Commander Cantrell in the West Indies(242)
Gjedde nodded. “Yes. But without our steam, they are more maneuverable, may exploit more points of the wind. We will not be able to keep the water between ourselves and the Resolve clear much longer.”
“That’s why I sent Dirck instructions to come about and start heading after the main van.”
“So soon?” Svantner stared nervously at the smaller ships swarming and circling toward their flanks like distant sharks. They stayed just outside the six hundred yard limit, which was where the spread and accuracy of the carronades could begin to reasonably cope with the speed and evasive tacking of the small boats.
“Yeah,” Eddie sighed as the portside carronades spoke. “He’s got to get going now.” Target four—a small patache—skipped ahead of four balls that plunged into the sea behind her like a line of foam-spurting exclamation marks. The little ship heeled over and reopened the range to the Intrepid. “We’ve held them here for two hours and by the time Simonszoon gets enough wind in his sails to make a good pace, it’ll be the better part of a third. And he doesn’t have enough coal to steam away. He may need that later to close with the main van, or help them out if that southern pirate fleet manages to jam them up. Either way, he’s got to rely more on the wind than we do, a lot more, which means he’s got to get going sooner.”
“Which leaves us on our own,” Gjedde said quietly.
Eddie didn’t respond. He was afraid that instead of calmly acknowledging the threat implicit in that situation, he’d start shouting: Well, of course we’ll be on our own! And why is that? Because some down-timer hot-shot captain got a little too steam happy, that’s why!
But this was no time to publicly vent his feelings. He wasn’t really being fair to Simonszoon, anyway. The Dutch captain—born, bred and raised in the seventeenth century—was having to learn lessons under fire that any up-time teenage kid had learned by the time he got a driver’s license. Always keep an eye on the gas gauge, stupe. You didn’t run out of wind the same way you ran out of fuel.
Still, unfair or not, the situation was aggravating. Since they had to stay here another hour or so to cover the Resolve’s withdrawal, could they expect the privateer ships to get bolder? Unquestionably. And if they hadn’t extricated themselves by dusk, would this fine naval engagement devolve into a confused brawl? Absolutely. Would blunders occur right and left? Assuredly. Was this all to the advantage of the outgunned and usually outmaneuvered foe? That’s why the enemy is doing it.
A mechanical flaw or trick of fate only needed to strike them once, only needed to cause them to stagger, to stumble. Because if they did, these little jackals would be on them in a minute with cannons, cutlasses or whatever else might work.
But all Eddie said was, “I share your reservations, Captain Gjedde. But do you see any other reasonable options?”
Gjedde watched the ship’s troops—several dozen of which were Wild Geese—mounting the mitrailleuses and immense “Big Shot” scatter guns on the four heavy-weapon mounts, one located at each quarter of the ship. “No,” he answered. “But I recommend that we bring the regular ship’s troops on deck. And keep the Wild Geese below, as a reserve.”
Eddie nodded to Svantner to comply, who had just received a slip of paper from the runner. “I will muster the regular troops at once, Commander. And sir, a reply from Captain Simonszoon.”
“Read it.”
“From Resolve to Intrepid. Message starts. D. Simonszoon hereby relinquishes local command to E. Cantrell. Stop. E. Cantrell is, by my command authority, and if acceptable to Captain Gjedde, hereby brevetted to post-captain. Stop. Apologies and bitter regrets that Resolve must withdraw before her sister ship. Stop. Shall not rest easy until we see your lights closing on our stern. Stop. Message ends.”
Eddie glanced at Gjedde. Whose lips seemed to crack as he smiled faintly. “Well, are you going to reply—Captain?”
Eddie sighed. He’d always thought ascending to that proud rank and title, even as a temporary brevet, would be an event he savored. But right now, he just wanted to get the hell out of the situation that had caused it. “Runner, send this reply. We’ll be right behind you. Protect the rest of the fleet. See you in Oranjestad.”
Or, added Eddie silently as the runner disappeared down the bridge stairs, I’ll see you in the next life.
The steam pinnace that had towed the Gelderland into the fray had barely cast off when a barca-longa crewed by pirates-become-privateers heeled over toward her, firing swivel guns. Several of the Dutchman’s crew went down as she labored back through what had been, until she turned, following seas.