The whole battery belched fire and smoke in a long, ragged salvo. As the smoke came funnelling back through the ports, and the gun crews threw themselves into action with sponges and rammers, Herrick saw the sea around the brig pock-marked with great circles of white spray.
Gun trucks squealed as the eighteen-pounders were heaved and manhandled up the sloping deck to their ports. Captain by captain held up his hand, and then Veitch roared, 'Fire!'
Again the long-drawn-out crash of cannon fire, the bright red and orange tongues spitting out from the hull, their heavy balls skipping across the water and throwing up great hoods of spray over and around the brig. When the smoke had drifted clear Herrick saw that the brig's main mast was gone and she seemed to be drifting helplessly out of command, her decks in chaos.
He shouted, 'Cease firing! Mr. Fitz-Clarence, I want both: cutters ready to lower in five minutes.' He was wiping his eyes as more stinging powder-smoke breezed up over the quarterdeck. 'You take command. 'He gripped the lieutenant's arm and swung him towards the nettings. 'That middle vessel is a transport of some sort. Deep hulled. Cut her out before they try to scuttle her. If you get any resistance, stand off, and I’ll rake her as we pass.' He pushed him towards the ladder and yelled, 'Mr. Veitch! Shorten sail! Get the to'ga'n's'ls off her!'
Grubb peered aloft as a ball slapped through the main topsail like a great metal fist, leaving a hole as big as a man's waist.
He said, 'Gawd A'mighty.'
Herrick strode about the deck, his mind grappling with one situation to another. As the ship's angle lessened to the reduced pressure of sails the boarding nets were raised, and with a chorus of yells and cheers the two cutters were swayed up and across the gangway. Men tumbled over the side, cutlasses and muskets held high, while other hands unlashed the oars and thrust away from the ship's fat side:
More crashes came from the land, and one ball shrieked through the weather shrouds and made a seaman drop, gasping on to the nets which were spread to protect the guns from falling debris.
And how quickly the light had filtered and strengthened within the bay. Herrick turned from watching the two boats thrashing around the counter and realised he could see the hill battery, a plume of smoke above it. It would soon be time to wear ship, he thought. Beat back across the bay and cover the cutting-out party and their boats.
Bang. He turned swiftly as a ball slammed into the lower hull, shaking it to the very planks under his shoes.
Under topsails, forecourse and jib, Lysander was making very slow progress, and as a target she could not have looked better.
Herrick said harshly, 'We will stand off shortly, Mr. Grubb.' He shut his ears to someone screaming. 'We have done all we can.'
Two more balls skipped over the blue water like a pair of darting sharks. One whipped between the two cutters narrow- ly missing the frantic oar blades, the other thudded into Lysander's side just below the beakhead.
He made himself watch the efforts of the two cutters. One had already grappled the heavy transport ship, the other was exchanging musket fire with darting figures along her poop.
He must recall the boats also. The whole venture was a shambles. He turned to Midshipman Saxby, who was standing with the signal party, when he heard a man yell with disbelief, 'sir! On t' other battery, sir!'
From the yards and the gun decks men began to cheer, and as Herrick stared fixedly at the hairline mast above the Spanish battery he saw the flag jerking to the top, the same one which was streaming from Lysander's peak.
Grubb muttered, 'I can see scarlet! Them bloody bullocks got there after all!'
The rest of the voices were drowned in one tremendous explosion. It swelled out and down from the headland, hurling rocks and fragments right along the beach and scattering some soldiers who had been trying to approach the battery from there.
Herrick tried to control his grin. 'Heave-to, Mr Veitch!' He nodded sharply. 'Yes, you! Promotion comes fast in a ship of war!'
He pointed at the transport. The explosion in the remaining battery had finished all resistance, and he could see Fitz-Clarence's men swarming aboard, the Spanish flag dipping to confirm the capture. The second brig was under way, her sails filling as she made all possible speed to escape destruction.
Herrick watched her calmly. 'Harebell will catch that one.'
Sails awry and thundering, Lysander came up into the wind. No more shots were fired from the land, and along the foreshore only the dead and injured remained to mark the extent of the bombardment.
'Get more boats lowered.' Herrick gauged the slow drift across the bay. 'We may have to anchor, but I want every man-jack picked up.'
Saxby shouted, 'Commodore's coming along the beach now, sir!' He was hopping up and down. 'And here come the marines!'
Herrick gripped the rail and watched the untidy procession with something like awe. He saw Lieutenant Steere standing up to his waist in water beside a boat which his seamen must have unearthed somewhere. The hesitant steps of the wounded being carried aboard, the two cutters speeding from the prize ship to help the others.
Grubb ambled to his side. 'It’ll give the Dons somethin' to bite on, sir.'
Herrick nodded. One ship sunk, a larger one captured. and the defences in ruins.
He stiffened. 'Mr. Saxby! Give me your glass!'
Grubb stared at him. 'What is it, might I ask, sir?' Herrick handed him the glass and replied quietly, 'The commodore has his nephew with him.'
The master gave a low whistle. 'His cox'n, too, be God.' He snapped the glass shut. 'I don’treckon I can stand any more miracles in one day!'
Herrick walked slowly along the gangway, unable to take his eyes from the approaching boat. It had been a
