The sheeted topsail rose into the night, its bunt pressed against the foremast. He looked over the side. The frigate was gathering sternway.
'Mr Rogers, secure the prisoners!' Griffiths ordered.
'We've the tiller lines cut and men manning it, sir. As soon as this lot is under control I'll splice 'em, in the meantime we've sternway on and men at the forrard braces,' Drinkwater reported.
'Da iawn. Foredeck there! Heave larboard braces!' The frigate's head swung slowly to starboard as she gathered sternway. The fore-yards came round against the catharpings and she increased the speed of her swing. Already the noise and flames of the battle ashore were on the beam. The weather leech of the foretopsail was a-flutter.
'Leggo and haul!' shouted Griffiths and then, turning to Drinkwater and in a quieter voice. 'Very well, put your helm over and restore steering to the wheel.'
Drinkwater dashed below and ordered Tregembo and Kellett to haul the huge tiller hard across to the other extremity, then he directed the shortening and resecuring of the tiller lines. In the meantime he stationed several men in a chain for passing orders. With the foretopsail yard braced square the frigate stood seawards.
'D'you have the blue light, Mr Rogers?'
After a search the rocket was found, still in the sumbuk bobbing and grinding alongside. It was leaned against the taffrail and, after more delays, finally ignited. It whooshed skywards and burst in a blue light over the sharm and was answered by a second that soared up from the hand of Mr Trussel somewhere ashore.
'So that's why they call the gunner "Old Blue Lights",' quipped Rogers flippantly and Drinkwater chuckled, moving over to the compass to watch the steering. It had all gone very smoothly, very smoothly indeed. He saw the Frenchmen had been herded forward and one of the quarterdeck carronades spiked round to cover them. Topman Barnes sat negligently on its breech, a slow match in one hand while the other was employed to pick his nose. Tregembo also stood guard, watching Yusuf ben Ibrahim with patent distrust.
Drinkwater wiped his sword and sheathed it, walking aft to stand by Griffiths.
'Congratulations, sir.'
Thank you, Nathaniel. Your party played their part to perfection.'
'Thank you, sir…' He was about to say more but took sudden alarm from the expression on Griffiths's face. 'Behind you, bach!'
Spinning round he saw a man standing on the rail, some six feet from him. As the pistol he held flashed Drinkwater saw who it was. The light from the priming pan flared momentarily on the disfigured features of Edouard Santhonax, contorted with fury and recognition.
Chapter Sixteen
The Price of Admiralty
It was supremely ironic that it should have been Santhonax's astute intelligence that saved Drinkwater's life. For that brilliant officer, so swift in resource and quick in perception, instantly recognised Nathaniel Drinkwater, even in the dark. And that second of distraction from the purpose of discharging his pistol made him miss his aim. Even as the priming sparked, Drinkwater threw up his left arm to cover his face and the ball passed his ribs with an inch to spare.
'Vous!' howled the Frenchman in exasperated fury, flinging the pistol from him and leaping to the deck to draw his sword. Drinkwater's epee rasped from its scabbard. Other figures came over the rail behind Santhonax. Forward there was an ugly movement as the huddle of Frenchmen recognised their commander. Drinkwater heard Griffiths's voice steady the men on the tiller ropes as he and Santhonax circled each other warily.
Suddenly the carronade roared as the captured French seamen surged aft. Barnes had applied his match and as several of them fell screaming to the deck Drinkwater felt the jar of steel on steel. Yusuf ben Ibrahim was alongside him, advancing on the three officers and half dozen armed seamen that had boarded with Santhonax. He was aware of a white-haired figure on his other flank, a pistol extended towards Santhonax. Then Drinkwater was savagely parrying Santhonax's cut, lunging and riposting as Yusuf's whirring scimitar swung pitilessly to his right. He did not know what happened, but suddenly Santhonax was falling back against the rail, his sword hanging uselessly by its martingale, his left arm clutching his shoulder. Drinkwater turned in time to see Griffiths too falling, a dark stain on his breast. Six feet from him a French officer stood with the pistol still smoking in his hand. Cheated of Santhonax and in the full fury of his cold battle lust, Drinkwater swung half left, the French sword singing in his hand. The blade bit down on the officer's shoulder, bumping over clavicle and ribs, opening a huge bloody wound across the chest. Drinkwater pressed the blade savagely, all around him men were closing on Santhonax's party: battle was to become massacre for already in his heart he knew Griffiths was dying. But in that moment this knowledge was refined into a mere lunge, an increase of pressure on the sword-blade that reached the lower limits of the officer's ribs and, slashing through the muscles of his stomach, eviscerated him.
Drinkwater turned from his act of vengeance to see Yusuf ben Ibrahim stretched on the planking, his head and chest laid open by the blades of three Frenchmen, men who had soon succumbed to the overwhelming numbers of Ben Ibrahim's supporters. The whole incident had taken perhaps five minutes, five minutes in which the slashed tiller lines had been temporarily repaired and the frigate drew offshore, steered from her wheel.
'Attendez votre capitaine!' snapped Drinkwater to one of the cowering Frenchmen and turned away to discover the extent of Griffiths's injuries.
Tregembo had already loosened the commander's shirt and they found the hole above the heart. Blood issued darkly from the old man's mouth and breathing was accomplished only with an immense effort. Struggling, they propped him up against the breech of a carronade. Rogers came up.
'Is he bad?' Drinkwater nodded.
'What course d'you want, Nathaniel?'
'West, steer due west. Get the main topsail on her and then the foretopmast staysail… and for God's sake get those bloody Frogs mewed up below.'
'There aren't many left after Barnes blew them to hell.' Rogers hurried off and checked the course then bellowed for the hands to gather at the foot of the mainmast. Drinkwater turned back to Griffiths. The old man's eyes were wide open and his lips formed the name 'Santhonax?'
Drinkwater flicked a glance in the direction of the French captain He was still slumped in a faint against the bulwarks. Drinkwater jerked his head in the wounded man's direction.
Tregembo, make arrangements to secure yonder fellow when he comes round.'
Does I recognise him as that cap'n we took before, zur?'
Drinkwater nodded wearily. 'You do, Tregembo.' He called for water but Griffiths only choked on it, feebly waving it aside.
'No good, annwyl,' he whispered with an effort, 'too late for all that… done my duty…' One of the seamen approached him with a boat cloak found below and they made Griffiths comfortable, but as they moved him he choked on more blood. His eyes were closed again now and the sweat poured from him like water wrung from a sponge.
Nathaniel put an arm round him, hauling him upright to ease the strain on his chest muscles. He felt the final paroxysm as Griffiths choked, drowning on his own blood, felt the will to live finally wither. Griffiths opened his eyes once more. In the darkness they were black holes in the pallor of his face, black holes that gradually lost their intensity and at the end were no more than marks in the gloom.
They recovered Mr Trussel and his party off Al Wejh that afternoon. By the time Wrinch rejoined them the frigate was well in hand. The Frenchmen had been turned-to securing the gun deck and stowing the loose gear, while the slashed rigging was made good aloft. Trussel cast his eyes about the frigate with gnomish amusement.