Command a King's Ship (40 page)

“By God, the devil's shortening sail again!”

Bolitho saw the topgallants vanishing along the
Argus
's yards, and leaned across the rail.

“Stand by, the larboard battery!”

Perhaps he had found Le Chaumareys's one real weakness. That he
needed
to win and to survive. Bolitho knew that the two did not always walk hand in hand.

“Alter course three points to larboard!”

He heard the rush of feet, the confused shouts as his orders were relayed to the waiting seamen.

Mudge asked, “Is that wise, sir?”

Bolitho waited as the helm went down, and then turned to watch the bowsprit swinging slowly and then more quickly to larboard, the other frigate suddenly enmeshed in the criss-cross of rigging and shrouds.

“Hold her so!”

He waited impatiently while Herrick bellowed through his trumpet, and the hands on the braces hauled feverishly to retrim the yards.

“Nor'-east by north, sir!” The helmsman sounded breathless.

With the wind sweeping tightly across the larboard quarter,
Undine
swept straight down towards the other ship, as if to cut her in halves. More flashes darted from the Frenchman's side, and Bolitho clenched his fists as metal shrieked overhead, parting rig- ging, slapping through sails and hurling spray in profusion on either beam.

“Now we shall see!”

Bolitho craned forward, gripping the rail, his eyes stinging painfully in the hazy glare. Another rippling line of flashes, the sounds of the broadside rolling across the water like the thunder of mighty drums. He felt the hull stagger violently, and saw some of the seamen below the quarterdeck exchanging quick, desperate glances.

Argus
was still holding her course and speed, lying across
Undine
's path and growing in size with every agonising minute.

More shots, and a savage jerk below his feet told Bolitho
Un- dine
was being hit again. But
Argus
's broadsides were more ragged now, and fewer balls were falling near their target.

Herrick said fiercely, “He'll have to do something!”

Bolitho did not reply, but stared fixedly through his telescope at the cluster of figures on
Argus
's quarterdeck. He could see Le Chaumareys's powerful bulk, his small cropped head bobbing as he shouted commands to his subordinates. He would be missing his first lieutenant, Bolitho thought quickly. As he would have missed Herrick, but for their unlikely reunion.

He called, “The
wind,
Mr. Mudge?” He dared not look at him.

“Backed a point, sir! From the pendant, I'd say it was near sou'- westerly!”

Herrick shouted, “
Argus
is standing away, sir!”

Somebody gave an isolated cheer, but Bolitho snapped, “Keep the people quiet!” He added quickly, “Stand by to alter course hard to larboard! I'll want her as close to the wind as you can lay her, Mr. Mudge!”

He watched, barely able to move, as
Argus
's yards edged round, her outline shortening as she stood off, making a triangle between the two converging ships. She loosed another slow broadside, and Bolitho heard a scream from aloft, then saw a marine fall headlong on to the nets, blood gushing from his mouth and splashing on the gun crew immediately below him.

Le Chaumareys had mistaken Bolitho's headlong charge as an act of empty bravery. He had waited for the right moment before swinging clear to present his full broadside, to cripple
Undine
com- pletely as she attempted to cross the bows.

Bolitho held up his hand, praying that those flashing guns would give him time to act.

“Larboard battery! Fire as you bear!”

Relieved, eager to hit back, the gun crews pounced on their weapons.

“Stand by!”

Davy watched as Soames hurried to the leading gun.

“Fire!”

Bolitho felt the hull quiver, and drew breath again as the smoke billowed away from the hull towards the enemy.

“Stand by to alter course!” He held Herrick's gaze. “No, we are not going to embrace him just yet!” He felt the insane grin on his lips. “We'll cross his stern. He has left the door open!”

A heavy ball smashed through the larboard bulwark, upending a twelve-pounder and painting the planking and gratings in bright, spreading scarlet.

Screams and curses were drowned as Soames bellowed, “Stop your vents! Sponge out!” He glared wildly through the smoke. “You, Manners! Take that handspike and
move yourself,
damn you!”

The man in question was gaping at his legs which had been spattered with blood and fragments from the neighbouring crew.

Bolitho dropped his hand. “Now! Helm a'lee!”

To the mounting wind, and the sudden change of direction,
Undine
swayed over and down, the gun crews firing off another uneven salvo before
Argus
was plucked from their open ports.

Bolitho yelled, “Mr. Davy! Starboard battery!”

Men dashed from the still-smoking guns and threw them- selves to assist the opposite side. Overhead, spars and blocks strained and bucked in protest, and more than one seaman fell headlong as the ship came thundering up close to the wind, her yards almost fore and aft.

The fore topgallant sail split suddenly and violently, the frag- ments like streamers in the wind, but Bolitho ignored it. He was watching
Argus
's black shape sliding out and away from the star- board bow while his own ship turned steeply towards her poop. Shots crashed into hull and rigging alike, and Bolitho watched sickened as two seamen were pulped into offal and broken weap- ons against the opposite side.

Davy's voice was almost a scream. “Starboard battery! As you bear!”

The order to fire was lost in the first crash from the forward guns, followed instantly along the deck as the
Argus
loomed up and over the nettings like a black cliff.

“Sponge out! Reload! Run out!”

The crews had no trouble in running out, for the ship was heeling so steeply to the wind that each gun squealed down the deck like an enraged hog on the rampage.

