Victory

He stared forward – they had at long last passed inside the firing arcs of the enemy guns. These could no longer bear on their ship and the long agony of her approach was over. The ornamented stern of the flagship – the name Bucentaure in gilt across it – now lay quiet and unresisting as Victory glided inexorably forward into the gap.

A furious cheering began, for now a terrible revenge would be taken on the enemy. Her guns ceased their fire. Bowden knew that they were being reloaded with double shot and wicked canister for what was to come; the enemy must know it too – he felt a wash of pity, for in all conscience they were only doing their duty.

But war was a merciless dictator – he could see French boarders forlornly massing, but right forward on the fo’c’sle Victory’s boatswain was carefully sighting along the immense bulk of the sixty- eight-pounder carronade, the firing lanyard in his hand.

The distance narrowed; heroes stood in Bucentaure, still firing muskets, anything – aware of what Fate would bring they must know what was to happen in the next moments. The magnificent arch of stern windows loomed, a diamond-shaped tricolour escutcheon in its centre, the midday sun glinting on its interior appointments – and the boatswain yanked on the gun-lock lanyard.

The entire structure dissolved in a deadly blast of glass and splinters, a cloud of reeking dust and fragments bursting out to flutter down on Victory’s decks. Then, as they passed slowly, the three decks of guns below began their frightful rolling crash.

At point-blank range and double-shotted, they fired in succession into the length of the wounded ship, smashing their lethal iron balls into the holocaust of its gun-decks. Shrieks and screams came from the dense, acrid gun-smoke but the cannonade mercilessly went on and on until an entire fifty-gun broadside had crashed into Villeneuve’s flagship.

Victory glided on beyond. Then her opposite broadside opened up to pound a vague shape in the drifting gun-smoke.

As Bowden saw the last rigging-entangled wreckage over the side he was knocked staggering by the sudden grinding lurch of a collision to starboard. He steadied himself and twisted round to see a French ship-of-the-line locked solid into Victory’s side. She appeared very ready for the encounter, her decks crowded with men; he could just make out her stern and the name Redoutable in gold.

Victory fought back: her marines levelled their muskets and blazed away at the swarming men assembling for boarding – but the ship’s tumblehome, the inward curving of her side – formed an unbridgeable cleft between the two vessels.

Muffled blasts from below told of terrible gun duels fought in the blackness of the touching sides and then came a hail of French musket fire from the vessel’s fighting tops. Grenades arced down causing dreadful injuries on Victory’s decks and the vicious whuup of musketry intensified.

Pasco appeared out of the smoke, his face working in agony before he crumpled, blood smearing the deck. But Bowden couldn’t help him – he and King were frantically reloading muskets for Midshipman Pollard, who’d ransacked the marines’ arms-chest for any remaining weapons.

As the wounded signal-lieutenant was dragged away they kept up a furious fire on Redoutable in a mechanical frenzy, aiming at the darting figures in the tops that were making a slaughter-house of Victory’s decks. This drew venomous fire in return, and as King handed over a loaded musket he was killed instantly with a bullet to the forehead.

The main-yard of the French ship jerked, teetered and then fell – hacked away by quick-thinking matelots who had made for themselves a perfect bridge across the chasm. With incredulous cheers the French swarmed up onto the yard and began racing across.

It was a complete about-face in fortunes: with so many of Victory’s upper-deck defenders brought down there was now the unthinkable possibility that the English flagship herself would be taken.

Captain Adair sprinted up with a file of marines and took position directly opposite to open fire. The leaders of the boarding fell into the yawning crevasse to a hideous death, crushed by the working together of the two hulls.

Those following hesitated – fatally. The boatswain had forced the starboard sixty-eight-pounder carronade around and blasted five hundred musket balls into their midst. They fell back, their triumphant battle-cries turning instantly to the screams of the dying. And at that moment Adair took a ball in the neck and pitched forward, dead.

Then a miracle came in the looming shape of Temeraire, which had been the next ship astern of Victory and now came up against the other side of Redoutable with a ponderous crash. Her carronades immediately took dreadful toll and then, together with Victory, her great guns in broadside smashed together into the vitals of the hapless ship.

It was a brutal slaughter but insanely the brave Frenchmen fought on until the blood-soaked hulk was in ruins – and her colours were struck.

A full-throated cheer roared out, redoubled when Victory’s men came to realise the perilous margin of their triumph. Bowden, stunned by the impact of the last hour, reeled over to the poop rail to watch Nelson taking the surrender. He couldn’t see him in the cheering crowds so he turned back wearily to the three men remaining standing on the poop.

Then urgent shouts came from the fo’c’sle – bearing down on them was the van of the enemy, fresh ships that were at last turning back to come to the aid of their centre. Yet Victory’s sacrificing had successfully pierced the line and other British ships, Neptune, Britannia, Leviathan, all had crowded through and now steered to face them. There would be no rescue.

Another burst of wild cheering broke out – it was the Bucentaure hauling down her colours, the commander-in-chief Villeneuve now a prisoner. And ahead the giant Santissima Trinidad, mauled by three English battleships was battered into submission and capitulated.

A wide-eyed seaman hurried up the ladder and blurted breathlessly, ‘L’tenant Pasco desires ’e should be told, how is y’ signals crew?’

‘He needs to know if we’re able to work signals,’ Robins said, looking about him. ‘Er, I’m senior hand. We’re still