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Another squawking heron, and the dogs suddenly stopped barking – Ned turned his head, his ears straining for more sounds. The dogs started barking again, and a couple of fish jumped near the ship.

  Time was passing: the Southern Cross had turned slightly and Orion’s Belt had crossed a little more of the sky. Had he been thinking of this and that for half an hour? More, perhaps.

  He froze: that was definitely oars creaking against thole pins, and as he leaned on the bulwarks, turning his head and trying to hear the noise again and be sure of its direction, one of the lookouts padded up and whispered: “Boats – we can hear the oars!”

  “Rouse the men,” Ned said. “Make sure they don’t make a noise. Could you distinguish the direction?”

  “No, just that it was towards the fort.”

  The man hurried off, his bare feet flapping against the planking. He bent over one sleeping man after another and shook them awake.

  Ned found Lobb standing beside him. “Looks as though they’re coming,” the mate said.

  “Yes, to us or the Peleus, or both?”

  “Both, I reckon,” Lobb said. “If they’re using all those boats on the beach, there’s a couple of score out there.”

  Ned listened, turning his head slowly. Yes, there were many boats and the men in them were rowing slowly, careful that the blades of their oars did not splash. The oars were probably wrapped with cloth for quietness but nothing could stop the thole pins creaking in their sockets.

  Yes, boats seemed to be spread out from there, on the bow, round to the quarter. There was just enough light from the stars for the men in the boats to be able to make out the bulk of the Griffin, but the boats were small and low against the dark background of the sea, impossible to see from the ship.

  His eye caught sight of a tiny red glow to one side: one of his seamen was twisting a slowmatch round a linstock. The guns were already depressed as much as possible: they could not be fired at anything nearer than sixty yards, and he was sure the boats were already closer than that.

  There would be about twenty boats heading for the Griffin, each with up to twenty men in them. Twenty? Well, including oarsmen. The creaking was getting nearer, and he thought he could now hear the rippling of the water at the stem of the boats.

  “Ready with muskets and pistols,” he hissed to the men behind and beside him. No shooting from the Peleus, so the Dons had not reached Thomas yet.

  Then in the starlight he saw a black crescent approaching across the surface of the sea like a wind shadow: a score of boats perhaps thirty yards away, all converging on the Griffin, moving stealthily.

  He could now see the blades of the oars shining in the starlight as they were lifted clear of the water. Twenty-five yards…twenty. Don’t let them get too close, he told himself.

  “Ready…” he called to his men. “Aim…fire!”

  The crackling of muskets and pistols ran along the side of the ship, the flashes from the muzzles blinding him. Then more gunshots as men fired second muskets and pistols. In a brief lull he heard cries from the boats: some of the shots had found targets.

  But the boats were still coming: fifteen yards, ten, and now they were curving round to come alongside: in a few moments it would be sword and pike, the Griffin’s deck suddenly turned into a slaughterhouse.

  “Don’t forget the roundshot,” he yelled and at that moment heard the bow of one of the Spanish boats thud into the Griffin’s side below him. He snatched a roundshot from the rack, looked over the side down into a boat crowded with men, and hurled the roundshot on to them, hoping to stove in a plank.

  Now the men were scrambling about in the boat, looking for hand and footholds on the Griffin’s hull and he straddled the bulwark, bending down to slash at the first Spaniard to start scrambling up.

  The man fell back into the boat, upsetting a couple of men who were poised to jump upwards. Ned heard the clash of sword against steel beside him and saw in the faint light that Lobb had just cut at a man below him and his sword had glanced off a helmet.

  This was work for a pike, Ned realized, and dropped his cutlass to snatch up a pike from the rack along the inside of the bulwarks. He twisted the seven-foot ash stave and leaned over the side to stab down at the nearest Spaniard. None of them had managed to get out of the boat; several were still tangled up with the body of the man he had first struck.

  Again he stabbed with the pike and felt the point glance off a breastplate. So at least some of the Spaniards were wearing armour: well, if they fell in the water they would never be able to swim with that weight bearing them down.

