Dumaresq came to the quarterdeck rail and retrieved his hat from his coxswain. He glanced quickly around the upper deck and then said, “More hands aft! Cut that wreckage clear!”
Palliser seemed to rise out of the chaos like a spectre. He was gripping his arm which appeared to be broken, and he looked as if he might collapse.
Dumaresq roared, “Move yourselves! And another ensign to the mainmast, Mr Lovelace!”
But it was a boatswain’s mate who swarmed up the shrouds through the smoke to replace the ensign which had been shot down with the mizzen. Midshipman Lovelace, who would have been fourteen years old in two weeks’ time, lay by the nettings, torn almost in half by a trailing backstay.
Bolitho realized that he had been standing quite motionless while the ship swayed and shuddered about him to the jar of gun-fire.
He grasped Jury’s shoulder and said, “Take ten men and assist the boatswain!” He shook him gently. “All right?”
Jury smiled. “Yes, sir.” He ran off into the smoke, calling names as he went.
Stockdale muttered, “We’ve less than six guns which’ll bear on this side!”
Bolitho knew that Destiny would be out of control until the mizzen was hacked free. Over the side he could see a marine still clinging to the mizzen-top, another drowning as he watched, dragged under by the great web of rigging. He turned and looked at Dumaresq as he stood like a rock, directing the helmsmen, watching his enemy and making sure his own company could see him there.
Bolitho tore his eyes away. He felt shocked and guilty, as if he had accidentally stolen Dumaresq’s secret.
So that was why he wore a scarlet waistcoat. So that none of his men should see.
But Bolitho had seen the fresh, wet stains on it which had run down on to his strong hands as his coxswain, Johns, supported him by the rail.
Midshipman Cowdroy clambered over the debris and yelled, “I need more help forrard, sir!” He looked near to panic.
Bolitho said, “Deal with it!” What Dumaresq had said to him about the stolen watch. Deal with it.
Axes rang through the smoke, and he felt the deck lurch upright as the broken mast and attendant rigging drifted clear of the side.
How bare it seemed without it and its spread of canvas.
With a start he realized that San Augustin lay directly across the bows. She was still firing, but Destiny’s change of direction which had been caused by the mizzen dragging her round, made her a difficult target. Balls slammed down close to the side or splashed in the sea on either beam. Destiny’s guns were also blind, except for the bow-chasers, and Bolitho heard their sharper explosions as they reopened fire in deadly earnest.
But another heavy ball smashed under the larboard gangway, toppling two guns and painting the decks red as it cut down a group of men already wounded.
Bolitho saw Rhodes fall, try to recover his stand by the guns and then drop on his side.
He ran to help him, shielding him from the billowing gun-smoke as the world went mad around them.
Rhodes looked directly at him, his eyes free of pain, as he whispered, “The lord and master had his way, you see, Dick?” He looked up at the sky beyond the rigging. “The wind. Here at last but too late.” He reached up to touch Bolitho’s shoulder. “Take care. I always knew…” His eyes became fixed and without understanding.
Blindly Bolitho stood up and stared around at the destruction and the pain. Stephen Rhodes was dead. The one who had first made him feel welcome, who had taken life at face value, a day at a time.
Then, beyond the broken nettings and punctured hammocks he saw the sea. The sluggish swell was gone. He peered up at the sails. Holed they might be, but they were thrusting out like breast-plates as they pushed the frigate forward into the fight. They had not been beaten. Rhodes had seen it, the wind, he had said. The last thing he had understood on this earth.
He ran to the side and saw San Augustin startlingly close, right there on the starboard bow. Men were shooting at him, there was smoke and noise all around, but he felt nothing. Close to, the enemy ship was no longer so proud and invulnerable, and he could see where Destiny’s claws had left their mark.
He heard Dumaresq’s voice following him along the deck, commanding, all powerful even in its pain. “Ready to starboard, Mr Bolitho!”
Bolitho snatched up Rhodes ’ beautiful sword and waved it wildly.
“Stand to! Double-shotted, lads!”
Musket-balls hammered across the decks like pebbles, and here and there a man fell. But the rest, dragging themselves from the wreckage and leaving Rhodes ’ guns on the larboard side, shambled to obey. To load the remaining twelve-pounders, to crouch like dazed animals as foot by foot the San Augustin’s towering stern loomed over them like a gilded cliff.
“As you bear!”
Who was shouting the orders? Dumaresq, Palliser, or was he himself so stunned by the ferocity of the battle that he had called them himself?
“Fire!”
He saw the guns sliding inboard, the way their crews just stood and watched the destruction as every murderous ball ploughed through the Spanish man-of-war from stern to bow.
None of the gun-captains, not even Stockdale, made any attempt to reload. It was as if each man knew.
The San Augustin was drifting downwind, perhaps her steering shot away, or her officers killed by the last deadly embrace.
Bolitho walked slowly aft and on to the quarterdeck. Wood splinters were everywhere, and there were few men left at the six-pounders to cheer as some of the enemy’s rigging collapsed in a welter of sparks and smoke.
Dumaresq turned stiffly and looked at him. “I think she’s afire.”
Bolitho saw Gulliver, dead by his helmsmen, and Slade in his place, as if he had been meant for master from the beginning. Colpoys, his red coat over his bandaged wounds like a cape, watching his men standing back from their weapons. Palliser, sitting on a cask, while one of Bulkley’s men examined his arm.
He heard himself say, “We’ll lose the treasure, sir.”
An explosion shook the stricken San Augustin, and figures could be seen jumping over the side and trampling down anyone who tried to stop them.
Dumaresq looked down at his red waistcoat. “So will they.”
Bolitho watched the other ship and saw the smoke thickening, the first glint of fire beneath her mainmast. If Garrick was still alive, he would not get far now.
Bulkley arrived on the quarterdeck and said, “You must come below, Captain. I have to examine you.”
“Must!” Dumaresq gave his fierce grin. “It is not a word I choose-” Then he fainted in his coxswain’s arms.
After all that had happened it seemed unbearable. Bolitho watched as Dumaresq’s body was picked up and carried carefully to the companionway.
Palliser joined him by the quarterdeck rail. He looked ashen but said, “We’ll stand off until that ship either sinks or blows up.”
“What shall I do, sir?” It was Midshipman Henderson, who had somehow survived the whole battle at the masthead.
Palliser looked at him. “You will assume Mr Bolitho’s duties.” He hesitated, his eyes on Rhodes ’ body by the foremast. “Mr Bolitho will be second lieutenant.”
A greater explosion than all the previous ones shook San Augustin so violently that her fore and main-topmasts toppled into the smoke and the hull itself began to turn turtle.
Jury climbed up and joined Bolitho to watch the last moments of the ornate ship.
“Was it worth it, sir?”
Bolitho looked at him and at the ship around them. Already there were men working to put the damage to rights, to make the ship live again. There were a thousand things to do, wounded to care for, the remaining schooner chased and caught, prisoners to be rescued and separated from the Spanish sailors. A great deal of work for one small ship and her company, he thought.
He considered Jury’s question, what it had all cost, and what they had discovered in each other. He thought too of what Dumaresq would have to say when he returned to duty. That was a strange thing about Dumaresq. Dying was like defeat, you could never associate it with him.
