larboard gangway where two balls had struck home together.
Five cables. Just half a mile between them, and both ships gathering speed as they thrust clear of the land.
Again the writhing bank of smoke, and once more the shriek of chain-shot overhead. It was unbelievable that no spar was hit, but the terrible sound made more than one man gasp with alarm as he worked at his gun.
Stockdaie paused at his efforts and shouted, 'We're holdin' the wind, sir!' His battered features were stained with smoke, but he looked unbreakable.
'On the uproll!'
Bolitho heard Midshipman Huss repeating the order to Dalyell below.
'Fire!'
The deck rebounded as if the ship was driving ashore, and then there was a ragged cheer as the enemy's main-topgallant mast swung wildly on its stays before breaking away and plunging down like a lance.
A lucky shot, and nobody would ever know who had aimed it.
Pears' harsh voice carried easily above the squeak of gun trucks and the clatter of rammers.
'Well done, Trojans! Hit 'em again!'
More cheers, quenched by the enemy's return fire, the terrifying crash of iron smashing into the hull and through some of the gunports below.
Bolitho winced, wondering why the Frenchman had changed his tactics. He heard the rumble of a cannon careering across the lower deck, the sudden lurch as it hit something solid. Men were yelling down there, their voices strangely muffled, like souls in torment.
The Argonaute seemed to be gaining, drawing slightly ahead, so that her jib boom appeared to be touching Trojan's bowsprit. With the advantage of wind and position, Pears would probably let his ship fall off, then spread more sail and try to cross the enemy's stern.
He heard Cairns ' voice through his speaking trumpet. 'Hands aloft! Loose t'gan'sls!'
Bolitho found himself nodding as if in agreement. The ship
was turning again, just a few points, while her topgallant sails
flapped and then hardened at their yards.
He watched the other ship, his eyes smarting in the smoke.
One giant arrowhead of blue water, and both vessels aiming
for some invisible mark which would bring them together. 'Fire!'
The seamen leapt aside as their guns crashed inboard, groping in the funnelling smoke to sponge out the muzzles before a packed charge was rammed home.
Bolitho felt the hull quiver and realized the enemy had fired again, and saw part of a gangway splinter apart as if under an invisible axe. A seaman ran screaming and stumbling past his companion, his hands clawing at his face.
A marine seized him and pushed him to a hatchway, and others reached up to drag him below.
Bolitho glanced at Quinn and saw him retching. The seaman had taken a giant wood splinter in his eye as big as a marlinespike.
The sharper crack of the quarterdeck nine-pounders told him that their crews had at last been able to bring them to bear on the enemy.
The noise was growing and spreading as the two ships moved inexorably towards each other. Wood splinters, fragments of cordage and yet another corpse joined the tangle on the nets, and from below Bolitho heard a man screaming like a tortured hare.
A quick glance aft again. Pears still there, unmoving and grim-faced as he studied the enemy, Coutts, apparently untroubled by the din of battle, one foot on a bollard as he pointed to something on the Frenchman's deck for Ackerman's benefit.
'Fire!'
The guns were recoiling more unevenly now. The crews were getting tired, stunned by the constant thunder and crash of explosions.
Bolitho made himself walk along the deck, ducking to peer through each port as the men hauled their guns back in readiness to fire. A small world, a square of hazy sunlight in which each crew saw just a portion of the enemy.
He felt unsteady, his gait jerky as he moved behind them. His face was stiff with strain, and he imagined he must look halfway between laughing and squinting from shock.
Stockdale glanced round at him and nodded. Another man, Bolitho recognized him as Moffitt, waved his hand and shouted, 'Hot work, sir!'
More powerful thuds into the lower hull, and then a column of black smoke through an open hatch to bring a chorus of shouts and cries of alarm. But the smoke was quickly brought under control, and Bolitho guessed that Dalyell's men had been ready for such an emergency.
'Cease firing!'
As the men stood back from their smoking guns, Bolitho thought the silence almost as painful as the noise. The enemy had moved further across the bows, so that it was pointless to try to hit her.
Cairns shouted, 'Put some men to larboard!' He gestured with his trumpet. 'We will engage him as we cross his stern!'
Bolitho saw petty officers pushing dazed men across to the opposite side to help the depleted crews there. Pears had timed it well. With the slight change of tack, and extra canvas to give her more speed, Trojan would sweep across the enemy's wake and pour a broadside, gun by gun, the length of her hull. Even if she were not dismasted, she would be too crippled to withstand the next encounter.
He shouted, 'Ready, James!' Again he felt his jaw locked in a wild grin. 'Yours is the honour this time!'
A gun captain touched Quinn's arm as he hurried past. 'We'll show 'em, sir!'
'Hands to the braces there!'
Bolitho swung round as Cairns ' voice echoed from the quarterdeck.
Stockdale gasped, 'The Frenchie s luffed, by God!'
Bolitho watched, his body like ice, seeing the Argonaute swinging steadily up into the wind, her reduced sails almost aback as she turned to face her enemy.
It was all happening in minutes, yet Bolitho could still find time for admiration at the superb seamanship and timing. Round and further still, so that when she had finished her manoeuvre she would be on the reverse tack, while Trojan was still struggling to slow her advance.
'Hands aloft! Take in the t'gan'sls!'
Masts and spars shook and creaked violently as the helm was put over, but it was all taking too long.
As men ran wildly back to the starboard battery, Bolitho saw the enemy's side belch smoke and fire, felt the ship stagger as a carefully timed broadside smashed into the side from bowsprit to quarterdeck. Because of the angle, many of the shots did little damage, but others, which burst through gunports or smashed through the flimsy defences of gangways and nettings, caused terrible havoc. Three guns were upended, their crews either crushed or hurled aside like rubbish, and Bolitho heard the splintering bang of more balls ripping through the boat tier and sending a wave of splinters across the opposite side like tiny arrows. Men were falling and stumbling everywhere, and when Bolitho glanced at his legs he saw they were bloody from the carnage at the nearest gun.
A great chorus of voices made him turn in time to see the fore-topgallant mast fall across the bows and plunge over the side, taking with it a writhing trail of rigging like maddened snakes, spar and canvas, and two screaming seamen.
Momentarily out of control, Trojan swung drunkenly away from her enemy, while all the time, as her jubilant crews reloaded, Argonaute continued to go about until she had completed one great circle. Then as she settled down on a parallel course, but slightly ahead of the Trojan, she opened fire with her sternmost guns.
Blinded by smoke, and fighting to free themselves from the mass of tangled rigging, the forward gun crews aboard the Trojan were able to return only half their shots.
Bolitho found himself striding up and down yelling meaningless words until he was hoarse, raw with the stench of battle.
Around him men were fighting back, dying, or sprawled in the bloody attitudes of death.
Others hurried past, following the boatswain and his mates, axes shining in the smoky glare, to hack the
