Dewey Lambdin - THE GUN KETCH

• Название: THE GUN KETCH
• Автор: Dewey Lambdin
• Жанр: Морские приключения

It's 1786 and Alan Lewrie has his own ship at last, the Alacrity. Small but deadly, the Alacrity prowls the waters of the Caribbean, protecting British merchants from pirates. But Lewrie is still the same old rakehell he always was. Scandal sets tongues wagging in the Bahamas as the young captain thumbs his nose at propriety and makes a few well-planned conquests on land before sailing off to take on Calico Jack Finney, the boldest pirate in the Caribbean.

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She heeled harder still until the angles of her sails were set, then rose up almost level and set her shoulder to the sea, her bluff bows snuffling foam as tops'ls rustled and cracked with the new-found power. One could feel her leap forward, could exult in the way she sprang to life, hot-blooded and eager as a racehorse.

"Hoist the colours," Lewrie said, as Cony fetched him his coat and hat, and his sword to buckle on.

The three-masted merchantman had turned south once she had seen the suspicious luggers pursuing her, to open the distance and turn the hunt into a long stern chase. But the luggers were fast off the wind, sails winged out like bat's wings and skimming the shallow-draughted boats across the bright blue waters quick as pilot boats. Two of them had gybed and were a little west of the trading ship, while the other three were boring in for her larboard side. As Alacrity plunged along, they could see tiny puffs of smoke on the merchantman's high stern from a pair of light chase guns, and white feathers of spray leap aloft near the luggers. The luggers opened fire in reply, and near-misses splashed close alongside the trader. One hit twirled lumber into the air from her poop rails. What seemed like minutes later, the flat sounds of the artillery reached them like far-off thunder.

"They still don't see us!" Lewrie exulted. "Quartermaster, a point more aweather. Steer us just inshore of that trio to larboard of the chase. We'll trap them between our guns and hers."

To leeward there was a clear, sharp horizon, the sea dark blue and winking in the morning sun. Ahead and to windward, the shallower waters were a palette of greens and pale blues, the white breakers of the reefs curling and spuming like artillery shots, and beyond toward morning the Caicos Bank lay still and calm, the palest aquamarine with the clouds mirrored upon it like some desert mirage.

At last, though, someone aboard the luggers looked aft in the act of reloading a boat-gun and gave a great shout of alarm, and Lewrie saw fifty heads swivel about, and fifty mouths gape open in the round iris of his telescope.

Alacrity ran down on them, commissioning pendant streaming long as a tops'l yard, the red ensigns of the Bahamas Squadron flaming huge and menacing to leeward from her taffrail and her foremast truck, her gun ports open, and a frothing white mustache of foam growling under her bows.Fast as the luggers were, Alacrity had infinitely more sail area, a longer waterline, and she drew closer to them as they bore off from the merchantman to run south. The pair to leeward gave up their chase and turned to join their comrades, thinking that there was safety in numbers.

"Mister Ballard, I make the range possible for random shot," Lewrie said at last. "Let's try our eye on those two yonder."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Ballard replied eagerly, almost running to the quarter-deck nettings to look down into the ship's waist. "Starboard guns, Mister Buckinger! Take them under fire!"

Number One starboard gun barked, its crew shying back from the recoil run as the gun captain jerked the lanyard of the flintlock igniter. The barrel was cold, so even at maximum elevation, the round-shot struck short, but within line of the target. Slowly, the other four cannon of the starboard battery exploded stinking clouds of powder that swirled downwind toward the luggers.

Number One fired again, this time with a warm barrel, and its round-shot scored a hit so close-aboard the leader of the pair that it heeled over almost on its beam ends and rolled back upright, its single mast snapped off and the large lugsail draped over its stern. The trailing lugger ducked leeward behind its injured consort, which act raised sarcastic jeers and catcalls from the British gunners as they pounded shot around the now-stationary target. Another strike lifted the injured lugger clear of the water, breaking it in two and spilling its crew into the sea. The pirate lugger behind it continued on course, weaving at speed to throw off their aim.

"I'd not like to be swimmin' in these waters," Gatacre shivered. "Sharks and spets a'plenty. Cowardly bastards. Leave their mates to drown or get chomped. Gahh!"

"Mister Ballard, tell the gun crews well done. Cease fire for now," Lewrie ordered. "Quartermaster, put your helm down two points. We'll shift our attention to the trio there. How close may we come to Molasses Reef, Mister Fellows?"

"The charts infer there's ten fathoms within a cable, cable and a half, sir," Fellows told him, rolling his eyes and shrugging. "I'd suggest we stand off at least two cables… about 400 yards, Captain. We'll be fetching Molasses Reef in another mile."

The trio of luggers ahead of them were now bending their course sou'easterly, as though to run down close to Molasses Reef themselves, or make for the reputed deep-water entrance at its north end, trying to dart under Alacrity's bows to escape.

