The crack of a pistol shot was like a twelve-pounder on the morning air, and as somebody gave a startled cry aboard the yawl, an undulating line of heads, closely linked with muskets and fixed bayonets, appeared along the top of the island, then touches of scarlet as the marines continued to march in a long, single rank up and then down towards the water.
'Pull! All you've got!' Bolitho leaned forward as if to add weight to the fast-moving cutter.
Figures had appeared on the yawl's deck, and a solitary shot lit up the mainmast like a flare.
Across the water they all heard D'Esterre shouting for the yawl to surrender, and more confused cries, followed by the sound of cordage being hauled madly through blocks.
Bolitho momentarily forgot his own part in it, as with unhurried precision the line of shadowy marines halted and then fired a volley across the vessel's deck.
There was no movement aboard after that, and Bolitho shouted, 'Stand by to board! Grapnel ready there? From a corner of his eye he saw Frowd's boat surging past, a grapnel already streaking towards the yawl's bulwark, while the selected men charged up with drawn cutlasses.
Yelling and cheering, the seamen clambered on either side of the bowsprit, seeing the crew crowding together near the mainmast, too shocked by what had happened to move, let alone resist. A few muskets had been thrown down on the deck, and Bolitho ran aft with Stockdale to ensure that no more men were hiding below and even now attempting to scuttle their vessel.
Not a plan lost, and across the water he saw the marines waving their hats and cheering.
I Frowd snapped, 'Privateers, right enough!' He dragged a man from the crowd. He had thrown his weapons away, but was so loaded with pouches of shot and cartridges that he looked like a pirate.
Bolitho sheathed his hanger. 'Well done, lads. I'll send word across to the marines and -'
It was Couzens who had shouted with alarm. He was pointing across the bows, his voice breaking, 'Ship, sir! Coming round the pointV
He heard D'Esterre calling through his speaking trumpet, his voice urgent and desperate. 'Abandon her! Man your boats!'
Frowd was still staring at the neat array of braced yards and sails as the approaching vessel tilted suddenly to a change of tack.
He asked, 'What the hell, is she?'
Bolitho felt fingers tugging his sleeve, and he saw Buller, his eyes on the newcomer.
'It's 'er! Th' one I saw, zur! Th' brig which went about when Spite were dismasted!'
It was all tumbling through Bolitho's mind like a tide in a
mill-race. The brig, the yawl waiting to load or unload more weapons and powder, D'Esterre's last order, his own decision which lay frozen in his reeling thoughts.
There was a flash, followed by a dull bang, and a ball whipped overhead and smashed down hard on the island. The marines were falling back in good order, and Bolitho could sense the change in the yawl's crew. Fear to hope, and then to jubilation at their unexpected rescue.
'What'll we do?' Frowd was standing by the capstan, his sword still in his hand. 'She'll rake her as she passes with every gun she's got!'
Bolitho thought of Pears, of Coutts' disappointment, of Quinn's face at the court of inquiry.
He yelled, 'Cut the cable! Stand by to break out the mains'i! Mr Frowd, take charge there! Stockdale, man the helm!'
Another ball came out of the misty light and smashed into one of the cutters which was bobbing beneath the stem. Before it heeled over and sank, its loaded swivel gun exploded, and a blast of canister cut down a seaman even as he ran to sever the cable.
With only one boat there was no chance to obey D'Esterre's order. Bolitho stared at the brig, his heart chilling with anger and unexpected hatred.
And he knew, deep down, that he had had no intention of obeying.
The great mainsail swung outboard on its boom, thundering wildly as the anchor cable was hacked away to allow the yawl to fall downwind, out of command.
'Put up your helm!'
Men were slipping and stumbling at the halliards, ignoring the dumbfounded crew as they fought to bring the yawl under control.
Bolitho heard a ragged crash of gun-fire, and turned in time to see the small after mast pitch over the rail, missing Stockdale by a few feet.
'Hack that adrift!'
Another crash shook the hull, and Bolitho heard the ball slamming through the deck below. She could not, take much of this.
'Put those men on the pumps!' He thrust his pistol into Couzens' hand. 'Shoot if they try to rush you!'
'I've got 'er, sir!' Stockdale stood, legs wide apart, peering at the sails and the freshly set jib as the land swam round beneath the bowsprit. He looked like an oak.
But the brig was gaining, her deck tilting as she tacked round to hold the wind and overreach her adversary.
The yawl had two swivels, but they were useless. Like a pike against a charge of cavalry. And all the hands were better employed at sheets and braces than wasting their strength on empty gestures.
A bright ripple of flashes again, and this tine the balls battered into the lower hull like a fall of rock.
Bolitho saw the flag at the brig's gaff, the one he had been hearing about. Red and white stripes, with a circle of stars on a blue ground. She looked very new, and was being handled by a real professional.
'We'm makin' water fast, sir!
Bolitho wiped his face and listened to the creak of the pumps. It was no use. They could never outreach her.
Small, vicious sounds sang past be helm, and he knew they were in musket range.
Somebody screamed, and then he saw Frowd stagger and
fall against the bulwark, both hands clutching a shattered knee. Couzens appeared at the hatch, his back towards the deck as
he trained the pistol down tile companion ladder.
'We're sinking, sir! There's water bursting into the hold!'
A ball burst through the mainsail and parted shrouds and
stays like an invisible sabre.
Frowd was gasping, `Run her ashore! It's our only chance!'
Bolitho shook his head. Once on firm sand, the yawl's cargo, and he had no doubt now that she was loaded with arms for the brig, would still be intact.
With sudden fury he climbed on to the shrouds and shook his fist at the other vessel.
His voice was lost on the wind and the answering crash of cannon-fire, but he found some satisfaction as he yelled, 'I'll sink her first, damn you!'
Stockdale watched him, while beyond the bows and the sea which was being churned by falling shot he saw the headland sliding away.
Please God she'll be there, he thought despairingly. Too late for us, but they'll not live neither.
16
Orders
As she floundered further from the island's shelter and into open water, the yawl rapidly became unmanageable. With so much damage below, and the dead-weight of weapons and iron shot, she was destroying herself on every wave.
The brig had changed tack again, sweeping away sharply to run almost parallel, while her gun crews settled down to pound the smaller craft into submission. There was no thought left of saving anything or anybody, and even the terrified prisoners were falling under the murderous cannon-fire.
