A Brig of War (27 page)

As the wind died towards evening their pace slackened. Once again the Hellebores were sent below, only the officers with Arab dress being permitted to keep the deck. Looking pale and drawn Commander Griffiths remained, his eyes fixed upon the enemy frigate.

The French ship lay in a
sharm
which formed a spoon-shaped indentation in the coastline. A few scrubby mangroves were visible on the foreshore and the square shapes of low, mud-brick houses squatted among palms. At the head of the
sharm
the dried up water-course wound inland, the
wadi
that Wrinch would use to cover his own approach.

Boldly, and with the setting sun silhouetting them, the
sambuk
of Yusuf ben Ibrahim accompanied the boats from Al Mukhra,
his crew exchanging shouted comments about the paucity of fish off Rayikhah and blaming it upon the anger of Allah that the infidel had overrun Egypt. The men from Al Mukhra were clearly of the same opinion. They pointed to the French frigate and made obscene gestures. Their women, they said, were being contaminated by the heathen French who had been anchored too long and were hornier than goats with their drunkenness and their lusting. Indeed Allah must have turned his face from the faithful of Al Mukhra who were among the most wretched of men. All this was perfectly comprehensible to Drinkwater, accompanied as it was by universally accepted gestures. It was clear that though Santhonax might have bought the local headmen with gifts and gold, the humbler people who dwelt here had no love for the French.

Drinkwater tried to concentrate on the approach to the
sharm
, storing up knowledge for later use but it seemed to be well chosen, for the approach was wide and deep and clearly Santhonax relied upon the fear of reefs more than their actual presence. Drinkwater found himself thinking more of Santhonax himself and knew intuitively that that was what preoccupied Griffiths. The tall, handsome Frenchman with the livid scar, whom they had chased the length and breadth of the English Channel and pursued along the sandy coast of Holland, seemed drawn towards them by a curious fate. Drinkwater thought of the extraordinary circumstances that had led them to the grey afternoon off Camperdown when, in a Dutch yacht, they had taken him prisoner. And there had been his mistress too, the beautiful auburn-haired Hortense, who had fooled the British authorities for months, living as an émigrée in England. He wondered what had become of her, whether Santhonax knew that he, Drinkwater, had released her, turned her loose on a French beach like an unwanted bitch.

He shook his head and drew his glass from under his robe. Careful not to catch the sun upon its lens he levelled it at the French frigate. Half an hour later they anchored off the beach and settled to wait for nightfall.

The fish-hold of the
sambuk
presented a bizarre spectacle. Crammed into its odoriferous space the Hellebores, faces blackened with soot, prepared for battle. The two lieutenants checked the men and struggled aft to where Griffiths waited, sitting on a
coil of rope. He had hardly spoken since they had left Daedalus Reef.

‘We are prepared sir. I am almost certain that she is not fully armed yet, her draft is too light and there is still a large encampment ashore. A boat came off just after we anchored but pulled ashore again. The land breeze is already stirring and we will need only a little sail to cover the two cables 'twixt us and the enemy.'

‘
Da iawn
, Mr Drinkwater, well done. You will want to be leaving soon, is it?'

‘Aye, sir, in a moment or two.'

‘Did you observe our friend at all?'

‘Santhonax? No sir.'

Griffiths grunted. ‘Very well, good luck. I hope Wrinch told this blackamoor not to move till he saw the signal.'

‘Yes sir. I do not think Yusuf will move without a fair chance of victory. He is not the kind to embark on forlorn hopes.'

‘Off you go then,
bach
, and be careful.'

Drinkwater went on deck. The small dinghy was bobbing alongside and Rogers waited to see him off. Yusuf ben Ibrahim was also on deck, smoking hashish with his wild-eyed crew. The moon was up, a slender crescent, an omen of singular aptness thought Drinkwater pointing it out to the Arab. Yusuf grinned comprehendingly. ‘
In'sh Allah
' he breathed fervently, drawing a wickedly curved sabre that gleamed dully in the starlight.

‘Good luck, Drinkwater,' said Rogers offering his hand. ‘ 'Tis a damned desperate measure but if it don't succeed . . .' he left the sentence unfinished.

