To Glory We Steer (9 page)

“One more thing!” He leaned forward as if to will them to listen. “This is a King's ship! There will be no surrender!”

He thrust his hands beneath the tails of his coat and walked slowly to the weather rail. It would not be long now. He looked across to Proby's shabby outline beside the wheel. “In a moment we will beat to windward, Mr Proby.” He heard a mumbled assent and wondered what the master would make of his order.

The American captain would no doubt expect the smaller ship to turn again and try to slip downwind, and as soon as she turned he would pour a full broadside into the
Phalarope
's stern, as he had first intended. Bolitho's manœuvre would bring the
Phalarope
round towards the other ship, and with luck Herrick might be able to get in the first blood.

He saw the flash of sunlight on a telescope from the
Andiron
's quarterdeck and knew the other captain was watching him.

“Stand by, Mr Proby!” He lifted his hat and yelled along the main deck, “Right, lads! A broadside for old England!”

With a protesting groan the yards came round, while overhead the canvas thundered like a miniature battle. Bolitho found that his mouth was as dry as sand, and his face felt chilled into a tight mask. This was the moment.

John Allday crouched beside the second gun of the larboard battery and stared fixedly through the open port. In spite of the cool morning breeze he was already sweating and his heart pumped against his ribs like the beating of a drum.

It was like being a helpless victim of a nightmare, with every detail clear and stark even before it happened. Somehow he imagined it would be different this time, but nothing had changed. He could have been sailing into battle for the first time, new and untried, with the agony of suspense tearing him apart.

He tore his eyes from the open square of water and glanced back across his shoulder. The same men who had jeered Ferguson or ringed Evans in menacing silence now stood or crouched like himself, slaves to their guns, their faces naked and fearful.

Standing a little apart from the battery, his back to the fore-mast, Lieutenant Herrick was watching the quarterdeck, his fingers resting on his sword, his bright blue eyes unwinking and devoid of expression.

Allday followed the officer's stare and saw the captain at the quarterdeck rail, his palms resting on the smooth wood, his head jutting slightly as he watched the other ship. The latter was almost hidden from Allday by the high bulwark and gangway and the other guns, but he could see her topmasts and straining sails as she bore down on the larboard quarter, until she seemed to hang over the
Phalarope
like a cliff.

Pryce, the gun captain, slung the powder horn over his hip and squatted carefully behind the breech, the trigger line in his hands. Through his teeth his voice sounded strange and taut. “Now, lads, listen to me! We'll be firing a broadside first.” He looked at each man in turn, ignoring the other gunners at the next port. “After that it will all depend on how quickly we load and run out. So move sharply, and as the cap'n said, take no notice of the din about you, got it?”

Ferguson clung to the rope tackle at the side of the gun and gasped, “I can't take it! God, I can't stand this waiting!”

Pochin on the opposite side of the breech sneered, “Just as I said! It takes more than pretty clothing to make men of the likes o' you!” He jerked savagely at the tackle. “If you'd seen what I'd seen you'd
die
of fear, man.” He looked around at the others. “I've seen whole fleets at each other's throats.” He let his words sink in. “The sea covered in masts, like a forest!”

Pryce snapped, “Hold your noise!”

He cocked his head as Herrick called, “Gun Captains! As soon as we engage on the larboard side send your best men to back up the other battery under Mr Okes!”

The captains held up their hands and then turned back to watch the empty sea.

Allday looked across at Okes and saw the officer's face gleaming with sweat. He looked white. Like a corpse already, he thought.

Vibart's voice rang hollowly through his speaking trumpet. “Braces there! Stand by to wear ship!”

Allday ran his fingers along the cold breech and whispered fervently, “Come on! Get it over with!”

The
Phalarope
was outclassed and outgunned, even he could see that. With half her men already too terrified to think it was just a matter of how soon her colours would fall.

He glanced down at his legs and felt a chill of terror. It never left him, and the years on the quiet Cornish hillside amongst the sheep had done nothing to dispel it. The fear of mutilation, and the horror of what followed.

Old Strachan called softly from the next gun, “'Ere, you lads!” He waited until his words had penetrated the minds of the new men. “Wrap a neckscarf around yer ears afore we start to blow! You'll 'ave no eardrums else!”

Allday nodded. He had forgotten that lesson. If only they had been prepared and ready. Instead they had stumbled out from their hammocks and almost at once the nightmare had begun. First the excitement of a friendly ship, fading instantly in the drummer's roll as the men ran gasping and wide-eyed to quarters. He could just see the same little drummer boy beside one rank of marines. He was staring across at the captain as if to read his own fate.

Pryce muttered, “Never bin a fight like this afore.” He looked up at the billowing sails. “Too much wind. It'll be hit hard an' run, you mark my words!”

There was a rasp of steel as Herrick drew his sword. He lifted it above his head, the blade holding the sun like firelight.

“Stand by in the larboard battery!”

Ferguson moaned softly, “Oh, Grace! Where are you, Grace?”

From aft Vibart bellowed, “Put the helm down! Hard down there!”

They all felt the deck begin to cant further as the seamen forward let go the headsail sheets and allowed the plunging frigate to swing wildly across the wind.

Allday swallowed hard as the gunports suddenly darkened and the other ship's raked bow pushed across his vision. She filled the port, her guns and spray-soaked hull leaning at an angle as if to reach out and smash the
Phalarope
as she swung impudently towards her.

Herrick dropped his sword.
“Fire!”

