"Fuck," said Sam. "And one gun shot across his bow would have done it like a dilly. Now watch out, Mr. Gunning! Avoid him if you can."
That was the only option, sensibly to jig past if possible, and slip away downwind and then regroup. The Noble Goring lay in an amazing carpet of green weed that waved out from all sides as she stood as half the seamen attempting to brace yards round to heave her to before she smashed her gear. But Gunning, so drunk smoke from his ears and nostrils would not have been surprising, still thought that he could fling his ship about, turn on a half a guinea, douse sails and lie along her side as neat as in a dockyard.
"Hard down!" he bellowed, pushing the man aside and spinning spokes himself. "Brace all to weather! Raise tacks and sheets! Prepare to grapple him!"
Far too late, his people far too fuddled to respond in time, not possible to begin with, maybe. The Biter slid past the Noble Goring's bowsprit almost close enough for it to catch her weather shrouds, then she rounded up more like a floating hayrick than the swagger yacht Jack Gunning seemed to think he had control of. By the time they'd reached the waist they were not pointing bow to bow as he'd intended, but lay at right angles, with Biter moving in, not fast but with implacability. Men frantically tried bracing yards aback to stop her, but the wind was wrong, her set was wrong, and Noble Goring, inevitably, began to fall off from her upwind position, sideways into the Biter's bow. Bentley caught sight of Kaye, mouth wider than his eyes, his hand gripping the weather rail which now was at the lee, not capable of moving.
Had it not been at the waist they hit, the bowsprit sliding almost neatly in between the fore and mainmasts, their damage must have been much worse. As it was, the substantial sides and bulwark of the eastern trader absorbed their stem head thrust with little more than a grinding judder, moving slowly as the Biter was by now. The sound of crunching, splitting timber and tearing sail went on interminably, accompanied by screams and shouting like a riot at a country fair. Then, in a sudden quiet, just as the Biter stopped her forward movement and began to disengage herself and slide astern, the fore topsail yard, bumped and pulled and jostled in its par rels broke at the truss. The starboard arm came slicing down like nemesis, and smashed Eaton's ginger head into a bloody pulp between his shoulders, then covered him with canvas in an instant shroud.
Gunning responded to his great humiliation by lashing out at everyone and everything, while Kaye, of sterner stuff, came steaming across the deck at Sam and William near foaming at the mouth with rage.
"Get men on board, on board!" he shouted. "Draw cutlasses, they will attack for certain! By God, I'll string them up, not offer them the bounty, the bloody fools! Away now, do your duty! I want men!"
Already some of Biter's people had spilled from off the foredeck on to the Goring, with the bony form of Behar in the van. Jem Taylor was not far after him, with a wooden club, and the bulk of Tilley swept other men along to join the boarders. There were drunken shouts and howling, but the Noble Goring's people, sober and fleet of foot, were disappearing like chaff before a wind. The captain, grey-haired and angry, was on his quarterdeck, staring down into the Biter's waist, and he did indeed have a pistol in his hand, although he made no sign that he would ever use it. The midshipmen, when they reached a point where they could jump, saw great confusion, and a growing gap. Biter, her sails untended, was easing back from off the bigger ship, with only the bowsprit ropes and furniture to keep her. The jib-boom was broke and hanging down, and that had snagged the bulwarks of the 'prize', but it would not hold them on for long.
"Ayling!" shouted Samuel, over his shoulder. "Hey, Tennison, Hugg! Come over quick, we need you! Get some more!"
But Tennison was cradling Shockhead Eaton, and the instruction was ignored. There were four or five friends of the boatswain's mate to hand, with others sobered by the awful shock standing about and watching. Above, the canvas thrashed like thunder, yards swung about, blocks swooped like deadly vultures looking for another skull to smash. This was work for Gunning and his hirelings, but that society was worse collapsed than Kaye's. Until Will strode aft to take it, there was not even a sailor at the wheel.
"She's falling off, sir!" he shouted to Kaye. "Where is Mr. Gunning? If we're not careful we will leave our men on board!"
Kaye went storming off up forward, where the Navy company were now almost all gathered round Eaton, but he gave them a wide berth. Will saw him talk to Samuel, then found Kershaw at his hand. Kershaw, with anxious face but shoulders back and braced, indicated that he would take the wheel, and Will set off like a dervish to force some men to work. Even Gunning's lot, who were not paid to take his orders, jumped to his harsh commands, and the men round Eaton, when yards began to swing intentionally, went to their positions to give a hand. Sails were backed and filled, canvas was quieted, the ships began to move apart and disentangle. Kaye gesticulated furiously on the prow, and shortly men began to climb off of the windward ship to get on board their own. They brought seven of the Noble Goring's men with them, some bloody in the face and mouth. Throughout the whole manoeuvre, John Gunning never reappeared.
It was not the end exactly, but they were almost there. The Biter, fallen off, could only go downwind in her condition, but home was to the north, against the breeze. First thing was to get the canvas off, as she did not possess the necessary sails to heave her to. But as they busied themselves at that, Kaye made it plain to Will and Samuel he wanted more seamen from the Noble Goring, and he would have them. Boats' crews was his word, to cross the growing gap and press at pistol point. The Indiaman, apparently undamaged, was already under way, hauling her wind for London River, but she was slow and weedy while their boats were fast. His juniors thought him crazy, but they did not argue. Neither did the people, when he bellowed his intentions but continued their allotted tasks with great stolidity, taking care to keep their faces turned away. Some were engaged in carrying Baton's body down below. Like the others, they did not argue, but did not respond. Lieutenant Kaye stood in a rage, forsaken.
The light was falling, but the wind stayed sharp and strong. At his first tour of assessment, Will figured they would keep the bowsprit, if not the outer clutter, but had better bring both the topgallant and the topmast down because they could not stay them safely. The topsail yard and sail, in falling, had destroyed the fore course and maybe sprung the yard, which would be some hours' work to check and rectify, if it were possible. Abaft of that the main topgallant mast had got a wrench, and the main topsail was badly ripped. All head sails and their stays were down or ruined. The carpenter was good, Sam told him, so was Watkins, sail maker except he was in love.
"But that does not stop a man from working does it, friend?" he added, with affection. "Of course it don't! We'll have her under way again tomorrow."
The Noble Goring, being the closest ship, was the last to fade into the encroaching night. She did not go well, or fast, but everyone who watched her knew she'd beat them into London however good the makeshift rig they managed in the day or days ahead. It was five nights later, in fact, that Will and Sam saw the ship again, after Biter had limped to the Nore and then been towed by dockyard pull boats up to Deptford. She was lying at a quay near Pickleherring Stairs as a wherry shot them past up to the bridge, yards canted, holds open, in the hands of wharfingers. Unlike the Biter, way down the river, she looked very peaceful lying there.