The Baltic Prize

Chapter 28

‘I mislike this breeze,’ the sailing master muttered, to no one in particular. ‘Reminds me o’ that time off Tangier in Patroclus frigate when we lost all way, an’ this swarm of-’

Kydd cut him off quickly. ‘You’re saying as there’s a flat calm coming on, Mr Joyce?’

‘Aye, sir. I’m sanguine as how we’ve got the last o’ the airs now. With the barometer as it is, we’ll get naught till the dog-watches.’ Kydd recalled Keats warning that calms in the Baltic were sudden, local and more to be feared than any storm.

Bray looked up at the sagging canvas with a thunderous glare. ‘This stretches my patience more’n a man can stand. A frigate just ain’t the animal to send into waters like these.’

With the fleet still at a stand at Gothenburg, Tyger had been sent to patrol the southern end of the Sound and had encountered nothing but light winds and unfamiliar currents all the way.

‘In course this is weather for gunboats,’ Brice agreed unhappily. ‘And isn’t that their bolt-hole we passed by up the coast?’

‘If they’re not afraid to mill with a sail-o’-the-line they’ll not stop at a frigate, I’m bound to say,’ Bray boomed. ‘And what can we do about it? Not a damned thing,’ he added darkly.

Kydd felt a chill clutch his heart. The business with Africa had been a near thing, many killed – even her captain had not survived – and only the fortunate return of a light wind had saved them. A smaller victim such as Tyger had even less chance. The canny Danish had found a way to strike back and they were making the most of their formidable weapon.

In the next few hours … He had to do something! It was the age-old pact of the sea: he was the captain with power over every man – but in return they looked to him for a true steer because they would be carried along by his decisions whatever they were.

They hadn’t sighted a sail lately – did this mean the gunboats had not been told of their plight? Sooner or later they’d be discovered and their fate sealed.

The talking tailed off but there were nervous glances in his direction. Kydd was left by himself, the elemental lonely figure of command faced with an intolerable circumstance and with none to share the burden. If a ship-of-the-line had been nearly overcome, how could he be expected to prevail?

Tyger ghosted along in the last of the dying wind – should he use it to head out to sea where it might be stronger, or go inshore in this wide bay perhaps to catch an offshore breeze before they were finally reduced to complete immobility, dead in the water?

Or …?

‘Clear away both bowers for mooring!’ he barked.

They goggled at him as though he’d lost his senses. Anchoring? With both anchors as if a gale was about to break on them?

‘This instant!’ he lashed at them.

The starboard bower had cable bent on as usual at sea but it needed sweat and labour to bring up cable from the tiers to the other.

‘Sir, may I know-’

‘As I desire to do a running moor, Mr Bray,’ Kydd answered him sharply. ‘A simple enough exercise, I believe.’

The boatswain hurried over as if to be certain he’d heard aright but left as quickly, and the fore-deck became alive with activity.

The frigate glided ahead slowly; there was little enough time before they would be losing all way through the water.

‘Both bowers cleared for mooring,’ reported Bray, expressionless.

Kydd looked over the side. Two, three knots – it was going to be a near thing.

He was searching for the current. The general trend for the Baltic was opposite to the Mediterranean – a continuous outward flow instead of the constant inward thrust at Gibraltar that had so often balked Nelson.

Here in the bay a counter-current could be expected and it was essential for his plan to find it. He gazed over the glittering, pond-like sea and there it was, the barest shadowing of ripples, oriented parallel with the shore a half-mile or so away.

He sniffed the tiny wind – he could do it!

‘Stand by, forrard!’ he roared. The anchor would be at the cathead, now lowering to brush the surface of the sea. All was in the timing.

‘Bring her round.’ Tyger answered her helm languidly until aligned to cross the current at right-angles. ‘Let go, larboard!’

The big anchor fell. The sea-bed was not far below, silt and sand.

A running moor needed sea-room but he had plenty of it. First one anchor would be let go while way was on the ship, the cable paid out to its greatest extent and then, only then, the other would go down, leaving the ship with two widely separated moorings.

Tyger slowed with the last of the airs and obediently swung under the greater influence of the current to face into it, her anchors neatly in place, out on either bow.

‘Pass the springs, if you please.’

A line would be seized halfway down the cable and led back to the ship – but in through a side gun-port well aft, one to each side.

‘They’s coming!’ came an excited call. ‘The buggers are on to us!’

Everyone’s head snapped up and took in the frightful sight of an endless stream of gunboats appearing around the rocky point at the end of the bay and heading directly for them.

Under oars and scorning the lifeless airs, they massed together – dozens of evil craft, the gleaming black of their single big gun visible on their fore-decks. At some signal they separated into two divisions, which stretched out to take their deadly positions off Tyger’s unprotected quarters.

Kydd watched, his arms folded, waiting. On both sides guns were manned, gun-captains waiting too, their guns unable to bear, no target in their sights.

Bunched together out of sight of Tyger’s guns, the gunboats manoeuvred for the kill, and when they were in position, Kydd acted. ‘Larboard broadside, heave in starboard,’ he said quietly.

The fall of the spring was taken to the aft capstan and the haul began, foot by foot – the line, secured at an angle to the anchor cable, tautened and thrummed through the gun-port. The ship was heaved bodily to that side, rotating around her anchors forward and thereby presenting her broadside at the gunboats where they had been expecting her weak and gun-less stern-quarters.

Kydd didn’t hesitate. ‘Fire!’

Every gun opened up together in a furious rage of sound and rolling gun-smoke. To Rowan it was like a physical blow in the face – the stupendous, mind-numbing blast of their great guns in anger for the first time.

When it cleared he could see the devastating effect. Shattered boats, oars, bodies in the water – and all those who could pulling frantically for the opposite quarter.

Hauling hard, the other spring was brought in – and the starboard broadside ended the fight.

With an inert and helpless ship suddenly brought to life to deal out death and vengeance, it was too much for the gunboats. As one they fled back to where they’d come from, leaving the sorry remains of two of their number behind.