The distance was shortening rapidly between the Huma and the five-pointed claw of the enemy flotilla: the four pattimars lagged north and south of the sloop in the lead of the wedged attack.
‘Run out starboard guns,’ Horne shouted to Kiro.
Over the rumble of cannon being manned into firing position, he called to the helm, ‘Lay to larboard tack.’
‘Aye, aye, schipper.’
As the bowsprit swung on the steel-blue waves, Horne remembered that the crew was new and preparing the first time for battle at sea. Looking aloft, he saw small figures grabbing the braces, swinging like monkeys against the yards; the sails thundered as the Huma changed onto her new tack.
Satisfied with their performance, Horne raised the spyglass back to his eye to study the approaching enemy. The sloop still maintained her course towards the Huma but the southerly two pattimars were attempting to bear round to enclose him. Good. He had anticipated such an action and was planning how to divide the flotilla.
As the Huma’s jib boom swept towards the distant coastline, he trained the glass back on the sloop, looking for any flutter of flags or pennants, some call-signals being hoisted on the sloop to send the leader’s commands to the four native vessels.
A distant pop caught his attention. He held the glass on the sloop, seeing a wisp of blue smoke rise from the gunports. The enemy had fired on the Huma. But why so soon? Had the blast been a ranging shot or was the commander over-anxious?
‘Wait fire,’ Horne cautioned Kiro.
A second blue puff rose across the waves.
It was often impossible to know anything about an enemy at sea, particularly an enemy in an unmarked ship. Every little movement or action must be studied for information: guns fired too quickly; an impatient turn of the prow. And as Horne looked for clues to his opponents, he likewise tried to prevent them from understanding him. He changed tactics as soon as his intentions might be recognised.
The sloop’s commander must be the leader of the Malagasy fleet, he reasoned. The pirate lord had obviously ordered the dead man to be cast overboard in the boat. If so, what would such a blood-thirsty leader do to prisoners taken alive? Was Horne risking his men to cruel torture? Should he try to make flight while he still had a chance?
On a course to angle between the sloop and two southern pattimars, he tried to gauge their intentions.
‘Deck ho,’ hailed Jud from the main mast.
What the devil? Were more ships joining the flotilla? Horne swung the spyglass in the opposite direction and saw that the northerly two ships were also changing course.
He had little time to ponder their movement. He had to deal with the enemy nearer to hand.
Satisfied with the Huma’s position relative to the pair of southern native vessels, he ordered, ‘Starboard guns—’
Kiro held his head high, listening for the final order. His gunners’ ears were already bound with bandanas to protect their eardrums from the explosion.
‘—fire!’
The deck shuddered under the cannons’ recoil.
Watching the hit with his naked eye, Horne nodded as the mast of one pattimar collapsed from a strike. The explosion was like a spark in a tinder-box, the wood and sail bursting into instant flame. Why would such an inflammable ship carry cannon, let alone take part in action? Horne watched black smoke rise as the crew began diving overboard.
Kiro’s strike on the second southern vessel had a less dramatic impact but nonetheless the ship’s crew were beginning to dive into the lapping waves.
Horne held his glass on the smoke-laden scene to study the evacuation from the southern two pattimars; he could also see men still on board, trying to wave back the deserters. He had heard of Hindus abandoning leaders losing in battle but he had never before seen it. The native seamen were not afraid of drowning. No, honour came first. Honour prepared them for their next reincarnation.
Aboard the Huma, Kiro goaded the starboard crew to reload grape on top of roundshot.
Horne seized the moment to begin the second stage of his plan.
Babcock moved alongside him. ‘Chasing the big one?’
Horne was concentrating on the helm. ‘Steady as you go,’ he called to Groot, eyes now trained on the northern pattimars closing their position toward the sloop as the two burning pattimars fell farther away to the south.
Babcock laughed. Pointing to the north, he said, ‘The Lord’s on your side as usual, Horne. Sending you not a minute too late—or too soon—to meet that sloop and those two other pattimars.’
