On every side he saw or heard the chaos caused amongst the supply ships. De Brueys might have soldiers and horse artillery in plerity with his main fleet, but he would never have a single siege gun like the one which had sent Osiris to her death.
Then, as now, Nicator had kept away. He1d off by a man so embittered, so twisted by his hatred that he would see his own people die, and do nothing to help.
More crashes came from below, and there was a chorus of yells as Lysander's main topgallant mast came splintering down through the smoke, taking men and sail with it into the water alongside with a mighty splash.
As more seamen ran with axes to hack it away, Bolitho saw Saxby hurrying jo the shrouds, another broad pendant wrapped around his waist like a sash.
As he hauled at the halliards he shouted, 'Thought I might need an extra one, y' see, sir!' He was laughing and weeping, his fear gone in the horror which surrounded him. Later, if he survived, it would be harder to bear.
Bolitho looked past him towards the Frenchman's topsails and beakhead as they towered above the larboard quarter. Guns hammered back and forth between them, and he felt the deck lurching, heard some of his men still able to cheer as they saw their own shots slamming home.
But it was no use. Lysander was still swinging helplessly, her tattered sails streaming through the smoke, her, guns barely able to keep firing for want of men to supply their need.
The smoke writhed and blossomed scarlet, and Bolitho reached out for support as the first of the enemy's iron smashed through the poop. Marines and seamen fell dead and dying in its path. Lieutenant Nepean dropped his sword and fell choking on blood, and when Leroux yelled for his sergeant, he, too, was unable to reply, but sat holding his stomach, his eyes glazing as he tried to respond to his major as he had always done.
Allday drew his cutlass and thrust his body behind Bolitho like a shield.
Through his teeth he said, 'One more broadside, an' I reckon they’ll try to board us!' He pushed a dying marine away and pointed his cutlass 'through the smoke. 'Just one man I’d rather kill than any Frog today!'
Herrick walked past, hands behind him, his face very composed.
He said, 'Mr. Plowman says it will take all of ten minutes more, sir.'
It might as well be an hour, Bolitho thought.
Herrick looked at Allday. 'And who is that?' 'Cap'n bloody Probyn, that's who!'
The French ship was barely feet away from the quarter, although with so much smoke it could have been any distance. What guns would bear were pouring shots into Lysander's poop and lower hull, and from the bowsprit and spritsail yard marksmen were shooting at Lysander's quarterdeck as fast as they could aim.
Bolitho shouted to Herrick, 'How are the supply ships?' Herrick bared his teeth. 'six done for and maybe the same number crippled!'
Bolitho turned to see a body dragged clear of the poop. Moffitt, his clerk, his thin grey hair marked with a bright touch of scarlet where a splinter had cut him down. Like Gilchrist's father, he had known the misery of a debtor's prison, and now lay dead.
He had to force the words out. 'I am ordering you to haul down our Colours, Thomas.'
Herrick stared at him, his mouth tight with strain. 'strike, sir?'
Bolitho walked past him, feeling Allday close at his back. Protecting him as always.
'Aye. Strike.' He looked at the upended guns, the blood, some of which had splashed as high as the tattered forecourse. 'We did what we intended. I’ll not see another man die to save my honour. '
'But, sir!'
Herrick hesitated as Veitch lurched over to join him, his arm wet with blood, his face like wax.
Veitch gasped, 'We’ll fight 'em, sir! We’ve still got some good lads!'
Bolitho looked at them wearily. 'I know you'd fight.' He turned towards the enemy. 'But then our men would die for nothing. '
He looked for Saxby and saw. him crouching by the bulwark.
'Haul down the Colours!' He shouted, 'That is an order!' The guns fell silent, and above the crackle of a blazing supply ship and the. mingled cries of the wounded they heard the beginning of a French cheer.
They're getting ready to board. Bolitho sheathed his sword and looked at those around him. At least their lives would be spared.
The smoke lifted again to a tremendous roar of cannon fire, and Bolitho imagined for an instant that the French were making certain of a victory with one last murderous broadside at point-blank range. He saw some of Lysander s shrouds tearing away like weeds as balls shrieked above the deck, and then turned as Herrick shouted wildly, 'It's Nicator! She's firing into the Frenchman from t'other beam!'
Because of the smoke and the drifting supply ships, some of which were adding their own pyres to the surrounding fog, nobody had seen Nicator' s slow and careful approach. Every gun was firing on the Frenchman, which pivoting between the savage broadsides and Lysander's starboard quarter, could do nothing to escape.
Bolitho said, 'Tell our people to stay off the gangways!' He heard some of Nicator's shots lashing through the rigging above him.
Herrick pointed at Saxby, who was capering around the halliards which held Bolitho's broad pendant. Neither it nor the ensign had been hauled down.
It was soon over, and as the cheering seamen and marines surged on to the French ship's deck, the tricolour vanished into the smoke.
One of Nicator's lieutenants arrived aboard some fifteen minutes later, as grappled the three vessels drifted down-wind, the victors and vanquished working together to help the wounded.