The captains jerked their lines and the whole world fell apart in the staggering, uneven broadside. Choking smoke billowed back through the ports, rasping the lungs and filling every eye as the guns lurched angrily back on their tackles. It was like hell, too terrible to understand.

But already the gun captains were yelling like fiends, urging and hitting at their stunned gunners as the powder monkeys ran forward with fresh cartridges and new, gleaming balls were lifted from the racks.

Pryce knocked down a man's arms and screamed, “Sponge out, you bastard! Remember what I taught you! You'll blow us all up if you drop a charge into a burning gun!” The man mumbled dazedly and obeyed him as if in a trance.

Herrick shouted, “Reload there! Lively, lads!”

Allday waited a few more minutes and then threw his weight on the tackles. Squealing like angry pigs the gun trucks rumbled forward again, the muzzles racing each other to be first through the ports.

But the
Phalarope
was almost into the
Andiron
's bow. A few more feet and it seemed as if both ships would smash into each other, to die together in locked combat.

“Fire!”

Again the savage roar of a broadside, the deck yawing away beneath them with its force. But this time more ragged, less well aimed. Through the din of shouts and groaning spars Allday heard some of the balls strike home, and saw Maynard, one of the midshipmen, waving his hat in the streaming smoke and yelling to the sky, his words lost in the guns' roar.

The
Andiron
must have fired simultaneously with the
Phalarope
, her gunfire lost in the general thunder of noise. There was more of a feeling than a sound, like a hot wind, or sand blasted across a parched desert.

Allday looked up as the sails jerked and twisted as if in agony. Holes were appearing everywhere, and from high aloft came a falling tangle of severed halyards and ropes. A block dropped on to the breech with a loud clang, and Pryce said without looking up from his priming, “The bastards fired too soon! The broadside went right over our 'eads!”

Allday peered through the port, still dazed, but understanding at last what Bolitho had done. The
Phalarope
had not turned away, had not offered her stern for punishment. Her sudden swing to attack had caught the enemy off balance, and rather than risk a senseless collision he had hauled off so that his first broadside had failed to make real contact.

He heard Herrick call across to Lieutenant Okes, “By God, Matthew, that was a close thing!” Then in a wilder tone, “Look at the masthead pendant! The wind's veering!”

There was bedlam as the enemy ship swung rapidly clear of the charging
Phalarope.
But so sudden or so unexpected was the attack that the
Andiron
's captain had failed to notice what Bolitho must already have seen even as he steered towards possible disaster.

Instead of beating back to windward the
Andiron
met the full wind hard across her larboard bow. For a moment it looked as if she would rally and at worse come crashing back alongside.

Herrick was jumping with excitement. “My God, she's in irons! She's in irons!”

Men were standing beside their guns calling the news along the deck while across the water, framed in a rolling bank of gunsmoke, the
Andiron
rolled helplessly up wind, unable to pay off on either tack. Already men were running along her yards, and across the shadowed water they could hear the blare of commands through a speaking trumpet.

Herrick controlled himself. “Over to the starboard battery. Jump to it!”

Pryce touched the men he needed and scampered across the deck.

From aft came the call, “Stand by to go about! Man the braces!”

Allday threw himself down beside the opposite gun and showed his teeth to the crouching men.

Old Strachan croaked, “The cap'n can certainly 'andle the ship well enough.”

Okes shouted, “Silence there! Watch your front!”

Herrick walked to the centre of the deck and watched the carpenter and the boatswain hurrying to repair the brief damage. Men were already climbing aloft to splice the severed lines, and others were at last rigging nets above the main deck to give some protection from falling blocks or spars.

Round came the yards once more, sails thundering, braces screaming through the blocks as the men ran like goats to obey the constant demands from the quarterdeck.

It did not seem possible. Caught and surprised one instant, and the next moment they were not only attacking, but hitting the enemy again and again.

Bolitho must have thought it all out. Must have planned and schemed during his lonely walks up and down the night-darkened deck, waiting for just an eventuality.

He could see him now, calm-eyed and stiff-backed behind the rail, his hands behind his back as he watched the other ship. Once during the waiting Herrick had seen him wipe his forehead, momentarily brushing away the lock of dark hair and displaying the deep, savage scar. He had seen Herrick watching him and had jammed on his hat with something like anger.

Herrick ran his eye along his own guns, now manned by depleted crews and blind to the enemy as the
Phalarope
tacked round to close the range. He had heard Pochin's bitter remarks and had seen the way Allday had rallied to help the new men. It was strange how they all forgot their other worries when real danger was close and terrible.

It was true that the ship was different under Bolitho. And it went deeper than the uniform clothing now worn by all hands, issued on Bolitho's order to replace the stained rags which had been commonplace in Pomfret's time. There was this violent uncertainty instead of sullen acceptance, as if the men wanted to draw together to match the young captain's enthusiasm, yet had forgotten how to go about it.

Okes said sharply, “She's under way again! She's swinging round!”

The
Andiron
's sails were flapping and banging in apparent confusion, but Herrick could see the difference in her outline and the new angle of her yards.

Bolitho's voice cut through their speculations. “Another salvo, lads! Before she completes her turn!”

Herrick breathed out sharply. “He's going to try and cross her stern! He'll never make it. We'll be broadside to broadside in minutes!”

The wild confidence which their successful attack had brought him changed to the chill of uncertainty as the
Phalarope
gathered way, her masts and spars quivering under the press of sail. He gripped his sword more tightly and gritted his teeth as once more the enemy topsails showed above the hammock nettings. The masts were no longer in line, she was swinging fast and well. There was nothing else for it but to take what had to come.