‘If it don't succeed, Samuel, we can all kiss farewell to a prosperous future.' Nathaniel took the man's hand, searching for the blackened face in the night. Rogers was much chastened since wrecking the brig and Drinkwater found himself liking the man for the first time since leaving home. ‘Good luck, Samuel.'

He descended into the little boat. Drinkwater squatted aft and saw where Kellett and Tregembo each took an oar. The third topman, named Barnes, settled himself in the bow. Drinkwater struggled out of his
galabiya
as they pulled away from the dhow and made a wide detour round the stern of the frigate as she pointed landwards, head to the offshore breeze. When they had worked round to a position on her starboard bow they began to pull quietly in towards her and, three quarters of an hour after leaving, Barnes caught the boat's painter round the heavy hemp
cable of the frigate. Kellett and Tregembo brought their oars inboard and all four men sat in silence under the stem and figurehead of the ship. They had achieved total surprise. Perfection of the plan now depended upon Wrinch.

Faint sounds came to them; the myriad creaks of a ship at rest, a whistled snatch of the
Ça Ira
ended in mid-phrase. A muted burst of laughter and the low tone of conversation indicated where the watch on deck spun yarns and played cards. Once the coarse noise of hawking and a loud expectoration was followed by a plop in the water close to them.

The minutes dragged by and a man came forward to use the heads. The four men maintained a stoic silence beneath the arc of urine that pattered down beside them accompanied by the quiet humming of a man on his own.

As the man returned inboard Mr Trussel's rocket soared into the night and burst over Al Mukhra with a baleful blue light.

For what seemed an age total silence greeted the appearance of this spectral flare then above their heads the fo'c's'le of the frigate was crowded with men. They jabbered together and pointed ashore while Drinkwater made a motion of his hand to Barnes. They eased the dinghy further under the round bow of the frigate, slackening the long painter until level with the tack bumpkin. Now they would have to wait for Griffiths and the
sambuk
to divert the attention of the men above.

Drinkwater turned his attention ashore. A flash and bang told where Mr Trussel's six-pounders on their improvised carriages were going into action. The concussions increased the speculation and excitement on the deck above them and now the noise of whooping Arab horsemen could be heard, mingling with the shouts of surprised Frenchmen and the commands of officers. Flickering movements around the fires told their own story and on the fo'c's'le above them someone was giving orders too.

A terrific explosion shook the air, making Drinkwater's ears ring. The wave of reeking powder smoke that engulfed them a second later told that those on board had at least one gun mounted, a long bow chaser fired more for effect than anything, for no one could say where the fall of shot was. Two minutes later it boomed out again and Drinkwater wished he had a kerchief to wrap around his ears like the seamen were doing. But then there came another cry. A sharp ‘
Qui va là
?' of alarm from amidships and suddenly the fo'c's'le was empty as the Frenchmen streamed
away to repel the threat from the approaching dhow.

‘Now lads!' Caution did not matter any more. With an effort Drinkwater swung himself upwards at the bumpkin, dangled a moment then felt Tregembo heave him upwards. The dinghy bobbed dangerously beneath the topman but Drinkwater scrambled upwards reaching the stinking gratings of the heads and covering himself with more filth. He wiped his hands on the gammoning of the bowsprit as his men joined him then they went over the bow onto the now deserted fo'c's'le.

‘Is the boat all right?'

‘Aye zur,' answered Tregembo's offended tone. Tregembo had been offended since the evening Drinkwater had left him behind at Kosseir, but that was of little moment now.

Coming round the foremast they could see the whole of the waist filling with men from the lower deck. The masts of the
sambuk
were visible alongside and already Drinkwater could see several Hellebores on the rail. Lieutenant Rogers was there, hacking downwards, one hand grasping a mainmast shroud. He saw the squat shapes of quarterdeck carronades then there were more figures on the rail, British and Arab. Drinkwater recognised Yusuf and his wicked scimitar.

‘Up we go!' he called to the men behind him and flung himself in the larboard foremast rigging. He felt Tregembo beside him; Barnes and Kellet made for the opposite side. Drinkwater looked down once. The
sambuk
could be seen now, its deck empty. The waist of the frigate was a mass of heaving bodies, of dully flashing blades and the yellow spurts of pistol fire. Then, as he swung back downwards into the futtocks, he heard above the grunting, swearing, shouting men below the thunder of cannon and the blood curdling screams of Arab horsemen as they decimated the French camp at the head of the
sharm
.

