Sirens In Ocean
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A few hours after the first light, as the day was breaking on the western horizon, the Sailing Cloud left Brest, heading west for a rendezvous with its next convoy.
It was an unusually quiet trip for the captain and his mates: not only were they relieved by no more than half of their complement before they reached Bordeaux, but the convoy had been split into two parts at that port and one ship, the Sinking Cloud, now sat alone out in the Bay of Biscay. There was little to do but wait until it too would be joined by the other vessels in its column.
‘Well I’ll be damned,’ said Jackrum. ‘I thought we’d have to stay here till Christmas.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘But I suppose you wouldn’t be able to tell what was going on if it snowed, eh?’
The Sailing Cloud’s crew looked down from their duties at the sergeant major and smiled weakly. They knew better than anyone that this wasn’t the first time he’d been wrong about weather forecasts.
He sighed heavily. ‘This is going to put us back weeks,’ he added. ‘And all those people waiting for us, too.’
Captain Flint glanced down at his watch. It showed only half past five. They weren’t due to meet up with their new escort – the French Navy’s frigates and corvettes, which would take charge of the convoy once the Flying Cloud’s own escorts had escorted them safely out of Brest – for another couple of days yet. And then the voyage itself… The thought made him wince.
‘We can’t go back,’ said Jackrum. ‘Not without orders. We’re on our way home, remember? That’s why we took the job.’
Flint nodded grimly. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But what else are we supposed to do?’
There was a knock on the quarterdeck door.
‘Come in!’ cried Captain Flint, jumping slightly.
Sergeant Jackrum opened it and stuck his head through. ‘Sir?’ he said quietly. ‘They’ve got one of the other ships, sir! The Sinking Cloud’s gone down!’
Flint blinked. This was getting to be quite an eventful year for him. First, there had been a mutiny and then there had been that whole business in Africa when they’d almost run aground. Now… this.
‘Gone down?’ he repeated, trying not to sound panicked. The Sinking Cloud might have been small, but it was still a warship. There would have been sailors aboard, and probably officers, too, who were just as much at risk as anyone else.
‘The men say it went down right under the water, sir,’ said Jackrum. ‘With everyone still on board. They couldn’t get any survivors off.’
Flint closed his eyes for a moment. Then he took a deep breath, opened them again, and nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘You may leave me now.’
Jackrum stepped back, looking shocked. ‘Sir?’ he protested. ‘But I don’t even know what to do! It’s not my place!’
‘Do?’ said Flint. ‘That’s easy: we go and find out what happened to everyone, see if we can save anything…’
Jackrum shook his head slowly. ‘No,’ he said sadly. ‘No, sir. You’re the captain now, sir. We’ve had so many changes around here lately, I’m sure nobody would blame you if you didn’t want to deal with this yourself.’
Flint looked at him for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Then do your duty, Sergeant. Find Lieutenant Rolt and let him know.’
He turned away without a word, leaving the sergeant major staring after him open-mouthed.
‘What was that all about?’ said Corporal Caul. ‘The captain has been pretty busy recently, hasn’t he?’
Jackrum shook his head. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘I think he’s going to try and keep this one to himself for a bit.’
The three of them stood on the sterncastle of the Flying Cloud, watching the sun begin to sink toward the horizon behind them. At least the sun was shining; otherwise, the sky overhead would have been greyer than usual.
It was a long way below sea level, and the water around them was dark, with only the occasional sparkle to show where the sun shone on it. They’d had to sail far out in the bay for fear of being sighted by French patrols, and now they were waiting for nightfall.
The clouds had cleared over the day, which meant they were unlikely to see any moonlight or any stars. Not very good conditions for making landfalls, thought Flint, but he wasn’t going to complain. He’d rather be somewhere he could hear the crash of waves than some quiet corner where he had to worry about being shot at every few minutes.
The Flying Cloud had come to rest on the edge of an enormous rocky shelf that ran across the bay and was now surrounded by rocks and boulders jutting out into the water, which was still calm. Flint felt the deck shift as the ship rolled gently in its sleep.
In another couple of hours, it would be too dark to see anything at all; it would be a good time to set off. The French frigates would make sure there weren’t any boats coming ashore, anyway.
‘So,’ said Flint. ‘Are we all ready?’
