A Column of Fire (52 page)

Barney had never set eyes on anything as lovely as Bella’s golden-brown body carelessly splayed across a linen sheet in the morning light. He never tired of gazing at her, and she never minded.

He said: ‘The day that I went to speak to Don Alfonso, and I glanced across the square and saw you come out of this house rolling a barrel, and you looked up and met my eye – I fell for you right then, not knowing anything at all about you.’

‘I might have turned out to be a witch.’

‘What did you think, when you saw me staring at you?’

‘Well, now, I can’t say too much, in case you get a swollen head.’

‘Go on, take the risk.’

‘At that moment, I couldn’t really think at all. My heart started beating fast and I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. I told myself it was just a white man with peculiar-coloured hair and a ring in his ear, nothing to get excited about. Then you just looked away, as if you hadn’t really noticed me, and I figured it really was nothing to get excited about.’

Barney was deeply in love with her, and she with him, and they both knew it, but he had no idea what they were going to do about it.

Bacon had sold almost all the slaves, and those that remained were mostly rejects, men who had fallen ill on the voyage, pregnant women, children who had pined away after separation from their parents. The hold of the
Hawk
was bursting with gold, sugar and hides. Soon the ship would sail for Europe, and this time it seemed Bacon really did mean to go to Combe Harbour.

Would Bella go home with Barney? It would mean giving up everything she knew, including a successful business. He was afraid to ask her the question. He did not even know whether Bacon would permit a woman on board for the voyage home.

So should Barney give up his old life and settle here in Hispaniola? What would he do? He could help Bella expand the rum business. He could become a sugar planter, perhaps, though he had no capital to invest. It was a big step to take after less than a month in a place. But he wanted to spend his life with Bella.

He had to talk to her about the future. The unasked question was always in his mind, and perhaps hers too. They had to face it.

He opened his mouth to speak, and Jonathan Greenland walked in.

‘Barney!’ he said. ‘You have to come, now!’ Then he saw Bella and said: ‘Oh, my good God, she’s gorgeous.’

It was a clumsy remark, but Bella’s beauty could have a distracting effect on a normally intelligent man even when she was fully clothed. Barney smothered a grin and said: ‘Get out of here! This is a lady’s bedroom!’

Jonathan turned his back, but did not leave. ‘I’m sorry, Señorita, but it’s an emergency,’ he said.

‘It’s all right,’ Bella said, pulling the sheet over her. ‘What’s the crisis?’

‘A galleon approaching, fast.’

Barney leaped out of bed and pulled on his breeches. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said to Bella as he pushed his feet into his boots.

‘Be careful!’ she said.

Barney and Jonathan ran out of the house and across the square. The
Hawk
was already lifting its anchor. Most of the crew were on deck and in the rigging, unfurling the sails. The mooring ropes had been untied from the jetty, and the two latecomers had to leap across a gap of a yard onto the deck.

Once safely on board, Barney looked across the water. A mile to the east was a Spanish galleon bristling with guns, coming at them fast with a following wind. For three weeks he had forgotten about the danger he and the rest of the crew were in. But now the forces of law and order had arrived.

The crew used long poles to push the
Hawk
away from the jetty and out towards deeper water. Captain Bacon turned the ship west, and the wind filled the sails.

The galleon was riding high in the water, suggesting it carried little or no cargo. It had four masts, with more sails than Barney could count at a glance, giving it speed. It was broad in the beam, and had a high aft castle, which would make it relatively clumsy to turn; but in a straight race it could not fail to catch the
Hawk
.

Barney heard a distant bang that he immediately recognized as cannon fire. There was a nearby crash, a cacophony of breaking timbers, and a chorus of shocked yells from the crew. A huge cannonball passed a yard from Barney, smashed through the woodwork of the forecastle, and disappeared.

The ball had been much bigger than the four-pounders with which the
Hawk
was armed, so the galleon must have heavier guns. Even so, Barney thought their gunner must have been lucky to score a hit at the range of a mile.

