A Falcon Flies Part 35

His skin was the pale yellow of ancient ivory, and he was so weak he had to pause to rest when he reached the deck. Welcome aboard, Mr. Tippoo, " Mungo called from the quarterdeck. "And if you have finished your holiday ash.o.r.e, I'll thank you to get this s.h.i.+p under way immediately Twelve days later, having struggled with flukey and variable winds, Mungo St. John played the field of his gla.s.s down the open gaping maw of False Bay. On his right hand rose the distinctive curved black peak of Hangklip, shaped from this angle like a shark's dorsal fin, and directly opposite it across the mouth of the bay the southernmost tip of the African continent, Cape Point, with its lighthouse perched high above the steep wet Cliffs.

It was a magnificent Cape summer's day, a light and fickle breeze scratching dark patches on the surface of the rolling dark blue sea, leaving the rest of it with a satiny gloss. There were seabirds working, their wings twinkling like flurrying; snow flakes in the sunlight, huge flocks of them that stretched low across the horizon.

Creeping along on the breeze, lying for minutes at a time completely becalmed, Huron took half a day to round the point and came on to west-northwest and a point north, the course that would carry her up the Atlantic, across the equator and finally into Charleston Roads.

Once they were on their new course, Mungo St. John had leisure to inspect the other sails that were in sight.

There were nine, no, ten other vessels in view now, for there was another far out to sea, just her topsails showing. They were small fis.h.i.+ng craft out from Hout Bay and Table Bay, and the seabirds clouded the air about them, most of them were between Huron and the land, and all of them were bare-masted or under working sail as they plied their lines or their nets. Only the vessel furthest out was carrying topsails, and though she was hull down she gave to Mungo's seaman's eye the impression of being a bigger s.h.i.+p than the rest of the fis.h.i.+ng fleet. There's a s.h.i.+p for you! " Tippoo exclaimed, touching Mungo's arm to draw his attention and when he swung his gla.s.s back towards the land Mungo murmured with pleasure as a square-rigged East Indiaman came into view around the headland that guarded the entrance to Table Bay itself.

She was as splendid a sight as Huron was herself, canvas piled to the sky and her paintwork glearrung in snowy white and Burgundy red, the two lovely s.h.i.+ps on reciprocal courses pa.s.sed each other by two cableslength, the officers eyeing each other through their telescopes with professional interest and appraisal as they paid pa.s.sing honours.

Robyn was also at Huron's rail, pining towards the land. The proximity of the beautiful s.h.i.+p interested her hardly at all, it was that flat-topped mountain from which she could barely tear her gaze. It was so very close, marking as it did her one hope of succour, her friends there, the British Governor and the Cape Squadron, if they only knew that she was a prisoner aboard this slave s.h.i.+p.

The thought was interrupted by an abrupt movement that she caught from the corner of her eye, strange how receptive she was to Mungo St. John's smallest movement, to his slightest change of expression, and now she saw that he had turned his back on the East Indiaman as she dwindled away astern, and instead he was peering intently over Huron's port side, his expression rapt, his whole body seemed charged with latent energy, and the hands that gripped the barrel of the telescope were ivory knuckled with tension.

Quickly she followed his gaze, and for the first time noticed a tiny shred of white on the horizon that did not fade like the white caps of the waves, but stood constant and bright in the sunlight, though even as she watched it seemed to alter its shape slightly and, was it her imagination, or was it a thin dark wavering line that seemed to appear behind it and spread slowly away in the direction of the wind? Mr. Tippoo, what do you make of that sail?

She heard the timbre of concern and alarm in Mungo St. John's tone, and her heart leapt wildly, with hope and a Judas dread.

For Clinton Codrington it had been a desperate run down the eastern coastline of southern Africa, long days and sleepless nights of unceasing strain, when hope and despair pendulumed against each other. Each s.h.i.+ft or change in the wind either alarmed or encouraged him, for it would either aid or hinder the tall clipper s.h.i.+p he was racing to head. The calms elated him, and the revival of the south-easterly prevailing winds sent his spirits plunging.

