Element of chance, p.39
Element of Chance, page 39
‘He’s plannin’ to do them all,’ he whispered, angered by the idea that Garmond had out-manoeuvred him.
‘What?’ said Flowers, bending forward and, as usual, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. Callander jerked his head as well, surprised that anyone could speak in such a tense situation.
Pender’s eyes were searching his own party. If Garmond had decided to attack all the officers and midshipmen, that would include Mr Callander. But these were all men from the Bucephalas. Surely with their own ship in sight they’d be mad to do Garmond’s bidding! That thought brought enlightenment. The malcontents had no choice but to act now, and do so without assistance, unless they wished to abandon the idea completely. Garmond could see as well as Pender that if Harry Ludlow was here then he had the power to take back his men. Depleted in numbers, with the most cohesive group gone, they might never be presented with another opportunity to take over the ship. And if they did so in the presence of these French warships, striking the flag as soon as battle commenced, then they could be sure of a warm welcome from their Jacobin counterparts, and an even warmer one in Guadeloupe when they went ashore.
He’d always had mixed feelings about the idea of a mutiny. If ever a captain deserved to have his ship taken off him it was Toner. Had he not seen that streak of offal leading to the scuttle the day Lowden was killed, perhaps he could have been persuaded to join in, regardless of the near certainty of retribution by the navy. But the idea of surrendering one of his own nation’s ships to the enemy, just before they were set to fight, was anathema. It had nothing to do with his own captain being close by. If he ever wanted to hold his own head up again this had to be stopped. Pender turned away slightly from the others, so that only Flowers could hear him clearly.
‘Garmond’s decided to do the dirty on us all by surrendering the ship. That’s not somethin’ he’ll succeed in as long as there’s an officer left standing. So he plans to get them all at once. Look where his men are.’
‘Holy Christ,’ said Flowers softly, as his eyes ranged along the deck.
‘One of our lads might be daft enough to try for Mr Callander,’ added Pender.
‘Silence there,’ said the youngster, aware that their whispering had attracted the attention of the quarterdeck.
‘Aye, aye, sir,’ replied Pender, pushing Flowers forward till he was right behind the midshipman’s back. The man needed no telling what was required. He pushed everyone else out of the way until the only route by which an assailant could attack the youngster was head on. Jubilee was standing slightly apart from the rest of the men. Pender tugged at his sleeve and edged him further back. He put his mouth right by the Pole’s ear. ‘See that bugger Sloman, hoverin’ by the mizzen, Jubilee. If you look close you’ll see he’s got a knife in his belt. As soon as he takes it out, get over there and belt him hard. Make sure he goes down, an’ stays down.’
The Pole looked at him in disbelief. Such an act aboard a ship like Endymion would mean a flogging that even he couldn’t endure. But he trusted Pender, who’d always looked after him, making sure that his limited command of English didn’t get him into trouble. The square head moved in an almost imperceptible nod and the man’s small blue eyes fixed on Sloman like a bird of prey on a dormouse.
Pender cast his eyes around the rest of Callander’s party. He saw good seamen, all of whom he’d trust with his life aloft, or in the middle of a boarding mêlée. But there were no quick brains amongst them, men who would see what he could see and act without asking questions. That left him with a real problem. If he went anywhere near Toner, Garmond wouldn’t wait. Likewise Dunlop. McPartland, with his love of the cat and the rope’s end, who was also a poorly qualified officer, wasn’t worth saving. Only Mr Wheeler, the third lieutenant, had any credit with the crew, having proved more gentle than his fellows. And he’d publicly stood up to his captain over the question of excessive punishment. He was in command of the larboard gunners, who would take no part in the opening of the action, but who would be directed to take the place of any casualties on the starboard side.
