staring at the French ship's masts, seemingly mesmerised by the nearness of death as musket balls hammered the deck around him and a seaman was hurled down the poop ladder, blood gushing from his mouth and choking his screams as he fell.
Inch shouted, 'We'll be past her soon, sir!' His eyes were streaming as he peered through the smoke to seek out the next French ship. Then he pointed wildly, his teeth shining in his grimy face. 'Her mizzen's going!' He waved his arms in the air and turned to see if Gossett had heard. 'There it goes!'
The Frenchman's mizzen was indeed falling. A lucky shat must have struck it solidly within some ten feet of the deck, for as Bolitho clung to the nettings to see better he saw stays and shrouds parting like cotton while the whole mast, spars and wildly flapping canvas staggered, swung momentarily enmeshed in the tangle of rigging, before pitching down into the smoke.
But the enemy was still firing, and when Bolitho strained his eyes aloft he saw that the Hyperion's topsails were little more than remnants. Even as he watched the main royal stay parted with the sound of a pistol shot, and when men swarmed aloft to splice another in its place others were falling, dead or wounded, on to the nets below as the hidden French marksmen kept up a murderous fire across the smoke.
The severed mizzen must have fallen close alongside the enemy's quarter, for as more long orange tongues darted through the smoke and one of the twelve-pounders lifted drunkenly before smashing down across two of its crew, the French ship's blurred outline shortened, and slowly and inexorably she began to turn away.
Gossett was yelling hoarsely, 'The mizzen must be actin' as a sea anchor!' He was pounding the shoulder of one of the helmsmen. 'By God, there's hope yet!
Bolitho knew what he meant. As he ran to the rail seeking out the scarlet shape of Lieutenant Hicks on the forecastle he knew that once the enemy had cut loose the trailing mass of wreckage he would still be ready enough to give battle.
He snatched Inch's speaking trumpet and yelled, 'The larboard carronade! Fire as you bear!'
He imagined that the marine lieutenant was waving his hat, but at that instant the enemy fired another ragged broadside, some of the balls smashing through open ports, others hammering the hull or whipping like shrieking demons overhead.
But through the pall of smoke he heard one resonant explosion, and felt it transmit itself from bow to poop as the fat, crouching carronade hurled its giant sixty-eight pound ball towards the enemy's stem.
As a freak down-eddy pushed the fog aside Bolitho saw the massive ball explode. Hicks had been too eager or too excited,, and instead of passing through the enemy's stem windows and along the full length of her lower gundeck it had struck just below her quarterdeck nettings. There was a bright flash, and as the ball exploded and released its closely packed charge of grape he heard screams and terrified cries as a complete section of bulwark collapsed like so much boxwood.
Gossett roared, 'That showed 'eml The old Smasher's taken the wind out o' their guts!'
Bolitho said, 'Her steering seems to be damaged, or else that shot cut down most of her officers.' He felt a musket ball pluck at his shirt with no more insistence than the touch of a child's fingers, and behind him a seaman screamed in agony and rolled away from his gun, his hands clawing into his stomach as the blood spattered across the planking and the men around him.
The whole ship seemed to be in the grip of fighting madness. Men worked at their guns, wild-eyed and so dazed by the din of battle and the awful cries of the wounded that most of them had lost all sense of time or reason. Some gun captains had to use their fists to drive their men through the changeless pattern of loading, running out and firing, otherwise they would have fired at empty sea or hauled a gun back to its port still unloaded.
'Cease firing!' Bolitho gripped the rail and waited as the last few shots roared from the lower battery. The French ship had all but vanished down wind, only her topgallants showing above the attendant curtain of smoke.
Inch said between his teeth, 'The second one's going about, sir!'
Bolitho nodded, watching the two-decker's yards swinging round as she turned lazily to starboard. The Hyperion had already started her second turn, but now instead of passing between the two ships she would-if the Frenchman intended to maintain his new course-be running parallel with the enemy. Above his head the torn sails lifted and cracked in a sudden gust as with tired dignity the Hyperion tilted to the wind and then settled on her course away from the land.
Bolitho shouted, 'Starboard battery ready!' He saw Stepkyne signalling sharply to some of the men from the other side and ordering them to the starboard guns.
Pelham-Martin lifted one hand to his face and then stared at his fingers as if surprised he was still alive. To Bolitho he muttered tightly, 'This one'll not be so slow in returning fire!'
Bolitho looked at him steadily. 'We shall see, sir.'
Then he jerked round as more gunfire rolled through the haze of smoke, and he guessed that the Abdiel was closing with the enemy frigate.
Inch called, 'We're overhauling him, sir!'
In spite of her torn canvas the old Hyperion was doing just that. Maybe the French captain had waited too long to tack or perhaps he had been unable to accept that the solitary two-decker would stand and fight after the first savage encounter. The jib boom was already passing the Frenchman's larboard quarter with less than thirty yards between them. Above the familiar horseshoe shaped stern with its gilded scrollwork and the name Emeraude Bolitho could see the flash of sunlight on levelled weapons and the occasional stab of musket fire.
But there was a growing froth beneath her counter, and even as he watched he saw her lean slightly away, gathering wind to.her straining sails as she started to pull ahead with increasing power.
Inch muttered, 'We'll not catch her, sir. If she can retake the wind-gage she can come at us again and cover her consort until she is ready to fight tool'
Bolitho ignored him. 'Mr. Gossett! Helm a'lee!' He held up his hand. 'Easy now! Steady!' He saw the Hyperion's bowsprit swing very slightly to windward, so that for a few moments she exposed her full broadside to the French ship's quarter.
'As you bear, Mr. Stepkyne!' He sliced downwards with his hand. 'Now!'
Stepkyne ran down the length of the main deck, pausing by each gun captain just long enough to watch the enemy through the port.
And down the Hyperion's side the guns fired, two by two, the balls smashing into the enemy's quarter and waterline in an unhurried and merciless bombardment.
Someone aboard the Emeraude was keeping his head, for she was already turning, pivoting round to keep station on her attacker, so that once more they were drawing parallel.
Then she fired, and along the Hyperion's starboard side the mass of iron smashed and thundered into the stout timbers or screamed through gunports to cause havoc and murder amongst the press of men within.
Through the unending haze Bolitho could see the first ship's topmasts, the bright whip of her masthead pendant as she tacked round and headed back towards the fray, her bowchasers already barking viciously, although whether the shots were hitting or passing overhead and hitting her own consort it was impossible to determine.
Pelham-Martin shouted, 'If she gets to grips with us they'll smash us from either beam!' He swung round, his eyes wild. 'In the name of God, why did I listen to you?'
Bolitho caught a seaman as he slumped back from the nettings, blood already pumping from his chest. To a white-faced midshipman he snapped, 'Here, Mr. Penrose! Help this fellow to the main deck!'
Inch was by his side again. 'This one'll stand off until his friend arrives.' He winced as a ball ploughed a deep furrow along the starboard gangway and hurled a corpse aside in two halves.
'If we let him, Mr. Inch!' Bolitho pointed at the other ship's bows. 'Larboard your helm! We'll force him to close with us.'
Very slowly, for her sails were almost in shreds, the Hyperion responded to the rudder's thrust. Further and further until the bowsprit seemed to be rising high above the enemy's deck as if to drive straight through her foremast shrouds.
Inch watched in silence as again the main deck guns hurled themselves inboard on their tackles, the figures around them darting through the funnelled smoke, their naked bodies black with powder and shining with sweat as they struggled to obey their officers.
