Alexander Kent - ENEMY IN SIGHT

He said, "Tell Mr. Tomlin to lay out the towing cable. Secure guns and get every available man aft."

Some of the gunners on the main deck climbed on to the gangways, realising for the first time what their own victory had cost the Dutch ship and her company.

Then he turned as Pelham-Martin rasped, "The Frenchman has not hauled down his colours!" His eyes were gleaming strangely. "He might still repair the damage!"

Bolitho stared at him. "And the Telamon?"

Pelham-Martin gestured fiercely with one hand. "Signal Hermes to take her in tow!" His eyes were still fixed on the drifting two-decker. "1 want that ship sunk!"

Bolitho looked at Gossett. "Lay a course to weather the reef." To Inch he continued in the same impassive tone, "One broadside as we pass. -There will be no second chance once we clear the reef.",

He crossed to the commodore's side again. "They'll be hard aground in a moment, sir." He knew it was pointless even as he spoke. There was something wild about Pelham-Martin's expression, a kind of inhuman eagerness which filled him with disgust.

"Do as I order!" Pelham-Martin clung to the nettings as the ship heeled slightly and Gossett said, "Course sou'west, sir!"

Far astern Bolitho could hear cheering aboard the Hermes, and as he looked over the nettings he saw figures standing on the Telamon's gangways waving and cheering with them. Someone had nailed a new flag to the broken mast, and amidst all the destruction and horror it seemed remote and strangely sad.

But aboard Hyperion not a single man called out now. Even the marines watched in silence as the ship bore down towards the dancing breakers along the reef. Here and there Bolitho saw the black tooth of a jagged rock, and found himself praying that the French would strike their colours before it was too late. There was a stiff sea running across the reef, and the survivors would be hard put to get ashore in safety even without this last battering.

But the flag was still there above the poop, and although the hull was low in the water he could see the men at their guns and a few figures standing on her quarterdeck as before.

"Stand by!" Stepkyne's harsh voice cut through the stillness.

Bolitho clenched his fists. Strike, damn youl Strikel Even as he willed the other captain to make the final gesture of surrender he knew that in a similar position he would have acted. the same way.

The enemy was drifting almost on end now, so that he could see the great scars in her poop, the trailing rigging above her gilded name, Le Fortune. He thought he saw an officer wave his sword towards the Hyperion as she bore past, and then with a double roar the enemy fired his last shots from the two sternchasers below the shattered cabin windows.

Bolitho felt the shuddering crash of a ball slamming against the quarterdeck bulwark and heard the hiss of wood splinters ripping past him, but all this was lost as the Hyperion rolled back ponderously to the weight of her own broadside.

As the smoke swirled high overhead he saw the enemy's mainmast come crashing down. But it did not vanish in the sea alongside for at that very moment the ship quivered and then struck hard on the reefs. Above the cry of the wind they could all hear the grinding smash of timbers and the immediate inrush of water through her bottom. That last broadside must have killed or wounded most of the seamen on her main deck, for with her torn sails still driving her abeam she lifted again and then lurched once more across the reefs, her foremast toppling amongst the stampeding figures which swarmed helplessly across the forecastle.

Bolitho turned away, sickened. He could hear the other vessel tearing herself apart, and imagined the panic and disaster below decks as the great guns broke loose from their tackles and smashed from side to side, while the trapped seamen struggled amidst the rushing water in a vain effort to escape.

But the Tricolour had gone at last. Not struck, but blasted away in the fury of the Hyperion's gunfire.

He turned slowly. "Orders, sir?"

Then he stared as Pelham-Martin swayed and began to slip to the deck. His coat had blown open in the wind, and from beneath his armpit and spreading quickly across his white waistcoat was a bright patch of blood.

Bolitho shouted, "A hand here! Mr. Canyon, pass the word for the surgeon!" Then he dropped on one knee and slipped his arm around the commodore's shoulders. "Easy, sir!"

Pelham-Martin seemed unable to speak and his expression was more one of amazement than any sort of pain.

"Carry the commodore to his cabin." Bolitho stood aside as Trudgeon, the surgeon, accompanied by his mates hurried onto the quarterdeck.

Pelham-Martin gasped, "Oh, God! Take care, blast you!

Inch asked, "Is it bad, sir?"

Bolitho walked to the bulwark and looked at the ragged scar above the nearest gunport. The ball, probably a ninepounder, had carved away the timbers like the blow from an axe. The gunners beside that port had been standing to watch the other ship. Otherwise they would have acted as a shield for Pelham-Martin.

He replied at length, "Wood splinters make the worst wounds, as you know, I am surprised he did not feel it more."

Then he crossed to the rail and peered over the starboard quarter to watch the enemy two-decker foundering heavily across the reef. From the angle of her poop deck he guessed she had already broken her back. It was strange to realise that but for Peiham-Martin's insistence on that final attack he would still be unharmed.

Inch said, "The Hermes has Telamon in tow, sir."

Gossett walked across the deck and touched the scarred woodwork with astonishment. "What made the Frogs fire that last lot, I wonder?"

Bolitho felt the tiredness sweeping over him. "Wouldn't you have done so?" He turned to Inch again. "Does Spartan have her prize secure?"

"Aye, sir." Inch watched him worriedly. "She is passing a tow across to her boarding party now."

"Very well. Get the hands aloft and shorten sail. Then have a signal made to Hermes and Spartan." He frowned, trying not to remember the sounds of the ship dying on the reef, the pointlessness of the last gestures. "We will return to St. Kruis. Make all sail conformable with weather and report when ready to proceed."

He looked round as Trudgeon came beneath the poop wiping his hands. "Well?"

The surgon was a grimfaced, taciturn man who never wasted words. "A splinter, true enough, sir. Pierced his side under the right armpit. In very deep, I'd say."

"Can you remove it?"

"If he were a common seaman I'd not hesitate, sir." He shrugged. "But the commodore seems unwilling to let me touch him."

"Stay with him until I am free to come aft." As Trudgeon made to leave he added coldly, "And if I catch you treating a common seaman with less care than one of my officers, I can assure you it will be the last time for you!"

Inch hesitated until the surgeon had departed. "Must we return to St. Kruis, sir?"

"The Telamon will never survive unaided." He thought of the cheers, the destruction and the unquestioning courage of the Dutch sailors. "De Ruyter would have been proud of them," he added quietly. "And I'll not leave them now!"

He walked to the quarterdeck rail and rested against it, feeling the ship trembling through his body as if, they were linked together._ Below him the seamen were relashing their guns and swabbing the decks free of powder stains, chattering and calling to each other, probably quite unaware their commodore had been wounded. The irony of it was made harder to understand, as he had been their only casualty.

Inch watched the topmen shinning down the backstays and said, "This means that you will command the squadron now, sir."

Bolitho smiled. "Not while that pendant flies, Mr. Inch."

He thought suddenly of all those who had died or been maimed for life since the ship had sailed from Plymouth Sound. "I doubt that the commodore will be laid low for long. Once we are in more sheltered waters Mr. Trudgeon will be better placed to remove the splinter."