matches in readiness if the more modern flintlock should fail or misfire.
He was joined by the two lieutenants in charge, 'Holly' Gage and Walter Armytage. He met them often enough in the wardroom, but it went no further than that.
He could feel the intensity of their concentration as he explained what was intended.
Gage said doubtfully, 'Might work.'
His friend laughed, and some of his men leaned over to listen. 'I shall tell our people we need a miracle today!'
Avery touched his arm. 'If the order comes, you'll know they're trying to board us.' He gestured toward the guns. 'Seal the ports and clear the deck. We'll need every man jack to repel an attack in strength!'
As they moved to the ladder again, he saw the side of the hull, dull red in the feeble light. If the enemy's iron burst into this crowded deck, at least the paint would conceal the blood.
Singleton said, 'Will it work, sir?' He sounded very serious, but not afraid.
Avery thought of all those other times, and replied, 'If anyone can do it, he can.'
The light seemed blinding on the upper deck. Avery saw Tyacke turn towards the admiral, one arm half-raised as he said, 'Now, sir?'
Bolitho nodded, and gripped his sword against his hip.
'Stand by on the quarterdeck!'
'Ready ho!'
Tyacke barely raised his voice. 'Put the helm down!'
As the wheel was hauled over and the ship began to turn to larboard, men were already running like demons to let go the headsail sheets, spilling out the wind so as not to hamper the ship's head from swinging.
Instead of the peace and the menace of their approach, everything was noise and orderly confusion, the sails banging and flapping wildly as the ship continued to turn.
Bolitho walked to the opposite side and watched the enemy. Perhaps they had been expecting Frobisher to stand downwind to give battle to the leader, exposing her stern to the other frigate. Now it appeared as if they and not Frobisher were turning, separating, one on either bow.
He glanced aloft, at the writhing sails pressed against masts and yards. The ship was aback, unable to pay off on either tack, but the frigates were in a worse plight, sailing so close to the wind that they had no choice but to alter course. Frobisher was almost hove-to, and might even have lost steerage way, but it made no difference now.
He shouted, 'At 'em, lads!'
The port lids were hauled up, and to the shrill of a whistle the main deck eighteen-pounders trundled their black muzzles out into the sunlight.
'As you bear! Fire!' That was Lieutenant Pennington, his face scarred from the fight with the Algerines. The leading frigate seemed to turn away, her foremast and rigging reeling over in the carefully-aimed broadside, gun by gun, each shot controlled by Pennington and another lieutenant. Up forward, the breathless crews were already sponging out and ramming home new charges, oblivious to the banging canvas and the yells of top men high above them.
'As you bear!' Tyacke's sword blinked in the sun as he brought it down. 'Fire!'
The second frigate had recovered and was already setting more sails, to continue with her original attack or to escape further setbacks, Bolitho could not tell. She was standing across the starboard bow, changing tack, close enough to her damaged consort to be able to see the destruction and the upended guns.
Bolitho looked at Avery. 'Now!'
Avery, with Singleton at his heels, ran for the companion ladder, tugging a whistle from his shirt as he stumbled and almost fell down the last steps.
Smoky daylight scythed through the gundeck as the port lids opened as one, and the crews threw themselves on the tackles to haul their massive charges towards the enemy. Each 'Long Nine', as these guns were nicknamed, weighed three tons, and the naked backs of the seamen were soon shining with sweat.
Lieutenant Gage was pressed up to his small spy-hole, then he turned, his face wild. 'On the up roll lads!'
Avery heard Singleton shout, 'Cover your ears, sir!' Then the world seemed to explode, smoke billowing through the deck, where men were already serving their guns and others waited with handspikes and rammers to compete with their messmates. The same men who served these guns slept and ate beside them; the guns were the first things they saw upon waking every day, and, too often, in dying, the last.
Each gun captain held up his fist, and Armytage yelled, 'Ready, sir!'
'Fire!'
Again the guns crashed inboard on their tackles, but suddenly another whistle shrilled, and the same crews were struggling to secure them and close the ports to prevent the enemy boarders from attacking them in their midst. In their home.
Armytage was shouting, 'Arm yourselves!' As he ran past Avery, he called, 'We're going to foul the first bugger, George! We've done for the other one!' He was grinning, mad with excitement, but all Avery could think was that it was the first time he had called him by name.
On deck, Bolitho watched the second frigate with something like disbelief. An enemy, driven by hatred and revenge, but a thing of beauty, two broadsides from those thirty-two-pounders had reduced her to a mast less wreck. He turned and stared at the mainmast of the frigate which had taken their first, carefully aimed broadside, when Frobisher had caught the enemy completely by surprise. A collision was inevitable; Frobisher had not regained the wind, and the other ship was out of command. Seamen and marines were already running to the point of impact, bayonets and cutlasses shining through the seemingly immovable pall of pale smoke.
There were cheers, too, as more men came pouring from the lower gundeck, either already armed or snatching up weapons from the chests prepared earlier by the gunner.
Bolitho saw Captain Wise of the Royal Marines striding, not deigning to run after his men as they crouched by the hammock nettings and searched for targets.
Shots cracked and whined overhead or smacked through the heavy canvas, and here and there a man fell, or was dragged away by his companions. But their blood was up; no boarder would survive this day.
He saw Avery and Singleton hurrying toward the quarterdeck; the midshipman was almost knocked over by a charging, wild-eyed marine.
Tyacke waved his sword. 'Board 'em, lads! Cut that bloody flag down!'
Bolitho strained his eyes through the smoke, and saw men already on the frigate's forecastle. There was resistance, but the harsh blast of a swivel gun scattered the defiant ones like torn rags.
Singleton's voice cracked for the first time. 'They've struck, sir! They're done for!' He was almost weeping with excitement.
Bolitho turned to Allday. So it was war again. But even war would not keep him from her.
A seaman running with a boarding pike slipped on blood and would have fallen, but for Bolitho's grip on his arm.
He lifted his eyes in disbelief, and managed to stammer, 'Thankee, Sir Richard! I be all right now!'
Allday was about to say something, he did not know what, when he felt the pain again, so intense that he could barely move. But it was not the old wound this time. He saw Bolitho turn and stare at him, as if he would speak, but seemed unable to find the words.
He heard Avery shout, 'Hold him!' Then he saw Bolitho fall. It was like being given new life, new strength; he leaped forward and caught him around the shoulders, holding him, lowering him carefully, everything else without meaning or purpose.
Men were cheering, some firing their muskets. It meant nothing.
From the starboard gangway Tyacke saw him fall, but knew he must not leave his men while they boarded the enemy, following his orders. Midshipman Singleton, who had become a man this day, also saw him fall, and was on his knees beside him with Allday and Avery.
Bolitho turned his face away from the sunlight which lanced down between the shrouds and the limp sails. His eye was stinging in the smoke, and he wanted to rub it. But when he attempted to move, there was no response, no sensation, only numbness.
Shadows moved across the sun, and he could hear faint cheers, as if they came from another time, another victory.
