CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Harry sat a mile away from his quarry, sailing along on a parallel course. The wind had swung round into the north-west, gusting slightly, and being colder than the souther lies the day was clear and bright. The five ships were silhouetted against the rocky coastline. Bartholomew had decided to stay close inshore, as an added security measure. It was a shrewd move, and somewhat confounded Harry, who needed room to manoeuvre for the best chance of success. He realized that he could not hope to cripple more than one ship at a time, and even that would pose problems, for if he hesitated they would be down on him in a trice, outnumbering him and nullifying any advantage he had. There was the other consideration, that as soon as he fired his guns the level of his armaments would be revealed. You can only surprise an enemy once in such circumstances, so the first time had to count. What he really needed to know was where Bartholomew was headed, and that without them knowing that he had gained the information.

  Chittenden, who as the second most senior captain was bringing up the rear, was sailing along very comfortably. Given that their leader had slowed the whole flotilla to accommodate one ship, Harry was left to wonder how far Bartholomew would carry this. Could he, over the course of the afternoon, so damage one of Bartholomew's ships that he would be forced to leave it behind? And how would they behave in battle? Harry knew it was attitude and training that produced a good crew in a fight. He always worked up his crews with the idea of fighting a ship that would shoot back, and do so with enough power to win. The richest prizes were the biggest, and they always sailed with a large crew and a lot of cannon. Most privateers avoided them like the plague. Indeed, most privateer captains couldn't even see the sense in practising gunnery, since they only ever envisaged themselves as being in action against a small merchant ship. They relied on speed, a few wild shots to unnerve their opponents, and a lot of shouting and screaming as they boarded. He couldn't wait to find out how this lot would behave.

  Harry gave the orders to bring the Principessa round. He had tried this several times, and on each occasion the result had been the same. He watched as the three rear ships, Mercury, Ariel, and Bartholomew s Daedalus made more sail, moving up to cover their slower consorts. He called to Lubeck and the three leading hands to whom he had given command of their sections. Pender stood beside Harry as they gathered on the deck, behind the wheel.

  "What I want to do is take out the last ship, the Mercury, the main advantage being that if they want to support her they'll have to bear up and reverse their course, and given that they're close inshore, they'll try to tack rather than wear. Coming right up into the wind will slow them even more. Chittenden knows that as well as we do, so at the first sign of attack, he'll come abreast of the next ship in line, which is Frome's ship, the Ariel.

  "So we must fool them. Bartholomew might not think it odd if we seem to go for him. Foolish, yes, for I'd be playing right into his hands. But given what happened in that warehouse, he may think my anger has got the better of my judgement. So we must favour that thought, get within range, bear up ourselves in a flash, and get between the bows of the Mercury and the stern of the Ariel. They don't know how fast we are on a bowline. If we can do it quick enough we can force Chittenden away from the land, away from his friends and any immediate help."

  He could see that this had them worried, for the crew was new to the ship and each other. If the manoeuvre looks to be going wrong, I'll come back round and bear away. We only go into action if the odds are in our favour."

  "You don't reckon on him having a go at us? asked Pender, articulating what must have been in everyone's mind.

  "No, if he was going to do that, he would have sought to engage us before now.

  The captain of the tops spoke up. Seems daft, for he must know we can't fight them all."

  "Look at it from his point of view. What man in his right mind would take on odds of five to one? The speed with which they all looked away amused Harry and he gave them a wide smile.

  Pender spoke up, his voice full of supportive confidence, though the look he gave Harry had a strong element of hope attached. If he'd bothered to get to know you, your honour, he'd never have doubted it."

  "But he doesn't know me. He'll expect me to act like he would himself. He thinks that I'm going to shadow him, not attack him, hoping for some kind of opportunity to present itself. And opportunity is a two-edged sword, for he might find he has the chance to take me by surprise, or get away from me one moonless night. One serious attack, even if it's not completely successful, will throw that plan out the stern windows."

