Scarborough Fair - Chris Scott Wilson [77]
“Grenade!?” he shouted.
“Aye sir,” Wright called back, pulling himself up by the rail, eyes turned back for’ard. A sheet of flame outlined the hatch, sparks jumping to nearby rigging. Burning halyards sheered away, released tension curling them into the air in fiery tatters.
“Don’t wait here, man,” Pearson said irritably, hauling himself to his feet. “Get down there and bring that fire under control.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“And get those damned Frenchies or Americans or whatever in God’s name they are off my yards!”
***
Richard Dale ran for’ard past the smoldering wreckage of the marines’ roundhouse on the open deck. Leaping mounds of cordage and smashed spars that had fallen from aloft, he dodged around burst cannon and the broken bodies of men. Musket balls thudded into the deck timbers around him as English sharpshooters followed his progress. He was too busy to notice, ears ringing from the persistent cannon fire. Even in a lull there was no silence, echoes of broadsides hammering back and forth in his mind. That and the crackling of flames eating both ships, and now the cheering at Alliance’s arrival. Men who seconds before had been on the point of giving up now fought with renewed fury. Some grinned like madmen, oblivious of their wounds and the horrors they had seen.
Dale kept moving. From one huddle of men to another, always for’ard. A French marine sat with his back to the bulwarks, loading paper cartridges from a powder horn that his comrades snatched as soon as they were full. He paused in his work, turning his smoke-blackened face upwards when Dale halted beside him. That was when the lieutenant saw the marine had been blinded, but had stayed at his post to load for his friends. Dale smiled then bent to pat the marine’s arm.
“Bon, bon, le courage.” He didn’t know whether it was the correct French or not, but it was near enough. He gulped down smoky air into his lungs for the last dash. Ready, he sprinted for the foc’sle, scrambling up the remains of a shattered ladder. With Bonhomme Richard and Serapis shackled together, facing opposite directions, Richard’s bows were hard against the Englishman’s quarterdeck. Captain Pearson’s marine bodyguard was laying down a murderous crossfire with their muskets. Hunched on Richard’s foc’sle top was group of sailors who had taken refuge when the main weather deck battery had been decimated. A petty officer had organized the men. Having retrieved a few muskets and pistols, they were giving as good as they got.
Dale fell panting to the deck. The petty officer turned to offer the semblance of a smile when he recognized the lieutenant. He pointed aft into the smoke from where they could hear cheering.
“That be Alliance, sir? We got the word.”
Dale nodded, gulping air. Alliance was the reason he had come for’ard. It was impossible to see their own ship’s bows from the quarterdeck because of the smoke-heavy night. The commodore had sent him up to make a head count and to watch Alliance after she crossed their stern and moved up the port side. She should then swing around their bows and rake the Englishman’s stern. When that happened, Dale was to lead a boarding party to capture Serapis’s quarterdeck and her principal officers while they were still stunned.
“How many men have you?”
The petty officer looked about, estimating recent losses. He made face and shrugged. “Twenty, maybe thirty. Hard to tell. And there ain’t enough muskets for all.”
The lieutenant scanned their meager equipment. Discounting the few firearms, they had pikes and cutlasses for combat hand to hand. Besides, it didn’t matter what they had, even only belaying pins, they would have to make do. He opened his mouth to issue the boarding orders…
***
Captain Pierre Landais stood on Alliance’s quarterdeck as she forged through the darkness. Ahead lay the two struggling men-o’-war, locked together stem to stern in a deadly embrace. Multiple fires lit the sky as they pounded each other to pieces, reflections between the palls of gun smoke showing a clutter of wreckage floating around both battered hulls. Below