On the last days there was another worry to plague him. He had burned his coal like a spendthrift on the long thousand-mile run southwards, and his engineer came up on deck, a small red-headed Scot with the grease and coal-dust etched into his skin so that he seemed to be suffering from some debilitating and incurable disease. The stokers" shovels be hitting the bottom of the bunkers already, he told Clinton with mournful relish. "I warned ye, sir, that we'd not make it if you- Burn the s.h.i.+p's furniture if you must, Clinton snapped at him. "You can start with my bunk, I'll not be needing it."

And when the engineer would have argued further Clinton added, "I don't care how you do it, Mr. MacDonald, but I want a full head of steam on your boiler until I reach Cape Point, and another full head of steam when I bring this s.h.i.+p into action."

They raised the Cape Point lighthouse a few minutes after midnight the following night, and Clinton's voice was hoa.r.s.e with fatigue and relief as he stooped over the voice pipe. Mr. MacDonald, you can let your fires damp down, but keep your furnaces warmed and ready to stoke. When I ask for steam again, I'll need it in a hurry. "You'll be calling at Table Bay to take on fresh bunkers, of course, sir? "I'll let you know when, Clinton promised him, and snapped the lid of the speaking tube closed and straightened up.

The Cape naval base, with all its amenities lay only a few hours steaming away. By dawn he could be filling Black fake with coal and water and fresh vegetables.

However, Clinton knew that within minutes of dropping anchor in Table Bay, Admiral Kemp or one of his representatives would be on his way out to the s.h.i.+p, and Clinton's term of independent command would be over.

He would revert to being a very junior commander, whose recent actions needed a great deal of explanation.

The closer that Clinton drew to Admiralty House, the louder the warnings of Sir John Bannerman rang in his ears, and the more soberly he was forced to review his own position. The excitement of storming Arab barrac.o.o.ns and of seizing slave-laden dhows on the high seas had long ago cooled, and Clinton realized that once he entered it he would not be able to escape again from Table Bay for weeks, or possibly months. It would not even suit his immediate plans to be seen and recognized from the land, for a boat would immediately be sent out by Admiral Kemp to order him in to face judgement and retribution.

Clinton felt not the least trepidation about the Navy's ultimate judgement, he was so- indifferent to the threat hanging over his career that he surprised even himself.

There was only one desire, one object in his mind, that overshadowed all else. He must have his s.h.i.+p in position to intercept Huron as she rounded the Cape, if she had not already done so. n.o.body and nothing must prevent him from doing so. After that he would face his accusers with complete equanimity. Huron and Robyn Ballantyne first, beside them all else was pale and insignificant. Mr. Denham, he called his Lieutenant across the dark deck. "We will take up night patrol station ten miles off Cape Point, and I am to be called immediately the lights of any s.h.i.+p are sighted."

As Clinton threw himself down, fully dressed and booted, upon his bunk, he experienced the first peace of mind since leaving Zanzibar harbour. He had done all that was in his power to reach Cape Point ahead of Huron, and now the rest was in the hands of G.o.d, and his trust in G.o.d was implicit.

He fell asleep almost instantly, and his steward woke him again an hour before dawn. He left the mug of coffee to grow cold beside his bunk and hurried on deck, reaching it a few seconds ahead of Lieutenant Denham. No s.h.i.+ps during the night, sir, Ferris, who had the watch, saluted him. Very well, Mr. Ferris, Clinton acknowledged. "We will take up our daylight patrol station immediately."

By the time the light was strong enough for a watcher on the sh.o.r.e to make out any details, Black joke had retreated tactfully below the horizon and it would have taken a sharp eye to pick out the occasional flash of her topsails, let alone to identify the gunboat and to speed a report to Admiral Kemp that his prodigal had returned.

From Black joke's masthead the land was a low irregular distortion Of the horizon, but a s.h.i.+p rounding the Cape would be many miles closer than the land.

Huron's mainmast was almost one hundred and fifty feet tall, her sails would s.h.i.+ne like a flaming beacon and as long as the fog did not come down, which was unlikely at this season of the year, Clinton was confident that she could not slip by him.

