On This Day

 

Bolitho made himself stand very still as Herrick hurried aft towards him. The nausea came and went, and several times he thought he was going to fall to the deck. And yet he was acutely aware of what was happening around him, as if he could see without being seen. As if he were already dead.

Even his voice seemed to come from far away. “Thank God you are safe, Thomas!’ He looked towards the gangway where the boatswain’s party were helping some of the scarred and battered seamen up from the boats.

Herrick said, ‘They did well. When that smoke clears you’ll see naught but a few spars across the reef. I lost three good hands though …’ He stopped short and saw Lakey trying to signal him.

Then, as the exhaustion and fury of the fight left him,, he looked closer at Bolitho.

He said ‘I’m sorry, sir. I was thinking of myself.’ He did not know how to continue. ‘You must go below. At once’ He studied the firm line of Bolitho’s jaw. Like that of a man preparing for the first touch of a surgeon’s blade. ‘How could this have happened?’

Voices called from forward, and he turned, off guard and confused, as he saw the remainder of the ship’s boats moving. slowly from the shore. They were packed beyond capacity, bodies lumped over the oars and gunwales like sacks of grain, with only inches of freeboard above the water.

Borlase said hoarsely, ‘Convicts. He sent for them.’

‘Yes.’ Bolitho walked slowly to the side to watch the first boat hook on.

The drops which the surgeon had allowed him had given him a small relief, and Allday’s brandy lingered on his throat like fire. He had to blink to clear his vision as the convicts scrambled awkwardly on to the gangway and through the boarding nets. Against his own men he could see little difference. He felt a sudden sense of urgency. He must talk with them. Tell them. He saw Keen coming towards him and waited for him to speak first. He felt he had to save every breath. Each small effort brought the sweat across his body in a flood.

Keen said, ‘The marine sentries think that the schooner may have landed spies in the night, sir.’ He glanced helplessly at Herrick. ‘They’re not certain, but it’s possible.’

Bolitho waited for the next spasm of giddiness to pass. ‘I feared as much. They could lie hidden for hours, days.’ The bitterness crowded into his tone. ‘They will soon see through our pathetic disguises.’ He walked to the rail and looked at the gundeck, at the jostling figures below him.

Herrick said quickly, ‘Let me, sir. I’ll tell them what they must do.’

‘No.’ He did not see the despair on Herrick’s face. ‘I am asking too much of them already, without…’ He swayed and added, “Thomas, old friend, if the enemy knows of our weakness, we are done for. They will pound us to pieces while we lie at anchor. We must meet them in open water. To do that we need men. Any men.’

He looked at the sky, the streaming pendant high above the deck.

There is little time. When I have spoken to these people you will withdraw our remaining pickets from the island.’ He spoke slowly and with great care. ‘Whichever of these people wishes to go ashore, have them taken there before we weigh. With this wind, the Narval will be around the headland before noon. By ..then I intend to be in the best position I can find.’

He swung away and raised his voice. ‘Listen to me, all of you! A French frigate is coming to engage this ship, and she will most likely have another vessel to support her. I am shorthanded, more so now because of losses against that pirate schooner. You have no cause to love the authority which brought you to this place, nor have you a firm promise that I can get you passage home to England, if that is what you want.’

He turned slightly upwards the sun, so that they would think he was shutting his eyes against the glare and not to control a bout of nausea. ‘But you have seen what Tuke and his men have done, and will do if they overwhelm this ship. Your support may do no more than delay a defeat. But without that aid we are already dead men.’

There was a pause, and he could almost feel their torn emotions.

Then a voice called, ‘All I done was steal a pig, sir I They sent me to Botany Bay for that. Me family was starvin’, what else could a man do?’

Another said hotly, ‘My woman was slaughtered by that bastard Tuke after ‘im an’ ‘is devils ‘ad done with ‘er as they wanted!’ His voice shook. ‘I got nothin’ to go back to England for, Cap’n. But by the livin’ Jesus I’ll fight for you if you tells me what to do!’

Uproar broke out on the gundeck, and while the seamen and marines watched spellbound the jostling convicts faced each other in argument and anger.