  "And how does that aid us? asked the captain of the top men He didn't ask what he must indeed be wondering. How, in the name of hell, could Harry Ludlow be so sure of all this?

  "The first rule of war is to force your enemy away from his own plans, then impose your own. Harry looked out over the larboard side. They were coming closer. His guns had been loaded as soon as he spotted them. Gunports shut until the last moment, I don't want them to see those carronades until it's too late."

  Harry took the wheel himself, while Lubeck took station amidships, trumpet in hand, ready to yell the orders. It was a tricky affair right enough, for most of the men would have to be involved in the change of sails. Then, once they had braced the yards round, they'd have to run for their guns.

  Bartholomew's ships were now sailing with their bowsprits practically brushing the stern of the ship ahead. There was the chance of a collision if Chittenden didn't sheer off. Again Harry was relying on this need to maintain their fleet. Preservation of their ships intact must be their overriding motive, so Chittenden would not ram Harry. He'd do-everything in his power to avoid it. Harry smiled, and for the first time thought of James, who, in a situation like this, would have accepted that his brother knew what he was about, and not indulged in any of the carping criticism that had so annoyed Harry in Genoa.

  He pulled his mind back to the present. The flotilla had their gun ports open, and as the Principessa came within range they commenced firing. Harry handed over the wheel, and raised his glass to get a good look at their cannon. It was as he thought. They were as lightly armed as the Principessa had been before he'd exchanged the guns. They would have to be very lucky to do him any serious damage with those weapons at this range. What he must avoid at all costs was a close-range fight with more than one of them. Four-pounders, if there were enough of them, could still cripple him, especially if he was caught between two arcs of fire.

  "Stand by to go about, he shouted. The wind was coming in over the larboard quarter, and he'd increased speed to aid his manoeuvre. When he gave the order and spun the wheel, the Principessa began her turn. The ropes holding the yards were released, those on the other side taken up, and they hauled like heroes, bracing the yards round to catch the wind now coming at the ship just behind her larboard bow. The Principessa staggered slightly, but with her hold re stowed and steering right, she didn't miss stays. And once round she took the wind like a champion yacht, and Harry aimed her straight at the small gap between Frome and Chittenden.

  Frome held his course. He had to, for they were too far inshore to do otherwise. It would be fatal for him to bear away. Chittenden maintained his too. Harry looked over the stern. Bartholomew had let fly his sheets and was getting ready to tack to come back to aid the Mercury. There wouldn't be much time. In fact if Chittenden didn't do anything, there would be no time at all. It was a game now, to see who would give way. Harry reckoned he had no more than a minute before he would be so committed that he could not get out of the way. That was not a situation he could really risk. The crew, half-way between the guns and the yards they'd just braced, stood with hated breath as the gap closed at an alarming rate.

  Harry was about to haul off when he saw movement on the deck of the other ship, as Chittenden's crew rushed to release the yards and let fly the sheets. He also saw Frome's men heaving their guns round to take him as he passed. He'd have to ignore that, for he couldn't fight both sides.

  Frome's guns spoke just as the Mercuy bore up with the wind dead astern, his bows Swinging towards the rocky coastline. Being hurried the mizzen sails took the wind out of the mainsails and they flapped uselessly. The ship lost way. Harry yelled for his men to man the guns, ducking down as shots whipped over his head. Frome had fired on the up roll and though he'd holed the main and mizzen courses, he'd done little real damage. The Principessa's speed was barely checked. His men had the gun ports open, and they stood poised. Harry shouted to one crew who were set to try and bring their gun round to bear

  early, telling them to let him do the aiming, and to fire as they saw the Mercury through their gun ports.

