FORM LINE OF BATTLE!

12. NIGHT ACTION

It took over an hour to reach the more sheltered water between the two headlands, and by then the jolly-boat's oarsmen were gasping from sheer fatigue. The necessity of constant baling and the regular relief of oarsmen by the extra hands made it difficult to maintain a perfect trim, so that it was all Piper could do to keep the boat on a steady course or to stop the stroke from becoming ragged and noisy.

Bolitho peered astern and saw the gig's dark shape keeping within fifty feet of his own boat. Lieutenant Fowler had more. oarsmen, but his boat was proportionally heavier, and no doubt he was staring after his captain hoping and praying for a short rest.

But there was still a long way to go, and as the boat swayed and tossed in a sudden surge of offshore currents he wondered how Rooke and his party was getting on. As they had passed between the headlands at the entrance of the inlet he had seen the faint white outline of the beacon standing at the top of the cliff like a portly ghost, and had prayed that Rooke would be able to seize it without raising an alarm. He had also seen Inch in the second cutter for just a few moments before it had vanished into a tiny cove at the foot of the southern headland. The men in the jolly boat had found time and breath to curse and envy the lot of Inch's party. They would at least be able to loll across their oars while the cutter rode to her anchor and Inch waited for his moment to act.

The bowman hissed sharply, "There it is, Cap'nl' He was pointing with his boathook, his crouching shoulders outlined against the dark water like a figurehead. 'The boom, sirl'

Bolitho snapped, 'Easy, ladsl Get ready to hook on!'

Allday lifted the shutter of his lantern for just two seconds and trained it astern, and they heard the gig's muffled oars rise dripping from the sea and fall silent.

Gratefully the two boats glided to the makeshift boom and squeaked against it while the bowmen dropped their grapnels snugly into place. The boom consisted of a massive cable which stretched away in a black crescent on either beam to vanish into the darkness. It was buoyed by great casks at regular intervals, and although hastily constructed would be more than' ample to prevent a ship from entering the harbour.

Bolitho climbed across the boated oars, resting his hands on the wheezing seamen as he scrambled forward into the bows. The boom was waterlogged and greasy with sea slime, and as he looked to either beam he could see it bending with the force of the current. It was as he had expected and hoped. The rainfall had been as heavy as it was rare, and the small river must be swollen to twice its size as it poured down from the hills to gush into the inlet towards the waiting sea.

He looked up startled, realising at that moment the rain had stopped. Even the clouds seemed finer and less menacing, and for a few seconds he felt something like panic. Then the distant church clock chimed once. It was either one o'clock or half past the hour, amid the sounds of spray and creaking timbers it was hard to tell which. But it helped to steady him, and without speaking he returned to the sternsheets. There was still plenty of time, and his men had to be rested.

Lieutenant Fowler leaned across the gunwale from the gig and asked in a strained whisper, `Can we cross it, sir?'

Bolitho nodded. 'We will cross first. You follow as soon as we are clear. That boom is practically submerged between the buoys. It will not be difficult.'

He froze as a man gasped, `Boat, sir! Starboard bowl'

They sat quite motionless, the seamen holding the two boats apart to deaden the sounds, while vaguely in the distance and then more insistently they heard the splash and creak of oars.

Bolitho said softly, 'Guardboat.'

Against the water and cruising wavelets it was impossible to see the actual boat, but the regular slice of oars, the low, white moustache around the stem were clear enough. Bolitho heard a man whistling softly, and more unexpected and frightening, a great, satisfied yawn.

Piper whispered, 'They're following the boom, sir.' He was shivering violently, but whether from fear or the fact that he was soaked to the skin, Bolitho could not be sure.

He saw the guardboat's splashing progress drawing across the bows and becoming more indistinct with each stroke. Naturally the French coxswain would try and stay away from the boom itself with this current running. Caught beam-on to that cable it would take a lot of sweat and effort to get back on course, and without harsh supervision no sailor would bother too much, provided the boom was still intact. After all, nothing could get over it, and as it was guarded at either end it would be simple to detect any effort to cut it.