; Bolitho said heavily, It did not work, Thomas. I cannot find it in my heart to blame them’

Herrick snapped, ‘Have the boats ready, Mr Keen. Mr Fitzmaurice, make a last signal to the settlement.’

They turned as a man called, ‘We know what you done for us, Cap’n, an’ what you tried to do. When you’ve been used to little better’n kicks and curses you soon gets to know what you values. Aye, Cap’n, I’ll fight for you too, an’ be damned to tomorrow!’

A few voices still yelled out in protest, but they were drowned by a great wave of cheering, which even Jury’s resonant voice could do nothing to quell.

As it slowly died down Bolitho said quietly, ‘Put them on the gun tackles and braces. Their strength and our skills are all we have. We must use them well.’ He turned away, retching violently. ‘Move yourself, Thomas!’

Herrick tore his eyes away. ‘Man the boats!’ He watched as several of the convicts clambered down into them, pursued by-ironic cheers from their companions. ‘Mr Keen! This will be the last time, so be as quick as you can’

He saw the small red figures by the smashed pier, one hopping on a crutch. Sick and wounded, convicts, everyone who could draw breath was needed today. But all he could see in his mind was Bolitho, fighting his own war, hanging on as his life swayed between reality and total collapse.

Bolitho did not move or speak again until the last boat came alongside and off-loaded some marines. He had expected to see Raymond come aboard, although he could find no reason for it. So he intended to remain behind his frail defences to the end. To take credit for the victory, or as was more likely, barter for his life yet again with the attackers.

He saw Herrick waiting by the quarterdeck rail, his face full of anxiety.

‘Drop a buoy here and moor all but the quarter boat, if you please.’

Herrick understood. ‘Aye, sir.’ This was one day when they would need no boats, and if all failed, they might help Hardacre and some of the others to escape.

‘Very well.’ Bolitho looked around the crowded quarterdeck. ‘We will weigh directly. Have the capstan manned.’ He nodded to Lakey. ‘Lay a course to weather the headland and the reef as close as you can manage.’

He turned and saw Midshipman Romney waiting to assist Fitzmaurice.

‘Run up the colours, and tell Sergeant Quare to have his fifers play us out.’

As Tempest weighed anchor once more and tilted reluctantly to the wind, figures moved slowly from the trees along the beach and ran to the water’s edge to watch. They saw the sails breaking out from the great yards, the minute figures scrambling above the deck like monkeys, the mounting foam beneath the gilded figurehead, and though most of them did not understand why it was so, many were deeply moved by what they saw.

Their young chief, Tinah, stood beside Hardacre’s massive figure and raised one hand to his ear, as faintly at first, then more strongly, he heard the strains of music.

He looked enquiringly at the big man by his side.

Hardacre said quietly, ‘Portsmouth Lass. I never thought to hear it in these islands.’

Hardacre, who hated the signs of authority and spreading power from a land he had almost forgotten, who had sought only security and peace amongst the people who had grown to trust him, was unable to control his voice as he added, ‘God bless them. Well not see their like again.’

 

Once free of the land’s protection the north-westerly wind laid into Tempest’s canvas and held her hard over on the larboard tack.

‘East nor’-east, sir! Full and bye!’

Bolitho nodded and walked up the tilting deck to the weather side. The rising din of shrouds and canvas, the clatter of blocks and the hiss of the sea were joined in his mind as one great tumult. He felt the deck quivering to the wind, and when he peered along the larboard twelve-pounders he saw them hanging on taut tackles as the ship heeled further and further to the thrust.

Spray spurted over the nettings and stung his cheeks, but he barely flinched. He saw faces he did not know being hustled to various parts of the ship, some gazing at him as they hurried past. He no longer thought of them as convicts, but found himself wondering what they had once been. Again, much like his own men. Driven from the land by necessity, or lured to the sea by impossible dreams. But for their circumstances they might have ended in a King’s ship anyway. The impartial callousness of a press-gang, a need to escape like Jenner or Starling, it might be fate after all which set the stage for man.

‘More brandy, Captain?’

