The Tricolour still flapped from the gaff, and the musketry was a clear answer to his plea to end the onesided fight.
Yet he could not give the order to fire. Without leaning out over the nettings he could picture that double line of guns, with each port filled with watching eyes and a gaping muzzle. Every gun aboard the frigate's engaged side was either upended or smashed, and she was already so low in the water that she could not last much longer without more men to assist her. He could not let her escape, nor could he risk his own men's lives in an attempt
at boarding. The French captain must be a fanatic. He smiled half to himself, and the naked-backed seaman at his side seeing the curve of his lips shook his pigtailed head in wonderment. But Bolitho's smile was one of pity and sadness. He was remembering himself as a young frigate captain matched against a ship of the line. The 'ifs' and 'whys' had been on his side that day, or maybe he had just been lucky, he thought dully.
Two feet hit the deck with a loud crash, and for a moment he imagined a wounded man had fallen from the yards. But it was Gaseoign. Bolitho had forgotten all about the young midshipman until this moment.
'Well, boy, why have you left the masthead7' It was a stupid question, but it was giving him a few more seconds to think and decide what to do.
Gascoigne rubbed his sore hands. 'Couldn't make myself heard, sir.' He swung his arms towards the estuary. Beyond the sandbars and the remnants of offshore mist Bolitho saw the dark outline of land and the once busy waterway to Bordeaux.
He blurted, 'Masts, sir! The mist is so thick up there I couldn't see too much, but masts there are and plenty!' He recovered himself and blushed. 'Three or four ships, sir, and coming our way!'
Bolitho saw Inch's face across the boy's shoulder. 'Now we know, Mr. Inch!' He walked to the rail and pointed at Lieutenant Stepkyne. 'Go along each gun in turn. I want every ball to hit!' He looked impassively at the slow moving frigate. There were sandbars beyond her, and Hyperion was near the centre of the main channel. 'I want her sunk where she is now, Mr. Stepkyne.' He removed his hat and did not even flinch as a musket ball struck a nine-pounder and whined away over the poop.
Stepkyne walked to the first gun. A midshipman stood at the main hatch ready to pass the word to the lower battery, so that each weapon would have a twin for the final act.
'Fire!' Bolitho looked away as the frigate's mizzen fell in a great welter of fractured spars and tangled rigging.
'Fire!' A whole section of the main deck erupted in splinters, amidst which corpses and, dying men were thrown about like bloodied rag dolls.
In between each remorseless pair of explosions he could hear men screaming and sobbing, as if the ship herself was pleading for mercy. He gripped the rail, willing the frigate to sink and end the slaughter.
'Fire!'
Bubbles were already churning the bloodstained water around the ship into a miniature whirlpool, and here and there a despairing survivor was leaping overboard, only to be carried away on the swift current.
Gossett said thickly, 'She's goin', sir!' He was looking at Bolitho as if seeing a stranger.
Two last shots bellowed from the Hyperion's ports, and as the order to cease fire reached the lower battery Bolitho said harshly, 'We will wear ship, Mr. Gossett!'
He tore his eyes from the shattered, listing hull and looked at Gaseoign by his side. 'You did well, my lad.'
He tried to smile but his lips felt frozen. Even Gossett thought he had slaughtered helpless men to no purpose. He snapped, 'Carry on!'
Sails slapping and cracking to the fresh wind, the ship swung her stem slowly across the wind. Bolitho waited, counting seconds, then said, 'Steer nor' nor'-west.'
Gossett faltered under Bolitho's eyes. 'Beg pardon, sir, but we'll need to 'ead more west'rd to clear the 'eadland.'
Bolitho ignored. him. 'Shorten sail, Mr. Inch. We are going to anchor directly.'
If he had uttered some dreadful obscenity he could not have cause greater consternation.
