giant's axe. Broken rigging and whirling splinters were hurled everywhere, and he saw three seamen smashed against the bulwark, their cries lost in the wind, but their convulsions marked by spreading patterns of blood. Another ball ripped against the hull and ricocheted away over the sea, the deck bucking as if tiying to throw the seamen from their feet. Bolitho yelled, 'Attend the wounded! Tell Mr Eden to put them below! ' He thought suddenly of Eden 's father in his little surgery, attending to people with gout and stomach trouble. What would he think if he could see his twelve-year-old son trying to drag a gasping seaman to the companion hatch, every foot of the way marked in pain and blood. Dancer said despairingly, 'The frigate's closing to board us! ' He did not even flinch as a ball whipped above the poop, leaving another hole in the pockmarked sails. 'After all we did! ' Bolitho looked at him and those nearby. The fight, the pathetic determination were going rapidly. And who could blame them? The Pegaso had matched their every move, in spite of being surprised. She was through the reef, and he could see the glitter of waving cutlasses as some of the men ran from the guns in readiness to board. He recalled Starkie's description of what had happened to Sandpiper's officers, the torture and the final agony of their deaths. He drew his hanger and yelled, 'Stand to! Starboard side! ' He saw them turn to stare at him incredulously, their eyes dull with despair. Bolitho jumped to the weather shrouds and waved his hanger at the Pegaso. 'They'll not take us without a fight! ' Little cameos stood out from the main picture. A man taking out a knife and honing it back and forth across his hand, his eyes on the frigate. Another crossing the deck to face a man who was probably his best, his only friend. Nothing said. Just an expression which told far more than words. Eden by the cornpanion hatch, his face like chalk, and a man's blood already drying on his shirt, like his own would soon do. Dancer. His hair golden in the sunlight, his chin lifted as he picked up a cutlass and leaned on it. Bolitho saw his other hand gripping into his breeches, like a claw, pinching the flesh to shock him from his fear. A man, wounded in the attack on the brig, was propped against a six-pounder, his legs in bandages, but his fingers busy as he loaded pistols and passed them to the others. Something like a baying howl came from the Pegaso's crowded deck as she edged closer abeam, the shadows of her masts and yards reaching across the water as if to snare the brig and engulf her. Bolitho blinked and dashed the sweat from his eyes as he stared at one of the frigate's open gunports. A man, then another, was clambering out and around the black muzzles, and from other ports he saw figures emerging like rats from a sewer. Starkie exclaimed, 'They're trying to abandon, sir! ' He seized his arm and propelled him to the nettings. 'Will you look at that! ' Bolitho stood at his side and said nothing. More and more men were leaping from the gunports and being carried away like shavings on a mill-race. Gauvin, the Pegaso's fanatical captain, must have put guards on every hatch, and as his ship charged in hopeless, maddened pursuit, he would have known that the hull damage was fatal. Starkie watched the frigate's bow wave falling away as the great weight of inrushing water slowed her down, the sudden pandemonium on the upper deck as everyone at last realized what was happening.
He said harshly, 'Here, put on your coat.' He even helped Bolitho into it and tugged the collar with its white patches into position. He pointed to the Pegaso, which was starting to head away, the inrush of water playing havoc with the rudder's puny efforts. 'I want him to see you, and I pray to God he'll suffer for what he did.' When Bolitho looked at him, he added, 'I want him to know he was beaten by a midshipman! A boyl'
Bolitho turned away, his ears filled with the sounds of a ship destroying itself, as under full sail she continued to slew round across the glittering crests. He heard guns coming loose from tackles and smashing into the opposite side, and spars falling, trapping the stampeding men under masses of black rigging and canvas. He heard himself say, 'Shorten sail, Martyn. Call all hands.' He felt men touching his shoulders, others ran towards him grinning and waving. Not a few were weeping. 'Deck there! ' Everyone had forgotten the'lonely man at the masthead. 'Sail on th' starboard bow, sir! ' The merest pause and then, 'Tis th' Gorgon' Bolitho waved his hand to the masthead and turned to watch the pirate frigate heeling over, the sea around her filled with flotsam and thrashing, bobbing heads. Out of the sun's path, across the heaving swell, he also saw a sudden flicker of movement, the knifeedged fins of sharks closing in around the sinking ship. It was over a mile to the nearest beach. It was t doubtful if anyone would reach it. He raised a telescope to look for the Gorgon, his eyes misty as he saw her fat black and buff hull, her towering pyramid of canvas rounding the next headland. In another second he thought he would break, be unable to hide his emotion from those about him. A great voice bellowed, 'What the hell is going on?' Lieutenant Tregorren was standing half through the companion hatch, and with his blotchy grey face, his hair matted with wine and worse, he looked for all the world like a corpse emerging from a tomb. Bolitho felt the relief flooding through him like madness. He wanted to laugh and cry all at once, and Tregorren's wild appearance, the realization that he had been completely helpless throughout the fight, broke down all reserves. He replied in a shaking voice, 'I am sorry we disturbed you, sir.1 Tregorren faced him and tried to focus a pair of angry red eyes. 'Disturb?' 'Aye, sir. But we have been fighting a battle.' Starkie said calmly, 'Fetch Mr Eden. I fear the lieutenant is going to be ill again! '
9. Without Honour
CAPTAIN BEVES CONWAY stood by an open stern window and held one hand to his eyes to protect them from the fierce, reflected glare. Through the windows of his cabin the recaptured brig rolled untidily in the swell, her tan sails barely moving as she idled above her own reflection. Within a few hours of Sandpiper's hazardous dash through the reef and the complete destruction of the frigate, the wind had dropped to a mere breath, leaving the heavy Gorgon and her small consort almost becalmed. Like a pale yellow smear along the horizon, twisting and wavering in heat-haze, the shore was still visible, but could have been anywhere.
