The Scent of Betrayal (37 page)

The cabin smelt of Fernandez, a mixture of sweat, garlic, and cheap cigars, and it was untidy in a way that Harry would never have allowed. Dreaver came in, carrying the things Pender had fetched aboard that morning, including the portrait case. Harry ignored that and his sea-chest, grabbing instead at the untidy package lashed to James’s easel containing the long frontier rifle. Slipping it out he began to load it quickly, ramming home the ball viciously.

‘Put this where I can get it, Dreaver, somewhere close to the wheel.’

‘Aye, aye, Captain. Everything is just about in place.’

‘Right. Signal to the men ashore to cast off.’

‘They should lower the cable into the water, or the splash might be heard.’

‘Well said,’ replied Harry. ‘Send someone down with a line to help them.’

Dreaver ran out. Harry was about to follow when he saw the case lying there. Action had allowed him to block out the pain of his loss: it came flooding back now. He knew he had no time to spare for such an indulgence but he couldn’t resist opening the buckle and extracting the paintings. He threw the two that they’d taken out of the
Gauchos
onto the foot-lockers and gingerly began to unroll the one that had come from Hyacinthe’s bedroom. It was a bad idea. The sight of her enigmatic smile, which seemed to be there only for him, depressed him utterly. That was cast aside too, but more gently, before he walked out of the cabin door and up onto the quarterdeck.

‘Damn my eyes,’ said Dreaver, leaning over the side. ‘There’s that sod Fernandez.’

‘Belay,’ called Harry to the men lifting clear the cable, in what could only be described as a shouted whisper. Then he ducked beneath the bulwarks. One sight of the ship’s Captain on his own deck and even a dolt like Fernandez would guess that something was amiss. Harry tapped the knife that was stuck in Dreaver’s belt. ‘Get down that damned gangplank. Those two dressed as sentries will never fool him. If you can’t get him aboard without making a noise chuck him in the river.’

Dreaver was only halfway to the jetty when Fernandez’s shout rent the air. One of the men so badly disguised as a sentry ran forward and took a wild swing. He hit him, but not hard enough to knock him down, and instead of trying to run, Fernandez, still yelling, made for the gangplank, as if by his own efforts he could stop what was taking place. If he’d been unsteady on his feet before he took a blow he was doubly so now. The idea of pretending he was drunk was not an option. In darkness, with the tops full of waiting men, Harry dismissed the thought that he could engage in bluff.

‘Cast off that damned cable,’ he shouted, ‘and the one at the stern, and get back aboard.’

The thick rope was off the bollard in a flash, dropping into the river with a huge splash. Those on deck left the guns and ran to their stations as the orders rang out. The shore party pounded along the jetty, since by casting off the bow the ship’s head would edge away from the shore, while the wind would push her forward, putting a strain on the stern cable. Harry, by the taffrail, couldn’t see the firestep on the bastion but he heard the first ragged volley of musket shots aimed at the topmen, and the cry as one was hit. Looking aloft he saw, silhouetted against the starry night sky, the struggling feet of the wounded sailor, who’d obviously had the wit to grab hold of something.

‘Get a line round that man.’

Dreaver’s voice floated up from below. ‘Stern cable’s too tight, Capt’n. She won’t budge.’

‘Axes,’ Harry yelled. ‘And you on shore, get back aboard.’

Three men appeared beside him, the first axe flashing at the
thick rope before he stopped running. Harry grabbed his rifle and moved to the opposite side of the ship.

‘Gunner, get a man over the side and fire those barrels. Cast them off as soon as they’re ready.’

Jumping onto the bulwark by the mizzen shrouds he looped one arm through them so he could balance and fire the weapons. The embrasures of the bastion, and the firestep, were easily visible, their shapes black against the light from the torches behind. He hoped and prayed that in the summer heat the Spaniards had not kept their furnaces alight. The rumble of a gun carriage on stone mingled with the steady beat of the axes, and the gunners above ran out their cannon. At the same time several heads appeared, muskets poking forward, each with a topman in its sights. Harry fired off the rifle, aiming for the very top edge of the thick wall. With the shipping moving very slightly the ball didn’t hit anything, probably going right over their heads. But the crack alarmed them enough to cause a swift withdrawal.

The trio who’d been on the jetty leapt onto the deck. Fernandez was bundled unceremoniously back, collapsing in a heap, the men too busy casting off the ropes that held the gangplank to pay him any attention. They succeeded in loosening them just as the distance opened between the ship and the shore, and it dropped into the river. Harry hauled his yards round, and put his wheel down hard in an attempt to keep
Bucephalas
close inshore, away from the point at which the great forty-two-pounders could take aim on his hull. At the same time he had men with capstan bars ready to pole him off if he started to scrape the shore. Ahead de Barrameda’s galleys were coming to life, with men on the deck pointing to
Bucephalas
, while others, more efficient, were rousing out those men needed to get under way.

