life of a sailor!”

Pender came in with a jug of water. “Cold, I’m afraid, your honour.”

“I would appreciate it if you would tell me what has been happening,” said James. Harry looked at Pender.

“They’ve secured another anchor, Mr Ludlow. We should, according to them in the know, be safe enough now.”

“You saved his life?” The tone in James’s question left little doubt that he felt such an action bordered on madness.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Harry. “He would probably have got himself out of difficulties without my help.”

“Unless you are exaggerating, brother, I cannot see how.”

“All I did was help him. One sailor to another, James. It all happened very quickly.”

“And if you can persuade him to meet you on a cold morning you will just as quickly put a bullet in him.”

“That’s different.”

“I suppose it is. Perhaps that’s why you did it.”

“We shall have to rough it tonight,” said Harry, looking about the wardroom. “We’ll take turns asleep, an hour each.”

“Is that necessary?” asked James.

Harry did not want to explain. “Let’s just say that I would hate to wake up in hell and find out that it was something I should not have omitted to do.”

“Then I shall go first,” said James, “since I was asleep when that mob came to get me.”

“Right,” said Harry gratefully. He lay down on the deck, put a bundle of cloths behind his head, and was asleep in seconds.

“You too, Pender,” said James, noticing the man’s hesitation. It was not for the likes of him to bed down here. “Just give me the pistol.” Pender handed him the loaded gun. “Do we have the wherewithal to load the other one?”

Pender reached inside his jacket and produced a pouch containing powder, wads, and shot.

“Fine. Now do as you are told, man, and get some sleep.”

Pender lay down beside Harry. He stared at the ceiling for a while, but he too was exhausted by the day’s events and he was soon fast asleep.

Harry awoke to the strong sunlight streaming through the stern windows. Sailors were busy removing the heavy wooden dead lights that they had rigged before the battle. Others were starting to put the rest of the wardroom to rights, their efforts hampered by the bodies that lay everywhere, as the officers tried, in any way possible, to get some sleep.

“James. You didn’t wake me?” he croaked. The taste of salt was still strong in his mouth.

“No need. I was content just to sit here and observe the comings and goings of human beings for a while. They are not dissimilar to the to-ings and fro-ings of rats.”

“Did anyone ask what you were doing?”

“Most were too exhausted to care. Those who might have asked must have been deterred by these.” He indicated the pistols on the deck. “There is something to be said for a homicidal reputation in that respect.”

“Breakfast, your honour,” said Pender, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He had been awakened by a discreet, possibly jealous, kick from one of the carpenter’s mates.

“I could eat a horse,” said Harry.

“One horse, Pender. Lightly broiled.” All James’s insouciance seemed to have returned. “I will settle for a large cup of coffee.”

“I’ll go and see if the stove is lit.”

“I wonder if we should put those out of sight now?”

James handed Harry the pistols. “They’ll need to be wormed. They’re both loaded.”

“It would be quicker to fire them off.”

“No shortage of targets.” James looked above his head to Carter’s cabin.

“As soon as my berth is up, we’d best get you in there. I would say we could all use a change of clothes.”

James’s coat and breeches were a dark brown colour from the bloody work he had been doing in the sickbay, but somehow Harry seemed a more shocking sight, his white shirt streaked with grease, his face filthy, and his hair matted on his head.

“No doubt I shall soon be back observing my colony of rats.”

“Not if I can help it. There was supposed to be a guard on that spirit store last night. I want to know why there wasn’t. And I want to know who was getting the hands all excited about your being a Jonah.”

“You don’t think they came by this suspicion naturally, given the number of dead bodies around?”

“Think, James. It’s you again. Not me!”

“Perhaps they think that you are a more difficult proposition.”

“Let’s find out who ‘they’ are. In here.” The bulkheads were all in place now, the slumbering incumbents being roused so that the room could be made shipshape. “You must need some sleep now,” said Harry. “You’ll have to use the floor if you do. It will be a while before they fetch up my cot and sea-chest. I’ll have yours brought here as well. Then you can change.”

“Extremely comfortable, especially compared to the other accommodation I have had aboard this ship.”

Harry went out leaving James to fend for himself. Pender came into the wardroom bearing two cups of coffee.

“Mr James is going to get some sleep, Pender. If you can find anything to make him more comfortable, I would be obliged.” Harry took the coffee and sipped gratefully. “I shall go on deck and see what’s going on.”

Grabbing an oilskin, Harry went up on deck. The wind was still blowing hard, straining the cables holding the
Magnanime,
but nothing like the night before. The sun, occasionally obscured by scudding clouds, was shining brightly. All around, great cliffs surrounded the rocky bay. At the very head of the bay the waves, having spent their force, were running up a white sandy beach. A few fishermen’s cottages sat at the base of the deep tree-lined valley cut out of the surrounding hills, yet there was no other sign of human life. There was an angry reef off the starboard side, the seas still pounding against it. The ship sat in the middle of the bay, lifting and falling as the waves swept by to crash noisily on the nearby rocks. Harry knew that they had been very lucky, for they had entered this bay with little ability to steer. That they had managed to avoid any rocks, that they had managed to find good holding ground for the anchors, was near miraculous.