A/N Part 2 got a little large, so contrary to what I said in Part 1, this is now a 3 part story.
Best Laid Plans. Part 2 (of 3)
Within a couple of minutes of pulling away from the Larne we were beating hard to windward, the cutter's fore-and-aft rig enabling us to sail far closer to the wind than any square rigged ship could ever have managed. I was quickly soaked to the skin from the spray thrown up by our passage. The Kathleen was heeling to such an extent in the wind that every wave sent water crashing over the leeward side of the deck, swirling into the scuppers before running back out. Next to me Jack stood unflinching as he urged the cutter through the sea, his eyes fixed on the Blood Eagle.
Then a thought occurred to me. "Jack," I began, having to shout a little to be heard over the noise of the sea, "Can't you warn Crauford off, or something? Say that you've taken the Larne already as your prize? Isn't there something in that 'Pirates' Code' of yours about that?"
"An 'honour among thieves' thing, you mean? A sort of 'I got 'ere first, so you lot can jus' sod off' thing?"
I nodded.
"You know, Will, that's a good plan," he shouted back at me. "I like it! I really do! Unfortunately there's nothin' like that in the Pirates' Code, which I admit is a disappointment given the circumstances, and as for honour among thieves? There's no such thing. But that apart, it's a damn good plan! I mean that!"
I glared at him. He merely grinned back before returning his attention to the Blood Eagle. "So what are you going to do?" I finally asked.
"Ram 'er!" he replied succinctly.
I looked at him in horror, and wished for one shameful moment that Commodore Norrington were here. And the Dauntless. And a few hundred marines as well would have been a nice addition. "Jack, this is crazy!" I protested after I'd regained some sort of control over my voice.
"When's that ever stopped us!" Gibbs grimaced before yelling back dryly.
"But she's huge!" I went on. "The Kathleen's too small; she won't even dent her hull!"
"She doesn't 'ave to," Jack said cryptically. "We aim for 'er weakest point. All we got to do is take out 'er jibboom and bowsprit and then with any sort o' luck at all, especially in this sea, that'll bring the foremast down as well. An' with that lot 'angin' over the side in the water, actin' as a sheet anchor, Larne'll 'ave more'n enough time to get away."
"And what about us, Jack?" I asked. "What happens to us?"
He looked at me again and smiled an odd half-smile. "Yeah, well, I never said it was a good plan."
Once more his gaze slipped back to the Blood Eagle, and mine followed it. As I studied the oncoming ship, my imagination toyed with what would happen when the ships collided and deep down I felt the first stirring of real fear. It seems almost like I had two selves. One was a physical body, whose hands trembled even as they gripped the tiller, whose knees had no muscles in them, whose stomach was a sponge slopping about with cold water, and whose vision had sharpened making colours brighter, outlines harder and showing up formerly unnoticed details with disturbing clarity. The other self was remote, aloof from my body, aghast at what I was going to do, appalled that I agreed with it yet coldly determined to go through with it in the knowledge that it was the only chance Elizabeth had. And I wondered what had possessed Jack that he was prepared to do this. Had it been a regard for my safety? Or maybe for Elizabeth?
That he knew what he was doing was tantamount to suicide was clear enough, but still he was intent of carrying it through to the end. And I wondered if I'd ever begin to understand what went on in that convoluted mind of his. On the deck in front of me a coil of rope caught my notice, and as I studied it, I became lost in noticing tiny details: it was strange, like I'd never seen a rope before in my life. I saw the strands of hemp fibre, twisted and wound together. Every inch or so there was a flash of coloured yarn marking the length of the rope: 'The Rogue's Yarn' Mr. Gibbs had once called it, a strand put into every rope made in the Royal Navy dockyards, a mark that a rope was Navy Board property. I almost smiled, guessing how it had ended up on a civilian cutter in the Caribbean. Below the coiled rope I could see the tiny ridges of the wood grain on the deck planks standing proud where the softer wood between them had been scrubbed away over the years. The grain, the knots in the wood, the texture was so clear it was like I could touch it. It was intoxicating, as if my whole life I'd been looking on the world through a steamed over window that had only now been wiped clear.
When I looked up again, the ship was closer. Slowly I realised that fear came only when death was a matter of chance, a possibility yet beyond a man's certain knowledge or control. But this was different: I'd made the decision and knew there was no way out. And as I accepted that inevitability, the fear ebbed away as quickly as it had come. I glanced over at Jack only to find him looking at me, his eyes ablaze with excitement, a disturbingly broad grin on his face. It occurred to me that I'd only ever seen that particular grin on Jack's face when things seemed at their worst, and disaster was in the offing. This time I couldn't help but to grin back.
I could now make out details on the Blood Eagle, the black and red flag at the main, the red painted eagle figurehead and more worryingly the lines of stubby cannon on both sides. Like any ship of war, she had a lethal beauty to her. I'd barely noticed the run out cannon before I heard a couple of distant rumbles sounding like asthmatic coughs followed by the unmistakable, unforgettable sound of cannonballs coming towards us and far too close for comfort. A sound of tearing canvas and the appearance of a sudden hole in the sail above us was no more than confirmation.