The only disquiet that scratched him like a burr as he paced his deck, and the gunboat settled down into the regular four-sided box-patterried legs of her patrol, was that Huron had long ago flown northwards on this fine wind that at last bore steadily out of the south-east at almost gale force, and that she was already lost in the endless watery green wastes of the southern Atlantic Ocean, leaving Black joke to guard the gate of an empty cage.

He was not left long to brood, the first sighting was called down to the deck from the look-outs in the crow's nest at the main peak, and Clinton's nerves jumped tight and his expectations flared.

What do you make of her? " he called up through the voice trumpet. Small lugger-" and his expectations plunged. A fis.h.i.+ng-boat out of Table Bay, there would be many of them, but each time he could not control the wild surge of excitement when another sail was sighted, so that by nightfall his nerves were ragged, and his body ached with exhaustion as he gave the order for Black joke to take up her insh.o.r.e patrol station for the night.

Even then be could not rest, for three times during the night he was called from his bunk, and he stumbled owleyed on deck as Black Joke went down to investigate running lights that winked ruby red and emerald green out of the darkness.

C Each time the same leap of expectation, the steeling of nerves for instant orders and swift action, and then the same let down as the lights proved to belong to small trading vessels, and the gunboat sheered away quickly, test she be recognized and her presence off the Cape be reported in Table Bay.

In the dawn, Clinton was on deck again, as the gunboat moved further offsh.o.r.e to take up her daylight patrol station. He was distracted by the sighting reports as his masthead look-out picked up the first sails of the fis.h.i.+ng fleet coming out for the day's business, and by the lugubrious report of his coal-stained Scottish engineer.

Ye'll not last out the day, sir, MacDonald told him. Even though I am burning just enough coal to keep the furnace warm, we've not more than a bucket or two left. "Mr. MacDonald, Clinton interrupted him, trying to keep his temper under control and to disguise his exhaustion. "This s.h.i.+p will stay on station until I give the order, I don't care what you burn, but you are to give me steam when I ask for it, or kiss good-bye to the fattest bundle of prize money that will ever come your way."

Despite this brave promise and threat, Clinton's hopes were sinking swiftly. They had been on station for more than a day and a night already, he could not bring himself to believe that he had beaten the swift clipper to the Cape by that margin, not unless she had been somehow miraculously delayed, and every hour increased the certainty that she had run clear away from him, taking her cargo and the woman be loved out of his life for ever.

He knew he should go below to rest, but his cabin was stifling in the rising summer heat, and in it he felt like a trapped animal. He stayed on deck, unable to keep still for more than a few moments at a time, poring over the chart table and fiddling with the navigational instruments before throwing them down and resuming his nervous pacing, shooting quick glances up at the masthead, and then roaming the s.h.i.+p so obviously intent on finding fault or criticizing the s.h.i.+p's running that his officers followed his lanky figure with troubled expressions, while the watch on deck was silent and subdued, not one of them daring to glance in his direction until Clinton's voice rose in a coldly furious cry that froze them all. Mr. Denham, " the Lieutenant almost ran to the summons, "this deck is a pig-sty. What animal is responsible for this filth? " On the white holystoned deck planking was a brown splash of tobacco juice, and Denham stared at it for an instant before wheeling away to bellow a series of orders that had a dozen men scampering. The activity was so intense, the atmosphere electric, as Captain and Lieutenant stood over four men on their knees scrubbing furiously at the offending stain while others carried buckets of sea water and still others rigged the deck pump, that the hail from the masthead was almost ignored, It was left to Ferris to acknowledge it, and to enquire through the voice trumpet, What do you make of her? "She's bull down, but she's a four-masted s.h.i.+p, square rigged-The activity on the deck ceased instantly, every head hfting as the look-out went on elaborating on his sighting. She's on a course to weather the Cape, now she's coming round on to a heading of north-northwest or thereabouts."

Clinton Codrington was the first to move. He s.n.a.t.c.hed the telescope out of Lieutenant Denham's hand and ran to the ratlines. With the telescope tucked in his belt he began to climb, hand over hand.

He went up steadily, never pausing nor faltering, not even when he reached the futtock shrouds and for a few moments hung over backwards one hundred feet above the swaying deck. However, when he reached the crow's nest at the main peak and tumbled into it thankfully, his breath was sawing dryly in his throat and the blood sang in his ears. He had not climbed like that since he had been a mids.h.i.+pman.

