Honour Be Damned by David Donachie Page B

to his men, the thought of grapeshot uppermost in his mind. Firing that was a two-way street, a tactic just as available to the French captain, ifhe had the means aboard, as it was to Germain. A group of red-coated marines, lined up neat and ready to board, would provide a tempting target to anyone planning to employ it.
    Standing before them, his mind went back to the first action he had seen as their commander. That had been a fiasco, one in which they’d demonstrated fully their contempt for him. Many things had changed since then, but looking at what was happening now, he could not avoid the feeling that though the circumstances might be different, and his Lobsters willing to support him, the end result might just be the same.
    ‘Sergeant Rannoch, I want to disperse the men. Split them into three sections. You take one to the bows, Corporal Halsey will man the poop, and I will keep the others here. You may threaten with your muskets, but don’t fire them unless you’re absolutely certain of hitting someone. Mr Germain intends at some point to close with the enemy and attempt to board. I want us concentrated at whatever seems to be the salient point, at the moment of contact, and I want a proper fusillade that will clear our way on to the enemy deck.’
    ‘He is never going to send us amongst that crowd, is he?’ asked Rannoch.
    ‘Be thankful, sergeant. The mood he’s in, and the way he sees us, I’m surprised he hasn’t dropped us into a boat.’
    ‘He is in a passion right enough,’ Rannoch responded bitterly. ‘How many men have I seen die for an officer’s loss of temper.’
    There was no time to ask Rannoch what he meant by that. Nor would asking have done any good. The Highlander had been a soldier a long time, and a damned good one. He also had, on his thumb, an ‘M’ that had been put there with a branding iron, the sign that he’d been found guilty of manslaughter. But he was cagey about discussing it, and could get very belligerent if quizzed. One thing was certain. He hated that breed of officers, of which Germain it seemed was one, who cared more for glory than for the men they killed in pursuit of it.
    ‘What are you about, Mr Markham,’ called Germain, as he saw the marines divide.
    ‘If they cannot lay down musketry from the tops sir, they may be able to do something from both ends of the deck, as long as they are clear of the gunners.’
    ‘May God rest your soul.’
    The voice was Bellamy’s, and had his usual tone of deep irony.It came as no surprise that his two NCOs had left the Negro with him, though it did anger him.
    ‘I wish he would rest your tongue. And you should pray so too, considering the trouble it gets you into.’
    ‘Should I, sir, faced with pig-like ignorance, say nothing.’
    ‘What caused that near riot below decks?’ demanded Markham , wondering where the sudden inspiration had come from to make him ask now.
    Bellamy wasn’t Rannoch. He had no notion that officers, as a separate breed, should be kept in the dark about certain matters. He was only too keen to tell his side of the story.
    ‘They were saying the most lewd things about the Mademoiselle’s maid, just because she was a Negro. They do not see beauty or grace in the way she moves.’
    ‘You sound a bit struck yourself, Bellamy.’
    ‘I admit to an attraction as great as that which you harbour for her mistress.’ Bellamy, if he heard the sharp intake of breath at such damned cheek, ignored it. Nor did his expression betray any hint that he might have said anything untoward. ‘It was natural then, that I should make every effort to ensure her comfort and well being. I took every opportunity, when my duties permitted, to deepen the acquaintance.’
    ‘A fact which would hardly be a secret from the crew.’
    ‘All they saw was an outlet for their lowlife libidinous ways. They were laying bets, in my hearing, as to how many of them she could service in one watch. Some of them, it seemed, had been