Slowly and inexorably the two formations continued to dose one another. It was, as if they were being drawn by some irresistible force, or that their captains were blind and unaware of the approaching danger.
Herrick asked, `Line of battle, sir?'
Bolitho did not reply immediately. He moved his glass carefully from ship to ship, each with her broadsides run out like dull teeth, her yards and taut canvas unchanged.
During the night Bolitho's squadron had kept to the carefully rehearsed plan. After standing well clear of Copenhagen the squadron had slowly changed tack, taking advantage of the wind's backing to move closer again to the land, like drawing the noose of a halter. At first glance the plan had worked perfectly. Here were the galleys, heading north towards Copenhagen to offer their massive support just as soon as the British admiral made his move to attack. Bolitho could either continue to close with them or could harry them all the way to their objective.
The presence of the two third-rates puzzled him. Big men-ofwar rarely worked with fast-moving vessels under oars. The varying scales of mobility and fire-power would hinder rather than help.
Perhaps the Danes were merely sending the ships to add to their fleet in Copenhagen, using the cluster of galleys as a useful escort for the passage there.
He said, 'No. We will remain in two columns. I am not happy about the enemy's intentions. In a fixed line of battle we would be more vulnerable.'
Herrick sounded surprised. `They will not dare to attack us, sir! I'd stake Benbow's chances alone against the pair of 'em!'
Bolitho lowered the telescope and wiped his eye. `Have you ever seen galleys at work?'
`Well, I've no personal experience, sir, but…'
Bolitho nodded. `Aye, Thomas, but.'
He thought of the picture he had just seen compressed in the lens. Two, maybe three lines of galleys gliding abreast between the two big men-of-war. There was something unnerving about their unwavering approach, how it must have been in ancient days at Actium and Salamis.
He said, 'We will test their range. The first four guns of the lower battery. Maximum elevation, Thomas. See if that deters them.'
Herrick beckoned to a midshipman. `My compliments to Mr Byrd. Tell him to open fire with four ranging shots. Gun by gun, so that I can watch it.'
The midshipman vanished below, and Bolitho could picture the men turning from their ports and loaded thirty- twopounders to watch him scamper to the lieutenant in charge. The lower gundeck was always an eerie place. With the lanterns extinguished, the only light filtered around the guns in their ports. Sounds and events were shut off from the many men who waited there. The sides were painted in red, a grim reminder that in battle it would hide some of the horror even if it could not lessen the pain.
Bang. Some of the men on the upper deck stood to cheer as the gun spouted smoke and fire from below the forecastle.
Herrick commented, `Very close.'
Bolitho watched the second ball ricochet and then splash down in direct line with the right-hand ship.
Grubb rumbled uneasily, `Still comin', the buggers!'
`Continue firing, sir?' Herrick watched the widening array of craft, still expecting a change of direction.
No.'
Bolitho moved the glass towards the galleys. Still too far away to pick out details properly. Except for the precision of the stroke, tireless and easy, as if no human hand was needed. And the gun above each prow, the only ugly thing there was, like a tusk.
He flinched, even though he was expecting it, as the leading galleys faded momentarily in a swirling curtain of smoke.
Then came the sound, a jarring roar, intermingled and threatening, as the great guns lurched back on their slides.
In the few remaining seconds Bolitho heard the angry shriek of gulls which had only just returned to the water after Benbow's opening shots.
'Pork and molasses!' Wolfe fell back with astonishment as the sea erupted in a leaping torment of spray and smoke. 'Did you see that, for God's sake?'
Herrick exclaimed, 'That was too near for comfort, sir. They must be thirty-two-pounders, bigger maybe!'
Browne said, 'The Danish ships are changing tack, sir.'
Bolitho watched. It was like a cumbersome ballet, he thought. The two Danish ships were turning slowly to larboard, presenting themselves broadside on and heading roughly north-east. Passing ahead, through and astern of them the crimson galleys were splitting into smaller subdivisions, three or four to a section.
'Close the range, Thomas. Bring her up two points if you can.'
He fell silent and waited, counting seconds as the Danish guns fired again. He felt the hull shudder as some of the iron fell close alongside and flung cascades of spray high above the gangway to reach even the hard-braced foresail.
Bolitho recalled Allday's words to him… The enemy were certainly concentrating their opening fire on the flagship.
He said, 'Mr Browne, make to,Nicator, Lee column will not engage.'
He glanced up at the sails as they banged and protested to the change of course. Benbow was standing as dose to the wind as Grubb could manage, but the Danes still held the advantage, their canvas full-bellied and perfectly set.
Herrick was watching an arrowhead of galleys forging past the leading two-decker.
He said, 'Those devils are going to attack us from ahead, if we let 'em!'
Bolitho nodded. 'There is nothing we can do at present. If we alter course to lee'rd to gain agility the Danish ships will rake our sterns. Even at this range it could do untold harm before we are to grips with them.'
As he spoke he saw the cool reasoning of the Danish commander. Like sharks around a helpless whale, the galleys could cut Benbow down to the bones without risking a single man.
He said harshly, 'Signal Lookout to engage.'
Herrick turned away to watch Wolfe directing more men to the weather braces.
He knows, Bolitho thought bitterly. Lookout was fast and lively, but her slender hull was no match for heavy cannon.
Browne called, 'She's acknowledged, sir.'
Bolitho saw the sloop spreading her topgallants and sweeping round with her lee gunports almost awash. Like his own first command, he thought, so full of promise and high hopes. In his mind's eye he pictured Veitch, her commander, and prayed that he was using all his experience and shutting Relentless's fate from his thoughts.
The gunfire was growing and spreading as Indomitable loosed her first timed and aimed broadside at the enemy. Another crimson formation of galleys was pulling around the rear of the squadron, but with less confidence than the others as Styx altered course to meet them.
The sea's face was covered in a drifting mist of powder smoke, and the air shook to the screech and plunge of shot with barely a break.
In one brief lull Bolitho heard a deeper, heavier sound which seemed to drive through the water and lift the keel higher in his imagination.
Grubb ambled towards the deck-log. 'Reckon the fleet is attackin' now, sir!'
Wolfe turned and gave a fierce grin. ''Bout bloody time, Mr Grubb! I'm fair sick of being the prime target!'
The hull gave a violent lurch as a ball smashed deep into the bilges, and Bolitho heard the boatswain urging some of his spare hands below to assist.
'Lookout's in trouble, sir!'
Bolitho looked at the sloop, his mind like ice as he saw her foremast topple into the smoke, wreckage tearing adrift from her engaged side. The galleys were closing in on her, their guns hammering as fast as they could reload. One had been too daring and was lifting slowly like a pointer, spilling sweeps and bodies from the shattered hull before diving to the bottom.
Someone yelled, ' Styx has done for two of them!'
More cries and shouts came from below as another great ball punched into the side like a battering-ram.
Bolitho heard Wolfe yell through his speaking trumpet, 'On the uproll, gun captains!'