The look-out tried to make himself as small as possible, for they were crowded together in the canvas bucket, and he pointed out the s.h.i.+p to his Captain. There she be, sir."

Black joke's roll was emphasized up here on the tall pendulum of the mast, and the horizon swung giddily through the field of Clinton's telescope as he tried to keep it focused. It was an art that he had never completely mastered, but that was of little consequence for the first time the little regular white pyramids popped up in the field of his gla.s.s the last doubts were dispelled, and Clinton felt his heart leap fiercely against his ribs.

His voice was strangled with triumphant emotion as he shouted down at the tiny foreshortened figures on the gleaming white quarterdeck far below. Bring her round to due east, Mr. Denham. Order a full head of steam on the boiler-Though he had not yet fully recovered his breath, he threw himself out of the crow's nest and scrambled down faster than he had climbed. In his haste he slid the last fifty feet down the backstay and barely noticed the rough hempen rope scorching the palms of his hands.

By the time his feet hit the deck, Black joke was coming around on to her new heading, and in antic.i.p.ation of Clinton's next order, Denham had already called the watch below, and they came boiling out on to the deck. And we will clear for action, Mr. Denham, if you please, gasped Clinton, his face dark with blood under his deepwater tan and the sapphire eyes alight with battle l.u.s.t.

All Black joke's officers carried swords on their belts, only Clinton had selected a cutla.s.s, for he preferred the stouter and heavier weapon, and he fiddled with the hilt even now as he spoke to them quietly and seriously. Gentlemen, I have doc.u.mented proof that the s.h.i.+p ahead of us has a cargo of slaves aboard her."

Denham coughed nervously and Clinton forestalled him. "I am also aware that she is an American vessel, and in ordinary circ.u.mstances we would be helpless to oppose her pa.s.sage. " Denham nodded with relief, but Clinton went on remorselessly, "However, I have received an appeal from one of Her Majesty's subjects, Dr. Robyn Ballantyne whom you all know well, who is being abducted aboard the Huron against her will. I am certain what my duty is in these circ.u.mstances. I intend to board her, and if she resists me, I intend to fight her."

He paused and their faces were shocked, strained. "Those of you who have objections to this course of action should immediately note them in the s.h.i.+p's log, and I will sign them."

Their relief and grat.i.tude was immediate, few other captains would he so lenient.

He. signed his name neatly beneath the entry in the s.h.i.+p's log, and then returned the pen to its holder. Now that the formalities have been seen to, gentlemen, shall we get on with earning our hire? "And Clinton was smiling for the first time since they sailed from Zanzibar harbour as he indicated the pile of snowy white sails that was now clearly visible from the deck ahead of Black joke's bows, and as he spoke there was an eruption of dark tarry-smelling smoke from the tall single stack above them, and the engine telegraph clanged sharply as the pointer moved to "Engine Standing Byposition on the repeater. Black joke had steam in her boiler.

Clinton stepped to the telegraph, thrust the handle fully around the dial to the "Full ahead" position, and the deck vibrated under his feet as the propeller shaft began to spin and Black Joke lunged forward eagerly, breaking the swells off her shoulders in explosions of white spray. By G.o.d, he's got us pinned against the land -1 Mungo drawled the words out nonchalantly, even smiling slightly at Tippoo as he lowered the gla.s.s from his eye for a moment and polished the Lens on his s.h.i.+rt-sleeve. We'll have to run like the very devil to get round him, and make the open sea. Mr. Tippoo, will you be good enough to shake out every last reef and crack on all the sail we can carry right up to the sky sails? " He lifted the gla.s.s to his eye again as Tippoo began bellowing the orders. "It's a little bit too much luck for any one man, " Mungo murmured aloud. "It's too much coincidence that the one man I would not wish to meet be lying in the one place on all the oceans where I would not wish to meet him. " Again he lowered the gla.s.s and strode to the p.o.o.p rail to look down on to the maindeck.