  Chittenden was in difficulties. He'd worn round in the most lubberly way, with some evidence of panic on his deck. His gun ports were closed with everyone busy trying to put right the trouble they'd made for themselves. He was therefore defenceless. Worse than that, he was still swinging round, presenting his stern to the Principessa. Harry shouted to the few remaining men on the sails to let fly his mainsail sheets. They released the braces and the Principessa, down to topsails only, slowed immediately. Those upper sails kept some way on her, but with the extra time gained by slowing the ship, the Mercury had swung right round. Frome was now right astern, his guns useless. Bartholomew was half-way round, and Frome couldn't turn until they'd passed each other, for fear of running right across Bartholomew's bows.

  And Harry was drifting by his quarry, giving each gun captain plenty of time to pick their moment. The first gun spoke, and a great chunk of the decorated stern rail disappeared. Harry called to Pender to hold the wheel steady, and ran forward to aim the carronades himself, for he'd never get a chance as good as this again. Sporadic musket shots were being returned from the Mercury. The second twelve-pounder was high, but it served to keep heads down as the ball whistled across the deck, smashing into the boats bowsed tight above the waist.

  Harry was bent down, the slow match in his hand. He touched the hole. And the carronade fired. The great ball went right through the stern lights smashing its way through the whole length of the Mercury. Harry was at the next gun just in time to fire that. The Principessa had rolled into a trough caused by the inshore swell, and the ball from the second carronade went into the hull below the windows at a downward angle. The Mercury shuddered, and Harry knew that he'd done real damage. He stood up, calling to the hands on the forward guns to haul on the mainsail braces. The rear guns fired, now on the up-roll, with two balls going through the cabin, and the last knocking the mizzen mainsail yard right out of its chains.

  Harry took the wheel again. Lubeck was yelling through his trumpet as they reversed the angle of the yards to bring the Principessa round so that the wind would favour her. She was handling beautifully, and as soon as she had the breeze on her starboard beam she took off like a hare.

  Bartholomew was coming up as best he could, sailing into the wind. Harry couldn't spare all his men, but he called to the carronade gun crews and invited them to send their regards to the Daedalus. They rushed to their stations, and as the Principessa passed Bartholomew's ship they took two great chunks out of her bulwarks, which ruined the aim of all but one of Daedalus's cannon. Harry saw his enemy as they went by, standing on the deck, his long curly hair whipping in the breeze, just like the feathers in his hat. Bartholomew raised a musket, aimed it at him, and fired. But his deck was pitching too; it was more of an insult than a threat.

  The Mercury was dead in the water. Everything had worked out much better that Harry could have hoped. Bartholomew had obviously told Frome to keep his heading to provide protection to the two slower ships in the van, Cromer and Bella. Harry went full speed after him. With his sails now set and drawing well, he had the guns reloaded and run out. He was in high spirits, laughing and exhorting his men.

  He was head reaching on Frome. But the two other ships had started to tack in unison, so by the time he came up it would be three to one. He brought her head round slightly. Frome would have to wait, but the lead ship, the Cromer, with Pilton at the helm, would have to take station on the outside flank of his consort. For even an inept sailor such as he had come round quicker than the fire-damaged Bella. Harry could see Frome waving his arms, trying frantically to signal Cromer to stay in line astern of the Bella. But Pilton either didn't see or didn't care to be told what to do. As he caught up with the Bella, he put down his helm to pass by on her larboard side.

  Harry adjusted his yards, and trimmed his wheel to take Pilton on his starboard side, one to one.

  Pilton must have suddenly realized the danger he was in, and tried to bear up. He shoved his helm down and his bowsprit ran straight aboard the Bella, fouling the mainmast shrouds. Frome had to pack his topsails to avoid running into the pair of them, and the little fleet was now in complete disarray. The slower speed of the other ship swung Pilton's stern further out, and Harry had to perform a quick manoeuvre to get clear of him. Only the carronade crews were at their guns but they went by at such a pace their shooting was wild. One ball struck Pilton just on the waterline, and he had a hole that would ship a lot of water. But it was nowhere near mortal, while the other ball disappeared without trace.

  Bartholomew had made another mistake. He came round again to pursue Harry, leaving the Mercury exposed once more. Bartholomew, who could not hope to come up with his lead ships before Harry wore round himself, now presented himself as a lone target while the Principessa returned to re-engage the Mercury.