That turned Pender’s mind to what the rest of the crew would do. Most, true to their nature, would act like sheep. But like sheep they’d also do nothing to protect their officers. If Garmond gained the upper hand then they’d follow him. But if Pender could take charge, just for a few seconds, then with his own men certainly behind him and Mr Wheeler in charge he could very likely carry the majority of the crew. Looking over the rail, with the Frenchman coming closer, he knew he couldn’t wait. Garmond was hanging for some kind of signal, which would most likely come from the Frenchman. He might hold off until the first broadside was fired. But he could also start his assault as soon as the first muskets opened up, and this, with the ships edging closer, could only be a matter of minutes at the very most.
Unlike Harry Ludlow, Pender was not the type to take the bull by the horns. Sizing things up carefully before moving was more his line. But could he wait for whatever signal they’d worked out? If he did he’d be too late. The best thing he could do was to goad them into action. The man standing behind Wheeler, ladling water on to the deck, looked up as he shot across to the larboard side. His hand reached back into the bucket. But it emerged holding a marlinspike, not a ladle. He lifted it to swipe at Wheeler’s head. The third lieutenant, who’d looked with disapproval at the man rushing towards him, must have observed what was happening behind Pender.
Every man on the deck heard the cry of ‘Look out!’ Most would have seen Toner, clubbed hard around the ear by Garmond, drop to the ground like a felled gamebird. While such a fate might please them, it would also cause alarm. Vaguely, Pender heard Garmond’s shout.
‘Come on, you swabs, we’re takin’ over the barky.’
They would have seen Garmond swipe young Mr Hemmings across the face as the other men posted to attack took out McPartland and Dunlop. The marines swung their muskets, but with that many officers attacked, and the rest of Garmond’s malcontents crowding round them, they were at a loss to know what to do. Sloman had his knife out, and had begun to hack at the first of the halyards when Jubilee hit him with an uppercut to the chin that lifted his feet clear of the deck. The crack of his bone breaking cut through the shouts of panic and alarm.
All of this, occurring in the space of a few seconds, was hidden from Pender. Wheeler’s eyes had opened wide at what he’d seen, even more as Garmond’s shout shattered the silence. No doubt assuming that Pender was intent on doing the same to him, he stepped forward to defend himself. The man behind him swung and missed, then pulled back his club for another strike. Pender threw up his arms to deflect those of Wheeler and pushed him to one side. He was under the lieutenant’s guard before the officer knew it, taking the assailant in a tackle round the waist that drove him straight back into one of the cannon. He screamed with agony as the huge metal button on the base dug into his spine. Pender dropped him and turned to shout to the rest of the crew. He saw that McPartland had fended off his attacker and was now struggling with him. But whatever words Pender had formed were drowned out by the crash of the French cannon, as Monsieur d’Albret, having heaved his guns round to point to the rear, opened up with a full broadside.
The deck of the Endymion suddenly descended into chaos, with men who should have stood their ground flinging themselves to the deck. The shot hit the ship hard, making it shudder. Splinters flew from the bulwarks, slicing across the deck like huge deadly knives. One took McPartland in the back with a fatal blow of such force that it went right through his body and killed the man he was fighting. The quartermaster and his mates had let go of the wheel, allowing the head of the ship to fall off from the wind, which brought the guns on the larboard side to bear on the Frenchman. Some fired and others didn’t, all of the shot expended heading straight into the sea. This brought forth a volley from the marines, who’d been pushed back by the gesticulating crew towards the larboard bulwark.
Garmond, who’d been hurtling across the deck to sort out Pender, went down rapidly, right beside McPartland’s twitching body, as the balls whistled past his ears. A great cloud of black smoke billowed out, half from their own guns, but more from Persephone, and streamed across Endymion’s quarterdeck. Pender took advantage of this to propel the stunned Lieutenant Wheeler towards the wheel, shouting above the din to Flowers, ordering him to do likewise with Mr Callander. They had to step over the inert forms of Toner and Hemmings, and Pender had to yell at the quartermaster to get a grip on the wheel.
