‘Pass the word for the boatswain and gunner. Mr Bryant, I rather fear that we must remain for the final act. I would have you prepare Tenacious.’ There could be no more dangerous situation, a burning powder keg of gigantic dimensions about to explode near to them.
‘Cease firing. Secure the magazines.’ On the upper deck men glanced fearfully across at the flaring torch that was the enemy’s after deck, then cleared their own of cartridges and all combustibles.
The boatswain sent men aloft with lines; fire-buckets were hauled up and emptied over the sails furled along the tops of the yards, the decks sluiced. ‘I’ll have a sentry on the cable, if you please, Mr Pringle.’ There would be some who might be tempted to cut the cable and run. If they did, it would only send them blundering downwind straight into the deadly blaze.
Flames had now run along L’Orient’s deck and were reaching up into the masts and rigging in a crackling flare that cast the scene in a ruddy orange. Kydd felt a creeping awe at the approaching moment of doom.
Houghton turned to them all. ‘Gentlemen, I do believe we should now consult our situation. We shall run in the guns and secure the gunports. So, too, the hatches must be battened, but I believe we must take our chances under the half-deck.’
Carrying dripping swabs and leather buckets of water, men took their last look at the blazing ship as they went below. Then the gratings over the hatches were covered with the thick tarpaulin more usually to be seen in stormy weather, and secured with battens hammered into cleats. Kydd reflected on the hell below, in the stinking closeness each thinking that the very next instant could bring the titanic explosion that would crush them to oblivion, or capsize the ship and drown them all.
‘God damme, but this business sticks in my throat,’ Bryant growled.
Kydd saw that men from the ship were now beginning to jump from her decks into the sea and worm from the gunports to drop into the water. Yet still her guns fired, her colours flew. It was madness, an insane defiance against the inevitable, but from a sense of glory, honour?
Houghton watched with grim concentration. Then he turned abruptly to Bryant. ‘We cannot stand by and see those brave fellows drown. Is the launch still at the boom?’
‘It is, sir, but—’
‘Then take it, Mr Kydd. Do what you can before… the end.’
‘Aye aye, sir.’ His mind raced, crowding with images of the Caribbean inferno, his dread of fire threatening to unhinge him. He took a long, deep breath, then made his way to the bulwarks. For protection the launch and cutter had been placed on the unengaged, sheltered side of the ship. The launch was their biggest boat but it seemed so frail a bark to approach such a maelstrom of fire. He pulled back and sought out Rawson. ‘Go below. Get a petty officer an’ six. Don’t tell ’em why.’
Rawson returned with Poulden and six hands, who gaped in awe at the burning ship. ‘The cap’n wants us t’ see if we can save some o’ the Frenchies yonder,’ Kydd said, forcing a tremor from his voice.
One of the seamen spoke up, ‘Aye, well, they’re sailors an’ all, aren’t they, mates?’ Others rumbled a cautious agreement, held by the grim spectacle.
‘Then into th’ boat, lads,’ Kydd ordered. ‘You too, Mr Rawson,’ he added.
Alongside the dark bulk of Tenacious the boat seemed no refuge and Kydd fought down a rising panic.
‘Heading where to, sir?’ said Rawson quietly.
‘The Frenchy, if y’ please.’ Any swimmers would be fanning out in all directions and would be lost in the dark. The only real chance for saving more than one or two would be to stand off the burning flagship. They left the shelter of the side of their ship and came into full view of the blaze, which now bathed the whole bay in firelight as bright as day. When it became apparent where they were heading one of the seamen looked behind him and cried out, ‘Be Jasus – she’s goin’ ter blow!’
‘Shut y’ trap,’ Poulden growled instantly.
‘She goes, we all go!’ another seaman said fearfully and the boat’s speed fell off.
‘Be damned t’ your infernal shyness!’ Rawson said, in a most creditable rasp. ‘See Swiftsure? She’s damn near alongside, and not a-feared.’ The English 74 was within half a pistol shot of the flaming ship, off her bow from where she had been slamming in her broadsides and there was no indication that she was about to pull away.
It was puzzling why she was so close yet was making no moves to save herself. Kydd shook his head: the grandeur and horror were having an effect on his senses. He roused himself. ‘See there, y’ swabs! There’s other boats out, an’ they’re not hanging back. Do ye want t’ shame Tenacious in front o’ them?’