Read Online The Bombay Marines by Porter Hill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Porter Hill
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he opened a desk drawer for a flint light. The storm had worsened in the past few minutes, darkening the sky and making a lantern necessary for Pilkington, Tandimmer and himself to be able to study the chart and plot a path to safety.
* * *
The Arabian Sea thundered against the Eclipse ; steep waves lifted the frigate, tilting her at an incline, and dropped the bow down through the rollers, letting the stern crash into a trough.
Adam Horne worked with George Tandimmer on the first steps of their plan, tying two helmsmen to the wheel for the menâs safety in the storm, and to hold the westerly course charted away from the coastline.
Waves swept the decks as the ship rocked side to side, creeping forward board-by-board into the storm under short sail.
The topsman came down from the main mast and, finding Horne in the protection of the forecastle, reported that Jud, the African prisoner, was following him down from the top gallant.
Horne sent the topsman below deck to eat supper. Wrapping an oilskin coat tighter around himself, he stepped out from the overhang and tried to spot Jud in the foaming crash of waves.
Satisfaction from guessing the enemyâs trap had abandoned him. He was remembering that two of the sixteen prison recruits were dead. In the chilling, wet face of the stormâs turbulence, he realized more than ever how undermanned the Eclipse was. He felt a mixture of revulsion at having to waste two human lives and a selfish, cold-hearted outrage at losing valuable manpower for his mission.
Squinting his eyes against the whipping spray, Horne studied the snapping ratlines for the movement of the African prisoner. He did not want to lose another man.
Lightning flashed across the sky, making the masts and shrouds flicker in the pattern of spider-webbing against the storm. But there was no sign of Jud.
Stepping back to the protection of the forecastle, Home shed the long tarpaulin coat and began pulling off his leathered-soled boots. Bare-footed, he moved cautiously across the canting deck, reaching the weather foremost shroud, and jumped to grab the ratlines. He climbed hand-over-hand in the biting rain, swinging back and forth in the gale, until he reached the lubberâs hole.
While the wind pasted his clothes to his body, he swung to the futtock shroud and, hanging backwards from the ropes, continued his climb until he reached the fore top gallant yardarm. Then, steadying himself on the cross tree, he squinted through the driving wind. Jud was stretched a few feet away from him on the yardarm.
The African lay face downwards, clinging with both arms to the yardarm, the pink soles of his bare feet facing Horne.
The storm was tossing the shipâs masts in a circle, dippingJud downwards as the ship tilted to larboard, rushing him backwards into a momentary upright position as she heaved to starboard, his face turned to the sky, then crashing his head back down to the sea.
A bowline had tangled around Judâs ankle, and Horne saw that the African could not free himself without releasing his hold.
Falling belly down on the yardarm, Horne eased himself out towards Jud, using his knees to propel himself, and gradually pulling himself along with his hands. His fingers soon located the cause of the trouble. Rain and wind had tightened the bowline and knotted it firmly around Judâs ankle.
Pulling and working at the soaked line with one hand, Horneâs fingers soon tired and he switched to the other hand. The frigate dipped and rose continuously, the storm blowing as if to wrench Home and Jud from their roost.
Horne finally freed a knot by loosening a gasket holding the bowline and pulled it from the line, so allowing Jud to loosen the rest of the rope with quick jerks of the ankle. He hurried back towards the cross tree and made room for Jud to follow.
Jud tried his ankle in a few cautionary twists, grinned his gratitude at Horne over his shoulder and scooted in from the
* * *
The Arabian Sea thundered against the Eclipse ; steep waves lifted the frigate, tilting her at an incline, and dropped the bow down through the rollers, letting the stern crash into a trough.
Adam Horne worked with George Tandimmer on the first steps of their plan, tying two helmsmen to the wheel for the menâs safety in the storm, and to hold the westerly course charted away from the coastline.
Waves swept the decks as the ship rocked side to side, creeping forward board-by-board into the storm under short sail.
The topsman came down from the main mast and, finding Horne in the protection of the forecastle, reported that Jud, the African prisoner, was following him down from the top gallant.
Horne sent the topsman below deck to eat supper. Wrapping an oilskin coat tighter around himself, he stepped out from the overhang and tried to spot Jud in the foaming crash of waves.
Satisfaction from guessing the enemyâs trap had abandoned him. He was remembering that two of the sixteen prison recruits were dead. In the chilling, wet face of the stormâs turbulence, he realized more than ever how undermanned the Eclipse was. He felt a mixture of revulsion at having to waste two human lives and a selfish, cold-hearted outrage at losing valuable manpower for his mission.
Squinting his eyes against the whipping spray, Horne studied the snapping ratlines for the movement of the African prisoner. He did not want to lose another man.
Lightning flashed across the sky, making the masts and shrouds flicker in the pattern of spider-webbing against the storm. But there was no sign of Jud.
Stepping back to the protection of the forecastle, Home shed the long tarpaulin coat and began pulling off his leathered-soled boots. Bare-footed, he moved cautiously across the canting deck, reaching the weather foremost shroud, and jumped to grab the ratlines. He climbed hand-over-hand in the biting rain, swinging back and forth in the gale, until he reached the lubberâs hole.
While the wind pasted his clothes to his body, he swung to the futtock shroud and, hanging backwards from the ropes, continued his climb until he reached the fore top gallant yardarm. Then, steadying himself on the cross tree, he squinted through the driving wind. Jud was stretched a few feet away from him on the yardarm.
The African lay face downwards, clinging with both arms to the yardarm, the pink soles of his bare feet facing Horne.
The storm was tossing the shipâs masts in a circle, dippingJud downwards as the ship tilted to larboard, rushing him backwards into a momentary upright position as she heaved to starboard, his face turned to the sky, then crashing his head back down to the sea.
A bowline had tangled around Judâs ankle, and Horne saw that the African could not free himself without releasing his hold.
Falling belly down on the yardarm, Horne eased himself out towards Jud, using his knees to propel himself, and gradually pulling himself along with his hands. His fingers soon located the cause of the trouble. Rain and wind had tightened the bowline and knotted it firmly around Judâs ankle.
Pulling and working at the soaked line with one hand, Horneâs fingers soon tired and he switched to the other hand. The frigate dipped and rose continuously, the storm blowing as if to wrench Home and Jud from their roost.
Horne finally freed a knot by loosening a gasket holding the bowline and pulled it from the line, so allowing Jud to loosen the rest of the rope with quick jerks of the ankle. He hurried back towards the cross tree and made room for Jud to follow.
Jud tried his ankle in a few cautionary twists, grinned his gratitude at Horne over his shoulder and scooted in from the
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