As the smoke cleared, Garmond, who’d raised himself, grabbed at the dead officer’s sword. The naval hanger came out of its scabbard with an audible swish and Garmond held it aloft, as if in triumph. Matters hung in the balance as he began to approach the group by the wheel. The second French broadside swept by, this time above their heads. The rigging was sliced by the bar shot, with blocks and ropes falling to the deck. Garmond ignored it all, intent only on killing Pender. Wheeler, for his own protection, pulled out his sword and faced Garmond. The untrained clerk, who’d never even become an efficient sailor, was no match with such a weapon for the skilled officer. The swords clashed together twice, Garmond’s being easily swept to one side by Wheeler’s expert swing. The mutineer jumped backwards, so avoiding the third lieutenant’s thrust. But Wheeler was quickly on him. Garmond would have died then, if Jubilee, at a signal from Pender, hadn’t fetched him a clout as he passed him by. Garmond was poleaxed and crumpled in a heap at the officer’s feet.
‘Leave him, your honour,’ shouted Pender. ‘You must take command, Mr Wheeler.’
Flowers pushed a bemused Callander to stand beside the wheel. ‘You too, Mr Callander.’
‘What happened?’ demanded Wheeler.
Another broadside swept across the deck as Persephone fired again.
‘There’s no time for words, Mr Wheeler. If we don’t sort ourselves out on this deck we’ll be boarded and taken.’
Years of discipline told then. Wheeler turned away from Pender and began to call out the orders that sent men to their rightful places.
‘Man your guns, damn you. Load them and bring them to bear on the enemy. Mr Callander, take charge of the forward division on both sides. Quartermaster, resume our course and set me alongside that Frenchman.’
He turned to give Pender an order. But the man was already gone, making his way down the deck pushing and cajoling the sailors to take their stations.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
HARRY LUDLOW, ignoring the fire from Marianne’s bow-chasers, watched the actions of Endymion with mounting horror. The way she yawed off to windward, followed by that half-broadside in reply to Monsieur d’Albret’s opening salvo, would have been risible to anyone in a less exposed position. All the shot had done was to churn up some water between the ships. As Persephone fired off her second discharge he lifted his telescope to focus it on Endymion’s quarterdeck. But he dropped it again. The smoke from the Frenchman’s guns obscured the view. He did see that the British frigate was steadily coming back on to its original course. The bowsprit was now abreast of the Frenchman’s taffrail. Some of the smoke cleared so he could see that Toner’s marines had moved forward and opened up, playing their muskets on to d’Albret’s quarterdeck. The commodore replied to this with another broadside, firing on the downroll, which sent wood flying in all directions. Harry observed Endymion stagger as the weight of metal pounded into her hull. Beside him, James, still seated, worked like a demon to record as many of the details as he could.
‘Why doesn’t she reply?’ asked Matthew Caufield.
Harry’s answer, with Toner firmly in his mind, had a bitterness that he’d hitherto managed to conceal. ‘If that last effort was anything to go by, they’d do better to try fishing.’
Finally Endymion’s guns opened up. It was clearly intended to be a rolling broadside aimed at Persephone’s decorated stern, with each gun firing in turn. But, while it achieved a limited degree of success, it fell lamentably short by Harry Ludlow’s standards. The gaps were uneven and the aim poor, though at such short range nearly every shot struck home. Only the last few guns showed any proficiency in aim and timing.
‘At last,’ cried the young American, quite forgetting whose side he should be on. ‘They’ve done some real damage to those deadlights.’
Harry refused to be cheered by this. ‘Make a note on your drawing, brother, that in three months and as many thousand miles, Toner’s gunnery is of the same appalling standard as it was previously.’
The crash as Marianne with a well-aimed shot removed Harry’s stern lantern made them all spin round.
‘Carpenter!’ he yelled. ‘Check the rudder and report.’
Some of his men were removing the headless corpse from the blood-stained deck, an act which finally made James pause. He laid aside his charcoal and pad then stood up. ‘Shall I go below now, to assist in the cockpit?’
Harry nodded. With what he had in mind he expected more casualties than that one he’d just sustained. ‘Mr Caufield, you are welcome to remain on deck, or to assist my brother in tending the wounded.’
‘Before I go, Harry?’