"Quartermaster, helm down another point. Mister Ballard, take the nearest lugger under fire," Lewrie smiled. "Discourage them."

Hot now, the gun barrels had a harsher, more insistent sound, and the low carriages and barrels leapt as they discharged, rearing off their front wheels to crash back to the deck. Hot barrels meant slightly greater range. Five tall feathers of spray erupted as graceful as poplar trees all around the single-masted lugger which trailed the trio. Once the foam and spray had subsided, they could espy her hauling her wind to bear away out of range toward the open sea. The leading pair fitted with two masts turned more southerly to continue to run as well, denied a chance to get to windward.

Alacrity had taken the pass below Southeast Reef from them, the pass above Molasses Reef. Once more the luggers tried to turn up into the wind below Molasses Reef, but Alacrity was too close, and, hauled up onto the wind herself, had cannonaded that idea from their minds. The morning wore on as they chased them south, slowly gaining.

A low-lying spit of sand, French Cay, fell astern by noon, and once more, the luggers turned east to seek escape into the Banks, but Alacrity peppered them with round-shot so fiercely they turned south again, daunted by the rapidity and closeness of her fire.

"West Sand Spit in sight, sir," Fellows announced. "Fine on our larboard bows. Five miles, about. There's a long reef with breakers and exposed coral below it. Fifteen miles, it runs, sir, all the way to White Cay and Shot Cay."

"And no more passes after this 'un?" Lewrie demanded.

"Two, perhaps, sir, either side of White Cay," Fellows shrugged.

"Deep water east of us now, Captain Lewrie," Gatacre told him. "Seven fathom reported. Five fathom from that thumb o' deep water as runs south to West Sand Spit. Do they wish escape so bad, sir, this'd be their last chance. Ye'll have 'em close-aboard in two more hours."

"Deck there!" Midshipman Parham howled from aloft in a squeaky wail. "Chases go close-hauled on the wind, sirs!"

The four surviving luggers had caught up with each other in a loose gaggle, the two-masted ones outdistancing the single-masted. All had turned due east to beat against the Trades as close as they could bear. They were at best three-quarters of a mile ahead, with Alacrity able to run down on them to close the range rapidly before she turned up to windward and took them under fire again, this time at about four cables' distance. They were daringthe best killing zone for a long-barreled six-pounder, showing their desperation.

"Helm down, quartermaster. Mister Ballard, hands to sheets and braces! Haul taut, close-hauled to weather!" Lewrie ordered. "Quoins out on the starboard guns and prepare to open fire!"

The angle was almost right for all but the leading lugger, which had gotten too far to windward for Alacrity's guns to bear.

Fists rose in the air as gun captains signaled their charges ready. Flintlock striker lanyards were taut as bowstrings. "Fire!" Lewrie called out.

Alacrity roared out her defiance, thrashing along with wind singing in her rigging, foam flying about her hull, spray leaping high as the clews of her jibs. The guns crashed and bellowed, and a wall of smoke gushed from her to be ragged away astern. "Fire!" And another broadside howled from her artillery. A single-masted lugger was torn to splinters, leaping stern-high and pitch-poling, tumbling as if she'd tripped over her own bows! She crashed upside down into the sea in a welter of white water and began to sink at once. "Reefs ahead to larboard!" a lookout shrilled. "Helm up, quartermaster! Bear away starboard!" Lewrie shouted.

"Deep water to starboard, sir!" Gatacre counseled from a perch on the starboard bulwark where he could see ahead and below.

"Ten fathom t'this line!" a leadsman shouted back from the foredeck, pointing to his right to indicate blue water and safety.

"The clever bastard!" Lewrie sighed with relief. "He knew what he was about, turning to windward so early."

"To wipe us off him in passing, so to speak, sir," Lieutenant Ballard commented. "The guns cannot bear, sir, unless we turn up to windward again."

"Eight fathom t'larboard! Eight fathom t'this line, sir!" the other leadsman sang out. "Clear water ahead."

"Mister Fellows, Mister Gatacre, do you think there is depth enough for us to continue the chase, sirs?" Lewrie inquired. "For a space, sir," Fellows allowed.

"Another mile or two, sir, if we're quick about it," Gatacre recommended.

"Quartermaster, put your helm down. Lay us close-hauled"

"Aye, aye, sir! Close-hauled t'weather!" Neill parroted. The luggers had gained at least half a mile on Alacrity after she was forced off course, and now lay more ahead than abeam of her after she began to beat to windward once more. The gun crews had to pry the guns about to angle them within the ports to point at the foe, grunting and sweating as they put their backs and arms against the metal crow-levers and handspikes.

"Quartermaster, pinch us up and let her luff," Lewrie snapped. "Gun captains, as you bear… fire!"

One at a time the guns belched and leapt, rolling back from the gun ports and snubbing on the breeching ropes, slewing a bit due to the acute angle and making the tackle men, swabbers and loaders jump back.

"Tacking!" the foremast lookout wailed.

