moments ago had been a hope.
'Bankart!'
'Present, sir!'
'Go below and fetch my coat and hat.'
Filthy and bloody, but he was still their admiral and would be damned if they should see him already beaten.
Crash-crash-crash. The frigate was already firing some of her forward guns. Balls hurled waterspouts into the air or ricocheted across the sea in short, fierce spurts.
Bolitho heard Okes murmur, 'Will you fight, sir?'
'Would you have me strike?' Hallowes sounded calm, or was he beyond that?
More shots made the air quiver and Bolitho heard a ball crash down close by, the water tumbling across the weather shrouds like lead shot.
'Bring her up a point, Mr Okes!' Hallowes was drawing his sword. Bolitho touched his own and wondered what would become of it. He would fling it into the sea if he was given time and life to do so.
Another series of bangs made Stayt swear under his breath and a ball slapped through a sail and parted a stay like a piece of cotton.
'On the uproll!'
Stayt said fiercely, 'He's no chance, sir! Most of his pop-guns won't even bear yet!'
Bolitho said, 'It is his way. There is nothing else now.' 'Fire!'
The air cringed as the four-pounders recoiled inboard on their tackles, their explosions almost blanketed as the frigate fired yet again.
The deck jumped and wood splinters flew over the cowering gun crews.
Then a second salvo tore overhead and a man fell kicking and screaming into the sea alongside. Supreme was moving so fast despite her torn canvas that the man was soon lost far astern.
'How is it now?'
Stayt said tonelessly, 'Lighter, sir.' He winced as more balls slammed close alongside and one hit the bows with a terrible jerk. Torn rigging drifted down from aloft and trailed from the spars like shabby banners.
The gun crews did not look up but sponged out, rammed home fresh charges and tamped down their shot, because it was what they were trained to do, if necessary until death itself.
More shots struck the hull, and Bolitho said, 'She can't take much more.'
'Sail to lee'rd, sir!'
Men gaped at each other, not understanding, unable to judge anything in the ear-shattering din of cannon fire.
Stayt shouted, 'It's Rapid, sir!' He almost shook Bolitho's arm. 'She's catching the sun right now, sir! She's hoisted a signal! By God, the squadron must be here!'
Another explosion rocked the deck and men screamed as splinters scythed them down. It must have been a full broadside for someone yelled with disbelief, 'The Frenchie's goin' about! The bastards are runnin' for it! You showed 'em, Cap'n!'
But Stayt said bitterly, 'Hallowes is down, sir.' He took Bolitho's arm. 'That last bloody broadside.'
'Take me to him.'
The seamen had been cheering at this impossible intervention but now fell silent as their blind admiral was led aft to where Hallowes was being held by Okes and the master's mate.
Bolitho murmured, 'How bad is it?'
Stayt swallowed hard. 'Both his legs, sir.'
Bolitho was guided to Hallowes' side.
Hallowes said in a strong voice, 'I didn't strike! Given the chance-' He broke off and cried out, 'Help me!' Then mercifully he died.
Bolitho had been holding his hand and felt it die. He lowered it to the deck and said, 'Given the chance. That was the measure of this man's courage.' He was helped to his feet and turned to where he knew Okes was waiting.
'Supreme is yours, Mr Okes. You've more than earned her, and I'll see that your appointment is confirmed if it is the last order I give.'
'Rapid is heaving-to, sir.' That was Stayt.
But that was all part of something else. It did not seem to belong. Here there was only this moment and the pain.
'Take good care of her.'
'I-I will, sir. It's just that I didn't want, didn't expect-' Bolitho tried to smile. 'It is your moment now, Mr Okes. Seize it.' He felt the pain grinding into his eyes again and knew they were all watching him. He said, 'Never fear, Mr Okes, Supreme has a fine new commander, and she will fight again.'
Okes stared after him as Stayt and Sheaffe guided the bandaged admiral to the bulwark.
Then he said brokenly, 'Aye, sir, an' please God, so will you.'
8. THE FIRE STILL BURNS
AS Argonaute s anchor cable took the strain men were already hoisting out boats while others were mustered into a landing party. Icarus had dropped anchor too, and even without a telescope Keen could see the busy activity on her upper deck and gangway.
The island looked so peaceful, he thought. It would be sunset in an hour and he needed to get a landing force of Royal Marines ashore with another detachment from Houston's ship in case any French were still present.
He removed his hat and rubbed his forehead. Could so much have happened in a single day?
He looked across at the anchored brig Rapid, with the listing and scarred cutter lashed alongside.
Why had he sent Rapid to find Bolitho? Instinct, a sense of danger? It had almost been too late. Perhaps it was too late. He thought of her young commander as he had described the scene, the frigate turning away when one more broadside would have finished what she had begun. Quarrell had said simply in his Isle of Man dialect, 'I knew I couldn't fight the Frenchie, sir, so I hoisted Enemy in sight as Sir Richard once did, and the enemy took the trick as fact and made off. But for it, Supreme and my own command would have been on the bottom!' His voice hardened. 'I would not have hauled down my colours with the admiral out there watching us, no more than poor John Hallowes did.'
Keen recalled the shock when he had seen Bolitho being hoisted up the side on a boatswain's chair, something he would always refuse even in bad weather. The whole ship had held her breath, or so it seemed. Keen had wanted to run across, to take hold of him, but some last warning had told him that for Bolitho the moment of return had almost broken him.
It fell to Allday who had stepped past the marines and watching officers to take Bolitho's elbow and say in an almost untroubled voice, 'Welcome aboard, sir. We was a mite worried, but now you're back, so there's an end to it.'
As they had walked past, Keen had seen Allday's face and had known his demeanour was a lie.
All day they had continued to the watering place, with the squadron's surgeons aboard Supreme doing what they could.
Keen gripped the nettings and stared at the streaks of coral-coloured cloud. Calm, storm, gale and bright sunlight. It changed like the pages in a book.
Paget joined him and touched his hat. 'Shall we rig awnings, sir?'
'No. We will begin to take on water tomorrow at first light. I want, no, I need to be out of this place quickly. I intend to join the squadron without delay. My bones tell me that things are moving fast.'
Paget eyed him doubtfully but chose his words with care. Nearly everyone knew how the captain felt about Bolitho. He said, 'It may be serious, sir. If he is blind-' Keen swung on him angrily. 'Damn you, how would you know?' He relented just as swiftly. 'That was unforgivable. I am tired but so is everyone else.' He nodded. 'I know it must be faced. As soon as Supreme is ready I will send her south to Malta. Her wounded can be cared for. I shall
