Buccaneer by Dudley Pope Page B

his estimate of the number of extra men – he thought forty or fifty, basing his guess on the length of the column with two men riding abreast – Ned realized it was enough men to rush the ship: the Griffin had twenty-five muskets and twenty pistols. If they fired to order and with reasonable accuracy, that would mean a fusilade of forty-five shot. That did not mean forty-five of Stevens’ men hit, though: there was no way of avoiding two or three Griffins firing at the same man. Loading took so long that if Stevens led a determined group they would be hit by one fusilade but there would be no time to reload, so the Griffins would then be fighting along the bulwarks with cutlasses.
    He saw a figure up in the shrouds. “Who’s that?”
    “Me, sir, Bullock.”
    “What on earth are you doing up there?”
    “Lookout sir; seems I can see better in the dark than anyone else.”
    Feeling that events were happening so fast he was almost lost, Ned hurried over to the foreman. “I don’t know anything about ships and big guns, Saxby, but couldn’t we load the minions on this side so that as they try to board we fire and blow them off the jetty?”
    “I thought o’ that sir, but it’d take hours because we’ve never loaded ’em before and some of our people are bound to be hurt by the recoil. Be different if we’d ever exercised at the great guns. Between you and me, sir, the muskits and pistols is more our mark now.”
    “They’ll try to rush us.”
    “Yes sir, that’s what I was going to talk to you about. I’ve stopped random shooting. All twenty-five musketeers are aft here, aiming over the taffrail and the quarter. They’ll all fire at once, which should stop any charge. Then the pistoleers are amidships: if any of Stevens’ men get through, the pistoleers will hop on to the jetty and wait until they can shove the muzzles into the mouths of these Roundheads. Then we should start collecting a pile of noheads.”
    “That black cloud is building up,” Ned commented. The dark bulging mass was rising higher and getting nearer.
    “Too much rain and no one’ll be using wheel-locks or matchlocks: it’ll be cutlass and swords, and that’ll give us an advantage.”
    “The devil take it – just look at that cloud!”
    It was boiling and swirling over the land, part lit by the moon, part in black shadow. A sudden flash across a quarter of the horizon was followed almost instantaneously by an echoing crash of thunder.
    “’Ere they come!” yelled Bullock. “End of the jetty – scores of ’em!”
    Saxby put the speaking trumpet to his lips. “Musketeers!” he bellowed. “Make sure your pieces are spanned and cocked… Steady now, I’ll give the word to fire. Try and pick your target – men on the starboard side look after the left side of the jetty, those to larboard to the right.”
    Ned watched fascinated and hurriedly snatched up a cutlass which, until yesterday morning, had been in use at Kingsnorth for cutting cane.
    The landward end of the jetty was black with men: Ned was reminded of maggots in rotten meat. Then he could hear the thudding of their feet on the planking. Saxby sprang up on to the bulwarks and then down on to the jetty, standing crouched, straining his eyes and trying to estimate the distance. Thin cloud was crossing the moon like gauze curtains flapping in the wind.
    Ned saw the speaking trumpet go up to Saxby’s mouth.
    The thudding of feet, the wavelets hitting the hull and sounding like a mill stream, the chill on his face as the breeze sprang up, pushing the Griffin away from the jetty until her mooring lines began to creak…he seemed helpless, a spare man clutching a cutlass.
    “Stand by!” Saxby yelled. “Now boys – fire!”
    All the Griffin ’s muskets except one fired simultaneously, flame spurting up from twenty-four muzzles. The twenty-fifth fired two or three seconds later and the others in the ship gave the man an ironic cheer.
    “Gawd…gawd…gawd! Just