Conway turned slowly and studied the group by the bulkhead. Tregorren, massive and red-eyed, his body swaying to the heavy motion, his face still the colour of ashes. The three midshipmen, and the master's mate, t Mr Starkie, standing slighly apart.; Verling, the first lieutenant, was also present, his nose disapproving as the captain's servant filled glasses of madeira for the crumpled and dishevelled visitors. The captain took a beautifully cut glass from a tray and held it to the filtered sunlight. 'Your health, gentlemen.' He regarded each of them in turn. 'I do not have to say how gratified I am that Sandpiper is again with the fleet.' He turned to listen to the distant tap of hammers across the water as work continued to put right the damage from Pegaso's cannon fire. 'Eventually I will be sending her to report to the admiral at Gibraltar with my despatches.' His gaze rested momentarily on Tregorren. 'To cut out a vessel at anchor is never easy. To do it, and to find the extra agility and skill to run an enemy frigate to ground, is worthy of their lordships' attention.' Tregorren stared at some point above the captain's shoulder. 'Thank you, sir.' The captain's eyes moved to the midshipmen. 'To have survived all this will give you scope for putting the experience to work, both for your own advancement and for the Navy in general.' Bolitho darted a quick glance at Tregorren. The man was still staring at the deckhead, and he looked close to another violent attack of vomiting. The captain said in the same matter-of-fact tone, 'At first light, while you were entering the reefs, I was searching to the south'rd. Quite by chance we came on a heavy dhow, loaded to the gunwales with black ivory.' Starkie exclaimed, 'Slaves, sir?' The captain regarded him coldly. 'Slaves.' He gestured with his glass. 'I put a boarding party into the vessel, and she is now anchored around the next headland.' He gave a thin smile. 'The slaves I put ashore, although I know not if I have done them a favour.' The smile vanished. 'We have wasted too much time, and lost too many good men. It would take an army to lay siege to the island, and even then it is doubtful how the attack would go.' He paused as the marine sentry beyond the door shouted, 'Surgeon, sir! ' The servant hurried to open the door as Laidlaw entered, wiping his hands carefully on a scrap of cloth. 'Yes?' The captain sounded sharp. 'You wished to know, sir. Mr Hope is sleeping. I took out the ball, and although I doubt if he'll ever be rid of discomfort, he'll not lose an arm.' Bolitho looked at Dancer and Eden and smiled. It was something. The rest was over, part of a nightmare which even Tregorren's failure to admit that he had had no hand in the final action could not spoil. He glanced at Starkie, who was studying Tregorren with something like hatred. The captain added, 'At dusk, provided the wind returns, which Mr Turnbull assures me will, we will make contact with our new prize. At dawn I intend to send Sandpiper to chase the dhow towards the 5 fortress. Gorgon will, of course, supply full support.' Bolitho swallowed another glass of madeira, barely realizing that the cabin servant had refilled it more than once. His stomach was quite empty, and, the wine was making him feel light-headed and dizzy. One fact stood out. The captain had no intention of giving in to the pirates who occupied the island. By retaking Sandpiper they had added another arm to their reach, and the watchers on the fortress's battery would have been able to see quite clearly how the brig had lured their one major vessel on to the reefs. Verling snapped, 'Understood?' Bolitho exclaimed, 'They'll think we're chasing a cargo of slaves, and be too busy firing at Sandpiper to watch the dhow, sir?' The captain looked at him and then glanced across at Tregorren. 'What d'joa think, Mr Tregorren?' The lieutenant seemed to come out of a trance. 'Yes, sir. That is…' The captain nodded. 'Quite.' He
