Alexander Kent - COLOURS ALOFT!

To begin with he had been able to ignore the danger in the face of their timely arrival. Now there seemed no chance even of survival. He watched Bolitho's expression, the way he covered his left eye while he rested the glass on a seaman's bare shoulder to get a clearer view.

It seemed to steady him. He was able to accept what must happen. But firstBolitho lowered the glass. "Load and run out. Then-" He looked at Stayt. "Hoist the signal for close action." He handed the glass to Sheaffe's small assistant. "I'll not need this again, I think." He walked away from the others and stared at the blue water and the endless desert of small crests.

Throughout his small squadron it would be the same, he thought. Brave men afraid to die, cowards fearful of living. They would follow his flag wherever it led. He saw their faces, Montresor, Houston, Lapish and young Quarrell nursing his two big guns. And Adam. Back there in his first command, in his twenty-third year. Or perhaps, like Inch, he had already paid for his impudent courage.

He looked up as the signal for close action broke out, and recalled that other time when men and boys like some of these had died to keep it flying. He shifted his gaze to the bright flag at the fore, and as guns cracked out from the convoy he was surprised to discover that all hate and bitterness were gone.

They were the luxuries of the living.

THE TWO converging lines of ships appeared to be closing rapidly, although Jobert's squadron still stood at about three miles' range.

Keen watched fixedly and then said, "He's not reduced sail yet, sir."

Bolitho wanted to climb to the poop and see what was happening in the convoy. There the firing had become general, and the last time he had looked Bolitho had seen Benbow wreathed in smoke as she engaged the two French seventy-fours on either beam at once. It was never a comfortable plan; it meant dividing the gun crews and left few hands to carry out repairs and remove the wounded.

The sharper crack of small weapons told him that Adam's Firefly had thrown any caution to the wind as she tacked as close as she dared to the two big Frenchmen. Adam knew Benbow wore Herrick's flag. Not that he would need any encouragement to fight. Bolitho thought of Keen's comment. Jobert had hoisted no signals either and had obviously drilled his ships for this very moment.

Keen asked without lowering his glass, "Shall I shorten sail, sir?"

"Yes. Take in the courses. Otherwise Jobert will overreach our line before we can cripple some of his ships."

Paget shouted, "Barracouta has gone for the frigates!" He sounded excited. "God, she's crossing the stern of one of 'em!"

Lapish had used his disguise well. While the two French frigates had held their station, one astern of the other, he had swept suddenly towards them with all the wind in his favour. His starboard battery was blasting into the enemy while he cut so dangerously close across the leader's stern that it looked as if they had collided. Smoke and flame belched from the Frenchman, and somebody gave a wild cheer as the maintopmast plummeted over her side, the attendant tangle of rigging and snapped spars dragging her over and giving Lapish's gun crews the rare chance of a second broadside, before Barracoutas helm went down and she changed tack towards the French line.

Even some of Keen's seamen paused as they fisted and kicked the main and forecourses against their yards, to stare as their one frigate curtsied round before the second enemy vessel had time to follow. Her two broadsides had rendered the other ship momentarily helpless and the list of killed and wounded must have struck them hard.

Bolitho made himself watch Jobert's flagship. Like her consorts, she was painted in black and white stripes, her gunports rising up her tumblehome in a checkered pattern.

Keen said, "He intends to overreach us, sir."

Bolitho said nothing. Leopard's jib-boom appeared to be pointing directly at their own.

Then Keen said, "They're shortening now, sir." He sounded tight with concentration. Relief too, for if Jobert's ships crossed their line of battle, they could smash into the convoy while Keen lost vital time trying to head round and engage. The reduction of sails might settle their final embrace.

The range was less than two miles now, and seemed to make Jobert's flagship loom even higher above the choppy wave crests.

"Stand by, starboard batteries!" Keen drew his sword, his eyes slitted in concentration.

Bolitho heard the order being piped to the lower gun deck and imagined the faces he had come to know.

He said, "We must try to break the line. Pass astern of Jobert, and let Montresor and Houston tackle the others. Ship to ship, broadside to broadside."

He saw the stabbing lines of flashes as Jobert's three-decker fired a slow broadside. The sea boiled violently as the heavy balls screeched above him and tore rigging to shreds and punched a dozen holes in the sails. Men swarmed aloft with the boatswain's bellowing voice guiding them to the worst damage.

Less than a mile now. More shots crashed overhead, and two balls hit the lower hull like battering rams. Bolitho wiped his eyes as smoke swirled over the quarterdeck in a freak downdraught before being sucked away downwind.

"Signal Rapid to assist Benbow." Bolitho tried not to consider Quarrell's chances, but it would lend heart to Herrick-he bit his lip-and Adam. Please God he was still safe.

Paget yelled, "He's resetting his tops'ls, the bugger!"

Bolitho watched as Leopard's topmen struggled out on their yards while the helm went over and Jobert's ship changed tack as if to avoid a final encounter. As she presented her full broadside she fired. It was like one gigantic explosion and Bolitho had to seize the rail as many of the balls struck Argonautes side or crashed across the forecastle. Wood fragments whirled in the air and most of the starboard carronade's crew were cut to bloody fragments.

Keen's sword flashed down. "Fire!"

The gun captains jerked their lanyards and Argonaute swayed over to the thrust of her combined broadside. The lower battery, their main armament, reacted badly; some of the crews there must have been stunned or unnerved by the weight of the enemy's iron.

Some of Leopard's sails lifted and writhed, and her fore-topsail was torn apart by the force of the wind through the ragged holes. It was not enough to make her even falter.

Despatch was closing with the second Frenchman, and Bolitho could hear Icarus firing from extreme range at the rearmost two-decker. He hurried to the nettings, the crews of the unemployed nine-pounders staring at him, their eyes wild, their naked bodies heaving with exertion as if they had been running.

Bolitho watched his two ships closing with the enemy, Icarus almost hidden in a rolling fog of gunsmoke.

He shouted, "Follow Jobert!" He winced as more balls slammed into the hull and a man screamed briefly as he was cut down.

Keen shouted, "Put up your helm! Close with her, man!"

Fallowfield glared at him and then gestured to his helmsmen, who clustered around the big wheel as if it was a last refuge.

Small flashes lit up Leopard's fighting-tops and several musket balls, almost spent, slammed harmlessly into the hammocks. The Royal Marines crouched against their frail protection and waited for the command to fire; some even glanced at Captain Bouteiller, willing him to give the order.

Keen called, "Set the forecourse!"

The hands had been waiting and Bolitho saw the great sail billow from its yard, cutting away the vision of the enemy like a huge curtain.

More shots whimpered across the quarterdeck and poop and Allday muttered, "Stay close to me, lad. They're out of range, but-"

Stayt pulled out his pistol and stared at it as if he were seeing it for the first time.