The first forty-two-pounder ball whooshed through the rigging and hit the river right by his larboard main chains, sending up a great fount of water. If he’d needed to be told how dangerous it was to haul away from the shore, that one shot would have underlined it. If one of those balls wounded a mast he would be in serious difficulties. He kept his head pointed straight towards
the still berthed galleys, his heart sinking slightly to see that the one closest already had some of its oars in place. His plan was unravelling fast: he’d hoped to get under way before the land-based gunners noticed anything – once close to de Barrameda’s ships, with one already damaged and drifting, those fortress cannon would risk hitting his own and probably cease firing. He’d then intended to sail past the unprotected sterns of the galleys, taking them and rendering them useless before they could mount an effective defence. But that wasn’t going to happen. At least one, perhaps all three, were going to be mobile, with the advantage of manoeuvrability in the confined waters. The wind wasn’t strong enough to allow a square-rigged ship to nullify that, and nothing had yet happened to the downriver bastion that Pender was supposed to attack.

He saw the gap open up between the jetty and the nearest galley, as the oars dipped in reverse to take it away from the shore. The Captain of the next ship was busy hauling his stern round so that he could bring the cannon in his bows to bear on
Bucephalas
. It was a shrewd move, designed to trap Harry Ludlow between at least two arcs of fire whatever he did. The four barrels released by the gunner were drifting away from the shoreline, and might well be too far away from their intended target to do any harm.

‘Man the bow chasers and the larboard guns. And carronades. If you don’t take out that moving galley first time, we might as well strike.’

Another ball whoosed over their heads, cutting through several ropes on the way, fortunately none of them vital. A block swung down, and with no netting rigged it caught one of Harry’s gunners right on the shoulder, breaking bone. He fell to the ground just as a great explosion rent the air. The sky downriver was lit up by a great flash, as the second of Pender’s charges, laid against the gatehouse door, went off, triggered by the explosion of the first.

‘Gunners stand by,’ Harry shouted, as the din subsided. ‘To larboard, fire as you bear.’

THE GALLEY
still tied to the jetty opened fire, guns aimed high to damage the rigging. Harry’s bow chasers, which went off simultaneously, were directed at the hull. A galley had to be light in its construction, to make it easy to row, while its interior strength was lessened by the need for the oarsmen to work and move. The weak spots would be at bows and stern, where the planking joined the timbers connected to the kelson. Spring those, and there was little in the way of cross-bracing along the length of the ship to keep them in place. Both vessels had the smallest of targets to aim at. Not so the larboard galley, now out in deeper water. He had nearly the whole length of
Bucephalas
in his sights, and with a swift dip of the oars on either side he could alter the angle of his fire to bring it to bear on exactly the point at which his cannon would do the most harm. Harry couldn’t ignore the galley ahead, but he knew the other one to be the most dangerous, since he was moving so slowly that adjustments to range and direction were child’s play, and any attempt by him to swing round to reduce his profile would bring his bows out into the firing pattern of the forty-two-pounders in the fortress.

The first of the gunner’s floating barrels went off. It was too far from anything solid to do more than drench a few sailors, but it had the unforeseen effect of concentrating minds downriver on it instead of
Bucephalas
. Harry saw the gunners who should have continued reloading hanging over the prow, gesticulating, trying to draw their commander’s attention to the spluttering trace of burning slow-match which was easily visible in the darkness, then his mind was dragged back to the danger he was in as the other
galley, out in deeper water and having steadied itself, let fly with both guns. The whistling sound of bar-shot had him craning his neck – two lengths of metal fixed by a chain was lethal in the rigging.

The short range worked in Harry’s favour, since the chain had little time to spread itself, but it was still effective, one set slicing the slings for the main-yard, the other cutting through the forestay at the foremast. Taut rope burst asunder, the lower end whistling across the foredeck. That it failed to decapitate anyone was a miracle. The very end whiplashed, then cracked against one of the twelve-pounder guns, demonstrating its force by shifting more than a ton of metal sideways. Apart from that one weapon all his cannon were trained forward and ready to engage the galley to larboard. Harry gave the command and the first nine-pounder fired, its discharge the signal for the next gun in line. The broadside rolled down the side of the ship, the discipline so perfect it was hard to credit that his men had been idle for months. The carronades sang a louder tune, a deep rumbling roar very different from the nine-pounders’ sharp crack, and without a sea swell the firing platform was as good as
terra firma.
Given the age and experience of his gun captains, honed over many months of constant practice, it wasn’t surprising that they found the target.

