'Make your other signal to Relentless.'
Bolitho watched narrowly as the deck heeled to starboard under the tightly braced sails. Would they manage it? Break astern of the flagship and smash her poop to fragments, or would Benbow ram her instead and impale her on the bowsprit like a lance?
He heard more cheering, rising from the fog of battle to drown the cries and groans of the wounded. Indomitable was following close astern and, seeming much further away now, Nicator, with Inch's smaller sixty- four, Odin, in her wake, was heading to break the enemy's line. With luck, Captain Keen would pass between the fourth and the rearmost ship in the French squadron. If he could cut out the last ship and cripple her, the big transport would be at his mercy.
`Open your ports! Run out the starboard battery!'
The guns squealed to the ports as one, as if eager to discard their previous roles of spectators.
Herrick said between his teeth, 'Easy, Mr Grubb. You can let her fall off a point now.' He slammed one hand into the other. 'Got him!'
They were so close to the other flagship that Benbow's jibboom and tattered staysails threw faint shadows across her counter and stern windows.
Bolitho heard Speke yell, 'As you bear! Ready!'
Right up forward Bolitho saw the two carronades poking their ugly snouts outboard. The starboard one at least could hardly miss.
Muskets cracked through the din, and Bolitho saw the hammocks jump in the nettings as the French marksmen tested their aim. In Benbow's tops the marines were also firing, pointing out their opposite numbers to each other as they tried to mark down anyone in authority.
The blast and thunder of gunfire from the scattered ships was mounting to a terrible crescendo. Bolitho saw the starboard carronade fire, but the effect of its devastating charge of tightly packed grape was lost in smoke and thrown spray. Through it all Benbow's men were yelling and cheering like demented beings. Their figures were blurred in smoke, their eyes staring and white as they threw themselves to their guns or ran to trim the yards in response to Wolfe's trumpeting voice from the quarterdeck.
Bolitho wiped his stinging eyes and peered at the Frenchman's stern as it loomed over the starboard bow. He could vaguely see her name, La Loire, the fine gilt lettering splintered by grape-shot and canister, while above it the stern windows were smashed to a shambles.
He heard Browne yelling at him and saw him pointing wildly to the opposite beam.
The third ship in the French line, the one which Bolitho had intended to isolate from La Loire, had suddenly hoisted an admiral's command flag to the fore, and even as the signal broke from her yards she began to tack round, following Benbow's slow turn as if they were linked together.
Browne shouted incredulously, ' La Loire has hauled down her flag, sir!'
Bolitho pushed past him, feeling the sudden despair drop across the wildness of battle like a blanket. The French admiral had planned it perfectly, the lure of his false flag breaking the British and not his own squadron into pieces.
Herrick was waving his sword. 'At 'em, lads! Engage to larboard again, Mr Speke!'
Thwarted by the enemy's unexpected change of direction, the Nicator and Odin were almost in irons, their reduced sails flapping in wild confusion as they tried to re-form into line.
Ropars' ship was surging level with Benbow s quarter, her forward guns firing rapidly across a narrowing strip of water. To the dazed seamen around Bolitho it must seem as if each ball was finding a target.
There was not even a cheer as the foremast of the false French flagship staggered overboard in one great mass of canvas, broken spars and rigging. La Loire had been badly mauled, but her sacrifice looked like changing a battle into a total defeat for Bolitho's squadron.
In poor light, made worse by the billowing smoke, the ships lurched drunkenly against one another, guns pounding mercilessly at point-blank range. It was like being surrounded by a forest of masts and whipping flags, like being in hell itself.
Herrick seemed to be everywhere. Directing and rallying, shouting encouragement here, demanding greater effort there.
The young sixth lieutenant, Courtenay, the one Allday had ousted from his barge, was sprawled on his face, his shoes drumming on the deck as some of the marines dragged him towards the quarterdeck ladder. He had been hit by a French sharpshooter and his lower jaw had been completely shot away.
Browne shouted, `Relentless is attacking the transport, sir!' He lowered his glass. The two French frigates are after him, and Lookout requests permission to engage!'
`Denied.' Bolitho wiped his face. 'We may need her yet.'
For what purpose? To pick up survivors or to carry news of a crushing defeat to England?
He said, `General signal. Take suitable stations for mutual support. Engage the enemy in succession.'
Some of the flags spilled over the deck as a ball ploughed through the hurrying seamen, but despite the horror and the screams the signal broke to the yards with barely a delay. Bolitho doubted if it would make much difference. His captains knew what to do, and were doing their best. But as the flags broke above the rolling smoke it might show that their force was still one, with a head and mind to control it.
Bolitho stared bitterly at a limping, sobbing seaman. What have I brought you to?
Herrick said, 'Indomitable's in trouble, sir. Her mizzen just went down.'
Grubb said, 'Aye, but old Nicator's spread more sail to cover 'er flank!'
'All have acknowledged, sir.' Browne looked at the spattered blood on his breeches, seeing it for the first time. 'Hell's teeth!'
Bolitho stared fixedly at Ropars' flagship. Less than half a cable away. She was shortening sail, her gangways alive with armed men, while her starboard batteries continued to fire as rapidly as ever.
Herrick yelled, 'She'll be down on us soon, sir!'
Bolitho looked up at the Benbow's pitted sails. Ropars' captain was acting like a true professional. Taking the wind out of Benbow's sails, cutting away her power to manoeuvre even as he poised for the final embrace.
Wolfe bellowed, 'Prepare to repel boarders!'
Overhead, a swivel crashed sharply and the hail of canister raked a bloody path through some of the massed French seamen and marines.
The taut faces of the crouching gun crews glowed in a vivid red light, and seconds later an explosion rocked the embattled ships like toy boats in a storm.
Smoking fragments fell hissing all around them, and Bolitho knew that La Loire had caught fire unnoticed in the fight, and now her magazine had exploded.
Men dashed past to obey the boatswain's lisping bellow, buckets of water poised to douse any piece of burning wood or fabric as it fell on their own ship.
`From Indomitable, sir. Request assistance!'
Bolitho looked at his flag lieutenant but saw only Keverne. He shook his head.
'We can't. We must hold together.'
Browne watched him curiously and then nodded to his assistants.
'Acknowledge.'
Indomitable was being attacked by the two ships which had been at the rear of the enemy squadron. Hampered by a broken mast and trailing rigging, she was falling slowly astern, while Nicator and Odin forged past in pursuit of their own flagship, spreading more canvas and firing as fast as they could reload.
Ropars' flagship was making a lot of signals, too, and Bolitho thought that most of them were being directed to his frigates and heavy transport. The last thing he would wish was for the transport to be so damaged that she and her cargo, troops or otherwise, would fall in to enemy hands.
Bolitho shouted hoarsely, 'Stand fast, lads! It's going to be now or never!' He gripped Herrick's arm. 'Make our people cheer, Thomas! Get them on the gangway as if they want to board the enemy!'
Herrick stared at him. 'I will try, sir!'
Bolitho tore off his brightly laced hat and waved it above his head. 'A cheer!' He strode along the larboard gangway above the overheated guns and past ripped and punctured hammocks. 'Huzza, lads! Show them what we can do!'
The most ignorant man aboard knew that Benbow had been outmanoeuvred and outwitted by the French
