Part 32 (1/2)

'It's my right to ...

A ball ripped through Bolitho's coat and he vaguely saw Langtry, the master-at-arms, cut down the marksman with a boarding axe.

They were all dying. And for what?

A new explosion made both s.h.i.+ps roll and groan together, and for an instant Bolitho imagined that a magazine had caught fire, that both s.h.i.+ps would be joined in one terrible pyre.

Swords and cutla.s.ses hovered in mid air, marines paused in their desperate efforts to reload their muskets, as like a towering forest giant the Frenchman's mainmast began to topple. It seemed to take an eternity, so that even some of the wounded tried to prop themselves up to watch, or called to their friends to discover what was happening.

Bolitho let his arm fall to his side, the pain tearing at his muscles as if they were exposed.

Knocker yelled hoa.r.s.ely, 'There it goes, by Jesus!'

Slowly, and then with greater haste, the mast began to drop. Topmast and topgallant, spars and loosely brailed canvas tore apart as shrouds and stays snapped like threads, unable to hold the tremendous weight or restrain its fall. The fighting-top, complete with swivel-guns, barricades and men, split in halves, hurling its occupants to the deck below, or carrying them down with the topmast as it crashed through timber, rigging and guns into the hull beneath.

Even in Achates Achates Bolitho could feel the weight and power of the fallen mast, the way the deck beneath his feet tilted steeply to the new pressure. Bolitho could feel the weight and power of the fallen mast, the way the deck beneath his feet tilted steeply to the new pressure.

A trumpet blared through the rising smoke and some of the boarders retreated into a larger group near the forecastle.

It was the usual sailor's instinct to save his own s.h.i.+p no matter what.

Bolitho cleared his raw throat and shouted, 'To me, Achates!' 'To me, Achates!'

It was their only chance, if a precious frail one.

But from forward came a sharp command and then a sparkling line of musket-fire. Bolitho stared, unable to believe it. It was like the moment at San Felipe when Dewar had chosen his moment on the track to the fortress. The neat lines of scarlet, the muskets ready and waiting. But now Dewar lay dead, his face shot away, his body trampled on a dozen times as they had fought back and forth across him. And the marines had not been waiting, gauging the moment. They had been in action since the first shots.

And yet they were doing it. He could see Hawtayne's hat above the smoke, hear his shrill voice as he shouted, 'Rear rank, advance! Present! Fire!' Fire!'

The shots raked through the packed ma.s.s of French boarders.

There would be no time to reload.

Bolitho dashed down one of the quarterdeck ladders, the pain of his wound forgotten as he ran through the litter of bodies and fallen rigging, his eyes fixed on the enemy.

Hawtayne was calling, 'Advance!' 'Advance!' The bayonets glittered in the hazy light as the marines moved into the attack. The bayonets glittered in the hazy light as the marines moved into the attack.

Bolitho saw a young officer running to meet his challenge. He was about the same age as Adam, with similar dark good looks. The steel clanged against steel and Bolitho was almost blinded by the realization that his nephew was very likely dead.

The young French officer lost his stance as Bolitho parried his blade away. Just for the merest split-second he saw the officer's eyes widen with understanding or acceptance. Then he was down. Bolitho pulled the sword free and felt his men surge past him, their voices strengthened by the sudden change of roles.

Lieutenant Scott waved his sword. 'Boarders away!' 'Boarders away!'

Cheering, cursing, and sometimes dying, a tide of seamen and marines fought their way across to the other s.h.i.+p.

Bolitho hacked another officer to one side but could barely raise his sword now. How long could they hold out?

He was on the gangway, carried part of the way along by his men as they rushed aft to seize the p.o.o.p.

Small pictures flashed across Bolitho's mind. Adam's face when he had tried to tell him about the girl in Boston. Tyrrell's old pride returning as he had stepped aboard the s.h.i.+p for pa.s.sage to a country he had never seen. Little Evans, watching the burning Spanish s.h.i.+p, or following him like a small shadow. And Allday, trying to protect him when his own terrible wound was tearing him apart. Pulling him down like a fallen oak.

Shouts and screams exploded across the broad quarterdeck and bodies were flung about in b.l.o.o.d.y bundles from a murderous blast of canister.

Bolitho wiped the sweat from his eyes with his forearm and stared up at the p.o.o.p.

He must really be mad. But surely it was Adam and another lieutenant up there with some of Achates' Achates' men? The smoking swivel, depressed on to the ma.s.s of defending seamen and their officers, had had the same effect as the sight of the marines charging from the smoke with their levelled bayonets. men? The smoking swivel, depressed on to the ma.s.s of defending seamen and their officers, had had the same effect as the sight of the marines charging from the smoke with their levelled bayonets.

Lieutenant Scott forgot all his usual self-control and clapped Bolitho hard across the shoulder.

'By G.o.d, it's the flag-lieutenant, sir! The young devil's blown the heart out of 'em!'

He ran after his men but paused to look back at his vice-admiral. It was just a glance, but it spoke more than a thousand words.

The enemy still outnumbered Achates' Achates' men and at any moment a leader would emerge, one for them to follow, to renew the fight. men and at any moment a leader would emerge, one for them to follow, to renew the fight.

Bolitho looked at his gasping, gashed and bruised seamen, the way they leaned on their cutla.s.ses and pikes. They could not take another battle.

Lieutenant Trevenen marched across the deck and touched his hat with the hilt of his sword.

Achates' junior lieutenant, who had been a hostage in Rivers' fortress. junior lieutenant, who had been a hostage in Rivers' fortress.

Seconds ago he had been fighting with his men and working the guns in his division.

Now, filthy but bright-eyed, he was a boy again, and his eyes shone with emotion as he reported, 'They have hauled down their colours, sir.' He fell silent as the seamen and marines crowded closer to hear. Then he tried again, 'Mr Knocker has sent a messenger across . . . ' He looked down, the tears running unheeded on his grimy cheeks.

Bolitho said quietly, 'You've done well, well, Mr Trevenen. Please continue.' Mr Trevenen. Please continue.'

The lieutenant looked at him. 'A s.h.i.+p has been sighted to the south'rd, sir. One of our our seventy-fours!' seventy-fours!'

Bolitho moved through his men, hearing them cheering and slapping each other. It was as if it was all somewhere else and he was a mere spectator.

He found the French rear-admiral by the wheel. He had been slightly wounded in the arm and was supported by two of his officers.

They stood and faced each other.

Then Jobert said simply, 'I should have known when I saw it was your was your s.h.i.+p.' He tried to shrug but the pain made him wince. He added, 'You were to give me an island.' He struggled with his sword. 'Now I must give you this.' s.h.i.+p.' He tried to shrug but the pain made him wince. He added, 'You were to give me an island.' He struggled with his sword. 'Now I must give you this.'

Bolitho shook his head. 'No, M'sieu. M'sieu. You've earned the right to it.' You've earned the right to it.'

He turned and walked back towards the side, his ears ringing to the shouts and wild huzzas.

Hands reached out to a.s.sist him across to the Achates' Achates' torn and littered deck, and he saw Mids.h.i.+pman Ferrier and Rooke, the boatswain, watching him, grinning and waving their hats. torn and littered deck, and he saw Mids.h.i.+pman Ferrier and Rooke, the boatswain, watching him, grinning and waving their hats.

If only they would stop.

He glanced at the figures on the gun-deck, ones who would never cheer now. How sleep the brave? How sleep the brave? And he thought of the others on the orlop who were paying the price of his victory. And he thought of the others on the orlop who were paying the price of his victory.