Robyn Ballantyne was at the s.h.i.+p's side, staring out across the indigo blue waters at the sail and the smear of dark smoke, still far out to sea, but every moment converging on them, beaded to a point far ahead of Huron's elegant bows where the courses of the two s.h.i.+ps would meet. She sensed Mungo's eyes upon her, and she lifted the shawl off her head so that her dark russet hair tumbled out and snapped and danced around her cheeks.

Her skirts were flattened against her legs by the wind, so that she had to lean slightly forward to balance herself.

She lifted her chin and stared up at Mungo, her expression defiant and she watched him as he carefully bit the end off one of his long thin black cheroots and cupped his hands around the sulphurous flare of the Vesta match and lit the cheroot without once breaking the steady gaze that held her own.

Then he sauntered easily down the p.o.o.p-ladder to her side. A friend of yours, Doctor Ballantyne? " The smile was on his lips alone. His eyes were frosty. I have prayed every night for him to come. Ever since I sent the letter that summoned him. "You do not deny the betrayal?

"I am proud I was able to perform my Christian duty. "Who carried your letter? "No member of your crew, sir. I sent it by the master of the Omani buggaloo. "I see. " His voice was low, but stinging as dry ice. "And what of Tippoo's illness, would a physician, perchance, stoop to poisoning a patient? " She dropped her eyes, unable to meet that accusation. Will you be so kind, Doctor Ballantyne, as to return to your cabin immediately and stay there until I give you permission to leave it. There will be an armed guard at the door."

I am to be punished? "No man would blame me for dropping you over the side, and leaving you to be picked up by your countrymen. However, it is your safety I am thinking of. This deck could become an unhealthy spot in the very near future, and we will all be too much occupied to care for YOU.

His attention left her, and he was staring ahead, and then glancing back at Black Joke's smoke, judging speeds and angles with a seaman's eye. Then he smiled. Before you go, I would like you to know that all your efforts have really been a fine waste of time, look there! He pointed ahead along the sheer and mountainous coastline, and following his arm she saw for the first time that ahead of them the sea was as black and broken as new coal cut from the face, glittering with wild jumping wavelets, each flecked with pretty white crests. There is the wind, " Mungo said. "That's where it comes through the mountains, and we will be into it before you are safely tucked up in your cabin. " He chuckled now comfortably, confidently. "Once we get on that wind, there are few s.h.i.+ps on all the oceans, either steam or sail, that would match Huron for a moment, and G.o.d knows, there are none who could run her down. " He gave her a small mocking bow, parody of gracious southern manners. "Take a good look at that ugly little steam packet, before you go, ma'am, you'll not be seeing her again. And now, if you'll be good enough to excuse meHe turned from her and ran lightly back up the p.o.o.pladder.

Tears of anger dimming her eyes, Robyn clutched the rail and stared across the narrowing strip of sea at the bustlin& puffing little gunboat, already she could catch glimpses of the hull, and its painted chequer-board gunports. She began to hope that Mungo St. John's boast had been mere bravado, for Black Joke seemed to be keeping pace with the tall clipper, the wind was still a long, long way ahead.

There was a respectful touch on Robyn's shoulder, and old Nathaniel stood beside her. Captain's orders, ma. I am, and I am to see you safe in your cabin."

Clinton leaned forward, all his weight on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, almost as though he were trying to urge his s.h.i.+p on by the balance of his body, the way a rider leans forward into the jump. He also had seen the wind pattern on the surface of the sea, and knew what it heralded.

The tall clipper s.h.i.+p looked lazy now, indolent in her flounces and ruffles as a lady of high fas.h.i.+on, and Black Joke was snorting and snuffling busily down the short leg of the triangle. If they both maintained this speed and course they would meet about eleven nautical miles ahead. Clinton could visualize the exact spot clearly just beyond the spit of land marked on his chart as "Bakoven Point'.

Huron was committed to her present course. She could not bear up for the land lay close under her weather rail, and the chart showed breaking shoals well offsh.o.r.e there was one of them now, close on her starboard beam, showing its round black granite back and blowing like a whale. Huron was in a trap, and her only escape would be to find the extra turn of speed which would carry her away out of gunshot range, and there it was, the wind, less than three miles ahead of her.