Rolt smiled weakly from the bow, where he was standing with two other officers and a few men in blue uniforms. His expression was one of barely controlled panic, as though he couldn’t quite believe that things really were going to happen today. A few moments ago he’d seemed almost confident, but now he was shaking.
Flint frowned down at him. ‘You all right, Lieutenant?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Rolt, glancing up at him nervously. ‘Just… a little nervous, is all.’
‘Nervous?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Flint nodded. ‘Of course, you are, lad,’ he said. ‘Everyone’s nervous, aren’t they? That’s part of the job.’
‘I mean, yes, sir… but this isn’t normal, is it, sir?’
‘No,’ said Flint, grinning. ‘It isn’t.’
‘But it’s just a bit… odd, sir, don’t you think?’
Flint raised an eyebrow and leaned on the rail beside Rolt. ‘How so, Lieutenant?’
Rolt swallowed and looked down at his feet. ‘Well, sir, you’ve got to remember that this is only a sort of temporary situation for me. I’ll be back home in a week, and everything will be fine.’
Flint laughed. ‘And who says this isn’t permanent?’
Rolt hesitated a moment too long, and then looked away.
Flint sighed and looked up at the sunset again. This was always the worst part. There came a point when you just knew, when it all became so obvious and simple, that you’d made the biggest mistake of your life.
It was just a matter of time before someone saw us, he thought. And once that happens…
‘We’re getting a bit light on hands, sir,’ said Rolt awkwardly. ‘Not much more than a third of my company left.’
Flint grunted. ‘Good man. Now listen, lieutenant—’
A shout came from the bow. ‘There!’ shouted Rolt, pointing at something out over the water.
Flint followed his finger and frowned. A black shape was rising slowly out of the water, heading towards them. It wasn’t big – about thirty-six tons if he remembered his calculations correctly. Not a great deal in these conditions, not against the Flying Cloud’s ninety. But it was fast… and it looked like it might be carrying something large on its deck.
The frigate was moving quickly, heading straight for them. There was no sign yet of any sails above her decks, but she would soon be close enough to detect their engines.
Rolt gave a strangled cry as he noticed something else in the water. It was tiny at first but grew larger with every moment until they could see a line of men clinging to the side of what must have been a small boat, paddling hard for them.
Flint glanced back to the stern to find Rolt staring at the same thing, and his face twisted into a grimace. ‘It’s the French,’ he said under his breath. ‘They spotted us.’
‘Can we get them off quick enough?’ asked Flint, looking up at the bow and wishing he could see better. He didn’t like having people swimming around his ship at all, but even less in such bad visibility.
‘Yes,’ Rolt whispered hoarsely, his eyes fixed on the approaching boat. ‘I’ll do it.’
Flint shook his head. ‘Don’t worry about that,’ he said. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll send a signal to tell the frigate we’re surrendering.’
‘Surrendering?’ gasped Rolt. ‘But why?’
‘Just do it,’ said Flint. ‘Quick as you can.’
Rolt took a deep breath and pulled himself upright. ‘Very well, sir,’ he said. ‘But if it’s surrendering you want, you won’t like this.’
‘What?’
‘You’ll understand when I’m done.’ Rolt reached for his telescope, which had been hanging by its strap around his neck. As he did so, Flint caught sight of something white on the boat, floating near the stern: one of the French sailors from their own crew, dead or dying from some terrible wound.
Rolt ignored this and turned back to his telescope, which had a glass lens the size of a man’s arm. He stared through it intently.
After a few moments, the two ships were very close now, and Flint could clearly see the figures rowing on each other’s decks. The frigate’s bow pointed directly at them, her sail furled, but there was no sign of anyone in charge. She was just sitting there, waiting to be boarded.
As Flint watched, one of the boats began to slow, and Rolt held up his hand to stop them. They’d nearly stopped completely when he spoke again, in a voice barely louder than a whisper.
‘Fire!’ he yelled.
The three gunners below the crow’s nest lifted their rifles and fired a volley into the air.
In the next instant, the entire French crew had leaped clear of the boat and were making their way for the sides. Some went down immediately, while others tried to swim away, but most fell heavily onto the water, their limbs flailing wildly as they struggled for purchase.
