even Midshipman Armitage, who moments earlier had been gripping a belaying pin rack as if to stop himself from falling, waved his hat in the air and yelled, 'Go on! You'll show them!'
Bolitho cleared his throat. 'Ask the masthead. Can he see the frigates?'
He tried not to think of the schooner's crammed holds. The fuse, perhaps already hissing quietly in the peace of the lower hull.
'Aye, sir! He can see the yards of the first one around the point!' Even Davy was wild-eyed, indifferent to the fight still to come, overwhelmed by Herrick's sacrifice.
There was more cannon fire now, and he could see splashes all around the schooner's hull. Probably from the nearest anchored frigate, or some smaller pieces on the spit of land which guarded the entrance. Bolitho found he was gritting his jaw so hard it was hurting badly.
The French were at last aware that something was happening, but they would not have guessed the full extent of the danger.
There was a combined groan from the watching hands. Bolitho raised the glass and saw the schooner's maintopmast buckle and then plunge down in a flailing mass of canvas and rigging.
Half to himself he whispered, 'Fall back, Thomas! In God's name, come about!'
Allday said, 'She's hit again, Captain. Badly this time.'
Bolitho dragged his mind away, knowing he must not think of Herrick. Later. But in minutes those guns would be ranging on Undine as she made that last desperate dash into the channel.
He drew his sword and held it above his head.
'See yonder, lads!' He only vaguely saw their faces turn towards him. It was like looking through a mist. 'Mr. Herrick has shown us the way!'
'She's struck!' Davy was almost beside himself. 'Hard and fast!'
The schooner had hit, lifted and then plunged firmly across the litter of broken rocks and stones. Exactly as they had pictured it. Had planned it with Conway's silver inkwells.
Even without a glass it was possible to see some small boats moving from the fortress's pier towards the stranded hull which now lay totally dismasted, the spray leaping over it like some old hulk. Occasional stabs of fire showed where marksmen were firing into the wreckage, and Bolitho prayed that the fuse was still alight, that Herrick would not be captured alive.
The explosion when it came was so sudden, so violent in colour and magnitude that it was hard to face, harder still to gauge. A solid wall of orange flame exploded from the rocks and spread out on either hand like huge fiery wings, engulfing the circling boats, searing away men and weapons and reducing them into ashes.
And then the sound came. When it reached the frigate it was with a steadily mounting roar which went on and on, until men stood clutching their ears, or staring stupefied at the miniature tidal wave which rolled past the frigate's hull, lifting it easily before dissipating itself astern in the last departing shadows.
Then it died away, as did the fires, leaving only tiny, glowing pinpricks of red and orange, like slow-matches, to show where gorse and brush still smouldered on the hillside.
Once again, the sea and wind, the sounds of tackle and canvas returned, and Bolitho heard men talking, almost whispering, as if they had just witnessed an act of God.
He said harshly, 'Brail up the forecourse, Mr. Davy!' He walked to the rail, each step like physical pain. 'Mr. Shellabeer! Cast all but the quarter boat adrift!' He must keep talking. Get them moving again. Clear that dreadful pyre from his own brain.
He saw Soames watching him and shouted, 'Load and run out, if you please!'
His words were almost lost in the flap and thunder of rebellious canvas as the big forecourse was brailed up to its yard. Like a curtain, he thought dully. Pulled away for the final scene. So that nothing should be missed.
He heard the port lids squeaking in unison, and then, as Soames barked his command, the gun crews threw themselves on their tackles, and with increasing haste the black muzzles rumbled towards the daylight, thrusting out above the creaming water on either beam.
Davy touched his hat. 'All guns run out, sir!' He looked strained.
'Thank you.'
Bolitho kept his eyes on the dark hump astride the channel. No flashes from those great muzzles. It had worked. Even if the garrison managed to manhandle some of the guns from the far side of the fortress-it would be too late to fire on Undine as she surged into the drifting curtain of smoke.
He shaded his eyes and stared towards the spit of land, the dark lines which marked the masts and yards of the first anchored ship. Soon. Soon. He gripped the sword until his knuckles showed white. He could feel the hurt and the anger. The rising madness, which only revenge for Herrick would control.
And there was the sunlight, growing stronger every dragging minute. He climbed into the weather shrouds, heedless of the wind and leaping spray which dappled his coat like bright gems. Abeam he could see Undine's shadow reaching away across the broken water, his own blurred outline like part of the fabric itself.
He looked down at Mudge. 'Get ready to alter course once we are past that spit!'
He waited while those at the braces took the strain, each man an individual now as the sunlight found his naked back, or a tattoo, or some extra long pigtail to mark a seasoned sailor. He jumped down to the deck, tugging at his neckcloth, as if it were strangling him.
'Marines, stand to!' Bellairs had drawn his elegant hanger and was watching while his men nestled their long muskets on the closely packed hammock nettings.
At every open port a gun captain crouched with his lanyard almost taut as he watched for the first sign of a target.
The spit of land reached out as if to touch the bilges as the ship swept inshore, her bow wave causing a ripple amongst some jagged rocks which Bolitho remembered from his other visit.
'Braces there!'
Mudge shouted, 'Put the wheel to larboard! Lively now!'
Like a thoroughbred, Undine heeled round under pressure of canvas and rudder, the yards swinging together as she turned into the sunlight.
'Steer nor'-east by east!' Mudge heaved his ungainly bulk to assist the helmsmen. 'Old 'er, you buggers!'
There were several muffled bangs, and a ball cracked through the foretopsail with the sound of a whiplash.
But Bolitho barely noticed it. He was staring at the anchored frigate, the scrambling activity along her yards and deck where her company prepared for sea.
Davy echoed his dismay. 'She's not the Argus, sir!'
Bolitho nodded. It was the other frigate. The one which had been abandoned by her crew. He screwed up his eyes, trying to watch every movement, still attempting to accept what had happened.
Le Chaumareys had gone. By chance? Or had he once again proved his superiority, a cunning which had never been outmatched?
Almost savagely he lifted the old blade over his head and yelled, 'Starboard battery! As you bear!' The sword caught the glare as it cut down. 'Fire!'
The broadside roared and flashed along Undine's starboard side, gun by gun, each captain taking his aim while Soames strode past every recoiling breech, yelling and peering towards the enemy. Bolitho watched the smoke spouting from the ports and rolling towards the other ship which seemed suspended in the fog, her hull lying almost diagonally across the starboard bow.
Here and there a gun flashed out in reply, and he felt the deck planking jerk under his feet as at least one ball smashed into the side.
The quarterdeck gun crews were all shouting and cursing as
they, too, joined in the battle. The stocky six-pounders hurled themselves inboard on the tackles, the wild-eyed seamen sponging out and ramming home fresh charges within seconds.
Overhead, and splashing violently into the channel on either beam, came a fusilade of smaller shot, from fortress or frigate Bolitho neither knew nor cared. As he paced briskly athwart the deck by the quarterdeck rail he saw nothing but the other ship's raked masts, the patch of colour from the prancing beast of her flag, the rising pall of smoke as again and again Undine's broadside thundered into her.
Once he chilled as he saw some charred flotsam bobbing past the quarter, a headless corpse pirouetting in Undine's crisp bow wave, tendrils of scarlet moving around it like obscene weed.