There was a loud banging from the deck below Clinton's feet and he glanced irritably at Ferris. See what that is, he snapped, and turned his full attention back to the clipper. Three short miles she had to go, but even as Clinton stared at her through his gla.s.s he saw her huge square mainsail quiver and then shake gently as she luffed in the flukey airs below the mountains. Please G.o.d! " Clinton whispered, and Huron's speed bled off perceptively, all her sails were losing their taut clean shape and she checked away, baulking like a weary animal. She's found a hole in the wind, " Lieutenant Denham called exultantly. "We've got her now, by G.o.d! "I'll thank you not to blaspheme on this quarterdeck, Mr. Denham, Clinton told him sharply, and Denham's expression was instantly crestfallen. I beg your pardon, sir. " At that moment Ferris arrived breathlessly back on deck. The stokers, sir, be panted. "They are knocking out all the furniture from the officers" quarters. Your bunk's gone, sir, and your desk also."

Clinton barely glanced at him, he was studying the clipper, evaluating each yard of difference in their speeds, judging as finely as he dared the angle of his interception.

Yes, he decided, with Huron's loss of speed, he could edge in a touch more. Bring her up a point to starboard, he told the helmsman, and then he glanced up at his own sails that were helping the big bronze screws under the stern to hurl Black joke forward. The alteration of course had affected them. Mr. Ferris, see to the trim of your jib, if you please."

Ferris bellowed an order to the foredeck watch, and watched critically as they hardened up the long triangular sail.

All Huron's sails s.h.i.+vered, and then refilled, once more taking on their true shape, and she spurted away, a curl of white sparkling under her bows. The dark windswept water was much closer ahead of her.

It had been Denham's unnecessary blasphemy, Clinton was sure of it, and he glanced darkly at his Lieutenant, and then reluctantly gave the order. Let her fall off a point."

Huron was head-reaching again. If Black joke held on she would be aiming to cut behind the clipper's stern . The alteration was an acknowledgement of the advantage changing hands once again.

The engine voice pipe squealed, and it was a relief to have even the small distraction. Engine room, Captain, " he snapped into the mouthpiece. "Coal long ago gone, sir. Pressure down to 100 pounds, sir, and falling. "Burn everything you can find. "Wood goes up like paper, sir. No body to it, and it chokes the flue. " MacDonald seemed to relish the gloomy news, and Clinton felt his irritation turn to anger. Do your best, man, n.o.body can ask more than that, and he snapped the voice pipe closed.

Was he close enough yet to try a shot with his bowchaser, he wondered?

The long sixteen-pounder had almost twice the range of the big thirty-two pounders that made up Black joke's main armament. A lucky shot might carry away one of the clipper's spars, might even bring down a yard, and at that moment he distinctly felt the change in the engine vibrations coming up through the deck, Black joke was faltering, the steam in her boilers losing pressure. Mr. Ferris, break out the colours, if you please."

As the Ensign unfurled at the peak, spread gloriously against the pale blue sky, crimson and silky white, shouting a challenge on the wind, Clinton felt that tightness in his chest, that swell of pride which never failed him. Huron's replying, Denham muttered, and Clinton lifted his gla.s.s, and watched the American's colours k bloom like a flower high above her s.h.i.+mmering piles of white canvas. And be d.a.m.ned, Denham interpreted the show of colours. Huron was scorning their challenge. Mr. Ferris, we'll give her a gun now, Clinton decided grimly. "Put one over her bows. " And Ferris scrambled away to the bows to supervise the loading and laying of the bow-chaser.

The shot when it came was a puny little pop of sound, muted by the wind and the long spurt of grey powder smoke was whipped-away almost before it could form.

Though they were all watching avidly through the telescopes, not one of them could spot the fall of shot, and Denham spoke aloud for all of them. She's not altering. She's ignoring us. "Very well. " Clinton kept his voice low. "We'll try one into her rigging."

The sixteen-pounder banged again, like an unlatched door in a high wind, and this time they both exclaimed in unison. A pinp.r.i.c.k of light appeared in one of the Huron's studding sails, pierced by shot; it held its shape for an instant and then burst like a paper packet and was blown to tatters.

