impossible to see the other side of the estuary he knew he had calculated correctly, and could almost find pity for the first man aboard the frigate to see the slow moving Hyperion. Placed between him.and safety she would look like a messenger from hell itself, he thought, with her gently flapping topsails and topgallants, her courses clewed up, and that gold-faced, hard-eyed figurehead pointing his trident as if to steer the ship straight on his victim.
Across the strip of swirling water Bolitho heard the sudden blare of a trumpet. A mile yet separated the frigate from the two-decker, but even if she cut her cable it would take time to drive the men to quarters and raise enough canvas to beat clear. Above his head Bolitho heard the topsail billowing like subdued thunder as the ship glided clear of the headland's shelter. The frigate would not get that time.
He gripped the rail and shouted, 'Listen to me!' The men at the guns and braces tore their eyes from the frigate and stared aft as one. 'That is a French ship yonder, and I intend to engage her.' Someone cheered, but fell silent under his captain's unsmiling stare. 'If we can take her as a prize all well and good. But if not we will destroy herl' He let his words sink in and then added, 'But do not be deceived by her appearance. She can still give a good account of herself, and I have seen as many men die from overconfidence as from the enemy's accuracy!' Then he smiled, in spite of the steel-hard tension in his stomach.
''Do your best, lads! For the ship, and for England!'
He turned back to the nettings as cheers broke out along the lines of guns, to be taken up by the men on the lower deck, until the whole ship was alive with yells and cries of excitement.
Bolitho said quietly 'Let them cheer, Mr. Inch. At least it might unnerve the Frogs, eh?'
Nearer, nearer, and all the while Bolitho watched the confusion aboard the rudely awakened frigate, as first a flapping jib and then the foretopsail appeared, before a lookout called down, 'She's cut 'er cable, sirl' Another yelled, ''E's 'oistin' 'is colours!'
Bolitho watched as the Tricolour broke from the frigate's gaff. Her rightful flag this time. Anyway, it was quite obvious he was not going to give in without a fight.
'Run out, Mr. Inchl'
A whistle shrilled, and as the port lids were raised the waiting muzzles raced each other down the tilting deck until the Hyperion showed her full broadside to the French ship like a double line of black teeth.
Stepkyne was standing at the foot of the foremast, his i sword drawn, his eyes towards the quarterdeck.
On the forescastle Lieutenant Hicks of the marines waited beside the two massive carronades, while the bulk of the redcoats had broken from their neat square to deploy along the poop and quarterdeck nettings, their long muskets already trained on the approaching ship.
'Larboard your helm!'.Bolitho held out his hand as if to control his ship. 'Steady, lads!' He watched the jib boom settle in line with the frigate's foremast, until it seemed as if the other vessel was already pinioned on it like a giant tusk.
'Steady!' His heart was thumping against his ribs, and he could feel the dryness on his lips like salt. 'Stand by, Mr. Gossett!'
The enemy captain had probably intended to turn away and run for it. He would not be able to pass the Hyperion's massive armament unscathed, but once in open water could outsail her within minutes.
Bolitho knew that to every captainn the enemies were the 'ifs' and the 'whys'.
Why had the lookout not seen the Hyperion earlier? Or if only the mist had not prevented her being sighted, if Bolitho had misjudged his blind approach, and if only the sail could have been loosed just a few minutes quicker. All that and more would be flashing through the Frenchman's mind as he stared now at the gleaming two-decker as she drove straight at the heart of his own command.
There was no time to run for it. To expose his unprotected stem to those twenty-four pounders would be the end without firing a shot in reply.
Almost dejectedly the frigate's yards swung round, her larboard guns already running out as she prepared to accept the challenge.
Bolitho snapped, 'Now!'
Gosett bellowed, 'Helm a-lee!'
When the double wheel went over, the yards were already creaking round, and as he steadied himself against the rail Bolitho saw the bowsprit swinging further and further, the impetus of wind and rudder turning the old ship to run all but level with the enemy.
'Fire as you bear!'
He watched Stepkyne run to the forward twelvepounder and crouch beside the gun captain, staring through the open port as the ship wheeled ponderously beneath him and the French frigate glided across the muzzle.
'Fire!' He sliced the air with his sword, and down the length of the main deck gun captain after gun captain jerked his trigger line, and the sea faded in a great wall of billowing brown smoke, the air torn apart by the detonations.
Bolitho yelled, 'Again, lads!' He wiped his streaming eyes and felt the deck quiver to the squeal and rumble of trucks as the first guns were sponged, loaded and run out once more.
'Fire!' The smashing explosions shook the hull like earth tremors, and when the quarterdeck nine-pounders hurled themselves inboard on their tackles Bolitho saw the frigate's foretopmast quiver and then stagger drunkenly into the smoke.
He shouted, 'Reload, damn you!' Some of the men had left their -stations and were capering and cheering through the choking smoke as they tried to see the extent of their bombardment.
'Larboard your helm!' He saw the smoke gush and writhe in long yellow tongues as the Frenchman fired for the first time.
The balls were puny by comparison, but Bolitho felt them strike hard into his ship's hull and shouted, 'Close the range, Mr. Gossettl'
The main deck gunners had stopped cheering, and as Stepkyne dropped his sword and the guns hurled themselves inboard again, many must have been surprised that a mere frigate could hit back and survive such punishment.
A ball crashed into the starboard gangway and a man fell shrieking, a jagged wood splinter driven into his back like an arrow. Some of his companions left their gun to help the writhing figure towards the hatch but Bolitho yelled, 'Get back to your station!' Another ball ploughed through an open port and smashed into the hesitant seamen like an axe. One second a group of dazed confused men. The next there was a tangle of limbs and blood which seemed to be everywhere amongst the thrashing remains.
Bolitho tore his eyes away and noticed that the frigate's maintopmast had vanished also, and when a freak wind drove away the smoke he saw what his broadsides had done.
Her sails were in ribbons, and the low lying hull was battered almost beyond recognition. Here and there a gun still fired, but as Hyperion's lower battery roared out across the narrow strip of water Bolitho saw the blood seeping from the frigate's scuppers, watched ice-cold as corpses fell from the splintered tops and yards to join the flotsam and wreckage which floated unheeded between the two ships.
Great pieces of the Frenchman's bulwark and gangway 68
were flying skyward, and even without a glass Bolitho could see the carnage strewn around the littered deck, like the interior of a slaughterhouse.
He snapped, 'Cease firing!' As silence fell over the dreadful scene Bolitho stared at the frigate with something like dismay. Then he cupped his hands and yelled, 'Strike your colours! Strike!'
The frigate might still be repaired and used to replace Ithuriel. A prize crew could take her to Plymouth or Cadiz, where her papers and documents would yield further information about her.
Below his feet he felt the deck murmuring to the rumble of guntrucks as the men completed reloading before running out once more to face the enemy across less than seventy yards of water.
No guns fired from the frigate, but there was a sudden rattle of musketry from her poop, and a marine beside Inch threw his hands to his face and screamed like an animal as the blood gushed between his fingers. He was still screaming when he was seized and dragged below to the surgeon.
Gossett took off his hat and stared at a gobbet of blood which had splashed it like a cockade. He said, 'The Frog cap'n still 'opes 'e can slip past us, sir.'
Bolitho peered forward above the crouching gun captains. It was true. Following the frigate in a wide arc, the Hyperion was now pointing straight at the opposite headland. He would have to go about soon, and that would enable the Frenchman to slip past.
