And now…
Quantock raised his speaking-trumpet. 'Fire!'
Tuson, the surgeon, hovered by the ladder, and Keen said, 'You wish to get your wounded on deck?'
That, if anything, might snap the last strand of order. There were not any of Dewar's marines aboard to prevent the stampede once it began. He saw the grateful look in Tuson's eyes and was glad of what he had done.
Goddard, the quartermaster, yelled, 'Look yonder, lads!'
The Indiaman had bumped against another moored craft and that too was well alight, sparks shooting from her hold and adding to the horror.
But it was not that which Goddard had seen.
Keen stared until his eyes throbbed with pain as the little brigantine Vivid nosed through the smoke and falling fragments, her yards braced as she overreached the other vessel.
Quantock said hoarsely, 'Christ Almighty, she must have followed her through the entrance! It'll be her turn to burn in a moment!'
Keen tore the telescope from a midshipman's fingers and trained it on the advancing wall of flames. In the lens it looked even worse, terrifying, and Keen could feel his mouth and throat going dry as he watched.
He saw Tyrrell's big frame by the tiller as he steered his Vivid closer and closer to the other vessel's starboard bow. Through the haze of smoke and whirling smuts he looked as if he would never budge. Even now the sails were swinging and snapping in the wind, although how Tyrrell's men could find the strength to work at halliards and braces against that heat was a miracle.
Keen heard shouts from the gun-deck as the first of the wounded were brought from the orlop but did not turn away from the awesome sight in the harbour. He imagined he could feel the heat and knew he could not delay the order to abandon much longer.
'Secure the guns, Mr Quantock.'
He expected a chorus of insults at the absurdity of his order, but instead he heard the squeak of trucks and handspikes as the eighteen-pounders were secured at their ports.
There was a mingled groan as the Vivid's masthead pendant vanished in a puff of smoke. Any second now and all the care in the world would not prevent her taking fire.
Keen saw the two vessels lurch together, the impetus of Vivid's full set of sails swinging the fire-ship slightly to larboard.
Lieutenant Trevenen murmured thickly, 'Vivid's afire, sir.'
Keen watched the flames jumping like terrible demons from rigging to rigging, multiplying and spreading until the fore-course was reduced to ashes.
But Vivid was holding her way against the other, heavier hull, pushing her round. There were men too at the point where both vessels were locked together, and moments later Keen saw a splash as one of the Indiaman's anchors was released from the cat-head. Given time the anchor cable would burn through too, but as the flukes dragged along the harbour bed the fire-ship's shape began to lengthen as she took the strain of the cable.
Her smouldering mizzen and yards cracked and fell in charred fragments alongside and Knocker gasped, 'She's aground, by God!'
Keen nodded, unable to speak. Tyrrell probably knew the harbours hereabouts better than most, and had gauged his action to the second, so that the blazing Indiaman was already pushing herself firmly into the shallows.
Keen heard himself say, 'Send every boat you can, Mr Quantock.'
Vivid was blazing fiercely. It was almost impossible to see which vessel was which. There was still danger, the ship might refloat herself, or a fragment might drift down on Achates.
Keen turned and looked at his command. But whatever happened they had stood firm. Like Bolitho had told them. Together.
They were staring up from the gun-deck and watching him. Because of the smoke, and the carefully rationed water aboard ship, they looked more like a mob of filthy buccaneers than jack-tars.
They were cheering now, waving their fists and capering as if they had won a great battle. He saw Quantock looking at him, his eyes bitter. The sailors had at last discarded their dead captain and had adopted Keen.
Keen grinned at them and felt like weeping. Then he made up his mind.
'Call away the gig. I'll fetch Tyrrell myself.'
They found Tyrrell and most of his small crew clinging to a spar and half an upturned boat.
And there too was Adam Bolitho, half-naked and with a livid burn on one shoulder.
Tyrrell allowed himself to be hauled into the stern-sheets where he slumped and looked across at the remains of his brigantine.
She was already burned to the water-line. Unrecognizable.
Keen said, 'I'm sorry for what happened and the way I treated you. It was a close thing. You lost your ship but you saved mine.'
Tyrrell barely heard him. He put his arm around Adam's shoulders and said roughly, 'Seems to me, you an' me both lost somethin', eh?'
As the gig approached Achates' side the seamen ran along the gangway and swarmed into the shrouds to cheer as Tyrrell looked up at them.
Keen said, 'They're grateful to you.'
'Quite right too.'
Tyrrell looked at his wooden leg; even that had been charred by the blaze. What was the point of going over it again? If Achates had not been here when the attack had started, none of this would have happened. He looked at his beloved Vivid as she broke in halves and slipped into the shallows in a rising cloud of steam. And Vivid would still be his.
He felt the young lieutenant's hand on his arm as he said quietly, 'We'll both get another chance one day, Jethro.'
Tyrrell bared his teeth. 'Sure as hell hope so. Can't spend the rest of my days lookin' after you!'
Keen stood by Bolitho's table and watched him with concern. He had noticed that Bolitho had been studying the day's log of events but that his eyes rarely moved.
Keen said, 'Mr Mansel, the purser, reports that fresh fruit and vegetables have been coming on board from the town, sir. It is still arriving. They don't seem to be able to do enough for us now.'
Bolitho smoothed out the papers on his table. Now. That word said so much. He heard Ozzard tiptoeing behind him to close the stern windows as dusk filled the harbour with shadows once more. But there were still a few sparks and glowing embers to mark where the fire-ship lay in the shallows. It was only this morning when he had passed the time with Lieutenant Lemoine at the fortress.
Keen knew Bolitho needed to be alone but was unwilling to leave him. He recalled his own shock when the barge had hooked on to the chains and he had seen Allday carried aboard as if already dead.
All his other feelings had been scattered like the ashes of the fire-ship.
Pride in his men, of what they had done in spite of the terrible danger. A deep, inner satisfaction that he had not broken under the strain. Neither seemed to count any more. Allday had become part of his life too. In fact, when he thought about it, most of the people he knew and cared for had been helped and influenced by Bolitho's coxswain.
At times like this Allday would have been the one to enter the cabin and gently hustle away unwanted visitors, like his dog had once done when he had been a shepherd in Cornwall.
Now he lay in Bolitho's own sleeping quarters, a sword-thrust in his chest which had even shocked the taciturn surgeon.
Keen tried again. 'We took several prisoners, sir. The crew of the fire-ship, some soldiers from the mission too. You were right. They are all Spaniards from La Guaira. After this the Dons will never dare to attack San Felipe. The whole world will know what they did. I would give little hope for their heads when their King is told of their bungling.'
Bolitho leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He could still smell smoke. Could see Allday's attempt to smile just for his benefit.
He said, 'Tomorrow I will draft a report for Sir Hayward Sheaffe.' London would be grey and wet in September,