He turned, holding firmly to the hammock nettings, and saw Allday watching him.

‘Later.’ He forced a smile. ‘You’ll have me three sheets to the wind!’

Allday did not smile. ‘Help me, Captain. I don’t know what to do. I can’t stop you, an’ I can’t aid you either.’

Bolitho reached out and gripped his arm. ‘You are helping me. As you have always done.’ He saw Allday’s face fade momentarily as if a mist had formed over it, and added-tightly, ‘Just by being here.’

‘Deck there! Sail on th’ larboardquarter!’

Herrick swore, “Damn! They will hold the weather-gage.’

Bolitho beckoned to Romney and seized the telescope from him. His heart was going like a smith’s hammer, and it took time and effort to steady the glass. He saw the blurred outline of the headland falling rapidly away on the quarter, its silhouette made more confused by the spray which was bursting across the reef in wild abandon.

There she was, just as he remembered, thrusting towards him with all but her royals set to the following wind. Her beakhead vanished repeatedly in great swooping plunges, and he could imagine the sea sluicing over her guns as she was driven to her capacity.

He heard Lakey say, ‘Pity the wind don’t shift and dismast the bastard!’

Bolitho forgot the voices around him as he concentrated on a sliver of sail which had appeared almost astern of the other frigate. The second schooner. He lowered the glass, biting his lip to control his reeling thoughts. Viola had told him about the other schooner. When she had been Tuke’s captive. There would probably be another heavy cannon aboard her, too. Some may have been transferred to Narval also.

He pulled himself along the spray-soaked planking until he had reached the rail above the nearest twelve-pounders.

He saw Borlase and Swift pause in their walking between the guns and called to them, ‘I want you to double-shot the guns.’ He held up his hand to silence Borlase’s protest. ‘After the first broadside there’ll be no time. It’ll be gun for gun.’ He felt the grin prising his lips apart. ‘What say, lads! Give him a headache from the start!’

Somebody gave a cheer, and he saw Blissett, his corporal’s chevron very bright against his scarlet tunic, waving his hat in the air.-

Sprawled in the maintop, the marine called Billy-boy examined his long musket and eased the stiffness in his leg.

Behind him the captain of the maintop asked uneasily, ‘What d’you reckon?’

The marine shrugged. ‘Two to one. I seen worse. Anyroad, I’d rather be here than on some poxy island.’

The other man looked at the mast, trembling to the great weight of spars and rigging. He was thinking of the man he had replaced. Blasted to bloody pulp by one of those iron balls.

Bolitho said, ‘Prepare to shorten sail, Mr Herrick. We’ll have the t’gallants off her directly.’

He pictured the other ship in his mind, flying downwind towards their quarter. Tuke would be expecting a fight, and would need to get to grips while he held the wind. Against that, Tempest’s heavier build would slow her when she came about on the opposite tack. It would be a temporary advantage, but it was all they had. They would never match the French ship for agility. He knew Herrick was thinking the same.

Herrick raised his speaking trumpet. ‘Hands aloft! Take in the t’gans’ls!’

Romney peered up at the tightly braced yards. It would be no easy work up there today, with the wind buffeting the bulging canvas and trying to dislodge the topmen one by one.

Bolitho felt the deck trying to level off as the sails were fisted and hauled into submission and lashed to the yards.

He made himself look towards the Narval again, and saw she was much closer. No more than a league away. He saw a brief puff of smoke, and flinched as a ball moaned overhead to raise a feather of spray on the opposite beam.

Keen said, ‘They must have one of Eurotas’s twenty-four-pounders as a bow chaser.’

No one answered him.

Bolitho concentrated on the other ship, expecting her to follow his example and shorten sail. There was some activity on her upper yards, but not enough to hold her headlong attack. If Tuke tried to make a violent alteration of course in either direction, to follow Tempest or to track her round on a new tack altogether, he would, as Lakey remarked, tear the masts out of the ship.

‘Stand by to come about!’ Bolitho had to cup his hands because of the boom of canvas. ‘Mr Borlase! Are you ready to engage with the starboard battery?’ He saw him nod, confused no doubt by the fact that the enemy was on the opposite side. Bolitho added, ‘Well, tell me in future! I am not a magician!’

