'Now it's the Frenchman's turn to be an onlooker, sir!'
Bolitho turned sharply as the anchorage echoed violently to the crash of cannon fire. He saw the gunsmoke hit the calm water and burst skyward, eddying across the pale sunlight like a cloud.
Everyone was yelling and shouting at once, stricken by the unexpected turn of events. Spite was turning to one side, still reeling from a savage broadside at extreme range. Like a hurricane the Argonaute's iron had ripped through her masts and rigging, reducing her to an unmanageable wreck in seconds. Her foremast had gone, and while they watched, her maintopmast fell alongside in a welter of spray and tangled cordage. Spite stopped moving, and Bolitho guessed she had run aground again on an extension of the same sand-bar. Seeing her go from movement to sudden stillness was like watching something beautiful die.
The Argonaute had made certain the brig would not be captured, and even now was coming about, her long jib boom swinging through the smoke of her one, murderous broadside.
Quinn said in a choking voice, 'God, they're coming out!'
Bolitho looked aft as Cairns ' voice boomed through his speaking trumpet.
'Hands aloft and shorten sail! Mr Tolcher, rig your nets!'
A bright scarlet ensign rose to the gaff, and Stockdale spat on his hands. Coutts had shown his colours. He was going to fight.
Nets were already being spread above the gundeck, the men working without thought, as they had so often at their drills.
Bolitho watched the Argonaute's shape shortening as she completed her turn towards the entrance.
She too had run up, her colours. The white flag of France. No more pretence or bluff.
Later, higher authorities might argue over excuses and deceptions. But now, today, each captain had his own clear rtason to engage an enemy.
'Open your ports!'
Tackles squeaked, and along either side a double line of port lids lifted in time with the lesser quarterdeck batteries.
'Run out!'
Bolitho drew a deep breath, forcing himself to watch as his own guns trundled noisily to their ports, thrusting out their black muzzles like snouts in the strengthening sunlight.
Two ships of the line, without aid, not even a spectator to watch their ponderous strength as they manoeuvred towards each other, in no haste, and in total silence.
Another glance aft and he saw Coutts lifting his arms to allow the captain's coxswain to buckle on his sword for him.
Bolitho realized that Coutts would never give in. He dare not. It must be victory today. Or nothing.
'Starboard battery, stand by!'
Bolitho tugged out his hanger and pulled his hat over his eyes.
`Ready, lads!'
He glanced to left and right, the familiar faces passing his vision, merging, then disappearing as he faced the enemy. 'On the up roll!'
Somewhere, a man started to cough violently, another was pounding a slow, desperate tattoo on the deck beside his gun. Fire!'
14
A Very High Price
As the upper battery, followed instantly by the thirty-twopounders on the lower gundeck, roared out in a full broadside, Trojan gave a tremendous shudder, as if she would wrench herself apart.
Even though every man had been expecting it, the deafening crash of gun-fire was beyond imagination, the sound going on and on as each cannon hurled itself inboard on its tackles.
Bolitho watched the dense smoke being forced downwind from the starboard bow and stared towards the French ship as the sea around her became a mass of leaping white feathers. The Argonaute was steering on a converging tack, her yards braced hard round to carry her away from the nearest spit of land. Without a telescope it was impossible to see if they had hit her, although with such a massive broadside they should have found some targets. But Trojan had fired at the first possible moment, and Bolitho estimated the range to be at least eight cables.
On either side of him the gun captains were yelling like demons, the crews ramming home charges and fresh balls, while others stood with handspikes in readiness to control their ponderous weapons.
It sounded blurred, unreal, and Bolitho rubbed his ears rapidly to restore his hearing. The deck tilted very slightly as Pears ordered an alteration of course towards the other ship. How invulnerable she looked. With topsails and forecourse flapping to retain the wind, the French captain was trying to gain sea-room, to escape the blanketing shelter of the land across his quarter.
What was he up to, he wondered? What motive did Coutts' I i, opposite number have in mind? Perhaps he wished to draw Trojan away from the island to allow the schooner time to escape. Or maybe, having put the Spite out of action, all he wanted to do was slip away himself and avoid further conflict. Perhaps he had other orders, to find a second rendezvous and unload his cargo without delay.
It was incredible that he could think at all. He peered along the deck, seeing the captains raise their fists, their faces masked in concentration.
He looked aft. 'Ready, sir!'
Again, the senior midshipman of the lower gundeck bobbed through the hatch and yelled, 'Ready, sir!'
Couzens went past at the run, carrying a message from the forecastle to Cairns on the quarterdeck.
As he passed Midshipman Huss he shouted, 'You were slow that time!' They grinned at one another as if it were a huge game.
Bolitho turned towards the enemy again. Nearer now, her deck angled over to the wind, the lines of guns shining in the sunlight like teeth.
He knew in his heart that the French admiral had no inten
tion of telling his captain to haul off. He was going to fight.
What the world said later mattered little out here. Justification 11 would-be sought and found by both sides, but the winner would have the real say in things.
The side of the French ship vanished in a writhing bank of smoke, broken by darting orange tongues, as she delivered her reply to Trojans challenge.
Bolitho gritted his teeth, expecting to feel the hull quiver to the crash of the broadside. But only a few balls hit the tumblehome, while above the decks the air became alive with screaming, shrieking chain-shot.
Bolitho saw the boatswain's hastily spread nets jumping with fallen blocks and severed rigging, and then a marine fell headlong from the maintop, struck the gangway and vanished over the side without even a cry.
Bolitho swallowed hard. First blood. He looked aft, seeing Pears watching the enemy while his hand rose level with his shoulder.
Bolitho said quickly, 'Ready, lads!'
The captain's arm fell, and once more the air was blasted by the thunder of guns.
'Stop your vents! Sponge out! L,oadr
The seamen, who had cursed their captain and officers as they had drilled again and again in every kind of condition, went through the motions without even pausing to watch some of their companions hurrying aloft to make repairs.
Bolitho saw the great rent in the main-topsail spreading and ripping as it was pushed by the wind, and knew that the enemy was following a reguar French tactic. To cripple the adversary first, render her useless and impossible to handle so that she would fall downwind and present her stern to another murderous broadside. Cleared for action, a ship of the line was open from bow to stern, and a well-timed bombardment through the poop and counter could change the gundecks into a slaughterhouse.
The Argonaute was showing some signs of damage, too. Shot-holes in her canvas, and a savage gash in her