Bolitho relaxed his muscles very slightly as the guardboat vanished into the darkness. It would probably rest awhile on the other side of the inlet before rowing back again. With luck, fifteen minutes at the very least. And by that time… He twisted in his seat and snapped, `Right, lads! Over we go!'

Squeaking and scraping the two boats slithered over the sagging cable, the oars used like flails as the seamen poked and prodded the protesting hulls clear of the snare and into the harbour. Bolitho watched the nearest cask bobbing astern and half-expected a sudden challenge or an alarm flare to show that he was discovered. Nothing happened, and with renewed vigour the men lay back on the oars, and by the time the church clock chimed two they were on their way up the centre of the narrowing inlet, the current opposing them more and more with each dragging minute.

Even in the darkness it was possible to see the pale houses rising on either side of the harbour on tiers, the lower windows of one peering over the roof of the next. For all the world like a fishing port in his own Cornwall, Bolitho thought. He could without effort picture the tiny, narrow streets linking the tiers of houses, the nets hung to dry, the smell of raw fish and tar.

Allday said hoarsely, 'There she is, Captain! The Saphir'

The anchored two-decker was just a deeper shadow, but against the lightless houses her masts and yards stood out like black webbing. Allday eased the tiller very gently, and followed by the gig they edged out further into midstream and away from the sleeping ship.

Bolitho twitched his nostrils as the wind carried the acrid scent of charred wood and burned paintwork across the choppy water to remind him of that last meeting. It was possible too to see the break in her outline left by her missing topmast. Here and there he could see a shaded lantern or the soft glow of a skylight from the forecastle. But there was no challenge or sudden cry of alarm.

The captured sloop-of-war Fairfax was anchored in the shallower water some two cables beyond the Frenchman. She was swinging at her cable, her slim bowsprit pointing inland as she rocked uncomfortably in the current. Bolitho studied her intently as the two boats glided past. His first command had been a sloop, and he felt a sudden compassion for the little-Fairfax. There was always something very sad about a captured prize, he thought. Stripped of her familiar figures and everyday language, renamed and manned to the requirements of her captors, she was nevertheless the same ship.

Piper said, `The bridge, sir!'

It was little more than a grey hump, but Bolitho knew they had reached the end of the harbour, and as if to confirm his calculations the church clock chimed three o'clock. When he looked up he saw that there were some breaks in the cloud now, the occasional star to mark the storm's passing.

All at once the moment of decision was on him. His men could pull no longer, and below the bridge he could hear the tide-race of water like a millstream, which removed any hope of rest for his tired and sweating oarsmen.

He glanced swiftly around the boat. 'Right, lads. We can drift with the current as planned. We will take the main chains, and Mr. Fowler will board over the fo'c'sle.' Gently he withdrew his sword and pointed across the gunwale. 'Put her about, Allday. Keep well clear of the gig. Mr. Fowler has enough to do without worrying about us!'

Allday thrust at the tiller, and as the oars were eased quietly inboard he set a course straight for the sloop's narrow outline. Every man held his breath, so that the sounds of lapping water alongside, the scrape of bared steel, seemed terrifyingly loud. Even the slop of trapped water below the bottom boards made more than one man start with alarm.

The Fairfax stood out suddenly above them, her masts and furled sails appearing to reach out for the tiny stars, her sealed ports almost close enough to touch.

Then, as Allday thrust the tiller further still and the jolly boat swung clumsily towards the chains a voice shattered the silence from right overhead.

'Qui va la?'

Bolitho saw the man's head and shoulders black against the furled mainsail, and in one movement jerked Seton to his feet, squeezing his arm almost savagely as he hissed, 'Go on, boy! Speak to himl'

Seton was still weak from seasickness, and in the sudden quiet his voice sounded cracked and uneven. 'Le patrouillerl' He retched as Bolitho shook him again. 'L' officier de gardel'

Bolitho felt a maniac grin frozen on his face and said, 'Well done!' From above he heard the man muttering, more aggrieved than uneasy now that he thought all was well.

With a thud the stem struck the hull, and as the grapnels soared over the bulwark Bolitho leapt for the chains, his sword dangling from his wrist as he struggled with the unfamiliar shapes around him and pulled himself up and over the rail.