Drinkwater reached the foretopsail yard and moved out along the footrope. He felt for the seaman's knife on its lanyard and began to slit the ties. At the bunt, having done the same thing, Tregembo was busy severing the bunt and clew lines. In heavy folds, flopping downwards by degrees the huge topsail fell from its stowed position and flattened itself against the mast, all aback.

Out on the other yardarm Kellett and Barnes completed their half of the task. In a few minutes they were in the top. Kellett and Tregembo ran out along the foreyard, whipping yarns from their belts and seizing the topsail clews to the sheet blocks. The sail
secured, the four men scrambled to the deck. Amidships the struggle raged with unabated fury.

‘Below lads!' he snapped pushing them towards the forward companionway. They descended to the gundeck. It was deserted and in the glimmering light of the lantern at the after companionway sixty feet astern of them, they could see the six guns that had been mounted. The empty gun carriages at the remaining gunports along the deck and the untidy raffle of ropes, blocks, tackles, spikes and ropeyarns bespoke a busy day tomorrow. ‘Untidy bastards,' volunteered Barnes as he followed Drinkwater to where the lieutenant had already begun work on the cable.

‘Not too much, Barnes,' Drinkwater said, ‘there will be a fair weight on it with that topsail aback. It mustn't part before we're ready.' Drinkwater ran aft with Tregembo and Kellett in his wake. It was obvious now why the boarding nettings were down. The encumbrance caused by them when hoisting in the guns would have combined with Santhonax's feeling of security to persuade him that they were unnecessary. Besides a further day's labour and the frigate would be ready for sea, ready to challenge any other vessel on the Red Sea. They had arrived only just in time. Above their heads the fight for the deck went on, a scuffling, stamping shouting mêlée of men. The legs and waists of several Frenchmen below the level of the deck were temptingly exposed but the three men trotted past their undefended posteriors. Drinkwater swung below into the berth deck.

There was a whimpering and stifled cry from the dense shadows and Drinkwater picked up the single lantern allowed near the companionway after dark. Holding it before him he continued aft. They found the rudder and tiller lines abaft the cadet's cockpit. Sudden reminders of the hell-hole aboard
Cyclops
flooded his mind. He dreaded finding the tiller lines unrove but no, Santhonax had obligingly rigged new ones.

They cut them by the lead blocks to the deck above and hauled the tiller across to starboard, forcing the rudder over to port. ‘You two remain here!' Leaving the lantern with Kellett and Tregembo, Drinkwater ran forward and up onto the gun deck, finally reaching Barnes after pushing through a number of wounded Frenchmen who stumbled about the gun-deck tripping over their own breechings.

‘Cut the bloody thing, Barnes!'

‘Aye, aye, sir!' Drinkwater reached the upper deck via the forward companionway only to blunder into more Frenchmen. He drew his hanger and yelled, slashing wildly out to right and left. Like butter they parted before him and he was aware of the last remnants of French resistance crumbling. Against Griffiths, Rogers and their two score men the French had had an anchor watch of thirty-six under a lieutenant. The officer lay mortally wounded, having surrendered his sword to Commander Griffiths. Griffiths stood panting with his exertions, his white hair plastered to his skull by sweat, his sword blade dark. Behind Griffiths stood Yusuf ben Ibrahim, arms akimbo like a harem guard, his men about him daring the surprised Frenchmen to lift a further finger against their conquerors while their frigate was raped.

Barnes yelled triumphantly as the cable parted.

‘Foretopsail halliards!' shouted Drinkwater, ‘Forebraces there!' The special details of men ran to the pinrails.

The sheeted topsail rose into the night, its bunt pressed against the foremast. He looked over the side. The frigate was gathering sternway.

‘Mr Rogers, secure the prisoners!' Griffiths ordered.

‘We've the tiller lines cut and men manning it, sir. As soon as this lot is under control I'll splice 'em, in the meantime we've sternway on and men at the forrard braces,' Drinkwater reported.

‘
Da iawn
. Foredeck there! Heave larboard braces!' The frigate's head swung slowly to starboard as she gathered sternway. The foreyards came round against the catharpings and she increased the speed of her swing. Already the noise and flames of the battle ashore were on the beam. The weather leech of the foretopsail was a-flutter.