The Torrid Zone (The Fighting Sail Series) by Alaric Bond Page A

man's voice finally responded.
    “No sign of fresh shipping, sir.”
    Banks guessed that Chapman had been foolish enough to look directly at the broadside, and had lost his night vision. It was a mistake most only made the once, and at least the regular lookout had been a little more experienced. He crossed the deck to join the first lieutenant at the binnacle.
    “Keep her as she is, Mr Caulfield.” With the damage they had inflicted, the corvette was unlikely to follow, and Scylla was sailing sweetly enough as she was: it would be a mistake to turn if there were no further enemy in the immediate area.
    “A sound broadside, sir.” The first lieutenant's teeth shone white in the gloom. “And no returns!”
    Banks supposed he was right, but any success they had achieved was down to luck rather than skill; they could just as easily have come across the enemy with the positions reversed. Then it would have been his ship to suffer damage, and at any time now they could expect to be descended upon in force.
    “What news, Sir Richard?”
    Banks swung round at the unexpected call, and saw the governor picking his way across the deck.
    “You should be below, sir: it is not safe!” The storm, and his annoyance, turned Banks' shout to a roar, but he noticed the old man met it with hardly a blink.
    “There are men a plenty on deck, Captain,” he replied calmly, holding a hand to the brow of his sou’wester to deflect the rain. “And boys too, if it comes to it. My presence here will make little difference.”
    “As you will, sir.” Banks had no time to waste. There were still enemy ships in the area and if the governor was determined to place himself in danger he was old enough to be allowed.
    “Did you hear the gunfire, Sir Terrance?” Caulfield asked.
    “Hear it, sir?” The old man's face lit up. “Why I suspect they did so in England! Did we do the enemy harm?”
    “Indeed so,” Caulfield replied, slightly smugly. “It were one of the smaller vessels, though they are still of a considerable size. We have damage aloft and the storm to weather, but that particular Frenchman will have work to do before he troubles us again.”
    “And the others?” the governor asked. “They are still a threat?”
    Caulfield looked at his captain, and Banks cleared his throat. “Potentially, yes. They may well have seen the fire from our broadside. But it is a dark night, and in the current conditions we should remain safe.”
    “Excellent, sir; truly excellent: I must go and tell her Ladyship.” Sir Terrance beamed again, then, holding his sou’wester down firmly on to his head, started back for the companionway once more. Banks drew a sigh of relief; he supposed he should ensure that the couple were suitably accommodated below, but found he cared little either way. Then Chapman's voice could be heard, shrill and urgent from the main top, and all thoughts of his passengers' safety were forgotten.
    “Sail ho! Fine on our larboard bow, and set to rake us!”
    The boy's screech alerted everyone on deck.
    “Port the helm – take her to starboard!” Banks roared, although the quartermaster was starting to turn the wheel even as the order was given. Scylla baulked at the rough handling, while the afterguard slipped and stumbled on the wet deck as they tried to keep the square sails in the wind. Chapman's sighting could equally be the frigate or the second corvette, but whichever it was, all knew they were in imminent danger.
    The enemy was in almost as good a position as Scylla had been only minutes before. Banks felt his knuckles whiten as he stared forward while the ship paid off. Were it the second corvette her broadside was bound to be lighter than that of the frigate, but even she would cause considerable damage, and with the larboard battery not fully loaded, Banks would be unable to reply.
    “There she is!” Caulfield shouted, pointing forward suddenly. Scylla had just moved into clearer air, and all gasped as the