Not that they looked themselves. As soon as each weapon was fired, recoiling back inboard, the crew stepped forward to reload. Sponges were inserted before the gun was stationary, cleaning out the dirty cartridge fragments. With the gun brought up short by its breechings, other crew-members stepped forward with the cartridge and the wad, rammed them down the barrel with venom. Then came the ball, and as that was rammed down the barrel, the gun captain pricked the cartridge by ramming a thin wire through the touch-hole, then, from the horn he wore round his neck, he sprinkled in a drop of powder. The whole crew, except him, was on the ropes, ready to pull the weapon back up into its firing position. Crowbars and handspikes were used to trim the aim, stuck under the carriage and trapped on the deck, levering the heavy
wood and metal. Squinting along the barrel, the Captain called out his orders, held up his hand when satisfied, then pressed a length of burning slow-match to the powder around the touch-hole. A fizz lasting less than a second was followed by a great orange flash as the ball was blasted from the barrel, hurtling to bring death and destruction to its target. The whole exercise was completed in just under a minute.

A carronade ball, nearly four times the size of the nine-pounders’, had raked one side of the galley, splintering oars, the pieces flung as deadly shards in all directions. Over the flat river water Harry heard the screams from below as men were struck by the wood of the great sweeps that suddenly jumped in their hands. The decorated prow went completely, the ball carrying on to wreak havoc on the quarterdeck. Another struck just below the bulwark, slewing the galley round just as the two cannon in the bows fired. They completely missed
Bucephalas
. Great chunks of the earth from the levee flew upwards, and the balls, ricocheting, leapt up into the air, carrying on towards the buildings at the rear.

No sooner had Harry’s rear gun fired than the first followed, in the kind of assault that made the Royal Navy such a feared opponent. The Spaniards, if they’d seen action at all, would never have experienced anything like it, a maelstrom of shot and flying wood that, with the accompanying noise, made even strong men cower for safety. There was no respite; given only a single target, there was no point at which one or more guns were not raking the enemy deck. Concentration, on such occasions, tended to be replaced by self-preservation and panic.

Bucephalas
shuddered as the ship downriver, having managed to get her guns reloaded, let fly at point-blank range. The second of the gunner’s floating barrels went up at the same time, right by the bow, blowing apart the man trying to pole it clear. As the waterspout fell back to give a clear view, Harry saw that the galley had split in two, right down her whole length, and the strakes of the planking gaped open like a dragon’s jaws. Water poured into the bilges, taking the vessel down by the head. Men were
jumping for the quay as the weight of the guns, running forward, added to the list. They would not drown, since the depth under the keel was not even enough to wet the base of the masts, but it was heartening to see that one of Harry’s enemies was now out of the battle. The larboard galley was now coming abreast of him and that reversed the previous advantage. Not only was the Captain faced with a rate of fire he couldn’t match, but aimed right at his bows were the entire massed guns of a far more formidable ship. He tried to get clear by pulling back, but that only added to his woes as the imbalance in his rowing strength, caused by the ball from the carronade, swung him broadside on.

Never was the discipline of Harry’s crew more evident. There was no hint of excitement, or of firing off the guns in a hurry. He watched each gun layer bending, taking his time, aware that the target thus set couldn’t fire anything but muskets in reply. Harry went forward to supervise, his hand raised. From the first gun to the last he called for each shot, watching as most of the side of the galley disappeared before he’d reached halfway. To put a pair of carronade balls into such a target was murderous, a fact apparent to the Spaniards, who were either trying to get below or jump over the blind side. Neither course proved safe as the solid iron smashed into their ship. The impact was so great the galley nearly rolled over, her mast dipping perilously close to the water. Anyone on that side would have been driven under. But the men below probably fared worse, as the metal ripped through the planking. With nothing much to impede their progress, the balls smashed through to the larboard planking of the ship, so that it was holed on both sides.

The men of the
Navarro,
still tied to the jetty, stern out to the quay, suddenly realised what was coming their way. The shock would be total, since Harry surmised that with their two consorts in action they’d probably not expected to engage. Unfortunately, as Harry’s eyes swept the crowded deck, there was no sign of San Lucar de Barrameda. He slept ashore, but his officers were there, trying to stem the tide of their men rushing for the bows and a
chance of safety. Not even the stern chaser gunners had stayed at their posts. In order to pass the ship ahead Harry had to leave the safety of the shore for the area covered by the fortress guns. Much as he wanted to sink the
Navarro
she was more important as a shield for
Bucephalas
once he had slipped across her stern. He manned the guns as though the worst fears of those who’d deserted their posts were about to be realised. On an almost deserted deck, the officers had lined up, with a few youngsters working frantically, if haphazardly, to load one of the stern cannon.

