Free Relentless Pursuit by Alexander Kent Page A

mouth with the back of his wrist and glared at the next group of men. Dias was thickset and deep-chested, a gun captain of long standing both in Unrivalled and in other ships before that. His gun was in the first division, and as such was usually the earliest to engage the enemy. He wore his shaggy hair in an old-style pigtail, and stripped of his shirt his body was scarred in several places from splinters and from brawls ashore and afloat, and like his massive arms was thick with hair. Fiercesome and incredibly ugly, he was also the best gun captain in the ship, and he knew it.
    He squinted up at the topgallant mast and noted the lie of it toward the horizon. The windward side of the ship. Not much of a blow, but still a muscle-tearing sweat to haul the gun up to the open port. He ran his eyes over the waiting hands. You were born a gunner. You didn’t just become one because some poxy officer said it was to be.
    Someone murmured, “’Ere comes trouble, Isaac.”
    Dias grinned. It made him look even uglier. “Goin’ to tell us what to do, eh?”
    The trouble in question was Midshipman Sandell, walking as he always did, with his dragging springy step, as if he was already strutting his own quarterdeck, Dias thought.
    But Dias was an old hand. He knew about the young gentlemen and how far you could go. Not like some of them, Sandell actually enjoyed being hated, and hated he was. When he was eventually commissioned lieutenant he would make life hell for everyone. It was to be hoped he would be killed before that happened.
    Sandell stood, hands on hips, his lips pursed in what might have been a smile.
    â€œYou know your places. When I give the word, go to them, roundly so! ”
    The last words came out sharply and he turned to point a finger at one who had been startled.
    â€œName?”
    It was the youth Ede, even paler in the harsh glare.
    â€œEde, sir.”
    Sandell regarded him keenly. “I remember. Yes. The one who would not go aloft when ordered!”
    Ede shook his head. “No, sir, I was excused at that time.”
    Sandell nodded. “Of course. Afraid of heights, someone said.” He glanced round; some men had stopped work to watch or listen, and Midshipman Deighton was at the second gun with more untrained hands. Sandell was beginning to enjoy the audience.
    He snapped, “Gun captain, take your station now! Facing the port!”
    Dias said, “I know my station, Mr Sandell!”
    Sandell flinched. “San- dell, damn you! I shall be watching you, Dias, old Jack or not!”
    Dias looked away to hide his grin. It was so easy with this little maggot.
    Sandell cleared his throat. “Now take stations!” He flicked the starter he always carried across a man’s bare shoulder, and added, “In action you might find yourself in charge, everyone else killed, think on that, you oaf!”
    The man’s name was Cooper. He had been picked from Bellairs’ list along with Ede. They had been in the same prison together.
    Cooper ducked down and seized the handspike nearest him. Sandell was already snapping at someone else and did not see the fire in his stare. Almost to himself, he muttered, “And you’ll be the first to get it!”
    The drill continued, with some of the regular gun crews going through every move before handing over to the others.
    Sandell had seen Dias looking at the foremast and said, “Prepare to run out!”
    Dias stooped over to add his weight but stood aside as Sandell shouted, “Not you, Dias. You were just killed!”
    It was heavy going, backs and muscles unused to handling a great gun, bare feet slipping on the deck as it tilted over yet again, the eighteen-pounder dragging at its tackles to make their efforts seem puny.
    At the second gun Deighton shouted, “Together, lads! Heave!”
    The two guns trundled up to their ports and groaned into position.
    â€œPoint! Ready! Fire!” Sandell was