‘The Lord or the devil,’ corrected Horne. The Huma was lagging in her change of tack, but her timing would now be near-perfect to confront the remaining three enemy ships.
* * *
The two northern pattimars greeted the Huma with cannon fire. Their aim struck short of the target, peppering the surrounding sea with ball and grape.
Seeing that the northern pattimars would be closer to the Huma than the sloop, Horne was determined to persevere in his offensive to divide them; the sloop’s present tack could only work to his advantage.
Wanting Kiro’s eyes as well as his ears, he crossed the quarter-deck and shouted, ‘Kiro, ho!’
Kiro raised his head.
Horne jabbed a finger towards the larboard gundeck, soon to face the northern pattimars as the frigate swung round; the cannons were already run out and gunners waiting for action. At the same moment, he raised his other hand palm upwards to the starboard guns. Hold their fire.
Understanding the command, Kiro raced across to the larboard guns.
When Horne was satisfied with the Huma’s new course, he decided it was time to put the chancy plan into action.
He began, ‘Larboard guns—’
Kiro crouched near the second crew, ready to shout them into action.
Nerves alive, Horne gauged the range to the pattimars to the north, cautiously proceeding, ‘Prepare to fire and—’
He looked toward the sloop, its jib boom fighting for new bearing.
Satisfied that the Huma had the advantage of a few valuable minutes, he chopped down his hand.
‘—fire!’
A broadside raked both northern pattimars. But at the same moment, the deck trembled beneath Horne’s feet. Damn! The sloop had made her stays and, risking another long shot, scored a strike somewhere below the waterline.
It was futile at the moment to worry about unknown damage. Horne concentrated instead on his plans to isolate the two pattimars from their commander.
Looking towards the helm, he saw Groot grinning at him, cap pushed back on his sun-bleached curls, ready for the next command. A nod from Horne was all it took to set the wheel spinning through his hands.
As the Huma heeled in the wind, Horne steeled himself to risk being trapped by the enemy ships and to exploit his position.
Aloft in the shrouds, the watch followed the orders Babcock relayed to them; on the gun decks, the crews waited anxiously for Kiro’s next command.
Holding Kiro’s eye, Horne pointed to both gun decks.
Stern, voice unwavering, he commenced: ‘Larboard guns—’
‘Larboard guns ready, sir—’
Certain he was not firing too soon, Horne proceeded: ‘Starboard guns—’
‘Starboard guns ready, sir—’
Sluicing water, accompanied by the snap of sails, filled the tense moments as the Huma hovered between the two pattimars off larboard, the sloop off starboard.
‘—fire!’
At the command, both sides of the frigate belched flame. A cloud of smoke engulfed the sea’s shimmering face; screams of men filled the air, timber splintering in the acrid explosion.
As the wind slowly began dispersing the smoke, Horne was pleased to see flames licking from both pattimars, and men diving into the waves. Retaliation was now impossible from either ship. The smoke drifting over the water told him that they had also scored damage on the sloop.
Aboard the Huma, victorious cheers rose from the crew as the gunners pulled the bandanas off their ears and waved them like pennants.
Deaf to the jubilation, Horne’s first thought was of any losses aboard ship. What men had been killed or injured in the strikes? What damage had been done to the ship? What about the enemy? Were all their ships incapacitated?
Looking towards the sloop and studying the chaos beneath her ripped sail, he considered the last part of his plan. This was the moment to move into action.
Reassured that the first two pattimars had receded far to the south, he called over the din of cheers and huzzahs, ‘Seize arms!’
Babcock laughed alongside him. ‘Go get them, Horne, yes?’
‘Prepare men to board ship,’ Horne shouted more loudly.
Aboard the pirate sloop, a white flag of truce rose from the smoke, fluttering from the damaged mast.
Horne’s eyes darted from the flapping white flag to the two burning pattimars. Somewhere beyond were the other two native craft. Revenge from them was unlikely but possible. If not now, perhaps later. His only insurance for peace would be to incapacitate the sloop when the opportunity was at hand.