One of the Frenchmen who’d managed to climb free was standing at the prow, holding on to a rope that appeared to be tied around the mast. He shouted something at them, and they all turned back towards him. He shouted again, pointing across the water at the Flying Cloud.
This time, it was Rolt who answered. ‘That’s Captain Flint’s ship, I think,’ he called out. He leaned forward and raised the telescope higher. Then he lowered it again and pointed at another Frenchman. ‘He’s got an officer’s sword on his belt there,’ he said. ‘Captain Flint must have killed him.’
Flint frowned in confusion. Why would he kill one of his own crew? And why would they keep calling out to his ship like that? It made no sense.
‘Well, let’s hope they don’t come over here and try to take our guns,’ said Flint. ‘We’ve only got a couple of men with muskets left.’
‘They won’t, sir,’ said Rolt. ‘Not without a fight, anyway.’
Flint nodded and turned to speak to one of his lieutenants. ‘See if you can get those boats back,’ he said. ‘And then make sure there are enough of your men to man the cannons.’
The frigate’s crew had already abandoned their oars and were scrambling for the side. The moment they were clear of the ship, Flint gave the order and the guns began to fire. Their aim was poor at first, but the smoke cleared after a few seconds and Flint waved at them to continue, shouting out instructions to the gun crews in a thick voice as he did so.
The frigate had begun to turn broadside to the Flying Cloud, its fore-and-aft sails filling as she cut across her course and headed for them, but the frigate’s captain was not stupid, and he knew that Flint had the upper hand.
He had seen what little damage his own crew could inflict, and he was unlikely to risk his own ship by attempting to board Flint’s ship in such conditions. In any case, the frigate had no more guns than Flint’s ship—not even one on her lower deck—so he was forced to retreat back behind his own mast until she had finished firing, before turning once more to face Flint again.
A few minutes later, Flint called for a general cease-fire and ordered his men to haul down the guns. The frigate turned away from him and continued on her way.
‘She’s going to give us another broadside,’ shouted one of the gunners.
‘Then we’ll meet it and put her out of action,’ said Flint. ‘We’ve got plenty of powder still, but you’d better use every shot you have.’
Rolt and one of Flint’s men took the telescope again and peered out through its eyepiece. They both looked shocked at what they saw; the frigate’s fore-and-aft sails had gone limp, and she seemed to be drifting off to leeward, slowly but steadily, as though she were sinking.
‘It looks as if she’s run out of wind,’ said Rolt. ‘Her fore-sail is torn almost right away.’
Flint stared across at her. He didn’t want to believe what he was seeing. There was no other explanation. ‘I suppose she thought we couldn’t catch her,’ he muttered, ‘because she wasn’t taking us seriously enough.’
‘Sir?’ came Rolt’s voice.
Flint shook himself and focused his mind on the matter at hand. He hadn’t taken the French seriously enough because he had assumed that they wouldn’t dare challenge him on the open sea. After all, who would ever do such a thing?
Yet now he realized that it was just as likely that someone might, especially with the French having been driven off their own coast, with so many Englishmen already dead.
But that was the past and this was the future. ‘We’re not going to let her escape, Mr. Rolt,’ he said, raising the telescope. ‘You see how easy it would be for her to slip past us now? She could go anywhere in the world she wants.’
There was something else he had to consider too. What would happen if they chased the frigate, only to lose her in some heavy weather? It was a very real possibility, with the frigate’s fore-and-aft sails lying slack, and with her being half empty.
Flint sighed and put the telescope down. He felt exhausted by the ordeal, both physically and mentally. All that running around on deck had worn him out. He wished they could just sit here for a while and wait for the breeze to come back, but he knew he couldn’t afford to do so, not yet.
It was time to leave before more ships arrived, and he knew that he needed to get the Flying Cloud well away from the frigate first. The sooner the better.
‘Mr. Rolt,’ he shouted, ‘get your men moving. Get the boats ready to go.’
The man nodded, and Flint looked across at his helmsman. ‘Get us underway, Mr. Smith, before I change my mind.’
He watched the frigate as it moved away from her, heading out into deeper water. As they sailed on, the Flying Cloud’s sail filled and then fell again, and Flint began to relax once more. Now he could begin to think about how best to deal with the other ships he knew must be coming after them.
The End