Free Absolute Honour by C.C. Humphreys Page A

someone had noticed the pursuit. Pistols cracked
as Red Hugh stepped onto the
Robuste.
He drew back, turnedto Jack. ‘Lieutenant Absolute, would you be so good as to fetch us two grenades?’
    ‘Certainly, Captain McClune. Which rack?’
    ‘The bottom. Now it’s us that don’t want to damage our profits. So let’s stink these Frenchies out.’
    Jack crossed to the poop between shot being given by both sides. He returned in moments, an iron globe in each hand. ‘Wrap
your scarf around your mouth.’ Red Hugh’s voice was muffled beneath his own. Each man there wore one, Jack making do with
the black stock from his neck. The Irishman, who’d taken the bombs while Jack masked himself, now handed one back. ‘And will
you wait till I throw this time?’
    ‘I will.’
    Fuses were lit, elephants counted and, on eight, grenades lobbed into the splintered hole. Shrieks came from within, sounds
of men scattering. Then two dull crumps were heard and the world instantly filled with yellow, reeking smoke.
    ‘We’ll wait just a moment, lads,’ announced Red Hugh, as two Frenchmen fell out of the hole, cursing, one slipping between
the ships with a wail, the other dragged onboard the British ship and cudgelled into quietness.
    ‘Now, I think,’ came the soft voice, drowned by the yell as the crew of the
Sweet Eliza
stormed into the enemy’s vessel.
    At first, Jack could see nothing, partly due to the foul-smelling cloud that lingered, partly because his eyes were clogged
with tears. Wiping them at least cleared the latter and he could see such Frenchmen that had survived the blast now running
between the guns for the front and rear stairs.
    ‘Stick close to them, lads,’ cried Red Hugh, leading as he spoke.
    The enemy were choking more than their masked pursuit, and blocked the stairs in blinded panic. Several were easily cut down
and the rest chased up and onto the quarterdeck.
    Jack, who’d engaged swords with one of the fewFrenchmen fighting until he too took to the stairs, paused to cough and catch breath. Most of the Larbollians had surged upwards
and, for a moment, he was alone; yet not, it seemed, entirely so.
    ‘Sir! Sir! For God’s sake, help us.’
    Jack couldn’t for the life of him find where the voice was coming from. He looked up to the deck where the action sounded
fierce, then along the gundeck to where he’d been. Nothing. Then he glanced down and stepped back, startled.
    A grating covered the stairs that led from the gundeck to the main deck below. And there were at least half a dozen faces
pressed to it.
    ‘Sir!’ That same voice came from a face in the middle of the grating. The one word led to a series of coughs before the gentleman
– his accent showed him to be one – spoke again. ‘Are you English, sir?’
    ‘I am,’ said Jack, crouching.
    ‘Thank God. And you wear a uniform. So it is a ship of His Majesty’s Navy that attacks?’
    ‘Alas, no. We are a merchantman alone. But we are doing well enough.’ He tipped his head to the sounds from above. ‘And if
you’ll excuse me … I will return when the ship is ours.’
    ‘Sir!’ The coughs came again, then the voice, holding him. ‘We are Englishmen here, too. Free us from this hell-hole and we
will help you take the ship.’
    ‘How many of you are there?’
    ‘Forty. From the
Constantine
out of Liverpool, taken a month ago.’
    His inclination was to rush up and continue the fight. But forty! Forty could swing it. He looked at the grating. A giant
padlock held it.
    ‘Is there a key?’
    ‘They bring it when they feed us.’
    Damn! Jack looked around the deck. There were a few guntools lying around, a hammer. But the lock and its mounting were undoubtedly strong; it would take too long and even his absence
could cost the fight. He was about to abandon them when he remembered something. Bending to the lock, he scrabbled in his
bullet pouch. ‘Have you room to retire there, sir?’
    ‘We have.’
    ‘Then do