The Bomb Vessel by Richard Woodman

about . . .’
    â€˜Beg pardon, sir.’
    Drinkwater bumped into a crouching seaman scattering sand on the deck. He abandoned a further study of the enemy and looked to the trim of the sails. Easton was at the con now, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
    â€˜We’ll make up for Harwich as soon as we’re clear of the Shipwash sand, Mr Easton. Do you attend to the bearing of the alarm vessel.’
    â€˜Aye, aye, sir.’
    Daylight was increasing by the minute and Drinkwater looked astern again. He could see the long, low hulls, the oddly raked masts and the huge spread of canvas set by the luggers. He was by no means confident of the outcome, and both of the pursuing sea-wolves were coming up fast.
    Drinkwater walked forward again. Rogers reported the ship cleared for action.
    â€˜Very well. Mr Rogers, you are to command the two chasers in the cabin. We will do what damage we can before they close on us. They will likely take a quarter each and try to board.’ Rogers and Easton nodded.
    â€˜Mr Easton, you have the con. From time to time I may desire you to ease away a little or to luff half a point to enable Mr Rogers to point better.’
    â€˜Aye, sir, I understand.’
    â€˜Mr Mason the larboard battery, Mr Q the starboard. Rapid fire as soon as you’ve loosed your first broadside. For that await the command. Mr Rogers you may fire at will.’
    â€˜And the sooner the better.’
    Drinkwater ignored Rogers’s interruption. ‘Is that clear gentlemen?’
    There was a succession of ‘ayes’ and nods and nervous grins.
    Drinkwater stood at the break of the low poop. The waisters were grouped amidships, the gun crews kneeling at their carronades. They all looked expectantly aft. They had had little practice at gunnery since leaving Chatham and Drinkwater was acutely conscious of their unpreparedness. He looked now at the experienced men to do their best.
    â€˜My lads there are two French privateers coming up astern hand over fist. They’ve the heels of us. Give ’em as much iron as they can stomach before they close us. A Frog with a bellyful of iron can’t jump a ditch . . .’ He paused and was gratified by a dutiful ripple of nervous laughter at the poor jest. ‘But if they do board I want to see you busy with those pikes and cutlasses . . .’ He broke off and gave them what he thought was a confident, bloodthirsty grin. He was again relieved to see a few leers and hear the beginnings of a feeble cheer.
    He nodded. ‘Do your duty, lads.’ He turned to the officers, ‘Take post gentlemen.’
    It suddenly occurred to him that he was unarmed. ‘Tregembo, my sword and pistols from the cabin if you please.’
    He looked aft and with a sudden shock saw the two luggers were very much closer. The nearer was making for
Virago
’s lee quarter, the larboard.
    â€˜God’s bones,’ muttered Drinkwater to himself, trying to fend off a violent spasm of shivering that he did not want to be taken for fear.
    â€˜Here zur,’ Tregembo held out the battered French hanger and Drinkwater unhooked the boat cloak from his throat and draped it over Tregembo’s outstretched arm. He buckled on the sword then took the pistols.
    â€˜I’ve looked to the priming, zur, and put a new flint in that ‘un, zur.’
    â€˜Thank you, Tregembo. And good luck.’
    â€˜Aye, zur.’ The man hurred away with the cloak and reappeared on deck at the tiller almost at once.
    A fountain of water sprung up alongside them, another rose ahead.
    â€˜In range, sir’ said Easton beside him, ‘they’ll be good long nines, then.’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Drinkwater shortly, aware that his tenure of command might be very short indeed, his investment in
Virago
a wasted one. An uncomfortable vision of the fortresses of Verdun and Bitche rose unbidden into his mind’s eye. He swore