"She got a couple of bow chasers!" yelled Jack. "An' it's all she can bring to bear without wearin' ship and bringin' 'er broadsides into play. Arrogant bastard doesn't figure us for enough of a threat for him to waste time doin' somethin' like that!" he went on gleefully.
About a minute later, the two bow chasers coughed again. I caught the splash of one cannonball into the sea about fifty feet away, but of the other I saw no sign. "Don't mind them, Will," he shouted. "Crauford's gunners'll be 'ard pressed to hit anythin' in this sea."
Still the Blood Eagle ploughed on. The nearer she came, the less beautiful she appeared: the cutwater could not soften the bulging bow, the bow wave was no longer the graceful feather of white it had earlier seemed, but a mass of water being shoved aside by the brute force of a ponderous hull. The white sails were no longer shapely curves, but stained, overstretched, overpatched and badly setting. The lethal Amazon she had been in the distance was revealed on closer inspection as a raddled virago of the streets. But raddled or not, it was clear she was far from toothless.
"Less than fifteen minutes now," said Jack to me, then more loudly he called out. "Lay aft, all!"
Gibbs and the five others of the crew who I'd never seen before gathered at their Captain's order. "You all know that's Crauford's Blood Eagle and I reckon you've likely figured out by now what I've got in mind. An' I reckon you've all figured out as well that he hasn't figured it out yet, which means that by the time 'e does figure it out it'll be too late! Now all of you men make sure you've got an axe or cutlass, an' when we hit, do what you can to get on board the Blood Eagle. The Kathleen'll start to roll over when she's hit, but our riggin' 'll catch 'er bowsprit 'n' jibboom 'n' more 'n likely break 'em. That'll mean there'll likely be a fair amount o' riggin' 'angin' down by then, so grab onto somethin' an' climb. When you're on board, cut every halyard, stay, brace and shroud you can find. Mr. Gibbs, gather what loose powder we have and damp it down. When I give the word, light it. I want as much smoke as you can manage. But if you don't mind Mr. Gibbs, we jus' want a smoke screen, so avoidin' blowin' us all up by mistake would be a nice gesture."
Gibbs gave him a long suffering look, but restricted his comments to an "aye, Cap'n," while the others nodded seriously at Jack's orders for them, then returned to their posts. Handkerchiefs were dampened down and tied around our faces as protection from the smoke that would soon be swirling around us. I was confused by the pirates' acceptance of the situation, and looked askance at Jack. In an unusually sober tone all he said was, "Some people need killin', Will." I wondered what Crauford might have done that was so terrible that even pirates considered him beyond the pale.
Then I had no time left to wonder. The Blood Eagle's bow towered above us like the side of a house as she came on, enormous, relentless, implacable. The combined bowsprit and jibboom, which from further away had looked no bigger in size than a flagpole, was revealed as longer than the Kathleen herself, like the trunk of a great pine tree and I despaired that we could ever have hoped to damage her at all. On the ship's fo'c'sle and around the beakhead a crowd of pirates were gathered, some waving swords or axes, others readying muskets and pistols. As I watched, both bow chasers flashed red and spurted smoke. Overhead I heard wood splinter. The eagle figurehead, crudely carved and painted a garish red, looked almost close enough to touch. On the side of her hull I could make out the seams of the planking. Greyish patches showed up where salt spray had dried on the black painted timbers.
"We'll 'ave some smoke now, if you please Mr. Gibbs!" yelled Jack, his voice muffled slightly by the handkerchief. At the order, Gibbs touched a lit taper to a pan in front of him which immediately flared, throwing out clouds of grey smoke so dense that within seconds he was hidden from view. A few seconds later the smoke reached where we were stood at the tiller and despite the mask, I could feel the acrid bite at the back of my throat and was blinking to try and clear my streaming eyes.
Somehow, though, through it all it seemed Jack could still see. "Now, Will," he muttered to me, then yelled out, "let fly halyards and sheets!" and between us we pushed the tiller over as far as it would go. High overhead, sails released from the control of their sheets shuttered wildly in the wind, and mere inches above my head the boom swung over at a speed that would surely have killed anyone it might have struck. The persistent tat-tat-tat against the Kathleen's timbers, sounding almost like a woodpecker, was the only clue I had that the pirates clustered around the Blood Eagle's bow were firing at us.
What relief I felt from such the near miss from the boom faded as I had the momentary glimpse of the massive bulk of the Blood Eagle's bow looming from the smoke that surrounded us before the Kathleen shuddered sideways under the crushing impact. The easy sound of the sea, the creak of ship's timber exploded into a nightmare of noise. From all around I heard wood crunching and cracking under the strain; ropes snapping under enormous strain lashing through the smoke like lethal whipcords; water splashing, surging, gurgling; and through it all, the wordless, insane shouts of men roaring their anger and fear through the chaos.
And then the Kathleen began to heel as the Blood Eagle's bulk slowly, inexorably worked to roll her over. I couldn't see what was going on above us, had no idea whether or not Jack's crazy plan had worked. Through gaps in the smoke I could make out tangled rigging and torn canvas, but had no clue if it was ours or theirs. The Kathleen shuddered again and the whole ship dropped suddenly by about a foot. The Blood Eagle was pushing us under!
TBC