Alexander Kent - The Only Victor

Bolitho licked his dry lips. Coffee, wine, even the brackish water from the casks would help just now.

He shut it from his mind. "We shall soon know."

Keen said, "RearAdmiral Herrick could have taken another course, sir. He may have turned the convoy towards England where he could expect to meet with the patrolling squadron."

Bolitho imagined he could see Herrick's round, honest features. Turn the convoy? Never. It would be like running away.

Tojohns, the captain's coxswain, was kneeling on the deck to secure Keen's curved hanger, the lightweight fighting sword he always carried in battle. As he had when Hyperion had gone down under him.

Bolitho touched the hilt of the old family sword at his hip and shivered. It was like ice. He felt Allday watching him, caught the heady scent of rum as he released a great sigh.

Keen was busy again with his master and lieutenants and Bolitho asked, "Well, old friend, what say you about this?"

For just a few seconds the darkness was gone, the night torn apart by one great, searing explosion which laid bare the whole ship, the men caught at their guns like statues, the rigging and shrouds sharpened by the glare like the bars of a furnace. Just as suddenly the light vanished, as if snuffed out by a giant's hand. Then, it seemed an eternity later, came the volcanic roar of the explosion, and with it a hot wind which seemed to sear the canvas and throw every sail aback.

Voices called out in every direction as the silence, like the darkness, hemmed them in once more.

Allday said harshly, "One o' the vessels carryin' powder an' shot, I've no doubt! "

Bolitho tried to imagine if any one had known, be it only for a split second, that his life was ending in such a terrible way. No last cry, no handshake with an old friend to hold back the scream or the tears. Nothing.

Keen was shouting, "Mr Cazalet, send midshipmen to each gundeck to tell the lieutenants what has happened! "

Bolitho looked away. Keen had managed to remember even that, as his ship sailed blindly on… into what?

Keen was heard to say, "God, they must have felt that like a reef on the lower gundeck! "

A small figure emerged from somewhere, groping past the helmsmen and officers, the men at the braces, as if he did not belong here at all.

Allday growled, "What th' hell are you doin' on deck?"

Bolitho turned. "Ozzard! What is it? You know your place is below. You were never a Jack Tar like poor Allday here! " But the old joke fell flat as he realised that Ozzard was quivering like a leaf.

"C-can't, s-sir! In the dark… down there. Like last time…" He stood trembling, oblivious to the silent men around him. "Not again. I c-can't do it! "

Bolitho said, "Of course. I should have thought." He glanced at Allday. "Find him a place close to hand." He knew the words were not reaching the terrified little man. "Near to us, eh?" He watched their shadows merge with the greater darkness and felt it like an old wound. Hyperion again.

Allday returned. "Snug as a bug, Sir Richard. He'll be all right after what you just said." If only you knew the half of it, he thought.

There were whispers as the upper yards and masthead pendant suddenly appeared against the sky, as if caught in another explosion, or even separate from the ship.

From the foremast crosstrees the master's mate's voice: "Deck there! Land on the larboard bow! "

Keen exclaimed, "Excellent, Mr Julyan-that must be The Skaw! Be prepared to alter course to the west'rd within the hour! "

Bolitho could share the excitement in many ways. They would soon be out and into the Skagerrak with sea-room which had no bottom, where it was said wrecks and drowned sailormen shared the black caverns with blind creatures too terrible to imagine.

Be that as it may… when the jib-boom pointed west again, nothing stood between them and England.

The light was spreading down on them to reveal each deck like a layer of a cake. Following astern, the seventy-four Nicator was completely laid bare in the weak sunlight, when minutes earlier she had been invisible.

Taverner the master's mate, who was sharing the lookout, yelled, "Deck there! Ships burnin'! " He seemed choked for words. "God, sir, I can't count 'em! "

Keen snatched a speaking-trumpet. "This is the Captain! " A pause, to give the slender link time to fasten, the months of training and years of discipline to reassert themselves. "What of the enemy?"

Bolitho walked to the quarterdeck rail and watched the upturned faces, the stark contrast with the almost cheerful air when Keen had explained what he had intended for this very moment.

"Two sail of the line, sir! One other dismasted." He broke off and Bolitho heard the master murmur, "That's not like Bob. It must be bad then."

The speed with which daylight was ripping away their defences made every moment worse. The enemy must have stumbled on the convoy before dusk yesterday, while they had been crawling out of the Sound with no thought but rescue in their hearts.

They must have taken or destroyed the whole convoy, leaving the clearing up to do until daylight. Until now.

Keen said in a tired voice, "Too late after all, sir."

The sudden echo of cannon fire vibrated over the sea and sighed through the masts and flapping canvas like an approaching squall.

Taverner called, "Dismasted ship has opened fire, sir! She's not done in after all! " Discipline seemed to leave him and he yelled, "Hit 'em, lads! Hit th' buggers! We'm comin'! "

Keen and Bolitho stared at one another. The mastless, helpless ship was Benbow. There was no other possibility.

Bolitho said, "Hands aloft, Val. Full sail. Just as we would if we were a prize and escort." He saw the eagerness and despair in Keen's eyes and said, "There is no other way We must hold the surprise, and we must keep the wind-gage." He felt his muscles harden as a responding broadside overlapped another and knew that the enemy would divide Benbow's remaining firepower, then board and take her. The ship could not even be manoeuvred to protect her stern from a full broadside. He clenched his fists together until they ached. Herrick would die rather than surrender. He had already lost too much.

Black Prince leaned steadily under the mounting pressure in her sails, and began to turn towards the western horizon beyond the blurred finger of land, a sea where the darkness still lingered.

With every minute the daylight revealed the awful evidence of a lost fight. Spars, hatch-covers, drifting boats, and further out, the long dark keel of a vessel which had capsized under the bombardment. As the darkness continued to retreat they sighted other ships. Some were partly dismasted, others outwardly undamaged. All flew the French Tricolour above their English flags, mocking patches of gaiety in a panorama of disaster.

Of the second escort which Tyacke had described there was no sign at all. Under Herrick's flag she would have gone down, too, rather than strike.

Taverner's voice was controlled again. "Deck there! They've discontinued their fire! "

Keen raised his speaking-trumpet almost desperately. "Have they struck?"

Taverner was watching from his private eyrie. All his years in ships under every kind of captain; but always learning, stowing it all away like rhino in a ditty-box.

He called, "The big ship's standin' away and makin' more sail, sir! "

Bolitho gripped Keen's arm. "They've sighted us, Val. They're coming! "

He saw his nephew, Midshipman Vincent, staring wildly over the nettings as far-off screams ebbed and flowed through the lengthening pall of dense smoke from one or more of the wrecks.

Tojohns said between his teeth, "What's that, in Hell's name?"

Keen looked at him and answered flatly, "Horses. Caught below decks when their ship was torn apart."