He did not wait for anyone to speak. 'Mr. Gascoigne has seen what that frigate was hiding from us. And why it was necessary to take the Ithuriel before she could warn us.' He pointed across the starboard quarter. 'There are ships putting to sea, gentlemen! There is no frigate for us to send to the commodore for help, and we do not have the speed for such business.' He looked around their tense and shocked faces. 'We will anchor in the centre of the channel.' He turned his head to watch' as the frigate dipped and rolled over in a great welter of bubbles and swirling wreckage. 'Any large ship must pass us. The other channel will be blocked by the wreck.'
Inch said in a small voice, 'But we are alone sir!'
'I know that!' He softened his tone slightly. 'Pelham.Martin may send someone to see what we are about.' He looked away. 'In the meantime we must do all we can to stop or cripple as many as we are able!'
Then he walked back to the rail and stood in silence as the ship glided purposefully towards the first headland. He could feel no anger at Pelham-Martin's foolish optimism or the hopelessness of the next few hours. Below deck some of the men were cheering again, as if they had just won a great victory. The ship was all but unmarked, and but for the bright splash of blood below the nettings, they could have been at manoeuvres.
Inch said wearily, 'Shall I stop them cheering, sir?' Bolitho stiffened as a lookout pealed, 'Two ships on the starboard quarter, sir!'
Inch stared fixedly at the' topsails of the leading vessel.
They were moving above the low bank of mist, detached
and impersonal, and all the more threatening.
Bolitho replied at length, 'Let them cheer.' He raised
his voice above the din. 'Helm a-lee!' Slowly the Hyperion swung into the wind. 'Tops'l clew lines!'
The bowsprit was seeking the land again. Bolitho gripped his hands behind him to control his rising despair. 'Let go!'
As a shaft of watery sunlight painted the topmast of the leading ship like a golden crucifix, the last of the mist cleared from the sea as if a curtain had finally been lifted.
All cheering aboard the Hyperion ceased, and over the whole ship there was a silence you could feel.
Bolitho lifted his glass and studied the approaching vessels. The first was a two-decker, so too was the second. Rounding the side of a jutting spur of land came the third, her hull shining as she swung slightly in the current. A three-decker with a vice-admiral's command flag at the fore. Bolitho tried not to lick his lips. It was hopeless. No, it was worse even than that.
He wondered briefly what the leading captain must be thinking at this moment in time. At last the order to sail had been given. The watching English frigate had been overpowered before the alarm could be passed, and after months of waiting, the French were on the move again.
There was the open sea, with a bright if blurred horizon as the prize.
But alone in the centre of the channel was a single ship, anchored and ready for a fight to the finish.
Allday crossed the deck and held out Bolitho's sword. As he clasped the belt around his waist he said quietly, 'It's a fine day for it, Captain.' Their eyes met as he added, 'First really good one since we left England!'
There were, as Gascoigne had indicated, four French ships in all, and as the minutes dragged by it seemed to the watching British seamen that the whole channel was filling with sails and masts.
Bolitho made himself walk aft to the poop ladder where Roth, the Hyperion's fourth lieutenant, was standing as if mesmerised beside his nine-pounders. Roth had proved to be a competent officer and quick to learn the implications of his first appointment to a ship of the line. But as he stared at the oncoming ships his face was the colour of parchment.
Bolitho said evenly, 'Should I fall, Mr. Roth, you will assist the first lieutenant on the quarterdeck to the best of your ability, do you understand?' The man's eyes moved and settled on his face. 'Stay with your guns, and give your people every encouragement, even if…'
He swung round as Inch called hoarsely, 'The leading ship's dropped anchor, sir! By the living God, so has the second onel'
Bolitho thrust past him and climbed into the mizzen shrouds. It was incredible, but true. Even as he watched he saw a feather of white spray beneath the bows of the stately three-decker, and knew that she, too, had followed suit. The last ship was too well hidden by her consorts, but he could just make out the flurry of activity on her yards as first one then another sail vanished as if by magic. The captain was killed.' He shrugged. 'I gave the order to