  Harry came round neatly, despite his damaged sails. Bartholomew was in an impossible situation. If he came on he would face Harry's guns and probably sacrifice the Mercury to boot. Chittenden's ship was too light to withstand the weight of shot, and alone presented an easy target, given the confusion on her decks. If the Daedalus wore round again to protect her, his lead ships, two of them fouling each other's rigging, would face the same fate. He chose to come on, for that meant saving four ships instead of endangering one.

  Harry had his starboard guns loaded and run out, with the twelve-pounders loaded with grape. He gave Bartholomew a thorough drubbing as he went by. The carronades, heaved round to aim forward, fired first, opening up the side of the ship. The twelve-pounders crews did their best to pour their grape through the gaps provided. Harry was gratified to see that Bartholomew had flung himself to the deck. There was no insulting gesture with a musket this time.

  Chittenden knew what was coming. He could see the effect of the grapeshot on Bartholomew's ship, and he'd already had a taste of the carronades. But he had to hang on, for Bartholomew had changed his course and tacked again in pursuit of the Principessa. Harry cursed the man, who'd done the right thing for once. Had he kept his heading Harry could have boarded and taken the Mercury. He stood, desperately trying to calculate the time he would have alongside Chittenden before Bartholomew came up to engage him on the other side.

  It all hinged on whether he abandoned his original plan, and went for complete success now. At all costs he mustn't endanger his own ship, and he knew that, even if his opponents were lightly armed, he'd been lucky. The Principessa had suffered no real damage, and he hadn't lost a single man. With what he'd achieved, these men would now follow him to the ends of the earth. They were so fired up he knew they could take the Mercury. Yet if he risked it all on one throw, he might find himself outnumbered, with Bartholomew boarding on one side of him, and his men fighting the Mercury on the other. The combined crews would at least keep him occupied till Frome came up. He alone had shown himself to have the ability to stick to a prepared plan, and Harry didn't doubt that, as part of that plan, he'd have to fight the Ariel as well.

  Discretion being the better part of valour was an expression Harry hated, since it flew in the face of his nature. But this was the time to exercise it. He left his sails set, called for the twelve-pounders to be fired off and reloaded with bar shot, and as he went by the Mercury he gave her the same kind of rolling broadside that they'd given the Dido, and with much the same result. The rigging was torn to shreds, and the carronades smashed into the hull, going clean through above the waterline.

  Harry sailed on until he was out of range, then hove to, giving rapid orders for the men to given drinks and food. Bartholomew had come alongside the Mercury, and was yelling at Chittenden to get some way on his ship. Harry watched through his glass as Chittenden waved his fist at Bartholomew, obviously angry. No doubt his commodore had told him he was a fool. Yet it had been Bartholomew himself who'd made all the errors. If he'd even made a feint at attacking Harry this morning as he came out of port, he would have sown some doubt about his intentions.

  Bartholomew was now hove to himself. Harry, handing his cup back to the ever attentive Pender, called to his men to get a move on, and was pleased to see them abandon the remains of their food to continue the fight. Fairhairn, with the physical appearance of a corpse, had come on deck, and was looking listlessly in the direction of the small dispersed fleet.

  "Was he asleep? he asked Pender, for he'd quite forgotten about the man.

  "No, Captain. As soon as I said we was going into battle, he asked me to show him where the ship's surgeon should be."

  Harry called to him. Come, Mr. Fairhairn, and observe that we have done well today. All of us."

  Harry bore down again. He didn't want to leave them any time to regroup, though he had little hope of achieving anything, with all five ships now bunched together. Lightly armed they might be, but they presented a formidable arc of fire if he was fool enough to sail into it. He elevated his twelve-pounders and with their greater range indulged in a little target practice. It was enough to interrupt the frantic work being carried out above deck to repair the rigging, but the men below carried on, repairing the shot holes in the hulls of the damaged ships.