soon as he touched he too jumped back out of the way.
The crash and subsequent loud bang were enough to overcome the howling wind, that followed by a cloud of black and acrid smoke that swept back along the deck. Pearce strained on tiptoe to see where the ball, now just visible in the air, would land, only to be disappointed when it merely disappeared into a mass of water so disturbed as to kill off any chance of a spout. It had no effect on the quarry except one. Pearce heard the faintest of booms, and saw black smoke envelop the stern of the chase. He assumed they too had fired off a cannon, but they got a result, as carried on the wind the ball sent a spout of water up into the air well off the larboard bow. Also, from being an unknown quantity it suddenly became something else as a flag flew to the masthead. It was not one he recognised, certainly not a tricolour, but the gesticulations from those around the cannon left him in no doubt that it was not a neutral.
The gun was run in and reloaded, though in a fashion far from swift or smooth; in fact it was as if the crew and the officer directing the affair were intoxicated, so much did they stagger around, continually seeking handholds in between the duties they had to carry out to fire the ordnance. Pearce knew what they were doing was extremely dangerous; a nine pounder cannon and its trunnion, which must weigh well over a ton, was enough to crush any flesh and bone with which it came into contact. The only thingthat was stopping that from happening was swift jabs with the levers that had about them an air of desperate reaction as the sea state played upon the ship, the rise and fall far from regular, that made worse by some kind of cross sea forcing the bows to yaw, this while on the quarterdeck half a dozen men fought the ship’s wheel to keep the rudder where it was required.
The curtain of rain lifted just as the cannon fired its second ball and a break above showed some white in the clouds, increasing the light and rendering much more clear the scene before them, though it was not enough to show where the shot landed. The ship they were chasing was much the same size, now identified by a Latimer shout as a ‘Gravelines bugger’, which was rendered as more of an insult than a description. Given that it had aloft only enough canvas to give the thing steerage way there was no way to tell much else about it except that she was struggling more than Griffin to deal with the conditions, tacking in the same fashion into the wind. The gain Colbourne was making was imperceptible, but gain it was.
This time Pearce went below with the others to find Latimer was crowing about being right, this while he, like everyone else, was shaking himself to get some of the sea water off his body. So much had come down the hatch on them or with them that Pearce was standing inch-deep in slushing water, which would work its way down to the bilges from where it would have to be pumped out.
‘Spotted the sod right off, knew its lines like the backof my hand, a Bilander, which ain’t no surprise given the bastards are half-Dutch.’
‘You been in an’ out of Gravelines a few times then, Latimer?’ asked blond Sam.
‘Happen,’ Latimer replied, suddenly more guarded.
Blubber called out next. ‘Come on, Lats, open up and tell for how much you have dunned Billy Pitt.’
That set a few voices going, with comments that Latimer was ‘a rich bugger in secret’, and ‘that he had a coach and four, an’ only came to sea with the Navy for the fresh air.’
‘What are they about?’ said Michael, looking at John Pearce.
He could only shrug. Where the ship was from, or its type, meant nothing to him, apart from the vague recollection that the port of Gravelines was in Flanders, and had been one of the places he and his father might have gone when they fled England. In fact he was ruminating on the very obvious fact that, even soaking wet and freezing cold, heaving about in these
The crash and subsequent loud bang were enough to overcome the howling wind, that followed by a cloud of black and acrid smoke that swept back along the deck. Pearce strained on tiptoe to see where the ball, now just visible in the air, would land, only to be disappointed when it merely disappeared into a mass of water so disturbed as to kill off any chance of a spout. It had no effect on the quarry except one. Pearce heard the faintest of booms, and saw black smoke envelop the stern of the chase. He assumed they too had fired off a cannon, but they got a result, as carried on the wind the ball sent a spout of water up into the air well off the larboard bow. Also, from being an unknown quantity it suddenly became something else as a flag flew to the masthead. It was not one he recognised, certainly not a tricolour, but the gesticulations from those around the cannon left him in no doubt that it was not a neutral.
The gun was run in and reloaded, though in a fashion far from swift or smooth; in fact it was as if the crew and the officer directing the affair were intoxicated, so much did they stagger around, continually seeking handholds in between the duties they had to carry out to fire the ordnance. Pearce knew what they were doing was extremely dangerous; a nine pounder cannon and its trunnion, which must weigh well over a ton, was enough to crush any flesh and bone with which it came into contact. The only thingthat was stopping that from happening was swift jabs with the levers that had about them an air of desperate reaction as the sea state played upon the ship, the rise and fall far from regular, that made worse by some kind of cross sea forcing the bows to yaw, this while on the quarterdeck half a dozen men fought the ship’s wheel to keep the rudder where it was required.
The curtain of rain lifted just as the cannon fired its second ball and a break above showed some white in the clouds, increasing the light and rendering much more clear the scene before them, though it was not enough to show where the shot landed. The ship they were chasing was much the same size, now identified by a Latimer shout as a ‘Gravelines bugger’, which was rendered as more of an insult than a description. Given that it had aloft only enough canvas to give the thing steerage way there was no way to tell much else about it except that she was struggling more than Griffin to deal with the conditions, tacking in the same fashion into the wind. The gain Colbourne was making was imperceptible, but gain it was.
This time Pearce went below with the others to find Latimer was crowing about being right, this while he, like everyone else, was shaking himself to get some of the sea water off his body. So much had come down the hatch on them or with them that Pearce was standing inch-deep in slushing water, which would work its way down to the bilges from where it would have to be pumped out.
‘Spotted the sod right off, knew its lines like the backof my hand, a Bilander, which ain’t no surprise given the bastards are half-Dutch.’
‘You been in an’ out of Gravelines a few times then, Latimer?’ asked blond Sam.
‘Happen,’ Latimer replied, suddenly more guarded.
Blubber called out next. ‘Come on, Lats, open up and tell for how much you have dunned Billy Pitt.’
That set a few voices going, with comments that Latimer was ‘a rich bugger in secret’, and ‘that he had a coach and four, an’ only came to sea with the Navy for the fresh air.’
‘What are they about?’ said Michael, looking at John Pearce.
He could only shrug. Where the ship was from, or its type, meant nothing to him, apart from the vague recollection that the port of Gravelines was in Flanders, and had been one of the places he and his father might have gone when they fled England. In fact he was ruminating on the very obvious fact that, even soaking wet and freezing cold, heaving about in these
Similar Books
