either stand and fight against the odds, or become the quarry in a stern-chase, to be pounded into submission at long range or finally driven aground.
They had not cheered out of any sense of duty: they had seen and done too much already to need to prove themselves. Perhaps they had cheered simply because he had told them, and they knew, just this once, what they were doing, and why.
He strode to the shrouds and climbed into the ratlines, his legs soaked with spray as he levelled his telescope at a point beyond Urquhart’s temporary command.
There she was. A big frigate, thirty-eight guns at least, French built like Success. Before the glass misted over, he saw hurrying figures massing along the enemy’s gangway. Success was under tow, her guns still secured and unmanned. The whole of Halifax had probably heard about it, and there were many other ears only too ready to listen.
He returned to the deck. “Make the signal, Mr Warren. Cast off! ”
He could see the upper yards of the enemy frigate criss-crossing with those of Success, but knew that they were not yet close, let alone alongside. There were a few shots: marksmen in the tops testing the range, seeking a kill like hounds after a wounded stag.
Success seemed to suddenly grow in size and length as the tow broke free and she yawed around, her few sails in wild disorder to the wind.
Adam clenched his fists against his thighs. Come on. Come on. It was taking too long. They would be up to her in minutes, but still might sheer away if they suspected anything.
Warren said hoarsely, “One boat pulling away, sir!”
Adam nodded, his eyes stinging but unable to blink. Urquhart’s boat would be next, and soon. Or not at all.
More shots, and he saw the gleam of sunlight on steel as the boarders prepared to hack their way aboard the drifting prize. He tried to shut it from his thoughts. He shouted, “Stand by to come about, Mr Ritchie! Mr Monteith, more hands on the weather braces there!” He saw the gun captains crouched low and ready, while they waited for the next order.
He felt rather than saw de Courcey by the quarterdeck rail, speaking rapidly to himself, as though he were praying. The enemy’s yards were being hauled round, to lessen the impact when the two hulls ground together.
Adam saw the boat pulling away from both ships, fear giving them the strength and the purpose.
Somebody said quietly, “The first lieutenant’s left it too late.”
He snapped, “Hold your bloody noise, damn you!” and barely recognized his own voice.
Ritchie saw it first: all the years at sea in many different conditions, matching his eye against sun and star, wind and current.
A man who, even without a sextant, could probably find his way back to Plymouth.
“Smoke, sir!” He glared round at his mates. “By Jesus, he done it!”
The explosion was like a fiery wind, so great that despite the thousands of fathoms of sea beneath them, it felt as if they had run aground on solid rock. Then the flames, leaping from hatches and through fiery holes that opened in the decks like craters, the wind exploring and driving them until her sails became blackened rags and her rigging was spitting sparks. The fires spread rapidly to the American grappled alongside, where jubilant figures had been cheering and waving their weapons only seconds before.
Adam raised his fist.
“For you, George Starr, and you, John Bankart. Let them never forget! ”
“There’s the other boat now, sir!” Dyer sounded shocked by what he was seeing, the very savagery of it.
Ritchie called, “Standing by, sir!”
Adam raised the telescope, and then said, “Belay that, Mr Ritchie.”
He’d seen the first lieutenant at the tiller, the remaining seamen lying back on their looms, no doubt staring at the exploding flames which had almost consumed them. Beside Urquhart lay the midshipman, Lovie, staring at the smoke and the sky, and seeing neither.
To those around him Adam said, “We’ll pick them up first- we have the time we need. I’ll not lose John Urquhart now.”
The two frigates were completely ablaze, and appeared to be leaning toward one another in a final embrace. Success’s bilge had been blown out in the first explosion, and, grappled to her attacker, she was taking the American with her to the bottom.
A few men were splashing about in the water; others floated away, already dead or dying from their burns. From a corner of his eye Adam saw Urquhart’s small boat drifting clear of Valkyrie’s side. It was empty: only the midshipman’s coat with its white patches lay in the sternsheets to mark the price of courage.
He hardened himself to it, and tried to exclude the sounds of ships breaking up, guns tearing adrift and thundering through the flames and choking smoke, where even now a few demented souls would be stumbling and falling, calling for help when there was none to respond.
Midshipman Warren called, “The other ship’s standing away, sir!” Adam looked at him and saw the tears on his cheeks. All this horror, but he was able to think only of his friend, Lovie.
Ritchie cleared his throat. “Give chase, sir?”
Adam looked at the upturned faces. “I think not, Mr Ritchie. Back the mizzen tops’l while we recover the other boat.” He could not see the American ship with the commodore’s broad-pendant: it was lost in the smoke, or the painful obscurity of his own vision.
“Two down, one to go. I think we can rest on a promise.”
He saw Urquhart coming slowly toward him. Two members of a gun’s crew stood to touch his arm as he passed. He paused only to say something to Adam’s servant, Whitmarsh, who, despite orders, had been on deck throughout. He would be remembering, too. Perhaps this was also vengeance for him.
Adam stretched out his hand. “I am relieved that you did not leave it too late.”
Urquhart looked at him gravely. “Almost.” His handshake was firm, thankful. “I’m afraid I lost Mr Lovie. I liked him. Very much.”
Adam thought of one of his own midshipmen, who had died on that other day. It was pointless, destructive to have friends, to encourage others to form friendships which would only end in death.
When he looked again, Success and the American were gone. There was only a great haze of smoke, like steam from a volcano, as if the ocean itself were burning in the deep, and wreckage, men and pieces of men.
He walked to the opposite side and wondered why he had not known. To hate was not enough.
14. Verdict
REAR-ADMIRAL Thomas Herrick stood squarely by the quarterdeck rail, his chin sunk in his neckcloth, and only his eyes moving while Indomitable, under reduced sail, glided slowly toward her anchorage.
“So this is Halifax.” His eyes followed the running figures of the extra hands who were answering the boatswain’s hoarse shout. Only then did he turn his head and glance at the captain on the opposite side of the deck. Tyacke was studying the landmarks, the nearest ships, anchored or otherwise, his hands behind him as if he were unconcerned.
Herrick said, “A good ship’s company, Sir Richard. Better than most. Your Captain Tyacke would be hard to replace, I’m thinking.”
Bolitho said, “Yes,” sorry that they were soon to be parted, and also saddened on behalf of the man he had once known so well. He had offered Herrick the full use of the ship while she was in Halifax, and typically, Herrick had refused. He would take the accommodation he had been offered. It was as if it was painful for him simply to see and feel a ship working around him again.
York, the sailing-master, called, “Ready when you are, sir!”
Tyacke nodded, without turning. “Wear ship, if you please!”
“Man the lee braces there! Hands wear ship!” The calls shrilled and more men scampered to add their weight to haul the yards around. “Tops’l sheets!”
