The old iron forecastle guns sat on wooden blocks that rested on the deck and would dig a trench in the planks when fired, others were field guns lashed to the ports, and some had proper naval gun carriages with four small wheels. The immobile guns had to be loaded by men hanging outboard, and this took time; so it was important that the first broadside be effective, because with the great miscellany of weapons, and ammunition and powder charges of different sizes, any subsequent shots would of necessity be more ragged.
“Run out the guns!” Oakeshott cried, and the gunports creaked open. Those guns with proper carriages were hauled up the slanting deck, and the rest made ready as well as they could. Quoins were driven beneath the breeches to bring the barrels level with the sea, and then the decks fell silent, and for a long moment we heard only the sound of the sea swirling along the ship’s side, the keen of wind in the rigging, and the slap of waves on the bow.
I went to the weather side of the quarterdeck and peered out at Royal Stilwell. She had rolled so far onto her starboard side that her larboard battery pointed only at the sky, and the starboard guns stared point-blank at the water. Nevertheless, the crew had tried to make ready for us—the boats were bobbing unmanned alongside, the sailors having been recalled; and I could see handgunners crowding the taffrail, to welcome us with a volley of small shot.
Oakeshott put up the helm a trifle, to draw us right across the enemy’s stern, and backed the fore topsail so that its canvas thundered in the wind, great cracking booms that provided a foretaste of the gunfire to come.
At the sound, I felt my own spirits give a leap, and suddenly my heart crashed louder than the canvas. I stood stock-still at the bulwark and watched the enemy ship come closer, the sun glittering on the helmets and hackbuts of the men who waited to receive us, and suddenly there seemed not enough air in all the world to fill my lungs, and the seascape seemed to whirl in my head.
There was a bang from the enemy quarter, and I gave a convulsive shudder at the sound. The lead ball buzzed like a bee over my head, and then I heard the voice of an enemy officer as he admonished the overeager marksman.
“Take your places!” This came from our soldiers’ captain, and the two ranks of handgunners came to the bulwark, crowding about me in their breastplates and helmets. The brimstone odor of slow-matches spiced the sea air. I felt a hand clap my shoulder and draw me out of the press, and I turned to see Kevin.
“Be not so eager!” he said. “Let the soldiers have their turn!”
“Oh, ay, very well,” I muttered, as if I grudged the handgunners their chance at glory, as if apprehension hadn’t seized me in its claws and half-paralyzed me where I stood.
“Fire as you bear!” called Oakeshott. The backed foretop slowed us perceptibly, so that we would cross the Stilwell’s stern at a slow walking pace, with plenty of time for each gun captain to take his aim.
Now there seemed an eternity between each throb of my heart, and over the shoulders of the soldiers I could see the enemy, the pale faces that stared down from the tall canted stern, and the royal arms, the quarterings of triton and griffin, that were carved above the great glittering expanse of the quarter galleries and stern windows. One of the windows was open, and a great hawser passed out of it, leading to a kedge anchor that one of the ship’s boats had dropped astern—but with the water so low, they would have to wait hours yet for a chance to kedge the ship off.
“Present your pieces!” called an officer, and for a moment I did not know whether the voice came from our ship or that of the enemy, but then I heard a rustle and clatter from Royal Stilwell as their soldiers’ hackbuts were leveled to sweep our decks, and my heart gave a lurch as I knew that we were about to be fired upon.
Then the first of our old iron breechloaders went off in the forecastle, and I heard a crash as the ball lodged home in the enemy ship. Firing right into their stern in this fashion, our iron shot could travel the length of the enemy vessel, rending crew and wreaking havoc as they flew.
The guns went off one after the other. At this range they could not miss, and through gushing clouds of white gunsmoke I could see splinters of wood and showers of glass flying from the enemy stern. There was a rattle of enemy hackbuts in reply, and once again I was paralyzed where I stood, not unwilling to act but unable, in the din and flying shot, to think what I might do. The Stilwell’s response was drowned out by our own cannon fire. The first rank of our soldiers replied, then fell back to let the second rank take their shots. The wind blew drifts of cloud into my face.
Then we were past, and there was silence again for perhaps two seconds before the officers and gun captains began shouting at the crews to reload. The fore topsail filled with wind again, and Meteor increased speed, the water foaming under the counter. The soldiers fell back from the bulwark and began plying their powder flasks and ramrods, and men with sponges hung outboard to swab out the guns that were lashed to the ports.
I was jostled again by the soldiers, and found myself on the lee poop by the taffrail, and so I watched Royal Stilwell as the gunsmoke streamed away downwind, and the ship was revealed. The quarter galleries were smashed, no glass remained in the stern windows, and the royal arms had suffered badly. But flags still flew from the foretop and the stump of the main, and as the deck was tilted toward me by the ship’s list, I could see the enemy soldiers busy reloading while the officers dashed about to survey the damage. I saw also limp bodies, for our murderers had wreaked fine execution with grapeshot.
We ourselves seemed to have suffered no loss, at least on the quarterdeck where I stood.
I watched the enemy fall away for at least a quarter league, and then I heard Oakeshott’s powerful voice, amplified to a vast echo by his leather speaking trumpet.
“Ready about! Stations for stays!” And then, to the timoneer, “Full and bye!”
We fell off the wind about half a point and our speed increased. I tried to work out where the sail-handlers would have to run, and then to station myself so as to keep out of their way. I found myself standing next to Kevin.
“We’re tacking?” I asked. “Is it not safer to wear the ship, when we have been in action and there is danger the rigging may have been damaged?”
“They fired no weapon that could damage the rigging,” said Kevin. “Ay, there is a chance that we will be caught in stays, but Oakeshott is a thorough captain, and the crew is well drilled. Remember that I have been on this ship longer than you, and know well its temper.”
I looked to leeward and saw plenty of blue water, and realized we were in little danger.
“Ease her down!” Oakeshott called to the helm. The timoneers drew on the whipstaff and Meteor began to turn into the wind. The lateen over my head was braced up to windward, to push the stern around, and I heard canvas flapping forward as the spritsail sheets were let go.
“Helm’s a-lee!” called one of the timoneers, and Oakeshott immediately echoed the words through his speaking trumpet.
The topsails rattled as they began to lift, then thundered as they spilled wind. Suddenly, where I stood at the taffrail, there was no wind at all, and the lateen over my head flapped a few times and fell limp. Oakeshott stood at the break in the poop, watching the sails with a critical eye. Then he threw one arm in the air as if calling the heavens to his aid, and his voice boomed over the silent ship.