trapped by the loosely rigged boarding nets.
Blade against blade, teeth bared: almost inhuman as they tried to hack the stout netting aside. No time to reload; it was man to man. Some were through the defenses, to be met by cutlass and boarding axe, and sometimes fists, as they fought and struggled above the guns.
The boatswain was using a cutlass; it looked like a dirk in his massive fist.
'They'm runnin', th 'bastards! 'Then, like a great tree, he fell, his own men still cheering as they ran across him in pursuit.
Adam hurried to the midships part of the gangway, where the nettings had been hacked away completely. Men were shouting and cursing, some too exhausted even to cry out if they were cut down. There were bodies fallen and trapped between the two hulls, and Adam saw some of the attackers wilt and retreat in confusion as they were confronted by some marines and their cherished musketoon.
Wild cheers now: Vincent was running along Nautilus's, quarterdeck with some of his seamen, climbing back to Onward after pursuing the attackers.
Too late, he became aware of his own danger, and found himself face to face with a strongly built figure brandishing a double-bladed sword as if it were weightless. Perhaps he had seen the uniform, or maybe he was too crazed by the fighting and death all around him, that it was merely a final spur to his madness or his courage.
Their blades locked, and Adam thought he heard Squire yell, 'No heroics! 'then he drove his own sword into his ribs.
He staggered as his shoe slid on blood, and yelled to the gun crews below him.
The attackers had fallen back to Nautilus's deck, but they were rallying, being led or driven by the same relentless chanting.
'More men! 'Adam waved his sword. Monteith should be ready with a party of seamen and the last loaded swivel gun on the opposite gangway.
But he was lying on the main deck, his uniform impeccably clean amidst the blood and filth of fighting.
He saw Napier coming to join him, a hanger drawn and ready, and shouted, 'Fall back! Watch yourself, David!'
He pushed two struggling men aside, but another had climbed on to the gangway, a long knife clenched between his teeth.
Napier lost his balance, and the hanger slithered out of reach. His attacker leaped on to his shoulders, dragging him down, gripping the knife as two more of his companions hauled themselves on to the gangway.
Wo, you don't, you bastards! 'Some one was running from the side, a boarding pike held like a lance as he charged across the deck.
The pike struck Napier's attacker in the back, with such force that Napier could see the bloodied tip protruding from his chest as he went down and over the side.
He staggered to his feet, staring with shock and dismay as his rescuer threw up both hands and fell after the man he had killed. He was bleeding badly, probably hit by a stray shot even as he watched the boarder fall from view between the hulls.
'Did you see thatT Adam grasped his shoulder, guiding and pushing him toward the quarterdeck. Just a brief glimpse, as he had tried to wrench the pike free of its victim. Mouth wide in a shout or a laugh of jubilation, even as he had been shot down. Jeff Lloyd, one of the sailmaker's crew, who had repaired his old uniform.
He shouted, 'Stand by, on deck! 'There was a gap now between the two ships, widening and gaining colour even as he watched. He could feel it on his face, and wanted to yell it aloud. The wind was returning, and not only in his mind. Or his prayers. Nautilus was already further away. He could see broken timber and corpses floating free.
More men running along Nautilus's deck, but confused now, perhaps leaderless.
Adam saw a gunner's mate peering up at him while Midshipman Simon Huxley continued to tie a bandage around his arm, taking his time.
'As you bear, lads! 'He saw the gunner's mate acknowledge it.'
Adam walked along the gangway and saw Jago coming to meet him. The crash of the first gun seemed to swamp everything as the two ships continued to edge apart, the water clearer, reflecting the smoke like harmless clouds. Nautilus was turning again, and would soon expose her side, ready to reopen fire.
There was more smoke swirling from her stern, from the great cabin itself. He saw the eighteen-pounder standing inboard, its crew sponging out and tamping home another charge, a fresh ball already held, ready to follow. The gun captain was gazing at Nautilus, and the smoke that marked his last shot. But there was no cheering this time.
Jago turned as Napier muttered to himself, 'He saved my life, 'and touched his sleeve, as he had seen his captain do many times.
'We needs you, for better days! 'But the habitual wry grin had deserted him.
The gun was already being run up to its port, its captain staring over the breech. He did not even turn his head as the next gun crashed and recoiled, and was being sponged out before the smoke had cleared.
Adam glanced up at the topsails. They were still filled and steady. Onward could break off the fight and go with the wind.
Who would blame him? 'Standing by, sir. 'That was Squire, who was watching the gun crews impassively as they stared aft, waiting for his signal.
Adam was studying Nautilus's line of ports, still at an angle, but they would soon come to bear again. No jury- rig as yet, nor any attempt to hoist one. But the wreckage had been cut away.
Already drifting clear. He saw two boats close by, Onward's own cutters, unlikely witnesses to a necessary killing on both sides.
He walked to the rail and saw Monteith, sitting now on an upturned box, his head buried in his hands, a crude bandage beneath his fingers. He had apparently been knocked unconscious by a piece of falling timber.
A marine, leaning with his musket against the tightly packed hammock nettings, said, 'Mister Monteith is goin 'to be all right. 'A pause. 'Pity, ain't it? 'But nobody laughed.
Adam clenched his fist and pressed it against his side. More of Nautilus's guns were visible now. A full broadside… he could wait no longer.
She was a much older ship than Onward. He thought of the empty and abandoned vessels that filled so many ports and inlets in England. Once proud, even famous names, waiting for the breakers 'yards, or ignominy as hulks. But most of them would remain afloat. And still withstand a broadside if necessary.
He did not look along his ship again. She had been built for speed and agility. Endurance had outpriced itself, and stripped the forests.
'Full broadside!'
He knew that every fist would be raised, lanyards taut, ready to obey.
He reached out, not daring to take his eyes off the Nautilus.
It was a trick, to prolong the inevitable. The slaughter.
He gripped the telescope, still without turning his head, wasting seconds which could cost the lives of those who trusted him.
He saw part of Nautilus's upper deck, guns run out, the scars and broken timbers stark in the lens. Nothing moving except the shadows of torn and blackened canvas from her mainyard, which had somehow escaped destruction.
'Ready, sir! 'Anxiety. Impatience.
Nautilus's deck was full of people. Not standing by the guns, or crouching along gangways waiting for another attempt to board this ship. There were so many of them, they would crush any resistance by sheer weight of numbers, heedless of the cost.
Some of them were moving now, faces toward Onward, but without authority or purpose. Held in check, waiting.
He wanted to look away; his eye was stinging with strain and concentration. But if he did, he would lose this fragile hope, and the world would explode into nightmare.
Some one said, 'They're dropping weapons over the side!'
Then more loudly: 'They are, for God's sake!'
Adam said, 'Aft, by the mizzen. 'He rubbed his eye with his wrist, and thrust the telescope at Jago. 'Tell me,