From the darkness below the bulwark he heard a sharp cry and the sickening sound of a heavy cutlass biting into bone. -Then, apart from the heavy breathing: of his men as they swarmed aboard, the slap of bare feet on planking, all was silent once more.

He gestured urgently with his sword. 'Allday, take ten men and seize the berth deck! There'll be an anchor watch aboard, and it's likely they're still asleep!'

There was a clatter of oars and a sudden shout of anger from beneath the bows, and as Bolitho hurried along the darkened deck he saw the first of Lieutenant Fowler's men swarm up on to the forecastle to secure the gig's headrope.

He snapped, 'Keep silent there! What the hell are you trying to do?'

Fowler hauled himself awkwardly over the cathead and gasped, 'Sorry, sir! One of the men fell on top of me!' He sounded dazed. 'Is everything all right?'

Bolitho grinned in spite of his taut nerves. 'It appears so, Mr. Fowler.' He turned as one of his bargemen, a giant Irishman named O'Neil, padded across the deck and knuckled his forehead. 'What is it?'

'The poop cabin is empty, sorr.' He gestured towards the main hatch. 'But Oi think yer cox'n has found some Froggies below.' He balanced his cutlass expertly in his hand. 'Maybe we should put 'em out o' their misery, son?'

Bolitho frowned. `There'll be none of that, O'Neil!' He turned back to Fowler. 'Now get your party to work at once. I want every piece of spare canvas, loose furniture, anything which will burn, and I want it stacked below the foremast.'

Fowler shivered slightly and glanced outboard as the sloop swung diagonally towards midstream. 'Aye, aye, sir. I've detailed some men to haul the oil up from the gig. God, the ship'll burn like a torch in this wind!'

Bolitho nodded. 'I know. And I hate to do it.'

'Is there no other way, sir?' Fowler was watching his men darting back and forth from the bows, their arms laden with small kegs of oil.

'This ship is worth less than the lives of our people, Mr. Fowler. Provided the wind does not shift we can cut the cable and let her drift down on the Saphir without too much difficulty' He slid the sword back into its scabbard and added harshly, 'There is nothing like a fireship to cause panic!'

Midshipman Piper peered up at him, his eyes gleaming with agitation. 'Sir! Down below!' He seemed too confused to find the words. 'Allday has found…' He broke off as the coxswain strode quickly through the busy seamen followed by a small figure in a flapping shirt and little else.

Bolitho asked sharply, 'What is happening, Allday? Who is this man?'

Allday stared at the growing pile of canvas by the foremast and then replied quietly, 'I think this one is a master's mate left in charge, Captain.' He took a deep breath. 'But that's not the trouble. I've just been below and there are some thirty wounded Frenchmen down there. Young Mr. Seton is talking to -'em, quietening 'em as best he can.'

Bolitho turned his back and stared towards the distant Saphir. Then he asked, 'Are they badly wounded?'

'Aye, Captain. Some of the Saphir's company, it seems. Mr. Seton says that they were to sail some time tomorrow to try and slip past the blockade into Marseilles.' He shook his head..'Some of 'em'll not see the morning, in my opinion.'

Fowler said savagely, 'Well, it cannot be helped! They might have died in the broadsides. Burning is a quick enough death!'

Bolitho tried to control his racing thoughts. Allday's discovery was like a slap in the face. He had planned and allowed for everything humanly possible. He had not discounted that he might have to fight his way aboard, that he could even be driven off by a vigilant anchor watch or sentry. The gig's approach from the opposite side would have taken care of that, or at worst could have taken the survivors to safety or captivity. He stared helplessly at the toiling seamen and felt suddenly sickened.

Fowler was as right about the wounded Frenchmen as he had been about the burning sloop. '… worth less than the lives of our people,' he had said.

And in his heart he knew the plan would have worked. The sloop, once ablaze, would have drifted down on the sleeping two-decker like a messenger from hell. Locked alongside, nothing would have stopped the Saphir from being fired al-, so, and together they would have burned to the waterline, and the menace to Pomfret's landing would have been wiped away.

