'Nothin' much, sir!' The man seemed to realise he was speaking with his captain and added firmly, 'She be a sloop, sir!'
Bolitho walked to the rail and shouted at the men by the guns who were already replacing the extra lashing on the twelve-pounders and bolting the ports. 'Belay that order!'
He looked at Moresby and said, 'That sloop, sir. It might be the Fairfax which Lord Hood sent out for news from here.' He waited, gripping his hands behind him as he watched the uncertainty growing on the admiral's features. He added stubbornly, 'If it is our ship then…'
Moresby looked away. 'God, man! If you're right!' He made an effort to control his voice as he snapped, 'Make a signal to the Marie! Tell her to withdraw and take station astern. Then make the same signal to the Princesal'
But the Spanish flagship had completed her turn, and with the fresh morning breeze across her larboard bow was heading straight for the smooth waters of the harbour entrance.
Moresby said, 'Fire a gun, dammit! Make him see our signal!'
But the gun crews were still caught in the confusion of countermanded orders and it was a full three minutes before the forward gun boomed another blank charge.
Caswell said breathlessly, 'No acknowledgement, sir!'
Lieutenant Inch, who had taken no part in the general discussion said suddenly, 'I can see smoke, sir!'
Bilitho lifted his glass, seeing the rough grey- stone of the fortress suddenly stark in the harsh sunlight. As he steadied the telescope he saw the growing haze beyond the lower walls and heard Inch add doubtfully, 'Well, it wasn't gunfire.'
Bolitho looked at Moresby and saw the dismay on his face. The admiral said thickly, 'Furnace smokel They're heating shot, by God!'
Another cry from the masthead brought every glass round once more. In the twinkling of an eye the flag above the fortress had vanished. It was replaced instantly by a new one, and as it broke out to the sunlight Bolitho heard the admiral give a low murmur of disbelief, as if he had still been hanging on to some small hope, when there was none.
Bolitho closed his glass with a snap. The white flag with its new tricolour in one corner swept away all past uncertainty.
He looked at Gossett. `Wear ship, if you please. Steer east by north.' To Moresby he added quietly, `Well, sir?'
The admiral tore his eyes from the Marie. It was evident that Anduaga had seen the French flag, and it was equally obvious he could do nothing about it. The harbour entrance was less than a mile across, and the French commander had timed it so that the Marie's great shadow had passed between the fortress and the long headland on the opposite side before, he showed his true colours.
The Marie heeled slightly, her yards bracing round as she sailed closer to the fortress side. Anduaga probably hoped to go about inside the wider expanse of the harbour and sail straight out of the opening in one swift manoeuvre.
Even a fast frigate would have found it difficult. Marte's men were hampered by the packed soldiers, and order of any sort gave way to complete confusion as the first gun opened fire from the battery walls. In addition the Marie's captain had failed to allow for the sheltering wall of the headland. His sails flapped aimlessly, and for a few long minutes the ship was all aback.
Moresby said tightly, 'Close the harbour entrance, Bolitho! We must support Andtiaga!' He turned as the air trembled to a full salvo from the battery. Tall waterspouts were rising beyond the Spanish flagship, but. still Anduaga had not fired one shot in reply.
Bolitho said harshly, 'Alter course two points to larboard, Mr. Gossett.' He looked across at Quarme. 'Have the guns loaded and run out.' He was surprised that his voice remained so calm. Inwardly his whole being wanted to scream with desperation at Moresby's latest order. It was useless to follow the Marie. It had been pointless from the moment the flag had been hoisted. No ship was a match for a carefully sited shore battery. And heated shot into the bargain. Bolitho looked up bitterly at the Hyperion's yards as they squeaked round obediently to the braces. Every shroud and spar, every plank above her waterline was as dry as tinder.
He called, 'Bucket parties ready, Mr. Quarme! If one heated ball has more than a minute in the timbers you know what to expect!'
Moresby lowered his glass. 'Signal the Princesa to take station astem.' Across the water he could hear the beat of drums, and as he watched saw the sixty-four running out her
guns.
Bolitho could not contain himself. `Too late!'
The admiral did not face him. `The Marie might still be able to withdraw. If we give her full support…' He broke off and stared transfixed as a great tongue of flame soared up the flagship's side. It was so vast that it made the Marie seem tiny by comparison. She had at last run out her guns, but even as her upper battery exploded in a ragged salvo the searing wall of flames engulfed the whole larboard side, so that the flapping sails and cheerful banners vanished in seconds, like ashes in a strong wind.
A fog of brown smoke drifted from the stone walls above the cliff, and every few seconds one or more of the big guns added to the holocaust below.
Somehow the Marie's jib and foresail survived, so that the breeze swung her round, the lazy movement carrying the flames leaping across her upper deck. Within minutes she was ablaze from bow to quarterdeck, and from the crowded poop tiny, pitiful figures were dropping overboard to join the struggling bodies who already sought safety in the glittering water.
Bolitho made himself concentrate on the slanting hillside as it pointed down towards the Hyperion's bowsprit. 'Steady! Starboard a point!' He heard Caswell sucking breath between his teeth, and in the grim silence he could listen to the burning ship like a man in some sort of nightmare.
Closer and closer, until mercifully the overhanging headland had crept down to hide the dying Marie from sight. But above the hill he saw the pall of black smoke and the great drifting curtain of blown sparks as the battery hammered the stricken ship into blazing ruins.
His mouth was bone dry, but he must not think about it. The Marie had a company of seven hundred men. She had in addition upwards of two hundred soldiers aboard and a hundred terrified horses.
There was a direct orange flash from the hillside and then a loud slap overhead. Bolitho looked at the smoking hole in the mizzen topsail and then at the admiral.
Moresby gritted his teeth as he said, 'We must attack, Bolitho! What else can we do?'
Bolitho looked away as another ball screamed past the mainyard and ricocheted across the water like a crazed serpent.
He said, 'We must withdraw, sir. With all respect, this move is lost to us.' Again he was amazed at his own calmness. Yet every second carried his ship nearer and nearer to the entrance. Fifteen more minutes and he would have to tack. One way or the other. He added doggedly, 'The Frogs can pound us to fragments, sir. Even if we reach the other part of the harbour they'll be waiting for our boats to try and land.'
He saw Moresby's features twisting with doubts and fears he could only guess at. Whatever he did now he would see his future in ruins. An eighty-gun ship destroyed and her company burned or captured, and above all the French flag over Cozar, untouched and unreachable. Then he pushed the feelings of pity from his mind and said harshly, 'For God's sake, sir! We cannot fight those guns!'
Then Moresby looked up at his flag rippling from the foremast and said with his old abruptness, 'Handle your ship as you will, Bolitho! But we'll not give in to those treacherous dogs!' He glared. 'Not now! Not ever!'
Bolitho eyed him squarely and coldly, then walked to the rail. 'Larboard batteries to full elevation, Mr. Quarme! We will engage as we round the headland!' He glanced up quickly as a shoulder of hillside lifted to blind the enemy gunners. But respite was only temporary. Once round the point and at least seven big guns would bear on the Hyperion.
He listened to the bosun's mates piping his orders between decks and heard the scrape of metal as the double line of guns pointed their muzzles skyward.
Then as the ship threw her shadow almost to the foot of the cliffs a great silence fell over the decks, unbroken even by distant gunfire.
Ashby's marines had clumped aft and now lined the quarterdeck and poop nettings, their muskets loaded and ready. Lieutenant Shanks, Ashby's second-in-command, stood by the poop rail, his heavy curved hanger still in its
