Inch touched his hat. 'Larboard battery loaded and run out, sir!' In spite of the distant bangs from Abdiel's guns he seemed relaxed and vaguely cheerful. 'They knocked a few minutes off their time, too!'
Bolitho saw the Hermes lifting uneasily to some offshore current, and noted that she, too, had run out her larboard battery ready to engage.
He said slowly, 'Now the starboard guns, Mr. Inch.' He gripped the teak rail as through the criss-cross of rigging he saw the Abdiel's shape shorten until she was stem on, yards braced round to seize the wind, her scarlet ensign streaming from the gaff like a sheet of painted metal.
Inch had been with Bolitho long enough not to question his orders, and as his men faltered, off guard, he cupped his hands and yelled, 'Load and run out, you idlers! Petty Officer, take that man's name!'
It had the desired effect, and with squeaking trucks the guns lumbered towards the ports, the seamen skidding on the damp planking as the heavy cannon took charge and rolled down the canting deck. Below on the lower gundeck the ports might be nearly awash as the ship leaned dutifully to the wind, but Bolitho breathed more easily. It was going well, but perhaps too well.
He looked at Inch and shrugged. 'It is always prudent to be prepared.'
Someone aboard the Hermes had apparently found time to drag his eyes from the enemy ships, for seconds later her starboard port lids opened and here and there a gun muzzle poked out, like hastily awakened beasts sniffing the air.
Inch grinned. 'That caught 'em, sir!'
One of Indomitable's bow-chasers fired, the flash masked by the ships astern of her, and Bolitho swung round to watch as the ball ricocheted across the cruising
ranks of white horses before ploughing close to the sternmost Frenchman. There was more cheering, – and from one of the ships-Bolitho thought it was the Telamon-came the sounds of drums and fifes.
'Deck there! Abdiel's under fire!'
The masthead lookout's cry was drowned by the ragged crash of cannon fire, and as Bolitho ran to the rail snatching a glass from a startled midshipman, he saw the frigate's hull surrounded by leaping waterspouts.
Inch yelled, 'The French must have some stern-chasers out!'
But Bolitho dragged him from the nettings. 'Look, man! Those balls are coming from the land to starboard!' He winced as the Abdiel's foremast toppled sideways and plunged towards the deck, and even as he watched he saw her sails quiver as more balls slammed through shrouds and canvas alike, so that the sea around her seemed alive with splintered woodwork and whirling pieces of debris.
Bolitho gritted his teeth. It was a trap, just as he had half feared, half expected. Abdiel was being pounded by several guns at once, the hidden marksmen unhampered by movement or range as they fired again and again at the ship which must be lying below and right across their sights.
'Pring's trying to go about!' Inch was almost weeping with anguish as the Abdiel's mizzen lurched and hung suspended in the tangle of rigging before falling across her quarterdeck, the sound carrying even above the gunfire.
Gascoigne shouted wildly, 'General signal! Tack in succession!'
The Indomitable was already turning very slowly to larboard, her jib boom pointing towards the poop of the sternmost French ship as she wallowed round into the face of the wind. For an instant she appeared to be all aback, but as more men ran to the braces she staggered across the short steep waves, her topsails flapping and lifting madly as if to tear themselves from the yards.
Bolitho yelled, 'Stand by, Mr. Gossett!' He watched sickened as the moored Frenchman fired a controlled broadside, the paired line of orange tongues licking from her hull as she slammed her double-shotted salvo into the Indomitable's side where the ports still showed shut and useless.
Bolitho raised his hand, his eyes moving swiftly above the crouched gunners, shutting the sounds of splintering timber from his ears, concentrating his full being on the ships ahead of him. No wonder the enemy had waited so patiently and confidently. Instead of receiving a controlled line of ships across their rear they were now faced with something approaching chaos. Indomitable was swinging ponderously across the wind, her jib blowing in ribbons, her foretopmast and main topgallant dangling amidst her littered rigging like savaged trees. She had still not run out her other guns, and Bolitho could imagine the slaughter of that first broadside. Now the next ship was firing, and the sea around Pelham-Martin's flagship was boiling with white spray and falling wreckage.
A voice cried, 'Oh, God, Abdiel's ablaze!'
Bolitho tore his eyes from the Hermes' high counter and turned in time to see the frigate broaching to, her sails and forward rigging burning like tinder, the blaze leaping from spar to spar, while small, pitiful figures dropped from the rigging like dead fruit to fall alongside or on to the deck itself.
'General signal!' Gascoigne sounded shrill with despair. 'Close around the commodore!'
Bolitho snapped, 'Do not acknowledge!' Then to Gossett, 'Now! Helm a'lee!'
Something like a great groan floated over the water, and he guessed that the Telamon had collided with the Indomitable's quarter. With so much smoke it was hard to see what was happening.
Forward his men were already loosing the headsail sheets, and as the rudder went over, the bowsprit began to swing slowly and the more rapidly across the Hermes' stem.
'Off tacks and sheets!' It was amazing that men could think, let alone act, and they moved more from rigid training than with any sense of understanding.
Bolitho looked up, holding his breath as the yards came round, the sails in confusion and disarray as the bows. swung across the wind.
'Let go and haul!' Inch was screaming through his trumpet. 'Haul!'
'Get the t'gallants on her, Mr. Inch!'
A ball whimpered above the quarterdeck but hardly a man looked up. It was probably a misfire from the embattled Indomitable, but all eyes were on the Hermes as with extra canvas drawing loudly and the deck canting to the opposite thrust the Hyperion surged past her, the seamen coughing as the smoke drifted above them.
Hermes was firing past her two consorts, both of which were locked together in helpless confusion, the Dutchman's jib boom rammed through the Indomitable's shrouds like a lance. And while men ran with axes to hack away rigging and entangled nets, the French maintained a devastating fire at a range of some fifty, yards. Bolitho could see men falling from aloft and others being pared away like so many rags by both grape and canister from the nearest enemy vessels.
As the Hyperion sailed on past her three consorts Bolitho thought he saw Pelham-Martin on his quarterdeck, his gold-laced hat glittering in the sunlight as he strode this way and that, arms flailing, his voice lost in the roar of cannon fire.
The smoke was dense and rising as high as the topsail yards, and Bolitho tried to count the minutes while his ship moved steadily along the hidden enemy line, her yards braced round so far that they were almost fore and aft.
It must be time. It had to be. Desperately he glanced astern and saw Indomitable's ragged outline surrounded by smoke and flickering gun flashes. Smoke hid the Hermes and the snared Dutchman, and the drumming of the enemy's bombardment went on and on without a single break or hesitation.
He yelled, 'Stand by to go about!' He saw Inch gripping the rail, his teeth bared as he peered into the smoke.
'Ready ho!'
Bolitho ran to the starboard side. If he had misjudged the distance, or the wind failed him, he would probably drive into the nearest enemy ship and be as helpless as the Telamon.
'Now!'
As the ship started to swing back again across the wind he cupped his hands and shouted at the main deck gunners. 'Starboard battery firel'
It was like a double roll of thunder, the lower gundeck being caught unprepared for the order. He felt the ship stagger as gun after gun hurled itself back on its tackles, the flashes masked instantly by the choking smoke which came funnelling inboard through the ports to turn day into night.
He heard the smashing impact of some of the balls striking home, but shouted to the larboard gunners, 'Ready, lads!' 1k was grinning wildly, and was only half aware of the ship swinging beneath him, the rigging jerking as if to tear from blocks and yards alike.
While the starboard gunners reloaded with feverish haste the Hyperion continued to turn, until with the