The Saphir's company had proved their skill in battle, but tired men, awakened in a safe port to see their world ablaze and knowing that once the creeping fire reached the magazines they would all be killed or roasted alive, would soon lose the heart to fight such a dreaded and overwhelming enemy.

He thought suddenly of Rooke and the others at the beacon. They must have taken it by now or an alarm would have been raised. Rooke would be watching for the flames, while below the headland Inch and his men were waiting to dash out and sever the boom. His task was to have been the easiest, for no guardboat would wander aimlessly across the harbour entrance when their own ship was being burnedbefore their eyes.

Tonelessly he said, 'I will send no man to a death like that.' He looked at Allday. 'How many are there in the anchor watch?'

Allday replied, 'Seven others, Captain. I've got 'em tied up as you ordered. We only had to club one of 'em.' He added awkwardly, 'No one could blame you, Captain. The chances are they'd roast you alive if the game was reversedl'

Bolitho studied him gravely. 'I cannot find any comfort from that sort of supposition.' He looked at the sky. It was clearing rapidly, and eastward towards the open sea the stars stretched in an endless pattern as far as the horizon. Herrick was cruising out there somewhere, watching and worrying. Searching for the beacon to guide him in to the harbour before the dawn left them naked and vulnerable.

He made up his mind and said, 'I want those men brought on deck. This sloop has two boats, and we can usa one of our own also.' He was speaking rapidly as if to convince himself. 'Be as gentle as you can, but hurry!' He caught Piper's sleeve in the gloom. 'You take charge of swaying out the boats, lad. You've done it often enough in Hyperion, but this time you must take care to make no noise at all!'

Piper nodded and hurried away, calling his men by name. Bolitho watched him until his small body was swallowed up in the shadows and felt strangely moved. Then he forcibly controlled his sudden despair and turned to Fowler. There was no point in thinking of the midshipmen as sixteen-year-old boys. They were King's officers. It was not possible or provident to think otherwise.

Fowler said flatly, 'Unless those Frogs are stone-deaf they're bound to guess something is afoot, sir.' He added bitterly, 'Maybe that Charlois was right after all!'

Bolitho looked at him thoughtfully. 'Would you give the order to fire this ship with those helpless men trapped below?

Fowler shifted his feet and replied, 'If I was ordered to I would, sir.'

'That was not what I asked.' Bolitho's tone was cold. 'Taking orders is always easier than giving them. If you live long enough, Mr. Fowler, you may well remember that when you have a command of your own!'

The lieutenant said humbly, 'I am sorry, sir.'

There was a bump, followed instantly by a shriek of pain as one of the wounded men was hauled bodily through the ship's main hatch. Bolitho could hear Seton's voice, soothing and pleading as he tried to stem the sudden panic amongst the disturbed Frenchmen. He did not understand what was being said, but it seemed to be taking effect, for the man lay quite still below the bulwark as the first boat lifted from its chocks and swung creaking on the tackles.

Piper was dancing with anxiety. 'Easy there! Avast hoist – mg!' Then as the boat swayed over the rail he squeaked, `Lower away handsomely!'

Bolitho said, 'Take the gig and make. it fast aft. We will have to send the jolly boat ashore, I am afraid.'

Fowler replied, 'It was overloaded before, sir. With your party as well…' He shrugged doubtfully.

Allday ran across the deck. 'Just three more to get up, Captain. One of 'em is dead already, so I've left him in peace.'

The second boat splashed alongside and the Hyperion's seamen began to manhandle the wounded over the rail to their companions below. Standing bound and terrified in a small group the French anchor watch waited by the mainmast, guarded by several armed seamen, with their dead comrade still by the bulwark as a warning to anyone stupid enough to make any protest.

The men worked swiftly and silently, but as the time dragged by the tension became almost unbearable. Bolitho tried not to watch the sky, for the more he looked the lighter it appeared to become.

He said, 'Mr. Seton, tell these French seamen to keep quiet Once they are in the boats. One sound and I'll sprinkle 'em with cannister before they cover half a cable!'

