lessening gap, the wave-crests breaking to the force and the weight of iron.
He saw the enemy ship shiver, then sway over as the full onslaught smashed into her. Wood and rigging flew in all directions, and the labouring hull was masked by falling fragments and leaping talons of spray.
'Stop your vents! Sponge out! Load!' Paget's voice echoed above the wind and the squeal of tackles like a clarion call.
Allday said in a sudden pause, 'We hit 'em, sir! Even her canvas is shot through!' He sounded tense, slightly wild, like men usually are when battle is joined.
Bolitho held the quarterdeck rail, afraid he might lose his balance again. He thought he had heard the broadside strike home even at this range.
He said tersely, 'Close the distance, Captain Keen!'
Lieutenant Stayt lowered his telescope and looked at him. He had seen Keen's quick glance as his mind had registered Bolitho's sharp formality.
'Alter course to starboard, Mr Fallowfield!' Keen broke off as several balls crashed into the hull, and some hammocks burst from the forward nettings in a wild tangle, like exultant corpses.
Keen shouted, 'That was chain-shot!' He looked at the sailing-master. 'Close as you can!'
Men ran to the braces while along the upper deck's eighteen-pounders others worked like demons with handspikes and tackles, training, and holding the enemy firmly in their ports.
'Fire!'
The broadside thundered out again, and Bolitho heard someone cheering, like a demented soul in Hell, he thought.
Allday exclaimed, 'Her mizzen's gone! She's tryin' to come about, to save her stern from the Smasher!'
Bolitho seized a glass and pressed it to his right eye. All the jokes about Nelson at Copenhagen were not so funny now. He saw the hazy outline of the French ship, shortening as Argonaute turned towards her, the bowsprit pointing directly at her poop.
The other captain had not regained control completely when the second broadside struck and raked his ship from bow to stern. Instead of continuing to turn, she was falling downwind, her afterpart shrouded in fallen spars and canvas, while here and there along her battered side a few guns fired independently, and on her gangway tiny stabbing flashes showed that her marksmen were fighting back.
'Steady as you go!'
Keen crouched down to peer through the pall of smoke and straining rigging. The wind had risen; he had to hold the gage or lose all the advantage his attack had gained. He saw the water-lighter tilting over, spilling men and casks into the sea, the hull so pitted with holes it was a wonder it had taken so long. On the opposite, disengaged side, another harbour craft, a big yawl, had cast off, and was probably trying to beat away from her big consort before she shared the lighter's fate.
Keen made up his mind. 'Mr Fallowfield, lay her on the starboard tack!' The Frenchman was still beam-on to the wind, her progress further hampered by the trailing wreckage of spars and rigging alongside. The shattered lighter was sinking rapidly and he realized that she was still made fast by the bow to the two-decker. Either they had not had time to cast off, or the men so ordered had been scythed down by the last murderous broadside. But Keen had been in enough fights to know how quickly the balance could alter. The French captain had kept his mind above the disaster which had caught him unprepared, and had found time to order his gun crews to load with chain-shot. A well-aimed fusillade could bring down a vital spar-victory and defeat were measured by such delicate distinctions.
Orders were yelled and men hauled at the braces yet again. Bolitho felt a shot fan past him, heard a crack and something like a fierce intake of breath as the musket ball hurled a marine from the nettings, the side of his skull blasted away. His companions left their stations as the after-guard was piped to the mizzen braces, while the ship tilted steeply and began to plough over to the opposite tack.
Keen joined Bolitho and shouted above the noise of gunfire and bellowed orders, 'They see you, sir! Put on my coat!'
Bolitho clung to a stay and shook his head. 'I want them to see me!' More shots hissed past him and smacked into hammocks on the opposite side or cracked against the planking. Bolitho could feel the anger rising inside him, driving away reason and caution had there been any. Keen did not understand. Bolitho was afraid to release his grip and move about as any sane man would. His bright epaulettes marked him down as a prime target; better that than lose his balance again while his men fought for their very lives around him.
Crash-crash-crash, the French ship returned fire yet again.
Bolitho raised the telescope and jammed it to his eye. It was heavy, difficult to hold steady with one hand. He saw the French ship suddenly stark and huge, towering over the Argonaute s starboard bow. Keen's sharp change of tack had pared away the distance. The French captain had no chance now to break off the action, to turn and fight or even to run.
He saw the enemy's helpless stern rising still higher, isolated from the rest of the ship by the great gap in her silhouette left by the fallen mizzen.
Keen said fiercely, 'We shall pass barely a boat's length away, sir!
A masthead lookout waited for a pause in the firing and yelled hoarsely, 'Ships to larboard, sir!'
Keen shouted, 'Send an officer aloft!' He ducked and coughed as a ball slammed through the nettings and hurled blasted hammocks everywhere. But for the alteration of course there would have been a solid rank of marines there.
A ship's boy, a mere child, who was running almost doubled over with fresh shot to a quarterdeck nine- pounder, was caught even as he reached the gun. The horrified crew of the nine-pounder were drenched in blood as the ball cut the boy neatly in half so that the legs appeared to run on after the torso had fallen to the deck.
'Steady she goes, sir! Nor'-east by east!'
'As you bear!'
Keen waved to the forecastle although he doubted if the car-ronade crew needed encouragement this time. Every gun had extra hands to work it, men taken from the disengaged weapons on the larboard side.
More shot whined overhead, and several sails danced as holes appeared and broken rigging clattered across the nets and gangways.
Captain Bouteiller yelled, 'Get those bloody sharpshooters, Orde!'
A swivel banged loudly and Bolitho recalled Okes firing into the French longboat. He felt the deck quiver by his feet and knew that a ball had almost taken him. He did not move. He wanted them to see him, to know who had done this.
A voice filtered through the noise. 'They're Spaniards, sir!'
Bolitho heard Keen shouting orders. Spaniards. Some local vessels coming to drive the attacker from their waters.
'Fire!'
The ship jerked violently as the carronade fired almost point-blank into the enemy's stern.
It was a direct hit, and the whole ornate stern appeared to fall inboard as the massive ball exploded within the poop, its packed charge of grape bursting amongst the crowded gun crews and turning the confined deck into a slaughterhouse.
As Argonaute continued to edge remorselessly around the enemy's broken stern, the murderous broadside swept across and into her. The lower gun deck had somehow found time to load with double shot, as if each officer knew it was their last chance before Argonaute was carried either past or into their enemy by the freshening wind.
Keen watched, chilled by what he saw, as the enemy's main-topmast was carried away and one of the muzzles on the enemy's lower gun deck exploded in a sheet of fire. Some terrified seaman had forgotten to sponge out before a fresh charge was rammed home, or maybe the gun was old and had outworn those who crewed it.
Keen shouted, 'The Dons'll be up to us in an hour, sir, despite the wind! Shall we discontinue the action?'
More shots roared from Argonautes lower battery, the long thirty-two-pounders wreaking terrible havoc on the other vessel, which now appeared to be out of control with either her helm shot away or none left to take charge aft.
Bolitho did not speak and Keen swung round on him, fearful that a marksman had found him.
But Bolitho was staring towards the other ship, his head on one side as if to force a clearer view.
