The Bombay Marines by Porter Hill Page A

Pilkington and Bruce stood at the railing, their faces pale, their eyes flinching. The swimmer had disappeared under the water, all traces of blood diluting in the waves.
    Pulling the spyglass from his pocket, Horne trained it on the approaching vessel and saw a blue puff of cannon smoke drift up past its raked foresail. Kolhapur or Tamil, the unmarked ship had finally shown its intentions.
    Horne snapped shut the spyglass. Ah! There was no conscience now about retaliation!
    â€˜Clear for action!’
    * * *
    The pattimar was sailing on the opposite tack towards the Eclipse , struggling up to windward.
    Horne ordered, ‘Steer small.’
    Tandimmer, hearing the command, understood Adam Horne’s intention without needing a further explanation; soon the Eclipse lay in front of the gale, the sea crashing and foaming around her, the rigging creaking as if it might snap from the force, while the rising wind served as auxiliary power to the shortened sails.
    Adam Horne’s distress about ordering the deaths of two men had disappeared for the moment; the first stage of battle demanded his attention.
    â€˜Sir, do you think they’re raiders?’
    Horne did not answer Pilkington’s question; he was thinking about the enemy’s manoeuvres.
    â€˜Do you think, sir, they’ll fire again at such long range?’
    The Eclipse had not yet opened fire and the worst moment of battle was the wait to send the first volley. But Horne had learnt years ago that the best element of defence in any battle was timing, knowing how to fire at the most opportune moment.
    Pilkington glanced at the sand spread to keep the gunners from sliding on deck. ‘Guns ready, sir.’
    Horne remained patient, responding almost paternally to Pilkington despite the fact that the First Lieutenant was three years his senior.
    â€˜Lieutenant, we must not form our action on enemy fire. They could only be trying to draw us out.’
    Pilkington frequently asked a younger man’s questions, especially when he was excited or stressed.
    â€˜Draw out, sir?’
    â€˜Yes, Lieutenant. The enemy captain might claim later that he shot a distress signal and that we opened fire against him.’
    â€˜Who would he tell that to, sir?’
    â€˜Raiders along the Malabar Coast have been known to sell their allegiance to the French, Lieutenant. France pays a good price to get allies near Bombay. A careless incident here on the Malabar Coast could distract attention from the Navy’s blockade in the Bay of Bengal.’
    â€˜Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’ Pilkington often forgot that his Captain had a mind for diplomacy.
    Horne studied the approaching vessel again through the spyglass, trying to estimate at what angle the two ships would meet if they continued on the present course, and which vessel would be windward, the Eclipse or the pattimar.
    Snapping shut the spyglass, he asked, ‘Merlin on the portside guns?’
    â€˜Aye, aye, sir.’
    â€˜Canister on top of round shot?’
    â€˜Aye, aye, sir.’
    â€˜See that the matches are lit in the buckets, Lieutenant. There’s wash over the bulwark and one wave would ruin an entire round of shot.’
    Pilkington returned to Horne’s side as another blue puff rose from the pattimar’s snubbed prow.
    Horne studied the enemy with his naked eye. ‘She fired again.’
    â€˜Yes, sir. I see the smoke, sir. But I didn’t see the ball splash in the water.’
    Horne looked through the spyglass for any sign of flag or pennant but still saw nothing, not even the flash of insignia, the glint of the sun on a good luck charm painted on the prow.
    A third puff of cannon smoke rose from the enemy ship. Pilkington pointed as the sound of a ball came sizzling across the waves, crashing below the water line of the Eclipse.
    â€˜Strike, sir,’ cried Pilkington.
    Horne ignored the hit. It was time to put into effect the first part of his