Seton nodded. 'Aye, aye, s-sir!' He was swaying with fatigue and shock. 'I-I'm s-sorry about that n-noise, sir.'

Bolitho rested his hand on his hsoulder. 'You've done well, lad. I'm proud of you.'

Allday stood aside as Seton hurried past him and said quietly, 'He's got the makings, Captain.'

'So you said before.' Bolitho cocked his head as the clock chimed four. 'It's late, Allday. How many more now?'

The coxswain peered across the deck. `Just the two by the bulwark. I'll hurry ' em along' But as he made to move one of the limp figures rolled on to his side and emitted a shrill scream. It was so sudden and unexpected that for a moment nobody moved, then as Allday threw himself across the deck, his hands groping for the wretched man's mouth, the sound stopped as if cut off by a door.

Allday rolled on top of the body and said hoarsely, `Dead, Captain!'

Bolitho was watching the anchored Saphir. He had seen the sudden movements of lanterns on her quarterdeck, the darting shadows across the poop skylight.

'No matter, Allday,' he replied. 'He has done his work.'

Every man stopped and stared as the strident notes of a trumpet floated across the dark water, followed at once by the steady tap-tap of a drum. On either side of the harbour lights were appearing in windows, and Bolitho could hear` dogs barking and the cries from disturbed seabirds.

When he turned he saw that his men were looking at him, and his sudden despair gave way to a consuming and bitter anger. His men had trusted him, had obeyed his demands without a murmur, even in the face of such overwhelming odds. Now they were standing and waiting, while across that narrow strip of water the French ship came to arms and the trumpet blared like a herald from death itself. From the corner of his eye he saw one of his bargemen crossing himself, and another leaning on the bulwark and staring at the land as if for the last time. 'Something seemed to snap in his mind and when he spoke he hardly recognised his own voice.

'Cast off those boats, Allday!' He swung on Fowler. 'Stand by to break cable, and tell Piper to take charge of the gig's crew!' Fowler still stared at him and he seized his wrist with sudden determination. 'We've not come this far to give in so easily!' He turned on the silent seamen. 'Eh, lads. Will you fight or swim?'

The trance seemed to break as if by some signal, and as the men ran wildly for the forecastle someone called, 'Come on, boys! We'll singe those buggers afore they spits us!'

There was a dull boom and an ill-aimed bail ricocheted across the water fifty yards abeam. Someone aboard the Saphir had evidently manned one of the bow-chasers, but as both vessels were swinging heavily with the wind the shot was fired more from anger than with any hope of immediate success.

The last of the French seamen were leaping over the side, and as the boats' lines were cast off Fowler yelled, 'Ready forrard, sir!'

Bolitho shouted, 'Cut it!'

There was a clang of metal, and as the straining cable parted and cracked back over the bows like a whip the little sloop sheered away with the wind, her deck canting violently with her unexpected freedom.

Allday shouted, `Shall we bum her now, Captain?'

But Bolitho was gripping the rail and leaning out to watch the other ship. He could hear the hoarse bark of commands, the thud of ports, and then the telltale squeak of trucks as some of the guns were run out in readiness to fire.

'Not yet!'

The Saphir's captain probably imagined that this was a cutting-out operation to free the Fairfax before she could be taken elsewhere. Whatever the cost later, he must. be made to go on believing that.

Allday swallowed hard and took a firm grip on his cutlass. As the wind pushed the sloop sideways with the current he could see the Saphir's double line of ports. Some were open, and others were following suit as more and more men poured to their stations in response to the urgent trumpet.

The whole harbour lit up as if from sheet lightning as the first ragged salvo crashed and. echoed between the sides of the inlet. Tall columns spouted skyward on every hand, and Bolitho saw a broken white shape being carried down the sloop's side and heard the screams cut short as the shattered boat capsized and vanished. A ball must have ploughed into one of the Fairfax's own boats and cut it in two even as the released Frenchmen tried to row the wounded to safety.

More guns roared out, their long orange tongues reflected in the swirling water as if from a second battery. Bolitho felt the hull lurch beneath him and heard the splintering crash of torn timbers as the massive balls ploughed through the lower deck, rending the sloop apart and tearing out her heart.

