corvette. And to attempt an escape in a longboat, with the Mediterranean and not dry land across the bows, was a measure of madness.
Allday came aft again, breathing heavily. 'Fuse ready, sir.' He squinted at the other vessel. Three guns had been run out. Small six-pounders, they would be enough for the elderly Segura, even without her lethal cargo. He added, 'There's just us left.' He gestured to the wheel. 'And this mad Swede.'
Larssen grinned, his face as devoid of fear as a child's. 'Aye, so I am, sir!'
There was a sharp crack, and as they turned to see a puff of smoke from the corvette's side, a single ball ripped through the fore-rigging and threw up a thin waterspout, away on the starboard quarter.
Bolitho gave a quiet smile. 'signal received and understood.' He nodded to Allday. 'Get forrard, and start shouting at your invisible crew. '
He knew that the French captain must be watching Segura and probably himself. He darted a quick glance at the longboat, as the bows and then the rest of it slewed awkwardly away from the lee side, every inch of it filled with men and oars, and the jumble of mast and canvas which Veitch was preparing to raise.
Bolitho took the spokes and said, 'Hoist the flag, Larssen.' The Swede grinned, and moments later the American colours broke once again from the gaff.
It brought an instant response in another sharp explosion, and this time the six-pound ball smashed into Segura's hull, shaking her violently like a great hammer.
Bolitho had not expected the corvette to be fooled. But it all took time, and from one corner of his eye he saw Veitch waving his hat back and forth to show that he was ready.
There was a thump from forward, and he watched Allday jump clear with an axe as the tanned jib sail came crashing down around him in a flailing heap. It seemed to satisfy the Frenchman, for her captain was already bringing her round to run almost parallel, keeping Segura to leeward, while her men shortened sail yet again in readiness to drive alongside. Sailors were clambering into the shrouds with grapnels, and there was a glint of metal as a boarding party ran smartly towards the forecastle for the first contact.
Bolitho felt the wheel bucking in his hands, as deprived of her jib, Segura idled heavily, her sails in trembling agitation. 'Light the fuse!'
He heard Allday dash below, and then handed the wheel back to the Swede. He saw a seaman on the corvette's main yard pointing and gesticulating, and guessed he had seen the longboat and was trying to yell his information to the poop above the din of sails and blocks, of shouting men, eager for a fight, even a one-sided one.
Bolitho made himself remain beside the wheel. If he ran too soon, the Frenchman would still be able to sheer away. He thought of the hissing fuse below decks, and hoped Allday had not been too exhausted to estimate the proper length.
'Fuse burning!'
Allday was covered in wisps of hay, as if he had just fought his way out of it farmyard stack. He had probably taken the fuse clear of the stored fodder in the other hold to avoid a premature explosion.
'stand by the boat's stern rope!' He waited until Allday was at the bulwark with his axe. 'You, too, Larssen, move smartly now!' He saw a shadow by his feet and then looked up at the American flag. He grimaced and said, 'I’ve dirtied that flag enough for one day, I’ll cut it down.' But when he groped for his sword he realised that in all the excitement and his return from feverish oblivion he had forgotten to bring it on deck.
A musket barked across the fast-narrowing strip of water, and he heard the ball smack into the opposite bulwark. The French boarders were all yelling now, baying like enraged hounds at the thought of their enemy trying to escape.
Allday saw Bolitho's expression and thrust his axe into the seaman's hand. 'Hold this! I’m going for the sword!' Bolitho yelled, 'Leave it!'
Another ball zipped past him, and then a whole fusilade of shots which threw splinters from the deck like darts and ricocheted in every direction.
Bolitho heard Larssen cry out, and saw him sag to his knees, his eyes tightly closed as he tried to stem the, blood which ran freely from his thigh.
Bolitho controlled his racing thoughts, tried not to see the fuse in his mind. Five minutes. It must have been burning that long already.
He dragged the seaman against the bulwark and heard Allday panting across the deck to join him.
He gasped, 'Hold him! We’ll jump together!'
Then they were up on the bulwark, the wood still misty from the night air, and as Allday cut the boat's long line the three of them fell like untidy bundles into the water, the severed rope wrapped around them.
Down and down, the sunlight fading through a pink mist, which Bolitho's reeling mind told him must be Larssen's blood, and all the while he could feel the rope dragging like a snare, and knew Veitch's crew were pulling at their oars like madmen. Despite all which was happening, he found he was thinking of the two men who had deserted at Malta. They would never know how fortunate their crime was at this moment. Had they remained aboard, it was doubtful if there would have been room for them in the one remaining boat, nor space to pull an oar.
He saw the water brightening over his head, and as he broke surface, shaking hair from his eyes and gasping for breath, he caught sight of the longboat, its sail hoisted, and several figures waving and maybe cheering towards him.
Larssen had fainted, and it was all he and Allday could do to hold his face above water, and at the same time cling to the boat's sternrope which was being hauled hand-over-hand against the pressure of oars, sail and the drag of undertow around their legs.
Allday gasped, 'By God, I’d not want to do this very often!'
Bolitho turned his head to speak and then felt his ears cringe as a deafening explosion tore the morning apart. He felt the shock-wave surge against his legs and chest, knocking the wind from his lungs and twisting the three of them round in the trailing rope like helpless puppets.