He walked back to the settings, fighting for breathy angry with himself for wasting energy, with Borlase for being so stupid.

Herrick looked up the slanting deck, his eyes very clear in the light. ‘Ready, sir !’ He glanced up with a start as a ball whipped between the main and mizzen without hitting even a halliard. He had not even heard the gun fire,

Bolitho glanced quickly aft to the helm and the leaning group of men around it. Lakey, dependable and as steady as a rock. Keen with his gun crews, and the marines spread along the nettings behind him, their muskets already cradled over the tightly packed hammocks.

He turned to look forward, seeing the new men at the braces, grim-faced, some no doubt wondering if their momentary heroics were worth all this.

The older men were waiting to let go the headsail sheets so that Tempest would swing unhindered across the wind’s eye, and near them he saw Pyper and the crews of the two carronades waiting for a chance to pour their murderous charges into the enemy’s stern if a chance offered itself.

‘Ready! Put the helm down.’

Slowly and noisily, Tempest started to swing to windward, the air shaking to the onslaught of shrouds and vibrating rigging. He saw men hauling at the braces, one falling in a confused heap as he lost his footing, only to be chased and pushed back to his position by Schultz, the boatswain’s mate.

Round and further still, the tossing panorama of breaking crests and glass-sided troughs swinging across and under the jib boom while every stitch of canvas protested noisily.

And there, like an hitherto unseen vessel, was the Narval, rising above the starboard bow instead of the opposite quarter, her pyramid of sails creamy white in the sun’s glare.

Bolitho saw the deep shadows on her forecourse and topsail and knew she was trying to alter course. The sails hardened again, and he guessed Tuke knew it was impossible to match his opponent’s manoeuvre.

Bolitho ignored the confusion on deck, the whine of blocks and the overwhelming groan of spars as the yards were hauled still further round to lay Tempest on the opposite tack. He watched intently, seeing the other ship forging towards his jib boom, making an arrowhead between them. It was the best part of a mile away, although it looked from aft as if both bowsprits would lock like tusks.

‘As you bear, Mr Borlase!’ He felt unsteady and sick.

Borlase sliced the air with his hanger. ‘Fire!’

Double-shotted, the starboard guns crashed out in one tremendous broadside, the trucks hurling themselves inboard while dense smoke funnelled through the open ports in a choking cloud.

Above the receding echo of the broadside Bolitho heard a terrible scream and saw blood splashed across the deck close to where Borlase was standing. One of the convicts had changed his position at the moment of recoil and had been smashed in the chest by one of the guns as it came hurtling inboard.

Borlase tore his eyes from the droplets of blood which had spattered across his legs and yelled, ‘Stop your vents! Sponge out! Load’’ His voice as shrill as a distraught woman’s as he peered through the swirling smoke.

Bolitho saw the smoke swirl and quiver as the French frigate fired back. Iron hammered into the lower hull, and he heard the whine of more balls passing overhead. Tempest’s sudden change of tack had confused their aim.

The smoke thinned and billowed away downwind, and Bolitho caught his breath as he stared at the enemy. Sails punctured in several places, and at least two gun ports empty of muzzles.

Herrick yelled, ‘Well done, lads!’

Prideaux said, “We’ll not surprise that one a second time.’

Bolitho strode to the compass, ignoring the stained faces of the men who watched him pass. At the compass he consulted the set of the sails, the position of the other ship as she carried on downwind, her topmen already reducing her show of canvas.

He tried to hold the sickness aside, but it was dragging at him. Pulling him down with relentless strength.

It was all suddenly quite clear. He was going to die. This day, on this deck. It was merely a matter of time.

He dashed the sweat from his eyes and peered at the compass.

South-west, and there were two islands overlapping across the bows, misty and beckoning as in a dream.

‘Let her rail off two points, Mr Lakey. We will follow Narval round.’