Lewrie stepped to the left side of his small quarter-deck for a view. The luggers had tacked across the eye of the Trades and were now heading west-nor'west, back the way they had come all during the long morning chase. But this time, they were inside the Caicos Bank, sheltered from pursuit beyond the reefs and breakers, skimming along over pale aquamarine waters far too shallow for Alacrity.

" 'Vast, there!" Lewrie roared. "Mister Buckinger, ready the larboard battery. Quartermaster, ease your helm two points aweather. Mister Ballard?"

"Aye, sir?"

"We'll not have much time, I'm thinking, so be ready to haul our wind and come about to loo'rd."

"Six fathom!" the leadsman warned.

"Guns ready, sir!" Buckinger called out.

"Open fire, Mister Buckinger."

Alacrity rocked with recoil, and spent powder smoke rolled over the decks like a thick fog, only slowly wafting away. Shot moaned in the air, across the shoaling waters, across the sand and coral reefs which separated them from the foe. A second broadside; a third, and one of the two-masted luggers was at last hit. Two shots slammed home, rocking her at the extreme limit of Alacrity's range. Powder charges or a cask of powder aboard the lugger must have taken light, for there was a sudden ruddy mushroom cap of flame, followed by a squat, bulging hump of gray-black smoke shot through with whirling wreckage, then a hailstorm of splashing debris and she was gone! The sound of her ruin came to them as a twofold Crump-Fhwumph as the smoke-cloud turned to a sooty mist chased low across the shallow sea, and the white-roiled waters became a series of ripples.

"Out of range, sir," Buckinger informed them from the foot of the ladder to the waist."Three fathom!" a leadsman called mournfully. "Three fathom to this line, and shoal-waters ahead! Two cable, no more, sir!"

"Mister Ballard, haul our wind. Mister Buckinger, secure your guns for a gybe," Lewrie commanded.

"Run out unloaded! Bowse up to the bulwarks and belay!" the quarter-gunner told his hands. "Put those slow match out."

"Sheetmen, brace-tenders, stations for wearing ship! Off yer belays and haul taut!" Ballard instructed. "Ready about? Helm hard up to weather, quartermaster. Wear-ho!"

Once settled on her new course out toward safer, deeper water, and the guns secured with charges and shot drawn, vents covered and striker pans emptied, ports closed and the guns lashed securely hard up against the hull, Lewrie had all hands summoned. They thundered aft to mill about at the foot of the quarter-deck, grinning with delight and chattering their excitement.

"Lads, we did damned well!" he told them, putting a brave face on his embarrassment. "From powder monkeys to waisters to the guns. We shot like a crew three years in commission, and I'm well pleased with you this day! Mister Keyhoe? We will splice the main-brace!"

They cheered the announcement of a double rum ration, one free of accumulated debts among themselves of "sippers" and "gulpers."

"Then!" he continued, raising his hand to silence them, "then, lads, we pick up survivors and clap 'em in irons. We go back to get our boats and other mates in Clear Sand Road. And hunt the rest of this pack of murderers and cut-throats down and bring 'em to court to hang! Mister Harkin? Pipe 'Clear Decks And Up Spirits'!"

After the clamor died down, Lewrie paced aft to the taffrail on the windward side. He raised his telescope and glared at the surviving luggers as they receded from view two miles or more away now', hull-down, with their sails mirrored on the glassy waters inside the Caicos Bank.

He had hurt them. He'd sunk three out of five of them, saved a merchant ship… come to think on it, he gloomed, where had that bugger gone so quickly, without a word of thanks… he'd put the fear of King's Justice in the rest of them. But it wasn't enough. The fact remained that he had been outmaneuvered… fooled! He'd almost lost his ship on those razor-sharp reefs!

Somewhere out there was a very clever criminal, laughing fit to bust he was certain, at how he'd bested him! A criminal who had outsmarted him!

Chapter 3

"A 'Brother Johnathon' ship," Lewrie chuckled wryly. "I saved a Yankee's ship. And now here he is, selling bold as brass!"

"That you did," the local magistrate Mr. Lightbourne said as they strolled past the open-air market of sheds just above the high-tide line. "I've no way of stopping him. No reliable bailiff, no real power to regulate for the Governor-General."

"But this is a violation of the Navigation Acts, sir," Lewrie insisted. "Is there no King's ship in these waters?"

"Nothing against your fellow officer, Captain Lewrie, but there is but the one tiny single-masted cutter, and she's off at the moment," the gloomy magistrate said, halting their stroll to make a point. "Sir, were it not for Yankee ships coming to the Salt Isles, we would have no imported food or goods! Not in the winter months after salt-raking season, to tide us over, certainly. When British ships put into port, their prices are dear. Dear, sir! With a half-battalion of troops, a fleet of revenue cutters, the full force of the King's Customs, even then I would have no hopes of enforcing steep prices, just to benefit fat London merchants, who got this Order In Council passed."