Kenneth Roberts by The Lively Lady (txt)

Author:The Lively Lady (txt) [Lady, The Lively]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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THE LIVELY LADY 139

high. In the moment when the two craft became clear to us through the thinning fog, a man pitched over the side of the Chasseur’s maintop, hung by a knee; then sprawled downward to the deck, turning slowly in the air and vanishing in the smoke.

“Get at them with muskets,” I told Jeddy, “whenever our people can shoot without hurting the Chasseur. I want no gun fired till we can rake.”

The breeze died again, and the guns roared thunderously, almost in our ears. A little futile spattering of musketry set in from our tops. The men were under the bulwarks, stripped to the waist; for even in cold weather there is a feeling of greater security if no coats or shirts hamper the arms or shoulders, and if belts are pulled tight at the waist to ease the shrinking in the stomach that comes with fighting.

Our eyes burned and watered with the fierceness of our peering, for there’s no time to meditate when creeping into position within easy range of an enemy, waiting for the gunfire you know must come. And creep we did; for though the men drove the sweeps through the water until it whirled and sucked, we seemed to lie motionless in the oily chop, except for the lifts and lurches of the brig as the waves had their will of her. Yet we moved; for there was a sheep pen clinging against our side, with three half-dead sheep in it; draggled, wretched, staring-eyed beasts that blatted and blatted as the cold Channel chop slapped unendingly at them; and this pen moved slowly backward from our waist.

We had swept a little beyond the Britisher before she opened fire. It may be that between the men needed to work her guns and muskets against the Chasseur and those who chopped at her tangles of spars and cordage, she had no men to waste on us, or she may have hoped to force the Chasseur to strike and then engage us. Whatever the reason, we were nearly ready to turn again and sweep under her stern when she let go her starboard battery.

There was a whirring and rattling of grapeshot above us as the smoke jetted irregularly from her side, a small downrush of severed tackle, and the rasping shudder that comes from being hulled with solid shot. I moved forward to reassure the men, but they stayed where they were, those at the sweeps pushing hard; the men under the bulwarks Iying tight, some with their arms over their heads to guard against splinters, and some with their faces screwed around toward the quarter-deck, grinning.

I could see the Britishers ramming home charges at the starboard

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