Clinton saw the bustle of Huron's seamen on the decks and yards, and before the bow-chaser could be reloaded, the ruined sail was hauled down and another clean new sail spread open in its place. The speed with which the sail change was made impressed even Clinton. The devil is a good sailor, I'll grant him that-, And then he broke off, for Huron was turning boldly, seeming to aim to cut the gunboat's bows, and Clinton realized what her Captain was doing. He was antic.i.p.ating the rush of the wind, and as Clinton watched it struck her.

It came roaring aboard the clipper, howling through her rigging, like a pack of hunting wolves, and the tall s.h.i.+p heeled and seemed almost to crouch, gathering herself like a blood stallion feeling the cut of the lash, and then she hurled herself forward and was away.

The dark wind-scoured sea burst open before the long lithe knifing hull, and joyously Huron tossed the das.h.i.+ng white spray over her bows. She's making twenty knots, Denham cried with disbelief, as Black Joke seemed to come up dead in the water, a wallowing log when compared to the swift and lovely s.h.i.+p that cut daringly across her bows, just out of cannon shot, and dashed away into the open Atlantic Ocean.

Through his gla.s.s Clinton saw that the seamen who lined Huron's yards were gambolling and waving their caps, mouths wide open and they cheered and jeered, and then he focused the gla.s.s on Huron's deck.

There was a tall figure at Huron's near rail, clad in a plain dark blue jacket. Clinton could not make out the man's features at this distance, but he recognized the set of wide shoulders, the arrogant carriage of head, that he had last seen over the sights of a duelling pistol.

The acid bile of hatred rose to scald his throat as the figure lifted a hand in a laconic salute, a taunting gesture of farewell, and then turned away from the rail unhurriedly.

Clinton snapped his telescope closed. stern chase! he ordered.

"We'll keep after her!

He did not dare look at his officers" faces, lest one of them wore an expression of pity.

Lying on her bunk, her arms held stiffly at her sides and hands clenched painfully, Robyn heard the creak and squeal from the deck below her that meant Huron was altering course, and that the eight-inch thick rudderlines were running through their blocks as the helmsmin spun the wheel. It was a sound she had long become accustomed to, and she braced herself instinctively as the rudder lines attached to the panties trained around the enormous wooden rudder under Huron's stern and the s.h.i.+p altered her action through the water.

Seconds later there was a thunderous commotion from the deck above her, the bl.u.s.tering roar of the gale socking into the rigging, the crash of tackle coming up taut, the slam of the great sails as their awesome power was transferred into the hull, and Robyn was almost hurled from her bunk as Huron heeled wildly.

Then the cabin was filled with the exultant tbnlrnming of the bull through water, as though she were the body of a violin as the bow was drawn across the ba.s.s strings, and Huron trembled with life, lifting and dropping to the new urgency of her run.

Very faintly Robyn could hear above it all the sound of men cheering. She jumped from the bunk and clutching for handholds crossed the cabin and pounded her fist upon the door. Nathaniel, " she called. "Answer me this instant.

"Captain says as how I'm not to talk to you. " His voice was m.u.f.fled. You cannot torment me so, " Robyn yelled back. "What is happening? " A long pause while Nathaniel considered his duty and then weighed it against his affection for this spirited young woman. We are on the wind, ma'am, " he told her at last. "And going like all the devils of h.e.l.l with a crackerjack tied to their tails. "What of Black joke? " she pleaded. "What of the British gunboat? "Ain't nothing will catch us now. Reckon the puffing Billy will be out of sight before nightfall. From here she looks like she's dropped her anchor."

Slowly Robyn leaned forward until her forehead pressed against the planking of the door. She closed her eyes very tightly, and tried to fight down the black waves of despair that threatened to overwhelm her.

She stayed like that for a long time until Nathaniel's voice roused her. It was rough with concern. Are you all right then, missus? "Yes, thank you, Nathaniel. I'm just fine, she replied tightly, without opening her eyes. "I'm going to take a little nap now. Don't let anybody disturb me. "I'll be right here, missus. Ain't n.o.body going to get past me, he a.s.sured her.