‘Steady she goes, sir! Sou’ sou’-westl’

There was a rumble of cannonfire, and men ducked in confusion as Narval’s next broadside swept over the water. A different sound this time. Chain and bar shot, in an effort to cripple Tempests rigging.

The nets above the gundeck bucked and rebounded under an onslaught of severed cordage, blocks and a man who had lost both legs yet was still trying to drag himself to safety.

‘Fire!’

Tempest shook violently, the guns spitting out their long orange tongues, deadly and vivid in the choking smoke. . The frigates were a bare half-mile apart now, with Tempests bowsprit level with the other’s mainmast. Again and again the guns thundered across the water, the passage of their shots marked on the sea by burning wads and by the force of their wind above the waves.

Tempests forecourse and main were punctured in several places, and above the sweating gun crews the torn rigging trailed in the wind with few men spare to repair it.

A violent flash exploded from Tempests poop, as if a magazine had ignited deep in the hull. Bolitho slipped and fell to the deck as splintered planks, upended cannon, men and pieces of men were flung about him. Voices called and screamed, and as he struggled to his feet he saw that half of the helm had been smashed to fragments, the quartermaster and his mates strewn around it like bloody rags.

Lakey was unmarked and unharmed, although he had been standing just inches away. As others ran to assist him he croaked, “That schooner! The bugger’s put a shot through our counter!’

Herrick pointed to the smoke which billowed up through the shattered skylight and companion. ‘Must have been double-shotted with a load of grape for good measure!’

He hurried aft as Jury, his legs and shoes splashed with blood, yelled, ‘Steerin’s carried awayl’

True enough. With power gone from her rudder, Tempest was already falling away downwind, exposing her stem towards the other frigate.

More shots tore into the hull, and others raised fountains of spray against the side.

Bolitho shouted, ‘Must get steering-way!’

He turned, sickened, as a ball crashed through a port and took the head from a crouching gun captain, leaving the torso standing for just a few terrible seconds.

Herrick shouted, ‘What’ll we do, sir?’

Bolitho squinted through the smoke, watching the Narval’s yards swinging round as she halted her charge and began to turn in pursuit. He saw the schooner closing from the opposite quarter, her captured gun firing again, the ball shrieking through the rigging, breaking the maintopsail yard like a carrot. The great spar, and all the weight of rigging and sail, plunged through the smoke and across the gundeck, ripping the main-course into flapping streamers as it fell. Men cried out in terror as they were pinned or trapped by the wreckage, others searched for friends, or struggled to free their guns and train them on the enemy.

Swift, his mind and body reeling with horror as he stared at Borlase crushed and mangled beneath the broken yard, one arm still moving frantically, fought to stop himself from running below to hide.

Then he saw something pale across the larboard quarter and shouted desperately, ‘The schooner! Stand-to’’ He raised his arm and saw with astonishment that he had lost two fingers, but had felt nothing. ‘Fire!’

The ragged, badly aimed broadside spouted from Tempest’s side, although’ less than half of the twelve-pounders would bear, or were still able to shoot.

The schooner’s foremast quivered, the sails all in torment, and slid down into the smoke, slewing the vessel round and rendering her helpless.

Bolitho saw it and more beside, although faces and events were all somehow merged in his cringing mind. The schooner was out of the fight. But for her he would have been able to take on the enemy ship to ship. But now… He stared at the havoc, the straggling, filthy figures who were trying to clear the wreckage from the decks. Dead and dying were everywhere, and there was blood running down the foremast, while high above the torn body of a topman dangled and swayed with the wind, snared in some of the broken rigging.

It’s no use, sir!’ Lakey’s lean face swam before him. ‘We’ll never get the helm rigged afore that bugger’s up to us !’

Bolitho looked at Herrick. ‘You know what you always said about this ship?’ He drew his sword and tied the lanyard around his wrist.

‘Aye.’ Herrick watched him, fascinated and. aghast. ‘She’s stout enough to take the heaviest battering. She’s not taken a drop of water in the well, in spite of all…’ He ducked as more iron smashed through the nettings, hurling men and hammocks aside in scarlet profusion.