A man screamed, 'Main topmast's cumin' down! Heads below there!'

Figures scattered wildly as the splintered spar and yard thundered across the narrow quarterdeck, the broken stays and shrouds clawing at the men and carrying one bodily over the side..

Again the rippling line of flashes, but this time it was nearer and better aimed. The Fairfax shook like a mad thing, the timbers and buckled deck beams groaning in agony, as if the ship teas cursing the men who stood by and let her perish.

Bolitho clutched the rail as a ball crashed through the starboard bulwark and ploughed into some seamen who were carrying an injured man to safety. He was thankful for the darkness, but the night could not completely hide the tangled and writhing remains which seconds before had been men, nor could it mute the screams and pitiful whimpers from those unlucky enough to hang on to life.

He shut the sounds from his mind and yelled, 'Fire the ship!'

A crouching seaman hurled his lantern into the pile of loose canvas and woodwork, and for a few seconds Bolitho saw his face in the small flame, a mask of unbelievable hatred as the unknown man made his own gesture of defiance and revenge.

The distance between the ships had dropped to less than seventy yards, and for a moment Bolitho thought he had left it too late. Already he could see men running along the Saphir's gangway towards the point where both vessels would embrace. He could hear them cheering and shouting, the voices mingled together so that they sounded like animals baying for the final kill.

Then the small flame seemed to dart along the sloop's tilting deck like a lighted fuse, and as it touched the oiled bundles the whole sloop lit up, so that men shielded their eyes and fell back, fascinated and appalled by what they had done.

Another salvo crashed into the hull, and below decks Boiitho heard the sudden inrush of water, the boom and clatter of collapsing compartments where the sea surged to complete its victory.

He coughed violently as the wind swept the smoke back from the bows, and when he wiped the moisture from his eyes he saw the foremast and topsail yard burst into flames like some giant crucifix. The fire was spreading at a fantastic speed, and aboard the Saphir the cries of jubilation were already changing to shouts of alarm and terror. Someone jerked the lanyard of a swivel gun, and Bolitho felt the cannister spray past his face and rip into the deck on the far side.

A seaman was picked from his feet, his scream caught in midair as he fell jerking like a bundle of sodden rags, his blood marking his movements on the planking like spilled paint

He saw Seton, bowed behind the bulwark, his hand to his mouth as he ran aft, and he had to call his name repeatedly' before he showed any sign of understanding.

'Into the gig, Mr. Seton! Clear the ship!' Beyond the flames he saw the two-decker's tall side, every port and bared gun shining as if in bright sunlight as the fireship cruised towards her.

Allday shouted, 'Come on, Captain! We'll be alongside in…”

Another blast of C nnister raked the deck, making the sparks fly from the leaping flames and cutting down more running figures as Fowler drove his men towards the stem.

Seton flung his hand to his shoulder and said faintly, 'I'm hit, sir!' Then he fell, and as a seaman hurried to his side the Fairfax drove her charred bowsprit hard through the Saphir's fore rigging like a lance.

Fowler was yelling, 'Come back, sir! Quick, they're boarding us!'

Men were leaping down, already on to the sloop's deck, and while some ran towards the flames others groped through the billowing smoke firing pistols or slashing at wounded and living alike.

Bolitho saw a French seaman charging towards him and felt the wind of a ball past his cheek before he could release the pistol from his own belt. The weapon jumped in his hand and he saw the man swerve and scream, fingers clawing at his chest before he fell back into the smoke. He threw the pistol at another shrouded shape and then pulled out his sword. Still more figures appeared on the quarterdeck, their arms groping like blind men as they ran through the drifting curtain of smoke and ashes. Bolitho noticed vaguely that the clock was chiming again, but from a new angle, and realised that both vessels were now drifting together. Someone aboard the French ship had at last succeeded in cutting her cable, but as an extra powerful gust of wind momentarily cleared the smoke he saw tongues of flame leaping up her rigging and knew that it was already too late to save her.