  He stabbed again and felt the point of the pike going into flesh: this time he had aimed below the breastplate. He wrenched the pike up again and plunged it down to the right. As a man screamed he twisted the point, pulled back and stabbed downwards yet again.

  At the same time he realized there were now men fighting on the Griffin’s decks: further aft some Spaniards must have overwhelmed his men and got on board. What to do now – leave this boatload and fight those already on board, or prevent these men from getting on board? If left they would be on board in moments, so he continued stabbing down with the pike.

  But a couple of men in the stern of the boat managed to get a grip on the Griffin’s chainplates and were almost up to the bulwarks. Ned moved aft a few feet – conscious that Lobb was not there – and stabbed at the first man, who curled back like a shaving of wood and fell into the sea. In the meantime the second man swung upwards on to the bulwark and was poised there for a moment before jumping down on to the deck when Ned lunged again with the pike. It stuck into the man’s thigh and with a cry he toppled over the side, taking the pike with him.

  Ned, now defenceless, moved back to find his cutlass, kicked it and hurriedly snatched it up. He glanced aft for a moment and was startled by how many Spaniards were now on board the ship.

  This single combat, hand-to-hand fighting was losing them the battle: they were being overwhelmed by sheer numbers. He glanced over the side and saw the Griffin’s hull was now crowded with boats, like puppies nuzzling a mother: the Spaniards had obviously all boarded on one side, instead of attacking the Griffin on both sides.

  Ned suddenly made up his mind and, running aft, bellowed: “Griffins – to me! Griffins, Griffins!”

  Most of the men heard him above the shouting and clashing of metal and ran aft to join him.

  He could see the Spaniards left standing on the foredeck, no doubt puzzled to find that their enemy had apparently fled aft. That would give him a valuable minute or two to form his men up.

  “Now, Griffins, keep together, and let’s drive these devils over the side!”

  He waved his sword: “Right, follow me into the middle of ’em!”

  With that he ran down the deck shouting at the top of his voice. The Spaniards seemed to hesitate, more because of the shouting than because they could see anything, and as he ran Ned saw flashes from the Peleus: Thomas was fighting off his crowd of Spaniards.

  Ned ran at the nearest Spaniard, saw a flash of metal and parried a slashing sword. Before the man had time to recover Ned flicked the tip of his cutlass upwards and caught the man’s throat so that he gave a sickening gurgle before collapsing on to the deck.

  There was a repeated shout of “Come on, Griffins!” from over on his right and Ned recognized Lobb’s voice. Slowly the Griffins drove back the Spaniards, who seemed bewildered. Ned guessed it was all the shouting and yelling in English so he joined in, screaming, “Griffins!”, a shout taken up by the rest of the men.

  Then it went black.

  Ned started recovering as men’s feet trampled over him. His head was spinning and seemed remote from his body; he could not get his eyes to focus on the stars overhead. He felt his head: no blood. He must have been hit with the flat of a sword or the haft of a pike.

  He
scrambled to his knees, found that he could balance himself and that his sword was still beside him. He stood up, paused a few moments getting his balance, and then joined in the whirling mass of men.

  It sounded as though every other man was bellowing “Griffin!”, and although still dazed it seemed to Ned that there were fewer Spaniards. He saw several men scrambling over the bulwarks and it took a few moments to realize they were leaving the ship, not boarding.

  Ned no longer went for a single man; instead he hacked and thrust wherever he saw a man he could be sure was a Spaniard, and out of the corner of his eye he saw more men scrambling over the bulwarks.

  He stumbled over a body and from the bang on his shin realized that the man had been wearing a helmet. The sharp pain seemed to bring him out of the partial daze and he began shouting “Griffin!” again, one of a couple of dozen or more voices which made up a strident chorus.

  The Spaniards were shouting at each other but Ned could not make out what they were saying. The words were urgent, and suddenly the crowd of men round him was halved, those remaining still shouting “Griffin!” The Spaniards were climbing over the bulwarks and jumping down into their boats.