Bolitho cupped his hands. “Hold your fire!” He gestured to the men by the carronades on the forecastle. Several corpses lay near them, and he guessed Le Chaumareys's marksmen had realised his intention.

A musket ball clanged against a six-pounder, and one of the helmsmen fell kicking and spluttering, his chin shot away by the ricochet.

Bolitho shouted above the din, “Let her fall off a point, Mr. Mudge, you know what I expect today!”

Shadows danced across the decks as pieces of broken rigging, blocks, a musket and other fragments bounced on the nets above.

And here was the
Argus,
plunging heavily to starboard, trying to follow
Undine
round, but losing the chance as the English frig- ate swept across her stern.

“Fire!”

A carronade banged loudly, biting fragments from
Argus
's stern and smashing her small quarter-gallery to fragments. Gun by gun the twelve-pounders followed its example, the balls slamming into the stern, or scything through the gaping windows to create death and confusion within.

Men were cheering, despite threats and blows from their petty officers, and above the great writhing wall of smoke Bolitho saw the French frigate's masts moving slowly away and beyond the starboard quarter. But it was no time to falter now.

“We will wear ship, Mr. Herrick! Lay her on the starboard tack!”

“Aye, sir!” Herrick wiped his streaming face. Above the stains on his cheeks and mouth his bandage shone in the filtered sunlight like a turban. “It's lively work today, sir!”

“Man the braces! Stand by to wear ship!”

A man screamed as he was dragged from a gun, bleeding badly. As Whitmarsh's mates lifted him he struggled and kicked to free himself, more terrified of what waited below than of dying on deck.

Sails thundering, and spilling wind from countless shotholes,
Undine
changed tack yet again, turning her bowsprit away from the islands and towards the sun.

The sea looked much wilder now, with short wavecrests crum- bling to the wind, or throwing sheets of spray above the gangways with hardly a break.

Bolitho wiped his eyes and tried to restrain from coughing. Like his eyes, his lungs were raw with powder smoke, the stench of battle. He watched the other ship as she swam above the leaping spindrift. Willingly or not, Le Chaumareys had the wind-gage, and his ship now stood off
Undine
's starboard bow, a bare cable's length away. If
Undine
continued to overhaul her, both ships would run parallel, a musket shot apart.
Argus
would get her revenge at such a murderous range.

He glanced quickly at Mudge. He, too, was watching the sea and the masthead pendant, but was it for the same reason?

But to ask him now, to show that he was in need of a miracle and had nothing to replace one, would take the fight out of his men no less than an instant defeat. He saw them at their guns, panting and gasping, tarred hands gripping tackles and rammers, sponges and handspikes. Their naked bodies were streaked with sweat which cut through the powder grime like the marks of a fine lash. Their eyes shone through their blackened faces as if trapped.

The marines were reloading their muskets, and Bellairs was strolling with his sergeant by the taffrail. At the helm another had taken the dead man's place, and Carwithen's coarse face was work- ing on a plug of tobacco, his eyes cold, without expression. There were fewer men on the gun deck, although Bolitho had not seen many fall. Yet they had gone, had died or been maimed without a word from him to give reason for their sacrifice.

He reached out to steady himself as the deck tilted more steeply. When he peered over the riddled hammocks he saw the sea's face forming into short, steep ranks, ranging towards the two ships as if to push them away.

He yelled, “Mr. Davy!
Are you ready?
”

Davy nodded dully. “Every gun loaded with chain-shot, sir!”

“Good.” Bolitho looked at Herrick. “I hope to God that the master knows his weather!” In a sharper tone he added, “Get the forecourse on her!”

With the great foresail set and drawing,
Undine
began to over- haul the other ship at a remarkable pace.

Bolitho flinched as more balls crashed alongside from
Argus
's stern-chasers, one of them hurling the quarter-boat into spin- ning pieces.

A last challenge. That was what it had to look like. Gun to gun. No quarter until
Undine
was a sinking wreck.

He said, “We will alter course when I give the word.”

He waited, aching in every muscle, his mind jumping to each gunshot from the Frenchman's poop.
Undine
's jib-boom seemed to be prodding her larboard quarter like a lance. A few stabs of fire above her shattered stern showed where marksmen had taken fresh positions, and Bolitho saw two of his marines drop like red fruit from the foretop, their cries lost to the mounting wind.

Mudge said worriedly, “We may lose our sticks when we comes round, sir!”

Bolitho ignored him.

“Ready lads!”

He watched the sea rising and breaking against
Argus
's oppo- site quarter, the mounting pressure against her yards.

“Now!”

He gripped the rail as the helm went over and the bows started to pull towards the enemy. He saw
Argus
trimming her yards, the hull tilting steeply as she followed
Undine
's turn.

Sunlight flashed on her quarterdeck, and then her side ex- ploded in a line of great flashes, the air rent apart with the savagery of her broadside.

Bolitho almost fell as the massive weight of iron crashed into the hull or screamed and tore through the rigging overhead. He was choked by swirling smoke, his mind reeling from the com- bined noises of screams and yells, of musket fire from all angles.

Somehow he dragged himself up the angled deck and peered towards the
Argus
. Smoke was drifting from her last broadside so fast that
Undine
seemed to be moving abeam to meet her. The il- lusion told him Mudge had been right, and as he watched
Argus
's sails bellying out towards him, he also saw her gunports awash as the wind thrust her over.
Thank God for the wind.

“Fire!” He had to repeat the order to make himself heard.
“Fire!”