The smoke dropped again in a choking cloud, and he heard the wind urging the flames along the sloop's deck, the sparks hissing skyward beyond the masthead. Around him men were fighting and yelling, their cries punctuated with the harsh clash of steel and the occasional crack of a pistol. He could feel the deck sagging beneath him, the very timbers vibrating as water poured into the listing hull. It was a race between fire and sea, and with her work done the Fairfax seemed eager to slide beneath the surface, if only to hide her misery and escape the destruction they had wrought upon her.

Fowler was back at his side, his sword shining in the leaping flames while he parried aside the blades as more Frenchmen appeared through the smoke.

He shouted above the din, 'We must leave the wounded, sir!' He lunged forward and down and a man toppled shrieking towards the bulwark. As he fell the deck at his back seemed to open and more searing flames spurted- between the charred planks so that he twisted like a carcase on a spit, his hair on fire, his cries lost in the terrifying roar of flames forced up from the deck below.

Bolitho stumbled and found that Seton still lay by the rail, his head pillowed on his arm as if asleep. The seaman who should have taken him to the gig had either fled or was already killed, and with something like madness Bolitho stood astride his body, his sword cutting down a charging seaman and swinging back to catch another who was struggling with Allday beside the wheel.

But the odds were mounting. It could not last much longer. It seemed as if the Frenchmen were so maddened by rage and despair that they were more intent on destroying the handful of British sailors than of saving themselves or their own ship.

Fowler dropped his sword and clapped his hands across his face. He cried wildly, 'Oh, Jesus! Oh, my God!'. And in the leaping flames the blood which poured across his neck and chest gleamed like black glass.

He droppped choking on his knees, and a French lieutenant, hatless and with his uniform coat scorched almost from his back, lunged forward to strike his unprotected head. Bolitho stepped forward, but caught his foot on a splintered plank and saw the officer's blade change direction, cutting through the air with all his strength. With one last effort Bolitho held his balance and instinctively threw up his left arm to protect himself. lie felt the blade jar against his forearm and sensed a numbing agony, as if he had been kicked by a maddened horse. The French lieutenant slithered sideways, thrown almost to the deck by the force of his attack,, and in the advancing fires his face shone like a mask, the eyes bright and staring as he watched Bolitho's sword scything above Seton's body, the razor-edged blade holding- the flames until the moment of impact. He did not even scream, but hobbled backward, his fingers digging at his belly, his back bowed as if in some grotesque curtsy.

Allday was shouting, `She's going, Captain!'

Bolitho blinked and tried to wipe the sweat from his eyes. But his arm remained at his side, and with a sense of shocked disbelief he saw the blood pouring down his side, soaking his leg and running across the deck at his feet. Dazedly he shook himself and stared towards the bows. The towering bank of flames had shifted to the Saphir, and he could see the furled sails and tarred rigging whipping out in fiery streamers, and other, smaller fires leaping aft urged on by the wind and burning everything they touched. Through the abandoned gunports the ship's interior glowed red like an open furnace, and as he watched he saw men.leaping blindly over the side, calling to one another or screaming pitifully as they were held and then ground to bloody pulp by the two blazing hulls.

But the sloop's deck was dipping rapidly, and from below he heard the hiss of seawater as it surged in triumph to quench the flames. The foremast had gone completely and he had not even noticed amidst the savagery of destruction and death around hire. Corpses lolled down the tilting deck, and a few wounded crawled whimpering away from the flames or made a last effort to reach the poop.

Allday shouted, `The gig is standing clear! Come, Captain, I'll help you over!'

Bolitho still stared around him, waiting to fight, to beat off another attack. But he was sharing the deck with corpses.

Allday yelled, 'There are no more! You've done for 'em!' Then he saw Bolitho's arm. 'Here, Captain! Take my hand!' They reeled together as the sloop wallowed heavily on to her side, the small deck guns tearing from their lashings to squeak across to the other bulwark or plunge hissing into one of the great fiery craters.

Bolitho spoke between his teeth, his face pouring with sweat as the pain reached up his arm like a pair of white-hot pincers. 'The boy! Get him, Allday!' Jerkily he thrust the sticky blade back into its scabbard and with his good arm pulled himself aft towards the taffrail while Allday picked up the unconscious midshipman and threw him across his shoulder.