Bolitho nodded, gritting his teeth. The sight of the men nearest him, of Midshipman Fitzmaurice lying on his side staring wide-eyed at the blood which was soaking out and around his slight body, had decided him.

‘Tell the hands to reload and then stand down!’ He shook Herrick’s arm. It’s our only chance. Narval can get on our stem and pound us to pieces. Without steerageway I can do nothing to stop it. Arm the people. Be ready!’

Herrick stared at him, seeing the torment and the feverish wildness in his grey eyes. But there was nothing he could do to stop him now.

He turned to Allday. ‘Keep with him.’

Then a silence seemed to engulf the drifting ship as the tattered sails whipped and curled without effect, while from astern the merciless bombardment ceased. It was replaced by a mingled roar of voices, rising above the cries of the wounded and dying until it was like one great, savage bellow of triumph.

Unaware of their own strength or numbers, Tempest’s company crouched or lay beneath the fallen debris, or hid under gangways beside the guns which were still hot from their firing. Pikes and cutlasses, axes and belaying pins. The men, deafened by cannonfire, almost out of their senses by the sights and horrors all around them, stared at the stout timbers which had protected them and waited for the nightmare to end.

A few muskets hammered across the water, and Bolitho could hear Billy-boy yelling abuse as he shot again and again at the enemy. He could tell from his voice that he was badly wounded, dying even as he kept up his firing.

Slowly, and then with frightening suddenness, the Narval’s sails and yards lifted over the starboard quarter.

Bolitho stood by the rail, his sword dangling from his wrist. So the horror was not yet done. He watched the other ship’s jib boom rise high above the nettings, the broken yard, and the untidy cluster of corpses. Dangling from the bowsprit, bobbing to the motion as if still alive, was the severed head of de Barras.

Bolitho felt the brittle strength coursing through him. He yelled, ‘Fire as you bear!’

Like rats and moles, his blackened seamen scrambled from hiding, and down the Tempest’s battered side every gun which could find a target exploded in an ear-shattering crescendo, the noise made twinfold by the double-shotted charges and the closeness of the other ship.

He felt the deck lurch as Narval’s jib boom drove through .the foremast shrouds, the grinding crash of the two hulls dulled by the terrible screams of those who had been caught in the murderous broadside.

‘Boarders away!’

Yelling and cheering like madmen, what was left of Tempest’s company hacked their way across to the other ship, some falling before they could find a handhold, others held and crushed between the two swaying hulls.

Bolitho found himself on Narval’s gangway with steel clanging on every side. He slipped on blood left by that last onslaught, and knew Allday had saved him from pitching over the side.

Marines ran past, with Prideaux leading the attack.

Sergeant Quare waved his musket. ‘At ‘em, marines !’ Then he took a full charge, of canister in the chest and stomach, ripping him to fragments.

Blissett saw the marines hesitate, their faces like stone as they stared at Quare’s corpse. He yelled, ‘Charge!’. He was mad, exhilarated, and sad for Quare all in one brief second. Then he was amongst the defenders on the forecastle, his bayonet lunging and stabbing, while his companions closed around him in a tight, merciless group.

Bolitho reached the frigate’s quarterdeck, his mind clear again as he saw his own ship through the drifting smoke.

All around him men were reeling and staggering, crossing cutlasses or fighting with fists and anything they could find. He saw Miller slashing a path towards the poop with his axe, watched him suddenly fall, pinioned by a pike, and covered by his killer as a British seaman hacked him down.

And then, beside the abandoned wheel, his legs astride two dying seamen, he saw Mathias Tuke. He was amazed to find that he felt no sense of surprise. Tuke was exactly as he had imagined. As she had described him.

Now, with his chest heaving, his fist bright red from the blood which ran from his sword, Tuke was staring at him, his eyes blazing with hatred.

He said harshly, ‘Well, well, Captain! We meet at last! Did she tell you, of the mark I put on her soft body, eh?’ His mouth opened in his thick beard like an obscene hole and he laughed, throwing back his head, but keeping his eyes fixed on Bolitho.

From the opposite side of the deck Herrick saw it clearly, even as he cut down a screaming pirate and waited for his party of seamen to establish their hold of the gangway above the gundeck.