  Then Ned recognized Lobb’s shape in the darkness, and rather sheepishly stopped shouting. “I reckon that’s the end of that,” Lobb said.

  Ned realized that the boats had to get back to the shore and would pass through the arcs of fire of the big guns. “Get those linstocks ready,” he told Lobb. “We’ll give ’em a farewell broadside as they go!”

  With that he ran to the bulwarks, looked down at the boats, most of which had left the ship’s side, and tried to follow their progress in the darkness. Just then, the clouds seemed thinner and the starlight brighter, and he could see that several boats were already twenty yards away, the men in them rowing hurriedly for the shore.

  He heard Lobb shouting orders for linstocks and watched as the last of the boats left the Griffin. They were less bunched up than when they came but as Ned knelt down and sighted along a gun, he saw that a broadside from the Griffin’s guns, which were loaded with roundshot, should sink several of the boats and drown any men wearing armour.

  He could see the boats while standing up, but they were still too near to be hit by the guns: the barrels could not be depressed enough, and if fired too soon the shot would pass over them.

  “The men are ready with linstocks,” Lobb was panting: he had obviously been running along the deck warning the men to get to the guns.

  Ned stood back and looked both ways. Yes, he could just make out the guns’ crews standing ready, the linstocks dull red glow-worms waiting to be pressed down on the priming powder.

  Ned knelt beside the gun captain whose gun he had been using for sighting. “Can you see ’em?”

  “Another ten yards,” the man said, “when it’ll be right into the middle of ’em!”

  “Call out the distance,” Ned said, shouting to the rest of the gunners, “Stand by!”

  “Eight yards…five yards…couple of yards… – now!” the gun captain said excitedly.

  “Fire!” Ned bellowed.

  The Griffin’s side seemed to erupt flame and noise: the flash of the muzzles blinded Ned, and as he stood with his eyes shut he heard the thunder of the broadside echo across the city and bounce back from the mountains, the noise combining with the rumble of the recoiling guns.

  Then he heard the screaming: from a quarter of the way to the fort stricken men were screaming: some of the screams were of pain, others ended in ominous gurgles as drowning men sank.

  Already the gunners were sponging out the guns and beginning to reload.

  Ned managed to spot Lobb and said: “Hurry, I want ten men in each of our boats, with oarsmen: let’s get over to the Peleus: they might not have driven out the Dons.”

  The boats were hauled round, men tumbled into them, and they started rowing for the Peleus. “Hope Sir Thomas doesn’t mistake us for more Dons,” Lobb said.

  “I’m glad you thought of that,” Ned said, calling to the men to start shouting “Griffin” when he gave the word.

  As they approached the Peleus, Ned saw boats leaving the side of the ship. “The Dons are bolting!” Ned said jubilantly. “They won’t need any help from us, but we’ll go alongside, just in case.”

  As the Spanish boats left the larboard side, so the Griffin’s two boats came alongside to starboard and Thomas, attracted by the shouting, appeared briefly to yell: “That you, Ned? We’re all right. Can’t stop, we’re going to give ’em a broadside once they get far enough away!”

  “We’ll go back to the Griffin,” Ned told Lobb. “They don’t need us here, and we have some bodies to dispose of.”

  Aurelia was standing at the bulwark when Ned’s boat came alongside. “We’re getting the wounded below,” she said. “But the bodies – fourteen Spaniards and six of our own dead…”

  Ned climbed on board. “That broadside into the boats – it was a massacre.”

  “I was so frightened,” Aurelia said. “That’s the first time we’ve ever had to fight on board our own ship.”

  She hurried forward with the lantern, calling anxiously to some men to be careful how they carried one of the wounded below.

  Once he had made sure that all the wounded had been treated – Aurelia acted as the ship’s surgeon, saying that she wished she had Mrs Judd to help her – Ned decided to go over to the Peleus. The six wounded Spaniards were in no condition to cause any trouble, but Ned left a seaman to watch them.

