Alexander Kent - Command a King`s Ship

When he peered forward Bolitho saw that the headland had eased back to starboard, the schooner already tiny as she scuttled around it and into the next bay.

Mudge yelled, 'West by north, sir! Full an' bye!' He was mopping his eyes with his handkerchief, clinging to the mizzen mast pike rack to hold himself upright.

He gestured towards the gaff where the red ensign streamed almost abeam. 'Close as we can get, sir!'

Bolitho winced as the six-pounders barked out again, and saw the nearest one bounding inboard until caught and held by its tackle. Its crew was already sponging out and groping for fresh charges and another ball from the shot garland, eyes white and staring through the grime, voices lost in the crash and roar of cannon fire, the squeal of trucks as like angry hogs the heavy guns were run out towards the enemy.

The Argus had at last followed Bolitho's lead. She was swinging round, her yards braced almost fore and aft, to hold the wind and keep Undine under her lee.

Even as he watched Bolitho saw the long orange tongues flashing from her ports, the bombardment unhurried and carefully aimed as gun by gun she fired through the swirling curtain of smoke and spray.

A ball screamed above the quarterdeck and slapped through the maintopsail before dropping far abeam. Others were hitting the hull, above or below the waterline, Bolitho had no idea. He heard someone screaming through the choking smoke, saw men dashing hither and thither like prisoners in hell as they rammed home the new charges and threw their shining, blackened bodies to the tackles again and again.

Above the din he heard Soames's deep voice rallying and cursing as he kept his men at their guns. A swivel banged out from the top, and he imagined the marines were firing more to ease their own fears than with much hope of hitting anything,

A quarterdeck gun port seemed to explode in a great burst of flame, and Bolitho saw men, and pieces of men hurled in all directions at once as a ball tore splinters from the bulwark and transformed them into hideous darts.

One marine ran sobbing from the nettings, his hands clawing at what remained of his face. Others stood or knelt by their fallen companions, firing, reloading, firing, reloading, until it seemed life itself had stopped.

A down-draught of wind swirled the smoke away, and Bolitho saw the other frigate's yards and punctured sails barely fifty yards abeam. He saw the filtered sunlight touching pikes and cutlasses as the enemy prepared to board, or to fight off their attempt to do likewise. He gasped as another line of bright tongues darted through the smoke, felt the planks buck under his feet, the crash and clatter of a gun being overturned or smashed to fragments.

When he peered upwards he saw that the maintopsail was little better than a rag, but every spar was still intact. A wounded seaman clung to the mainyard, his blood running down one leg unheeded to the deck far below. Another seaman managed to reach him and drag him to safety, and together they crouched below the maintop, caught in the severed ratlines like two broken birds.

Herrick was yelling, 'He's trying to cripple us, sir! Take us as a prize!'

Bolitho nodded and stopped to drag an injured man clear of a six-pounder. He had already guessed Argus's intentions. Another ship for Muljadi's use, or perhaps to replace Argus so that she could return to France.

The thought seemed to drive into his heart like a knife.

'We'll put the helm hard down! Swing the bows right into him!' He did not recognise his own voice. 'Tell Davy to get ready to grapple!' He seized Herrick's arm. 'We must grapple! He'll pound us to splinters at this rate!'

He felt the blast of a ball past his head, heard it strike the opposite bulwark and send a mass of wood splinters scything across the deck like arrows.

Herrick was yelling to Mudge and the men at the braces, and through the smoke Bolitho saw Argus's shadowy outline loom above the forecastle, the sudden movement of figures in her bows as the two ships drove together.

Above the din of gunfire and shouting he heard the sails jerking and banging, the wind lost to them, the ship already falling sluggishly abeam.

Herrick staggered in some blood and gasped, 'No use! Can't grapple!'

Bolitho stared past him. The enemy was already edging ahead and across Undine's larboard bow, a few guns firing as she went, holding the wind and changing course very slightly while Undine floundered helplessly, her remaining sails almost aback.

She was going to rake Undine with every available gun, but give Bolitho time to haul down his colours before she reached his stern and finished what she had begun.

He felt Herrick tugging his arm.

'What now?'

Herrick pointed up through the smoke, where the sunlight was making a small path through the drifting smoke.

'The lookout, sir! He's reported a sail to the west'rd!' His eyes were shining with hope. 'The Frenchman's making off!'

Bolitho looked at him dully. It was true, and he had heard nothing. Deafened by gunfire, or fogged in his own despair, he did not know. But the Argus was already spreading her mainsail and was driving down-wind with gathering power towards the open strait.

Bolitho said, 'Hands to the braces, Mr. Herrick. Lay her on the larboard tack again. If we can signal this newcomer we may still be able to give chase.'

He heard a small cry, and when he turned he saw two seamen kneeling beside Keen's body. The midshipman was trying to reach down to his stomach, but one of the seamen was gripping his wrists while the other slit open his bloodstained breeches with a dirk and threw them aside. A few inches above the groin there was something like a broken bone, but Bolitho knew it was far worse. A wood splinter blasted from the deck, and probably held tight by its own barbs.

He knelt down and touched it with his fingers, seeing the blood pulsing across the youth's thigh, hearing his sobs as he tried not to scream.

Bolitho thought of Whitmarsh, far away in Pendang Bay,

helping to heal the sick and wounded from the garrison.

One of the seamen said, ''E'll not last, sir. without 'elp.

I'll fetch a surgeon's mate.'

Allday was kneeling beside him and said, 'No. I'll do it.' Bolitho looked at him, seeing the determination on his face.

Then he turned and said, 'Easy, Mr. Keen. You'll be about again soon.'

He felt the rising anger and despair pricking his eyes. What had he brought them all to? He touched the midshipman's bare shoulder. It was smooth like a woman's. He had not even begun to live yet.

He snapped, 'Are you sure, Allday?'

The coxswain eyed him calmly. 'I'm as good as those other butchers.'

Davy came hurrying aft and touched his hat. 'Masthead has reported the other ship to be the Bedford, sir. The Frenchman must have thought her to be a man-of-war.'

He looked at Keen's wound and said hoarsely, 'My God.' Bolitho stood up slowly, watching the midshipman's fingers opening and closing like trapped animals in the seaman's strong grip.

'Very well, Allday. Take him aft to the cabin. I'll be down myself as soon as I've attended to things here.'

Allday looked at him. 'Don't you fret, Captain. It's the luck of the game. Our turn will come.' He nodded to the two seamen. 'Pick him up.'

Keen gave a sharp cry as they moved him to the cabin hatch, and before he vanished below Bolitho saw that his eyes were fixed unwinkingly on the sky above the tattered sails. Trying to hold on to it? So that by keeping the picture in his mind he might retain his life itself.

Bolitho bent and picked up the midshipman's dirk from the stained deck. He handed it to Davy and said, 'We will make contact with the Bedford. There is nothing more we can do for the present but return to the settlement.'