From two crews they had broken into separate parties. Then into groups. Now into individual fragments of defence and attack.

He saw Bolitho step towards Tuke, watched the two blades circling each other warily, could feel the tension.

He barked, ‘Haul down their flag! Follow mel’ With his fighting sword swinging before him, Herrick charged to the attack.

Bolitho saw none of them. Only Tuke. And even he seemed to be growing in size and stature, his body surrounded by enclosing darkness.

Tuke took a deep breath, startled by Bolitho’s failure to respond.

Then he bellowed, ‘Now!’ And with a wild yell he lunged forward.

Bolitho saw the blade slicing towards his stomach and knew he could do nothing. The strength was gone from his arm, and he felt the deck jar his legs as he stumbled on to his knees. Men were cheering from the other end of the ship, and he knew the flag which was being waved and then thrown over the side was that of the enemy. But he could feel and do nothing.

His vision was obstructed by a white-clad leg, and he heard Allday’s voice break in a sob as he shouted, ‘Back!’ There was a clang of steel. ‘And back, I say!’ More clangs, and Bolitho was able to see Allday driving Tuke towards the side. He was holding the cutlass with both hands like a broadsword, some-tiling he had not seen before. He wanted to call to him, to stop his fury before he was cut down.

Allday was almost incoherent with anger and grief , oblivious to a cut on his shoulder and to everything but the towering man before him.

Between blows he gasped, ‘You bloody, cowardly, murdering bastard!’ He saw the man show fear for the first time and brought the heavy cutlass against Tuke’s hilt with all his strength, hurling him to the deck. Then as he made a shadow fall across Tuke’s head and neck he sobbed, ‘I wish to God this was not so quick for you!’ The cutlass swung down once, then twice.

As Herrick and the others rushed to drag him away, Allday hurled his cutlass over the nettings and ran to Bolitho’s’side.

Bolitho gripped his arm, wanting more than anything to reassure him. But he was shaking violently and could barely whisper.

Allday said, ‘You’ll be all right. Captain;’ He looked wretchedly at Herrick. ‘Won’t he, sir?’

Herrick replied, ‘Help him up. We must get him aboard Tempest.’ He saw Keen running towards him. ‘Take command here.’

With Herrick and Allday guiding and half-carrying him, Bolitho returned to his own ship.

There were no more cheers, and his men parted to let him pass, their strained faces looking and searching for something’

Bolitho saw the shattered companion and knew he had somehow reached the Tempest. But the companion, and the place where he could hide his final shame from his men. still seemed a mile away.

He heard himself murmur. ‘See to the people, Thomas. After that we’ll…’

Herrick looked at him despairingly as the surgeon hurried to meet them, his butcher’s apron covered with the stains of his trade.

‘After that, sir, we’ll be going home.’

Gwyther watched Allday lower the captain on to a cot. ‘He does not hear you, Mr Herrick.’ He knelt down and loosened Bolitho’s neckcloth.

Allday looked at Herrick. ‘You go, sir. He’d want it. It’s your responsibility now. I’ll tell you when the captain’s feeling better.’

He said it so fervently that Herrick could only reply, I’m depending on it.’

Above, the cheering was beginning at last, as the two drifting ships were secured, and those who had expected to die were made to accept that they had won a victory.

But to Herrick, as he paused in the square of sunlight below the companion, there was no such feeling, and only a sense of stricken disbelief.

Gwyther said, ‘There is little I can do.’

He was needed in a dozen places at once, and had already operated on more men than he could have believed possible in so short a time. Yet he could not move, and was held here by Allday’s simple belief.

He added quietly, ‘We can only wait. And hope. No man in his condition should have done what he has today.’

Allday looked at him and replied firmly, ‘But he’s not just any man.’ He nodded. I’ll watch over him.’

He heard the muffled cheering and said to Bolitho brokenly, ‘See, Captain? We did it. Just like we said.’

Silently, Gwyther turned and made for the orlop again. The surgeon had served with Bolitho for several years but had never really got to know him. After this, live or die, he knew he could never forget him.