  The Peleus was in the same condition as the Griffin, but Thomas reported fewer casualties: eight Spaniards and five of the Peleus men dead, and nine on each side wounded.

  “God knows how many we killed when we loosed that broadside into the boats,” Thomas said. “We heard them screaming as they drowned. I reckon we must have hit a third of them.”

  Ned could just distinguish Heffer standing with Thomas and said: “Well, General, how do you like fighting on board a ship?”

  “Can’t see what you’re doing,” the general complained. “Still, we got rid of them!”

  “The general fought like a fiend,” Thomas said. “He was using a pike like an agitated grandmother poking a fire. Jab, twist and jab again! Makes a change from sitting in that little office of yours, doesn’t it!”

  “What happens now?” Heffer asked.

  “We get ready to sail so that we’re clear of here by dawn,” Ned said, “out of range of those guns in the fort.”

  “But…but I am seeing the governor at noon!”

  “Oh yes, I forgot,” Ned said, thinking Heffer was making a weak joke.

  “Yes, so I shall need a boat to take me over to the jetty.”

  Suddenly appalled, Ned said: “You mean you are serious?”

  “Of course. I told you, the governor said to come back at the same time.”

  “But what do you think this boat attack was all about?”

  “Just fishermen seeing what they could loot, I suppose.”

  “Fishermen in helmets and breastplates? They were Spanish soldiers. That, my dear Heffer, was the governor’s reply to you.”

  “My dear Yorke…” Heffer protested.

  “Don’t be absurd,” Ned snapped. “He told you to come back at noon because he wanted both ships to stay at anchor tonight. He arranged for the extra fishing boats to be dragged up on the beach, ready. And he sent all those soldiers to capture the ships. If we hadn’t been ready for ’em, they’d have succeeded.”

  Thomas sniffed. “We’ve got you to thank for that, Ned: it was your sharp eyes that spotted the extra fishing boats, and you guessed why the governor was shilly-shallying about until noon. If we hadn’t been waiting with pistols and muskets loaded, they’d have been all over us; we’d have had our throats cut in our hammocks.”

 
Heffer said nothing, and Thomas asked in his booming voice: “Well, General, what have you got to say now?”

  “Well, they certainly were wearing armour,” Heffer admitted lamely, “so I suppose they must have been soldiers. But why did the governor…”

  “Why didn’t he say ‘No trade!’ to your face yesterday? It’s not the Spanish way. And in any case you’d said you’d try to force a trade. That probably alarmed the governor – he misunderstood you: he thought you meant you’d try to force a trade with these two ships, so he reckoned that if he captured them he’d be safe!”

  Heffer sighed. “I don’t know what Sir Harold Luce is going to say about all this.”

  “There’s not much he can say,” Ned said shortly. “We told him the Dons would never agree to trading, so your report shouldn’t be a mortal shock to him.”

  He turned to Thomas: “Are you ready to sail?”

  “We’ve just got to hoist in both boats.”

  “Then we might as well get under way. As soon as they can distinguish us, the guns of the fort will be opening fire. I’d like to stay until daylight to see how many of those fishing boats reached the beach, but the sooner we get General Heffer and his party back to Port Royal, the sooner Sir Harold will hear the glad tidings.”

  Chapter Nine

  Heffer insisted that Ned and Thomas came with him when he went on shore in Port Royal to report to Sir Harold Luce. “I want you to tell him about the Spanish attack,” he said. “You can explain it better than I.”

  “You mean, he won’t believe you?” Thomas growled.

  “It’s not that,” Heffer said uncomfortably. “He makes me so nervous that I can’t explain things clearly. He doesn’t seem to have that effect on you.”

  “No,” Thomas agreed, “he doesn’t make me nervous. He usually puts me into a vile temper.”

  “Well, try and be patient this time,” Heffer said, licking his teeth. “The man has a very difficult job.”

  Thomas sniffed again. “He has a difficult job and he makes the worst of it.”