An Eye of the Fleet by Richard Woodman Read Free Book Online

caution fell a prey to temptation. After a life spent in a Service which had consistently robbed him of a reputation for dash or glamour, fate was holding out a fiscal prize of enormous magnitude. All he had to do was apply some of the expertise that his years of seagoing had given him.
    ‘Wear ship, Mr Blackmore.’
    The captain turned and bumped into a slim figure hurrying aft.
    ‘BЕ Beg pardon sir.’
    Drinkwater had descended from the foretop. He touched his hat to the captain.
    ‘Well?’
    ‘Shoal’s a mile to leeward, sir.’ For a minute Hope studied the young face: he showed promise.
    ‘Thank you, Mr, erЕ’
    ‘Drinkwater, sir.’
    ‘Quite so. Remain with me; my messenger’s goneЕ’ The captain indicated the remains of his twelve-year-old midshipman messenger. The sight of the small, broken body made Drinkwater feel very light headed. He was cold and very hungry. He was aware that the frigate was manoeuvring close to the crippled Spaniard, paying off downwindЕ
    ‘First lieutenant’s on the gun-deck, see how long he’ll be.’ Uncomprehending the midshipman hurried off. Below the shadowy scene in the gun-deck was ordered. A hundred gunners lugged a huge rope aft. Drinkwater discovered the first lieutenant right aft and passed the message. Devaux grunted and then, over his shoulder ordered, ‘Follow me.’ They both ran back to the quarterdeck.
    ‘Nearly ready, sir,’ said Devaux striding past the captain to the taffrail. He lugged out his hanger and cut the log ship from its line and called Drinkwater.
    ‘Coil that for heaving, young shaver.’ He indicated the long log line coiled in its basket. For an instant the boy stood uncertainly then, recollecting the way Tregembo had taught him he began to coil the line.
    Devaux was bustling round a party of sailors bringing a coil of four-inch rope aft. He hung over the taffrail, dangling one end and shouting at someone below. Eventually the end was caught; drawn inboard and secured to the heavy cable. Devaux stood upright and one of the seamen took the log line and secured it to the four-inch rope.
    Devaux seemed satisfied. ‘Banyard,’ he said to the seaman. ‘Heave that at the Spaniard when I give the word.’
    Cyclops was closing the crippled frigate. She seemed impossibly large as the two ships closed, the rise and fall between them fifteen to twenty feet.
    The two ships were very close now. The Spaniard’s bowsprit rose and fell, raking aft along Cyclops’s side. Figures were visible on her fo’c’s’le as the bowsprit jutted menacingly over the knot of figures at the after end of Cyclops. If it ripped the spanker Cyclops was doomed since she would again become unmanageable, falling off before the gale. The spar rose again then fell as the frigate wallowed in a trough. It hit Cyclops’s taffrail, caught for an instant then tore free with a splintering of wood. At a signal from Devaux Banyard’s line snaked dextrously out to tangle at the gammoning of the bowsprit dipping towards the British stern.
    ‘Come on, boy!’ shouted Devaux. In an instant he had leapt up and caught the spar, heaving himself over it, legs kicking out behind him. Without thinking, impelled by the force of the first lieutenant’s determination Drinkwater had followed. Below them Cyclops dropped away and was past.
    The wind tore at Drinkwater’s coat tails as he cautiously followed Devaux aft along the spar. The dangling raffle of gear afforded plenty of handholds and it was not long before he stood with his superior on the Spanish forecastle.
    A resplendently attired officer was footing a bow at Devaux and proferring his sword. Devaux, impatient at the inactivity of the Spaniards, ignored him. He made signs at the officer who had first secured the heaving line and a party of seamen were soon heaving in the four-inch rope. The moon emerged again and Devaux turned to Drinkwater. He nodded at the insistently bobbing Spaniard.
    ‘For God’s sake take it. Then return