Bolitho 01A - Midshipman Bolitho & Avenger by Alexander Kent

Author:Alexander Kent
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-05-26T17:34:53+00:00

7

A Tragedy

`There, sir! Fine on th' lee bow!'

Figures moved about the decks, as if taking part in a well practised dance. Here and there a telescope squeaked or a man whispered to his companion. Some in speculation, others probably in envy for the man who would receive a golden guinea.

Hugh Bolitho said, `Schooner, showing no lights. Under full sail too.' He shut his glass with a snap. `--Bit of luck. He'll be making more din than we are.' He dispensed with conjecture and added shortly, `Bring her up a point, Mr Gloag. I don't want the devil to slip past us. We'll hold the wind-gage if we can.'

Voices passed hushed orders, and cordage squeaked through the sheaves while overhead the big mainsail shivered violently before filling again to the, alteration of course.

Bolitho glanced at the compass as the helmsman said hoarsely, `East by south, sir.'

`Man the larboard battery.' Hugh sounded completely absorbed. `Open the ports.'

Bolitho watched the port lids being hauled open toreveal the glistening mane of water alongside. Avenger was heeling so far over that spray came leaping inboard over the six-pounders and deadly looking swivels.

Normally Bolitho would have felt like the rest of the men around him. Tense, committed, slightly wild at the prospect of a fight. But he could not lose himself this time, and kept thinking of the waggons, the outnumbered escort, the sudden horror of an ambush.

A Tragedy

A light spurted in the darkness, and for an instant he thought some careless seaman had dropped a lantern on the other vessel. Then he heard a distant crack, like a man breaking a nut in his palms, and knew it was a pistol shot. A warning, a signal. Now it did not matter which.

`Put up your helm, Mr Gloag!' Hugh's voice, loud now that caution was pointless, made the men at the tiller start. `Stand by on deck!'

There were more flashes, doing more to reveal the other vessel's size and sail plan than to harm the crouching seamen.

The distance was rapidly falling away, the big sails sweeping the cutter downwind like a bird of prey, and then they saw the schooner rising through the darkness, her canvas in confusion as she tried to change tack and beat clear.

Bolitho watched his brother as he stood by the weather rail, one foot on a bollard, as if he was watching a race.

`As you bear, Mr Truscott! On the uproll!'

A further pause, and across the choppy water Bolitho heard muffled shouts, a vague rasp of metal.

Then, `Fire!'

At a range of less than seventy yards the larboard battery hurled themselves inboard on their tackles, their long orange tongues as blinding as their ex

plosions were deafening. Unlike the heavy artillery

of a ship of the line, or even a frigate, Avenger's little

six-pounders had voices which scraped the insides of

the brain.

Bolitho pictured the effect of the sweeping hail of grape and close-packed canister as it cut into the other vessel's deck. He heard a spar fall, saw splashes alongside the darkened schooner as rigging and perhaps men dropped from the masts like dead fruit.

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