SHARPE’S DEVIL. Bernard Cornwell

Ardiles, though, was not in his cabin, but had instead come forward. He had avoided the inquisitive passengers by using a lower deck, but now he suddenly appeared out of the low door which led to the beakhead. He nodded affably to the men who were perched on the ship’s lavatory bench, then trained his telescope on the whaler.

“She isn’t too badly damaged,” Ardiles spoke to himself, but as Sharpe and Harper were the closest men, they grunted an acknowledgment of his words, “Hardly damaged at all!” Ardiles continued his assessment of the beleaguered American whaler.

“She looks buggered to me, sir,” Sharpe said.

“She’s floating upright,” Ardiles pointed out, “so, as they say in the Cadiz boatyards, her hull must be as watertight as a duck’s backside. Mind you, the hulls of whaling ships are as strong as anything afloat.” He paused as he stared through the glass. “They’ve lost their rudder, by the look of it. They’re using a steering oar instead.”

“What could have happened to her, sir?” Harper asked.

“A storm? Perhaps she rolled over? That can snap the sticks out of a boat as quick as you like. And she’s lost all her whaleboats, so I suspect her topsides were swept clean when she rolled. That would explain the rudder, too. And I’ll warrant she lost a few souls drowned too, God rest them.” Ardiles crossed himself.

Three men were now visible on the whaler’s deck. Lieutenant Otero, still high on the foremast, read the whaler’s name through his telescope and shouted it down to Captain Ardiles. “She’s called the Mary Starbuck.”

“Probably the owner’s wife,” Ardiles guessed. “I hope the poor man has got insurance, or else Mary Starbuck will be making do with last year’s frocks.”

Lieutenant Otero, now that the Espiritu Santo was nearing the hulk, slid down the ratlines to leave tar smeared on his white trousers. “Do we rig a towing bridle?” he asked Ardiles.

Ardiles shook his head. “We haven’t time to take them in tow. But prepare to heave to. And fetch me a speaking trumpet from the quarterdeck.” Ardiles still stared at the whaler, his fingers drumming on the beakhead’s low rail. “Perhaps, Sharpe, you’ll find out what the Americans need? I doubt they want us to rescue them. Their hull isn’t broached, and under that jury rig they could sail from here to the Californias.”

The speaking trumpet was brought to the bows. Ten minutes later the frigate heaved to, backing her square sails so that she rolled and wallowed in the great swells. Sharpe, standing beside one of the long-barreled nine-pounder bow guns that were the frigate’s pursuit weapons, could clearly read the whaler’s name that was painted in gold letters on a black quarterboard across her stern. Beneath that name was written her hailing port, Nantucket. “Tell them who we are,” Ardiles ordered, “then ask them what they want.”

Sharpe raised the trumpet to his mouth. “This is the Spanish frigate Espiritu Santo,” he shouted, “What do you want?”

“Water, mister!” One of the Americans cupped his hands. “We lost all our fresh water barrels!”

“Ask what happened.” Ardiles, who spoke reasonable English, had not needed to have the American’s request for water translated.

“What happened?” Sharpe shouted.

“She rolled over! We were close to the ice when a berg broke off!”

Sharpe translated as best he could, for the answer made little sense to him, but Ardiles both understood and explained. “The fools take any risk to chase whales. They got caught by an iceberg calving off the ice mass. The sea churns like a tidal wave when that happens. Still, they’re good seamen to have brought their boat this far. Ask where they’re heading.”

“Valdivia!” came the reply. The whaler was close now, close enough for Sharpe and Ardiles to see how gaunt and bearded were the faces of the three survivors.

“Ask how many there are on board,” Ardiles commanded.

“Four of us, mister! The rest drowned!”

“Tell them to keep away,” Ardiles was worried that the heavily built whaler might stove in the Espiritu Santos ribs. “And tell them I’ll float a couple of water barrels to them.” Ardiles saw Sharpe’s puzzlement, and explained. “Barrels of fresh water float in saltwater.”

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