The first forty-two-pounder fired as soon as Harry put the helm down and showed the long beak of his bowsprit. He knew that he had to face more: these were artillerymen, soldiers who did nothing else but train to discharge these guns. The angle of aim was such that only two could be brought to bear. That was small comfort in a situation where only one, placed in a delicate spot, was enough to sink him. The ball missed, churning up the water ahead, but the man who aimed the second cannon had better luck. He tried for the stern of the ship, just below the waterline. A true hit would have taken away Harry’s rudder, something which would have rendered escape impossible – unable to manoeuvre Harry’d never get away from the shore. It missed that vital target, but it struck the hull with such force that the whole ship vibrated. The sound of wrenching, tearing wood came from below as the ball passed down towards the bilges, its path marked by the way
Bucephalas
shuddered each time metal made contact with wood, and she slewed sideways before coming to rest.

‘Dreaver!’ Harry shouted. ‘My compliments to the carpenter and would he find how much damage we’ve sustained below. You might ask him to look at the after cabins if he has time.’

Mentally he was counting off the seconds as the great guns reloaded. He needed to know how good they were, since that would tell him how many salvoes he’d have to face. Too many and he’d never get clear without terminal damage, but if he suffered, perhaps, only two more, then providing the Spaniards didn’t get lucky, he might make it. While these thoughts ran through his
mind
Bucephalas
began to cross the
Navarro
’s stern. For all the peril of his own situation, he had to admire the stoicism of the men who’d stayed aboard the galley. They were looking down the loaded muzzles of a row of cannon that spelt certain death. But not one of them so much as ducked his head. If Harry had been wearing a hat, he would have lifted it in their honour.

The youngsters had managed to haul the stern chaser up into its firing position. One slip of a lad, probably a servant, who couldn’t be more than ten years old, put the slow-match to the touch-hole. The cannon roared out and shot back, sending the makeshift crew flying in all directions, and the ball whistled harmlessly overhead, passing under the fore course to land in the river. His gun captains were looking at him, awaiting the order to reply. Harry shook his head. He hadn’t come across much in the way of honour in New Orleans, but he was seeing it now. He could not bring himself to give the order that would result in these brave souls paying the ultimate price.

His reverie was rudely broken by the next forty-two-pounder ball, which whistled past his ears and hit the trunnions on one of the larboard guns. The effect was startling as the nine-pounder was smashed against the bulwark with such force it went straight through. The breechings left behind, pulled by the weight of the gun, ripped out a ten-foot section of wood and carried that down into the muddy waters. But not all the debris followed. Pieces of the gun carriage, lumps of heavy wood, studded with bolts, spread in all directions, taking out the entire gun crew. Men were thrown in a wide circle, every one suffering multiple telling blows from more than one flying object. One wheel cut the swabber near in two, carrying the parts over the side into the river. The gun captain took a great chunk of timber low in the groin, and that lifted him from his side of the deck to the other. He was dead before he landed. Smashed bodies lay all around, too stunned to scream, some separated from legs and arms. The gun crews on both sides were yelling wildly, slapping their bodies in panic, till they realised 
that the blood and gore that covered them from head to foot belonged to others. The next ball landed a few seconds later, still aimed at the stern, but the gunlayer had not done enough to increase his range and the ball hit the river at an acute angle. By the time it reached the ship’s hull it had lost all of its force. With luck, with his bowsprit well past the
Navarro
, he’d only have to face one more salvo, and that would expose the gunners in the fortress to the risk of hitting their own vessel.

A sharp crack in his ear, and the sudden gouge that appeared in the deck behind him just as he gave orders to see to the casualties made him look up. A party of Walloon Guards had taken up a position at the top of the levee, their muskets prodding forward to play on his deck. Harry called to the forward gunners, who, jamming their bars under the gun barrels, removed the quoins that controlled the elevation. Reaching the soldier on the rim was impossible. But Harry hoped he’d be able, at least, to give them some kind of fright.

‘Remove the top of that levee, as near as you can, then reload with grape. Larboard gunners take up your muskets and keep the heads of those buggers down. All guns to fire on my command.’

The broadside, as each gun went off together, heeled the ship over, so great was its force, which added marginally to the height. Great clods shot skywards, completely covering the soldiers, the weight of the earth dropping on their heads, forcing them downwards. Musket balls were sent into their midst, increasing the havoc rather than inflicting wounds. Looking ahead Harry caught his first sight of the downriver bastion, flames sprouting from the top. Perhaps Pender had set fire to the interior, either deliberately or by the use of his charges. It made no difference. With that level of conflagration, no one could work the guns. They’d be lucky to flood the magazine. Perhaps the whole edifice would go up in the air. The orange glow lit up a pair of ships berthed just offshore. Harry recognised the two merchantmen that Don Cayetano had used as transports, the ones he’d first spied off Fort Balize.