A moment later the
Hawk
turned sharply, throwing Barney off balance. He was suddenly afraid that the ship had been badly damaged and was out of control, perhaps sinking. The prospect of dying at sea terrified him – but only for a moment. He saw that Captain Bacon was spinning the wheel, intentionally turning north, broadside to the wind. Fear was replaced by bafflement. Clearly Bacon had realized that he could not outrun the Spaniard – but what was his alternative plan?

‘Stop staring, you bloody idiot,’ Jonathan roared at Barney. ‘Get down on the gun deck where you belong!’

Barney realized he was about to experience his first sea battle. He wondered if it would also be his last. He wished he had been able to go home to Kingsbridge one more time before dying.

He had been under fire before. He was scared, but he knew how to control his fear and do his job.

He went first to the galley, in the forecastle. The cook was bleeding from a flying splinter, but the kitchen had not been wrecked, and Barney was able to light a taper at the fire. He heard a second bang and tensed, waiting for the impact, terrified all over again; but the ball had missed.

Down in the hold, the few remaining slaves figured out what was going on, and they began to scream in terror, no doubt fearing that they were about to die chained to a sinking ship.

There was a third explosion, again without impact, and Barney’s guess was confirmed: the first shot had been lucky. The gunner of the galleon must have made the same deduction, and decided to save his ammunition for better opportunities, for there was no fourth explosion.

Barney returned to the waist, shielding his flame with his hand. Most of the crew were on deck or up in the rigging, adjusting the sails in accordance with Captain Bacon’s shouted orders. Barney ran across to the companionway, the hooded hatch leading to the lower decks, and scrambled down the ladder, carrying his burning taper.

The crew had already opened the gun ports and untied the ropes that kept the minions in position when not being used. Now the heavy gun carriages could roll back on their wheels under the recoil from the shot. Sensible men took great care walking around the gun deck when the cannons were untied: someone standing behind a gun at the moment of firing could be crippled or killed.

Each gun had beside it a chest containing most of what was needed to fire: a leather gunpowder bucket with a lid; a pile of rags for wadding; a slow-burning match made of three woven strands of cotton rope soaked in saltpetre and lye; tools for loading the gun and cleaning it between shots; and a bucket of water. The ammunition was in a big chest in the middle of the deck next to a barrel of gunpowder.

There were two men to each gun. One used a long-handled ladle to scoop up exactly the right quantity of gunpowder – an amount weighing the same as the ball, although good men made small adjustments when they knew the weapon. Then the other rammed some wadding down the barrel, followed by the ball.

In a few minutes, all the starboard guns were loaded. Barney went around with his taper lighting the slow matches. Most of the men wound a rope match around a forked stick, called a linstock, so that they could stand well clear of the gun when putting the flame to the touchhole.

Barney peered through a gun port. The
Hawk
was now side-on to the stiff easterly breeze, bowling along at eight or nine knots, with the faster galleon half a mile away and bearing down on its starboard side.

Barney waited. At this range he might hit the galleon, and he might do some minor damage, but it would not be the best use of his armaments.

The attacking ship was approaching nose-on to the
Hawk
, so could not use its powerful broadside cannons. Two small explosions indicated that the gunner was trying out his foredeck guns, but Barney saw from the splashes that both balls had landed harmlessly in the sea.

However, the fast vessel would soon come close enough to turn at an angle and deploy its broadside guns, and then the
Hawk
would be in trouble. What the hell was Captain Bacon’s plan? Perhaps the old fool had none. Barney fought down panic.

A crewman called Silas said impatiently: ‘Shall we fire, sir?’

Barney held his nerve with an effort. ‘Not yet,’ he said with more assurance than he felt. ‘They’re too far off.’

Up on deck, Bacon yelled: ‘Hold your fire, gunners!’ He could not have heard Silas, but his instinct had told him the gun deck would be getting restless.

As the galleon came closer, the angle improved for shooting. At six hundred yards, it fired.

There was a bang and a puff of smoke. The ball moved slowly enough to be visible, and Barney saw it rise on a high trajectory. He resisted the temptation to duck. Before the ball came close he saw that it was going to hit. But the Spanish gunner had aimed a fraction too high, and the ball flew through the rigging. Barney heard canvas and rope rip, but it sounded as if no woodwork was damaged.

