"Ballantyne 01 - A Falcon Flies" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Wilbur)

On one side, the water was darkened and furrowed by the talons of the wind, on the other, the humped backs of the rollers in the calm had a polished velvety gloss to them.

As Huron crossed that line of demarcation, the clamour of the wind which for week after week had battered their ears, fell to an eerie unnatural silence, and the ship's motion changed from the vital charge of a living, straining sea creature, to the patternless rolling and wallowing of a dead log.

Overhead her canvas volleyed and flapped in the directionless eddies created by her own rolling and pitching, and her tackle crashed and clattered so that it seemed that she might roll her masts clean out of her hull.

Far astern, the black-painted gunboat scrambled on eagerly, swiftly begining to narrow the distance between them, the bloc k column of coal smoke now rising straight up into the stillness of air, giving her a jubilant and menacing air.

Mungo St. John ran to the forward rail of the quarterdeck, and stared over his bows. He could see the wind two or three miles ahead clawing at the sea and ruffling it to a sombre shade of indigo, but between them was the oily undulating surface of the calm.

He swung back and the gunboat was closer, sending her smoke spurting high against the bright windswept blue of the sky, so certain of herself now that her gunports were swinging open and the stubby barrels of her 32-pounder cannon protruding from the black sides of her hull, the churning wash of her screw tumbling out from under her counter and sparkling whitely in the sunlight.

With no way upon Huron, the helmsman could not hold any course, and the clipper drifted around broadside to the on-rushing man-of-war putting her bows directly into the rollers.

They could make out the individual figures of the three officers on the gunboat's bridge now. Again the bow-chaser fired, and the shell lifted a tall column of water so high and close under the Huron's bows that it collapsed upon the deck and streamed out through the scuppers.

Mungo St. John took one last despairing sweep of the horizon, hoping even now for a resurgence of the wind, and then he capitulated. Hoist the colours, Mr. Tippoo, he called, and as the gaudy scrap of cloth drooped from the mainyard in the windless air, he watched through the lens of his telescope the consternation it caused upon the gunboat's bridge. That was the last flag they had hoped to see.

They were now close enough to discern the individual expressions of chagrin and alarm and indecision of the naval officers. There'll be no prize money for you, not this time around, Mungo St. John murmured with grim satisfaction, and snapped the telescope shut.

The gunboat came on and then rounded up to Huron, within easy hail, showing her full broadside, the long 32pounder cannon gaping menacingly.

The tallest officer on her bridge seemed also the oldest, for his hair was white in the sunlight. He came to the gunboat's near rail and lifted the voice trumpet to his mouth. What ship? "Huron, out of Baltimore and Bristol, Mungo St. John hailed back. "With a cargo of trade goods for Good Hope and Quelimane. "Why did you not answer my challenge, sir? "Because, sir, I do not acknowledge your right to challenge ships of the United States of America on the high seas."

Both captains knew just what a thorny and controversial question that reply posed, but the Englishman hesitated only a second. Do you, sir, accede to my right to satisfy myself as to your nationality and your ship's port of registry? "As soon as you run in your guns you may come aboard for that purpose, Captain. But do not send one of your Junior officers."

Mungo St. John was making a fine point of humiliating the commander of the Black joke. But inwardly he was still seething at the fluke of wind and weather which had allowed the gunboat to come up with him.

The Black joke launched a longboat on the heavy swell with an immaculate show of seamanship, and it pulled swiftly to Huron's side. While the Captain scrambled up the rope ladder, the boat's crew backed off and rested on their oars.

The naval officer came in through the entry port, so lithe and agile that Mungo St. John realized his error in thinking him an elderly man. It was the white-blond hair that had misled him, he was evidently less than thirty years of age. He did not wear a uniform coat, for his ship had been cleared for action, and he was dressed in a plain white linen shirt, breeches and soft boots. There were a pair of pistols in his belt and a naval cutlass in its scabbard on his hip. Captain Codrington of Her Majesty's auxiliary cruiser Black joke, he introduced himself stiffly. His hair was bleached in silver white splashes from the salt and the sun, with darker streaks beneath and it was tied with a leather thong in a short queue at the nape of his neck.