‘I shan’t risk more than is wise, brother. Pender wouldn’t want to get all his mates killed just to rescue him. Besides, we’ve already achieved much. We have pinned Persephone in place and prevented Villemin from coming up on Toner’s larboard side at a time of his own choosing. My intention is to occupy enough of Monsieur d’Albret’s men to prevent them making a swift attempt at boarding Endymion. That will permit Toner to inflict some damage. I cannot trade broadsides with him, since his guns are of a heavier calibre than mine. So, as soon as I have stung him, and before his consort can interfere, I intend to come about, with the wind behind me, and try and place some round shot in his living quarters. What happens after that will depend on how things turn out.’
‘What about that ship with the Bourbon flag?’ asked Matthew Caufield.
‘I have even less knowledge of his plans than I do of Toner’s. If he comes within range of my guns before he’s declared himself, I shall treat him as hostile.’
‘Matthew?’ asked James.
‘I shall remain here, if I may, Mr Ludlow.’
‘Good luck, Harry,’ said James, as he turned away to go below.
Pender, as he hauled on the tackle that brought the 18-pounder cannon back into its firing position, was looking over the rail of Endymion wondering how he could tell Harry Ludlow what had happened. The actions of Mr Wheeler had surprised him. He’d fully expected the third lieutenant, with most of the other officers out of commission, to break off the action. But he hadn’t. Instead, he sent the unconscious officers to the cockpit, called for Overton, the youngster in charge of the party on the relieving tackles, to come up on deck and take charge of his division, and after a word to Callander, he’d set about calming the men and preparing them to respond to the enemy’s gunfire. This was no easy task with round shot, musket balls, grapeshot, and bar shot flying in all directions. Most of the crew had never seen action and there were a few who cowered in the scuppers. Wheeler took time to encourage them and get them back to their places. Having twice walked the length of the deck, he paced it a third time, personally ordering each gun to fire as he passed.
The art of a rolling broadside was that with the ship in motion and gaining on the enemy each shot landed in close proximity to its predecessor. Properly timed, it was a sure way to wound the opposition. At the very least it would do the kind of damage that would keep a good section of the opposing crew occupied in repairs. But this, for all Wheeler’s efforts, proved to be a ragged affair. And the aim of the guns, barring the rearward section, was as variable as the timing of the firing. Still, it wasn’t all wasted. With what could only be termed luck, the forward cannon smashed d’Albret’s deadlights. Number six, amidships, sent another ball into what had been his cabin. The rearmost guns, manned by men from the Bucephalas, made a much better fist of their task, sending their shot, accurately, through the existing gap. The angle of fire precluded the kind of carnage that would have occurred had they been sitting across their opponent’s stern. But the sound of tearing wood, accompanied by the odd scream, settled the less experienced men and satisfied them that they were not complete tyros.
D’Albret put his helm down and let the wind bring him closer to Endymion. This also allowed him to concentrate the fire of his cannon on the forward guns of his enemy. Clearly, he’d noticed that they were less of a threat than the rest. Destroying them, when his rate of fire was probably faster, would open up an undefended area through which he could board. Wheeler, aware that Harry’s men would reload faster than their fellows, ordered them to fire at will, then stationed himself behind the forward cannon to coordinate their efforts. The two frigates were now abreast of each other, separated from the rest of existence in a maelstrom of flying metal and wood, with the shouts of men at war mixed with the screams of the wounded, all overborne by the near-deafening noise of booming cannon. The inexperienced men on the Endymion’s deck were learning as they worked and within half a dozen firings they were keeping pace with their French counterparts. This was nothing to do with instruction. The quantity of smoke and the level of noise was so great that it became impossible for a man to see, or think, beyond his own little area of the battle. Pender, acting as gun captain on the rearmost cannon, felt himself tugged by the shoulder as Wheeler pushed another man in to take his place.
‘Do you have any idea what your captain intends?’ he yelled.
Pender, too, had to shout in reply. ‘None, your honour. All I can tell you is he’s a fighter. He wouldn’t be sitting where he is without a mind to do some mischief.’