Barney was about to fire back, but he hesitated when he heard Bacon yelling a stream of orders. Then the
Hawk
lurched again and turned to leeward. For a few moments it had the wind behind it, but Bacon continued turning through one hundred and eighty degrees and then headed south, back towards the island.

Without needing to be told, all the gunners switched to the port side of the gun deck and loaded the other six minions.

But what was Bacon up to?

Looking out, Barney saw the galleon change direction, its prow swinging around to intercept the
Hawk
’s new course. And then he understood what Bacon was doing.

He was presenting Barney with the perfect target.

In a minute or two the
Hawk
would be broadside-on to the nose of the enemy ship, and three hundred yards away. Barney would be able to attack with raking fire, putting one ball after another into the vulnerable bow of the galleon and all along the length of its deck to the stern, causing maximum damage to its rigging and crew.

If he did it right.

The range was so close that he had no need of the wedges that elevated the gun barrels. Firing dead level, their range should be perfect. But the target was narrow.

Silas said: ‘Now, sir?’

‘No,’ Barney replied. ‘Stay ready, stay calm.’

He knelt beside the foremost gun and stared out, watching the angle of the galleon, his heart thudding. This was so much easier on land, when gun and target were not rising and falling on waves.

The enemy ship seemed to turn slowly. Barney fought the temptation to start firing too soon. He watched the four masts. He would fire when they were in a straight line so that the first obscured the rest. Or just before, to allow for the time it would take the ball to travel.

Silas said: ‘Ready when you are, sir!’

‘Get set!’ The masts were almost in line. ‘Fire one!’ He tapped Silas on the shoulder.

Silas put the burning tip of his rope match to the touchhole in the gun barrel.

The explosion was deafening in the confined space of the gun deck.

The cannon sprang backwards with the recoil.

Barney peered out and saw the ball smash into the forecastle of the galleon. A cheer went up from the crew of the
Hawk
.

Barney moved to the next gun and tapped the man’s shoulder. ‘Fire!’

This ball went higher, and crashed into the galleon’s masts.

Barney could hear tremendous cheering from on deck. He moved sternwards down the line, concentrating on trying to time the shots to a fraction of a second, until all six guns had fired.

He returned to the first gun, expecting to find Silas reloading. To his dismay, Silas and his mate were shaking hands, congratulating each other. ‘Reload!’ Barney screamed. ‘The swine aren’t dead yet!’

Hastily, Silas picked up a gun-worm, a long-handled tool with a pointed spiral blade. He used it to extract residual wadding from the barrel. The detritus came out smouldering and sparking. Silas trod on the embers with a horny bare foot, apparently feeling no pain. His mate then picked up a long stick thickly wrapped in rags. He dipped it in the water bucket then plunged it down the barrel to extinguish any remaining sparks or burning fragments that might, otherwise, have ignited the next charge of gunpowder prematurely. He withdrew the sponge, and the heat of the barrel quickly evaporated any traces of water. The two men then reloaded the cleaned gun.

Barney looked out. The bow of the galleon was holed in two places and its foremast was leaning sideways. From the deck – now only two hundred yards away – came the screams of the wounded and the panicked cries of the survivors. But the ship had not been crippled, and the captain kept his nerve. The galleon came on at barely reduced speed.

Barney was dismayed by how long his gunners took to reload. He knew, from battlefield experience, that a single volley never won a fight. Armies could recover. But repeated volleys, one after another, decimating their ranks and felling their comrades, destroyed morale and caused men to run away or surrender. Repetition was everything. However, the crew of the
Hawk
were sailors, not artillerymen, and no one had taught them the importance of rapid, disciplined reloading.

The galleon came straight at the
Hawk
. Its captain no longer wanted to fire his broadside guns. Of course not, Barney thought: the Spaniards did not want to sink the
Hawk
. They would prefer to capture the ship and confiscate its illegally acquired treasure. They were firing the small foredeck guns, and some shots were hitting the rigging; but the
Hawk
was narrow, making it easy to overshoot or undershoot. The galleon’s tactic, Barney now saw, would be to ram the
Hawk
then board.