She opened her eyes and went back to the bunk, and knelt before it and began to pray, but for once she could not concentrate. jumbled images kept intervening, and, when she closed her eyes, the face of Clinton Codrington was there, with those pale beautiful eyes in the darkly tanned mahogany of his face that accentuated the sun bleached platinum of his hair. She longed for him as she had never done before, he had become a symbol for her that was good and clean and right.

Then her mind darted away and it was that distant mocking smile, the taunting gold-flecked eyes of Mungo St. John. She trembled with humiliation, the man who had violated her and turned her own emotions traitor, who had dallied with her and allowed her to hope, nay, to pray that she could bear his children and become his wife. Her despair turned to hatred once again, and hatred armed her. Forgive me, Lord, I'll pray later, but now I have to do something! " She started to her feet, and the cramped little cabin was a cage, suffocating and unbearable. She hammered her fists on the door and Nathaniel replied immediately. Nathaniel, I cannot bear it in here a moment longer."

she cried. "You must let me out."

His voice was regretful but firm. "Can't do that, missus. Tippoo would have a look at my back boneV She flung away from the door, angry, confused, her mind in a turmoil. I cannot let him carry me away to-" She did not go on, for she could not imagine what awaited her at the end of this voyage unless, and she had a vivid mental image of Huron coming into dock, while standing on the quay was a beautiful tall and aristocratic French woman in crinolines and velvets and pearls with three small sons standing at her side waving up at the tall arrogant figure on Huron's quarterdeck.

She tried to close her mind to it, and she concentrated instead on the sound that Huron made as she bore away joyously on the wind, the drumming of her hull, and the pop and creak of her planking, the clatter of tackle and the stamp of bare feet on her deck as a party of seamen walked away with a fall, training one of the yards more finely to the wind. From beneath her feet came another muted squeal, like a rat in the cat's jaws, as the helmsman made a small-adjustment to Huron's heading, and the rudder tackle ran protestingly through the blocks.

The sound triggered a memory, and Robyn froze, trembling again, but this time with antic.i.p.ation. She remembered Clinton Codrington describing to her how as a young Lieutenant he had been in command of a cuttingout party sent into a river estuary that was crammed with small slaving craft, buggaloos and dhows. I didn't have enough men to take them all as prize at once, so we jumped from one to the other, cut their rudder lines and left them drifting, helplessly, until we could pick lem up later, those that hadn't gone aground, that is."

Robyn roused herself from the memory and rushed to the corner of her cabin. She had to wedge her back against the bulkhead and push with both her feet to move her wooden chest into the centre of the cabin.

Then she dropped to her hands and knees.

There was a small trap-door in the deck, so neatly fitted that its joints were knife edges, but there was a small iron ring let flush into the woodwork. Once on the long voyage down the Atlantic, she had been disturbed. by a very apologetic carpenter's mate and she had watched with interest while he had dragged her chest aside and opened the hatch, to descend through it with a grease pot.

She tried now to open it, but the hatch was so tightfitting, that it resisted her efforts. She s.n.a.t.c.hed a woollen shawl from her chest, and threaded it through the iron ring. Now she could get a fairer purchase. Once more she strained back, and the hatch moved inchingly and then abruptly flew open with a crash that she was sure must have alerted Nathaniel. She froze again, listening for a half minute, but there was no sound from beyond the cabin door.

On her hands and knees again she peered into the open hatchway. There was a faint breeze of air coming up out of the dark square hole, and she could smell the thick grease, the reek of the bilges and the awful slave stink that not all the lye and scrubbing had been able to cleanse, her gorge rose at the taint. As her eyes adjusted, she made out the low and narrow tunnel that housed Huron's steering gear. It was just high enough for a man to crawl along, running fore and aft along the hull.

The rudder lines came down from the deck above, ran through heavy iron blocks bolted into one of Huron's main frames, and then changed direction and ran directly astern down the narrow wooden tunnel. The pulley wheels of the blocks were caked with black grease, and the rudder lines were of new yellow hemp. They seemed as thick as a man's leg, and she could sense the enormous strain on them, for they were as rigid as steel bars.