He saw ONeil by the rail, naked to the waist as he wrapped his shirt around Fowler's face while the lieutenant rocked from side to side, his words choking on the cloth and in his blood.

The bargeman said, 'Oi done what Oi could, sorrl' He ducked as one of the sloop's guns exploded in the heat as if fired by some invisible hand. `The poor man has lost most of his face!'

Bolitho managed to croak, `There is the gig! We will have to jump for it!'

He hardly remembered falling, but was conscious of the salt rasping in his lungs, the cool air across his face as he broke surface. The gig seemed to tower above him, and there was Piper, his monkey face black with grime as he pointed with his dirk, his voice as shrill as a woman's.

'here's the captain! Hold him, you lads!'

Bolitho caught the gunwale and gasped, 'Help Mr. Fowler and Seton!'

The water was surprisingly cold, he thought vaguely, and when he looked up he saw that above the billowing smoke the sky was pale and devoid of stars, and the gulls which circled angrily high above the harbour were touched with gold. Not from the fires, but from the sun. While men had died and the ships had burned the dawn had crept across the distant horizon. He was even more astonished when he turned his head, for where the church tower should have been was the tall side of a headland and above it, gleaming white below its lantern, stood the beacon.

He bit back the pain as more hands hauled him inboard to lie panting beside Allday and the others. He wanted to close his eyes, to give in to the sweeping curtain of darkness which waited to ease his growing agony. To shut out the sounds of exploding gunpowder and the crash of falling spars as the Saphir started to settle down, her gunports already awash, her maindeck ablaze from stem to stern.

'How many have we lost?' He clutched at Allday's knee while Piper struggled to stem the blood on his arm. 'Tell me man!'

Allday's plain face was shining with frail sunlight and when he looked down at Bolitho he seemed somehow remote and indestructible. He said quietly, 'Never you fear, Captain. Whatever the cost, it was worth it to see this.' Then with Piper's help he lifted Bolitho's shoulders above the smoke blackened gunwale while the oarsmen rested on their looms and watched his face with a kind of awe.

The Saphir was almost gone and there was little left of the once proud ship. With the sloop she had drifted the full length of the harbour, and now gutted and blazing she was hard aground below the captured beacon.

But Bolitho had no eyes for her, nor even for the few pieces of flotsam bobbing on the current to mark the passing of the Fairfax 's final remains. In the centre of the channel, with all but her topsails and jib clewed up, his ship, his old Hyperion was entering harbour. Her ports were open, and as she edged slightly towards the anchorage the dawn sunlight lanced along her double line of guns and painted her, rounded hull with gold.

Bolitho licked his dry lips and tried to smile as he saw Ashby's marines in a tight square across the quarterdeck and heard the faint strains from the ship's small band. It was faint because of the cheering.

Cheering from the men who lined the yards and those who waited to drop the great anchor. From the gunners in their bright head-scarves and the marksmen in the tops.

As the old seventy-four's shadow passed the severed boom he saw Inch standing in his cutter waving his hat, his voice lost in distance, but his pride and relief all the more obvious.

Allday said gently, 'Look yonder, Captain.' He was pointing to the headland where the artillery breastworks of raw earth and stones stood out like scars against the rain-soaked grass.

A flag had risen above the hidden guns, but not the Tricolour. It was pale and fragile and lifted easily in the dying wind, so that the sunlight showed clearly the golden insignia of the fleur-de-lis.

Allday said, 'You gave 'em their gesture, Captain! There is your answer!'

Fowler muttered thickly beneath the bloodied shirt. 'My face! Oh Jesus, my face!'

But Bblitho was looking once more at his ship as she swung sedately into the wind, her sails flapping like banners as the anchor splashed down within yards of the spot where the Saphir had been moored.

Boats were moving cautiously from the land, each with its royalist flag, and every one crowded with waving and cheering townspeople.

Allday said, 'Out oars! Give way together!' And to the boat at large added, 'They are coming to see the captain, lads!' Then he looked down at Bolitho and smiled. 'And so they

shall!'