His face was weathered to honey-golden brown by the same sun, so that the faded blue of his eyes was in pale contrast.

Captain St. John, owner and master of this vessel.

Neither man made any move to shake hands, and they seemed to bristle like two dog wolves meeting for the first time. I hope you do not intend to detain me longer than is necessary. You can assure yourself that my government will be fully apprised of this incident. May I inspect your papers, Captain? " The young naval officer ignored the threat, and followed St. John on to the quarterdeck. There he hesitated for the first time when he caught sight of Robyn and her brother standing together at the far rail, but he recovered immediately, bowed slightly and then turned his full attention to the packet of documents that Mungo St. John had ready for his inspection on the chart table.

He stooped over the table, working swiftly through the pile until with a shock of discovery he straightened. Damn me, Mungo St. John, your reputation precedes you, sir. " The Englishman's expression was strained with strong emotion. "And what a noble one it is, too. " There was a bitter sting in his voice. "The first trader ever to carry more than three thousand souls across the middle passage in a single, twelve-month period, small wonder you can afford such a magnificent vessel. "You are on dangerous ground, sir, Mungo St. John warned him with that lazy, taunting grin. "I am fully aware of the lengths to which the officers of your service will go for a few guineas of prize money. "Where are you going to pick up your next cargo of human misery, Captain St. John? " the Englishman cut in brusquely. "On such a fine ship you should be able to pack in two thousand. " He had gone pale with unfeigned anger, actually trembling slightly with the force of it. If you have finished your investigation-" St. John's smile did not slip, but the naval officer went on speaking. We have made the west coast a little too hot for you now, have we? Even when you hide behind that pretty piece of silk, the naval officer glanced up at the flag on the mainyard, "so you are going to work the east coast now, are you, sir? They tell me you can get a prime slave for two dollars, two for a io-shilling musket. "I must ask you to leave now. " St. John took the document from his hand, and when their fingers touched, the Englishman wiped his hand on his own thigh as though to cleanse it of the contact. I'd give five years" pay to have the hatches off your holds, he said bitterly, leaning forward to stare at Mungo St. John with those pale fierce eyes. Captain Codrington! " Zouga Ballantyne stepped s the group. "I am a British subject and an officer toward in Her Majesty's army. I can assure you that there are no slaves aboard this vessel. " He spoke sharply. If you are an Englishman, then you should be ashamed to travel in such company. " Codrington glanced beyond Zouga. "And that applies equally to you, madamV You overreach yourself, sir, Zouga told him grimly. I have already given you my assurance."

Codrington's gaze had flicked back to Robyn Ballantyne's face. Her distress was evident. . . ie accusation had shattered her, that as, the daughter of Fuller Ballantyne, the great champion of freedom and sworn adversary of slavery, she, the accredited agent of the Society for the Extinction of the Slave Trade should be travelling aboard a notorious slaver.

She was pale, the green eyes huge and liquid with the shock of it. Captain Codrington, her voice was husky and low, my brother is right, I also assure you that there are no slaves aboard this ship."

The Englishman's expression softened, she was not a beautiful woman, but there was a freshness and wholesomeness about her which was difficult to resist. I will accept your word, madam."

He inclined his head. "Indeed, only a madman would carry black ivory towards Africa, but, and his voice hardened again, if only I were able to enter her holds, I'd find enough down there to run her into Table Bay under a prize crew and have her condemned out of hand at the next session of the Court of Mixed Commission."

Codrington swung on his heel to face Mungo St. John again. Oh yes, I know that your slave decks will be struck to make way for your trade cargo, but the spare planks are aboard and it won't take you a day to set them up again, Codrington almost snarled, "and I'll wager there are open gratings under those hatch covers, he pointed down at the maindeck, but without taking his eyes from Mungo St. John's face, "that there are shackles in the lower decks to take the chains and leg irons-, Captain Codrington, I find your company wearying Mungo St. John drawled softly. "You have sixty seconds to leave this ship, before I have my mate assist you over the side."