gunsmoke.
He shifted the glass and tried not to look at the deck far below his dangling. legs. Then he stiffened. The ships which this lookout had reported minutes earlier were breaking away from the main.battle. The two ships of the line were in fact linked by a stout cable, and as he peered through the forerigging he realised that the furthest vessel, a big three-decker, was partially disabled and without either bowsprit or foremast.
The towing ship, hampered by her massive consort, yawed from side to side, her sails puffing and then falling slack in the sluggish wind. As she swung the sunlight threw strange shadows on her tall side, and on the gleaming rows of guns already run out and prepared to fight.
Bolitho nodded to the lookout. 'Keep a good eye on them.'
The man grinned. 'Got nothin' else to do, zur!' He leaned over to watch Bolitho's careful descent and then settled down at his post. As Bolitho made his way down the rough, vibrating ratlines he heard the man humming.
He found Okes and Rennie waiting for him beside the wheel. Bolitho said flatly, `Two big ships right enough. But one of them is disabled. Probably in a collision during the night.' He rubbed his chin. `The towing ship is flying a. command flag. White over blue.' He forced a smile and called to Maynard, `What do you make of that, my lad?'
The midshipman lowered his glass for a moment. `Part of the French van, sir.' He looked uneasy.
`Right.' Bolitho walked to the rail. `De Grasse will be worried about his transports. To mount an attack on Jamaica he will need more than fighting ships. He'll have troops and supplies in other craft, like the ones we burned at Mola Island.'
Okes said, `While the fleet is engaged, de Grasse will try and force his transports this way!'
Bolitho nodded grimly. `Right again.' He snapped his fingers. `Part of the French van has been detached to clear the way for them!' He looked up at the listless sails. `And three ships only bar their way.' He turned to Rennie who was swinging his sword idly against his polished boots. `If we can turn the enemy's van, gentlemen, Sir George Rodney will do the rest!' He slapped his palms together. `Like rabbits in a trap!'
Okes stared at the slow-moving ships ahead of the Cassius. `In this case the rabbits are bigger than the hunters, sir!'
But Bolitho had already moved away. He paused beside the minute drummer boy and asked calmly, `Give us a tune on your fife, boy.' He spoke loudly, so that the men at the ninepounders could hear him.
The boy peered up from beneath his shako and swallowed hard. His lips were pale, and Bolitho could see his hands shaking against his tunic. 'Wh-what shall I play, sir?'
Bolitho looked around at the strained, watchful faces. `What about 'Hearts of Oak'? We all know that, eh, lads?'
And so with the overwhelming roar of battle drumming in their ears, the Phalarope's sailors picked up the fife's feeble lilt.
Bolitho walked back to the weather side and lifted his glass. Even aboard the Cassius the men might hear the Phalarope's sailors singing the well-used words and gain some slight confidence.
`Come cheer up my lads,
Tis to Glory we steer…’
Bolitho watched the great rolling bank of black smoke as it moved steadily towards the three British ships. It was like a living thing, he thought coldly. Writhing, and alight with angry red and orange flashes. Yet he was grateful for its presence. At least it hid the horror and the gruesome scenes beyond.
He looked down at his men, their faces momentarily engrossed in their singing. They would not have much longer to wait.
18. A TRADITION OF VICTORY
John Allday tied his neckerchief tightly around his head and ears and then dashed the sweat from his face with one forearm. Right forward on the frigate's tapered forecastle he had an uninterrupted view of the Cassius, and ahead of her he could just see part of the Volcano's upper rigging. Deliberately he turned his back on them and on the smokeshrouded tangle of ships beyond. He looked down at McIntosh, the gunner's mate, who was on his knees beside one of the carronades as if in prayer.
As Allday had slithered to the deck from the mainyard, Brock, the gunner, had halted him with a sharp, `Here you!' For a moment they had faced each other once again. Allday, the pressed seaman, whose skin still bore the scars of Brock's cane, and who had nearly hanged because of another's treachery and cunning. And the gunner, hard-faced and expressionless, who rarely showed any trace of his inner feelings, if he had any.
Brock had gestured with his cane. 'Up forrard, you! Join the crews on the carronades!'
Allday had made to run off but Brock had added harshly, `1 was wrong about you it seems!' It was not an apology. Just a statement of fact. `So get up there and do your best!' His thin mouth had moved in what might have been a smile. `My God, Allday, your sheep would be proud of you today!'
He smiled at the recollection and then looked round with surprise as Ferguson scrambled up beside him. His eyes were bright with fear, and he clung to the hammock nettings as if he would fall without their support.
McIntosh grunted, `What do you want here?'
'I-I was sent, sir.' Ferguson licked his lips. `I'm no use for anything else.'
McIntosh turned back to his inspection of the training tackles. `Christ Almighty!' was his only comment.
`Don't look at the ships, Bryan.' Allday picked up his cutlass and ran it through his belt. The hilt felt warm against his naked back. `Just don't think about 'em. Keep down behind the nettings and do as I do.' He forced a grin. `We have a fine view from here!'
Ritchie, the stolid Devon seaman, ran his fingers over the shot rack and asked vaguely, 'Wot are we to shoot at, Mr. McIntosh?'
The gunner's mate was edgy. 'The captain hasn't told me yet! When he does, I'll tell you!'
Ritchie shrugged. 'Us'll roast they devils!' He peered at the Cassius. `The Frogs'll turn an' run!'
Kemp, one of the loaders, grimaced. `When they sees you they will!'
Ferguson lowered his head against his arm. `It's madness! We'll all be killed!'
Allday studied him sadly. He is right, he thought. Nothing can live against such a force. He said kindly, `It's April, Bryan. Just think how it looks in Cornwall, eh? The hedgerows and the green fields..
Ferguson stared at him. `For God's sake, what are you talking about?'
Allday replied calmly, `Have you forgotten already what nearly happened to us, Bryan?' He hardened his voice, knowing that Ferguson was at breaking point. `Remember Nick Pochin?' He saw Ferguson flinch, but carried on. `Well, he's dead, hanged aboard the Cassius with the other fools!'
Ferguson hung his head. `I-I'm sorry.'
Allday said, `I know you're afraid. And so am I. And so is the captain, I shouldn't wonder.'
At that moment Lieutenant Herrick stepped on to the forecastle and walked briskly to the carronades. `Everything well, Mr. McIntosh?'
The gunner's mate stood up and wiped his palms on his trousers. `Aye, sir.' He studied the lieutenant and then added, ' Mola Island seems a long time ago now, Mr. Herrick.'
Herrick stared aft along the maindeck to the raised quarterdeck where Okes stood stiffly beside the captain. Would Okes crack this time? he wondered. Which way would his private shame make him react? He replied, 'It does indeed.'
Okes' voice, distorted by his speaking trumpet, echoed above the rumble of gunfire. `Another pull on the weather forebrace there! Mr. Packwood, take that man's name!'
Herrick hid hiss dismay from McIntosh. Okes was so much on edge that he had to say something. Anything.
McIntosh said dryly. `Promotion does not seem to solve everything, Mr. Herrick!'
Herrick swung round as flags broke from the Cassius's yards. A moment later he heard Maynard yell, `Engage the enemy, sir!' Then, in a slightly steadier voice, `Tack in succession!'
The pipes trilled. `Lee braces. Jump to it!'
