With All Despatch

Bolitho waited for the boatswain to hurry away to tend to some frayed rigging. The choppy sea and freezing wind could play havoc with even the best cordage.

He glanced around the deck. 'Have all the hammocks brought up and lashed around the after gratings. It will give the helmsmen some protection.' He did not add that an unprotected deck could be swept into a bloody shambles by one well-aimed burst of grape. It gave every man something to do. After Snapdragon's destruction they needed to be busy even in the face of the oncoming corvette.

La Revanche had seemingly vanished, tacking back and forth, each precious minute taking her away from the drifting smoke which still floated above the sea where Snapdragon had dived for the bottom.

They had not been able to see much of the encounter, but the broadside which had followed Snapdragon's last futile shots had stunned all of them.

Bolitho saw Allday supervising the stacking and lashing of the tightly lashed hammocks. In battle, even a strip of canvas gave an impression of safety to those denied protection.

Allday crossed to his side and said, 'She'll be up to us in twenty minutes, Cap'n.' He sounded unusually desperate. 'What can we hit her with?'

'Telemachus has run out her stuns'ls, sir!' Another voice muttered, 'Gawd! Watch 'er go!'

Bolitho saw the other cutter surging across the diagonal ranks of angry white horses, her hull dominated by her sails, her stem and forecastle rising and dipping in great banks of bursting spray.

Bolitho took a telescope and rested it against Allday's shoulder. It took time to train it on Telemachus and as soon as he had found her he saw one empty gunport, like a missing tooth. Paice had forgotten none of the things Bolitho had brought to their small flotilla. He was at this moment manhandling his second carronade over to larboard so that both could be laid on the corvette.

The enemy fired again, but the ball fell outside his vision. It was strange that the corvette did not alter course just long enough to pour a full broadside on the approaching cutter. It was unlikely that such a compact man-of-war would mount stern-chasers, and she could not fail to miss as the range dwindled away between the two vessels.

Queely shouted, 'She's coming for us, sir!'

Bolitho watched the corvette. She was almost bows-on now, her canvas tall above Wakeful's starboard bow. He could see her flag whipping from the gaff, and was glad Brennier had at least been spared that.

'Shall I shorten, sir?' Queely was watching him, as if trying to shut out the menace of the oncoming enemy.

'No. Speed is all we have. Hold her on this tack, then put the helm up when we cross their path. We can luff, but only with speed in the sails!' He looked along the crouching gun crews. 'I suggest you bring the men from the larboard battery.' Their eyes met and Bolitho added gently, 'I fear we will take heavy losses if they manage to rake us. The weather bulwark will give them some cover at least.'

A whistle shrilled and the men scampered across from the other battery. They ran half-crouching as if already under fire, their faces stiff and pinched, and suddenly aged.

Queely made himself turn and stare at the corvette. He said, 'Why does she hold so straight a path?'

Bolitho thought he knew. In this icy north wind and after the snow and sleet it was likely that every piece of her rigging was packed solid. It was also possible that the corvette had spent most of the past months in harbour while the loyalty or otherwise of France 's sea-officers was decided. Her company would be unused to this kind of work. Wakeful's company was also new to it, but each and every hand was a prime seaman. It was pointless to mention his thoughts to Queely. It might offer a gleam of hope where there was none to be had. If the corvette was able to destroy or cripple the remaining cutters she could still chase and catch La Revanche before she reached a place of safety.

He hardened his heart. It was their sole reason for being here. To delay this enemy ship no matter what.

Bolitho raised the telescope again and saw Telemachus's topsail yard brace round, her hull merge then vanish beyond the corvette. Above the sounds of sea and wind he heard the faint crackle of musket fire, the harder bang of a swivel.

Then there was a double explosion and for a moment longer Bolitho imagined that the corvette did after all carry sternchasers, and had fired directly into the cutter as she veered wildly across her quarter.

Queely muttered thickly, 'Hell, he's damned close!'

Bolitho saw smoke billow over the corvette's poop and knew Paice had fired both of his carronades into her stern. If one of those murderous balls managed to pierce the crowded gundeck it would keep them occupied until Wakeful was able to engage.

He heard the crack of Paice's six-pounders and saw a hole appear in the enemy's main topsail, some rigging part and stream out in the wind. But she was still coming, and Bolitho could see the details of her beakhead without the need of a glass, the white painted figure beneath it holding some sort of branch in one outthrust hand.

'Stand by on deck!' Queely swung round, his eyes angry as if searching for Kempthorne. He saw Bolitho watching him and gave a small shrug, but it said everything.

Then he drew his hanger and held it above his head. 'We fire on the uproll, my lads!'

Bolitho saw their despairing faces. The way they pressed close together, friend with friend, waiting to fight and die.

The corvette was sliding across the starboard quarter, and marksmen were already firing from her forecastle, one insolently straddling a cathead with his legs to obtain a better aim.

A musket banged out from below the mast and Bolitho saw the Frenchman hurl his weapon into the sea below as if it had become red-hot, before toppling from the cathead and plunging down the side.

Allday muttered, 'Good shot, matey!'

The tiller went over and as blocks squealed and the forecourse and topsail yards were hauled taut, Wakeful seemed to pivot round to windward when minutes before it had seemed she would be run down by the enemy.

'Fire!' The six-pounders cracked out in a ragged salvo, the double-shotted muzzles spitting their orange tongues as the trucks squealed inboard on their tackles.

Queely yelled, 'Stand fast!' He waved down some of the gun crews who were about to sponge out and reload. 'Take cover!' The hanger gleamed in the smoky sunshine as Queely signalled to the carronade crew. 'As you bear!' The gun-captain jerked his lanyard and the ugly, snub-nosed 'smasher' lurched back on its slide, the heavy ball exploding against the corvette's gangway, blasting one of the nine-pounders from its port, and flinging splintered wood-work and ripped hammocks over the side.

Bolitho watched the corvette's exposed battery recoil. The two attacks had broken their timing, and the broadside was ragged, each one firing independently.

Bolitho tensed as a ball smacked through the mainsail and another parted some rigging and struck the sea far abeam. One gun had been loaded with grape and canister and Bolitho ducked as the charge exploded over the maindeck, hurling shattered planking into the air, and thudding into the opposite bulwark where the gun crews would otherwise have been crouching.

Queely shouted, 'Reload!' He stared wildly at his men. Not one had been hit, although a splintered piece of wood had been hurled into the hammocks around the helmsmen with the accuracy of a spear.

And there was Telemachus. As Wakeful charged past the enemy's poop, they all saw the other cutter tacking around to follow the corvette on the same course.

It took longer to bring Wakeful about and under control again. With so much sail, it was like trying to slow a runaway team of horses. The corvette lay directly ahead of them, with the cutters using wind and rudder to hold station on either quarter as if they were escorting her rather than forcing another engagement.

The corvette's captain seemed unwilling to wear ship and confront them. But the cutters were unable to damage the enemy vessel without overhauling her. And the next time the French captain would be ready.

Bolitho watched Paice manoeuvring his cutter closer and closer, the occasional stab of musket fire exchanged between the ill-matched vessels. Telemachus had been badly mauled, and Bolitho had