ran to the braces again, and he heard the fore-topgallant sail boom out from its yard and knew that the topsail had been the one torn apart by the wind.
There it was. No mistake. Allday had done it.
'Nor'-west by north, sir! Steady as she goes!'
They seemed to be tearing through the water at a tremendous pace, like a runaway coach, its horses gone mad.
But Keen had heard something different in the gaunt sailing-master's voice. Not merely surprise or relief. Respect perhaps?
'Leadsmen in the chains!'
Keen pushed himself from the rail and walked to the opposite side to watch a leaping hurdle of breakers. The reefs looked close enough to touch with a pike.
He heard the cry of a leadsman but had no idea what the depth would be.
He saw the land suddenly close alongside, more spray, and felt the deck shiver as the keel ploughed into dangerous shallows.
Knocker was passing more helm orders, his voice suddenly loud as the ship ran past the headland where the boom had once been.
There were vague explosions. Musket fire and the occasional boom of artillery. But it was unreal. Nothing to do with the plunging two-decker and her men.
Keen heard shouts from forward and then caught his breath as the ship gave a violent lurch. Then down the side he saw the dark outline of a small vessel, battered from her moorings by Achates, and capsizing slowly as they continued up the harbour.
The flare was still burning fiercely and Keen could see the flames reflecting on a paler shape nearby, Allday's barge. He snatched a telescope from a midshipman and trained it across the larboard bow.
In the reflected glow he could see the bargemen standing and waving their tarred hats as they saw the ship heading towards them. Achates must make quite a sight, Keen thought. Sails shining in the flare, while her hull remained locked in darkness.
'Prepare to shorten sail, Mr Quantock!'
Keen found that his whole being was shaking uncontrollably, like a man on the verge of death.
Then he saw the lights of the town for the first time, glittering through the spray like tiny jewels. They were almost there. It was incredible. Impossible, some would say.
Somewhere another cannon banged out, but Keen had no idea where the ball fell.
'Stand by to wear ship, Mr Quantock.'
There was still plenty of real danger. If the ship failed to respond this time they could drive on to the beach or become entangled with anchored shipping like a porpoise in a net.
Perhaps they had created their own trap? Keen found he could consider it without emotion. It would not matter now. If they could not leave, neither would anyone else. He pictured Bolitho's grave features and hoped he had seen Achates drive into the harbour like a phantom ship.
If it could only be settled in a battle of wills, he knew who would emerge the victor.
'Man the lee braces!' Quantock loomed towards him. 'I've ordered both anchors to be ready, sir, and put a lieutenant in charge of the compressor. In this gale the cable might part if…' He left the rest unsaid.
Keen regarded him calmly. 'Carry on, if you please.'
There was no change in Quantock and Keen felt strangely glad. It seemed wrong that he should change in any way because of a single reckless act. When you considered it, Keen thought, there was no other description for it.
'Tops'l clew-lines!'
Keen watched the flurry of activity above the deck. Those men had done well, he thought. To preserve their lives, their ship and their pride as only sailors could.
'Helm alee!'
Once again the deck tilted over, Allday's barge swinging away from the jib-boom as if it had taken flight. But the wind and sea had lost their punch. Momentarily. They would bide their time. There was always another battle.
'Let go!'
Keen heard a splash and felt the planking quiver slightly as the second anchor banged against the hull as it swung from its cat-head in readiness to drop if the other failed.
Blocks squealed, and slowly but surely the unseen topmen kicked and fisted the rebellious canvas to each yard and secured it.
The motion eased immediately, and Keen said as calmly as he could, 'Lower the remaining boats. I want a warp run out from aft. Tell Mr Rooke to report to me.' He turned away from Quantock's bitter silence. 'I also want a muster of all hands immediately. Casualties and serious injuries too, if you please.'
A tiny figure appeared at his elbow. It was Ozzard, Bolitho's molelike servant. 'Here, sir.'
He held out a silver tankard, one of Bolitho's own.
Keen held it to his lips and almost choked on rum. But it did what Ozzard intended and he handed him the tankard.
'That was thoughtful. Thank you.'
They both watched as the gig and then the jolly-boat were hoisted from the tier and swayed out above the gangway. More men were bustling aft while boatswain's mates bawled instructions for laying out a massive warp. Against the pale planking the huge rope looked like an endless serpent.
Ozzard asked timidly, 'Will he be safe, sir?'
Keen saw a lieutenant and Harry Rooke, the boatswain, hurrying towards him for orders, but there was something in Ozzard's voice which held him.
Safe? It was a word rarely considered in the King's service.
Faith had more meaning. Faith to enter a strange harbour despite the hazards and possible consequences. Faith of men like Allday who would risk anything because of Bolitho's word and reputation.
He smiled before turning towards his waiting subordinates.
'He will be expecting a lot from us tomorrow, Ozzard, that I do know.'
Ozzard bobbed and nodded. It was good enough for him.
9. A Close Thing
Bolitho felt a hand touch his arm and tried not to groan as the stiffness plucked at his wound. Had he really been asleep? The realization shocked him into immediate alertness. 'What is it, man?'
Lieutenant Mountsteven watched him curiously, as if he did not really believe he was sharing a small rough gully with his vice-admiral.
'Dawn soon, sir. I've roused all hands.'
Bolitho sat up and rubbed his eyes. They felt raw and tired, and he noticed for the first time that the wind had almost died.
Looking back, it still seemed unreal, an impossible hallucination. He peered over the edge of the ground and saw the vague glint of water, as if he expected to see Achates forcing the entrance, her sails bulging like metal breastplates, burnished gold by the spluttering flares. Achates was only a small sixty-four, but in the eerie glare she had seemingly filled the harbour and had brought wild cheers and not a few tears from Bolitho's seamen.
Around him he heard men gathering up their weapons and recalled the Royal Marine corporal who had been sent by Captain Dewar to report that all his men were ashore and in position.
That too seemed like part of a dream, the corporal apparently unmoved and immaculate in his scarlet uniform.
He grinned, despite his anxieties. By comparison he felt' like a vagrant in his stained shirt and his hair full of grit and blown sand.
The fortress was still lost in darkness, but the old volcano had a fine rim of grey light around its summit.
