Honour This Day

18. In Danger's Hour

Bolitho held out his arms and tried to contain his impatience as Ozzard nimbly buttoned his white waistcoat. After all the shortages it felt strange to be dressed from head to toe in clean clothing. Over Ozzard's shoulder he watched Keen, who was standing just inside the cabin so that he could still hear the shouted commands and replies from the quarterdeck.

Hyperion had not yet cleared for action; he would leave it to Hernck and the individual captains to do it when they were ready, and in their own time.

Hyperion's company were snatching a last hasty meal, although how the average sailor managed to eat anything before a fight was beyond Bolitho.

Keen said, 'If the Dons continue that approach, Sir Richard, neither of us will hold the wind-gage. It would seem that the enemy is on a converging tack.' His eyes were clouded with concentration as he tried to picture the distant ships. A day later and the enemy would have slipped past them to close with the coast of Spam before a final dash through the Strait.

Bolitho said, 'I must take the wind-gage from them. Otherwise, ship-to-ship they will swamp us.' He could feel Keen watching him as the plan formed itself so that they could both see it. As if it was here and now. 'We shall hold our forces together until the last moment. I intend to alter course to starboard and form two columns. Hernck knows what to do. His will be the shorter line, but no matter. Once battle is joined we may throw the Dons into confusion.' He allowed Ozzard to offer him his coat and hat.

Keen said, 'I must protest, Sir Richard.' He looked at the gold lace, the Nile medal which Bolitho would hang about his neck. 'I know your custom. I have shared this suspense too many times to forget.'

Allday entered by the other door and reached up for the old sword. Over his shoulder he remarked, 'You're wastin' your time, with all respect, Cap'n Keen.'

Keen and Allday looked at one another. Allday recalled better than any how he had seen Bolitho on board the embattled Phalarope at the Samtes. In his best uniform, a ripe target for any sharp-eyed marksman, so that the people should see him. Oh yes, Allday knew it was impossible to talk him out of it.

Bolitho slipped his arms into the coat and waited for Ozzard to stand on tip-toe to adjust the bright epaulettes with the twin silver stars.

This will not be a battle to test each other's mettle, Val. We must not even consider losing it. It is vital; you accept that now.'

Keen smiled sadly. 'I know it.'

There was a muffled hail from the masthead, and a lieutenant came running from the quarterdeck.

He stared at Bolitho and then said, 'The first lieutenant's respects, sir.' He tore his eyes from his vice-admiral and faced Keen. 'The mainmast lookout has just reported the enemy in sight. Steering south-west.'

Keen glanced at Bolitho, who nodded, then said, 'General signal. Enemy in sight.'

As the lieutenant hurried away Keen said, 'Brief and to the point. As you like it, Sir Richard.'

Bolitho smiled, and beckoned to Ozzard. 'You may clear the cabin. The bosun's party is waiting to carry the bits and pieces to the hold.' He rested his hand on Ozzard's bony shoulder. 'Go with them. No heroics today.' He saw his wistful gaze and added, 'I know not what ails you, but I will deal with it. Remember that, eh?'

As Ozzard made to pick up some small items Bolitho called, 'No' Not that¹' He took the fan from Ozzard's hand and looked at it. Remembering.

Keen watched as Bolitho slipped the fan into his coat-pocket.

Bolitho reached for his hat. 'A small thing, I know, Val. But it is all I have of hers.'

Allday followed them from the cabin, then he paused, the old sword over one arm as he stared back at the place he knew so well. Why should this time be any different? The odds were bad, but that was nothing new, and the enemy were Dons. Allday felt he wanted to spit. Even the Frogs were better fighters than them. He took a last glance round, then touched his chest where the Spanish blade had thrust into him.

The cabin was deserted. He turned away, angry with the thought. For it looked as if it would remain empty forever.

On deck Bolitho walked to the centre of the quarterdeck rail and took a telescope from the senior midshipman. He looked at htm more closely, then at the other officers and master's mates near the wheel. Everyone appeared to be dressed in his best clothing.

Bolitho smiled at the midshipman. 'That was nicely done, Mr Furmval.'

He raised the glass and found Tybalt's sails almost immediately. He moved it still further and saw the dark flaws on the horizon, like the rippling edge of some distant tidal wave.

Bolitho returned the glass and looked up at the sky. The pendant was still pointing towards the larboard bow. The wind held steady, but not too strong. He recalled something his father had said. A good wind for a fight. But out here that could easily change, if the mood took it.

Keen stood watching him, his fair hair ruffling beneath the brim of his hat, even though it had been cut in the modern fashion. Bolitho gripped the rail with both hands. Like Adam's.

He felt the old wood, hot in the sunshine. So dented and pitted with the years, yet worn smooth by all the hands which had rested here.

He watched Major Adams with his lieutenant, Veales, standing below the quarterdeck. The major was frowning with concentration as he pulled on a fresh pair of white gloves.

Bolitho said, 'It is time.' He saw Keen nod, the lieutenants glance at one another, probably wondering who might still be here when the smoke cleared.

Keen said, 'The wind is firm, Sir Richard. They'll be up to us before noon.'

Penhahgon remarked indifferently, 'Fine day for it anyway.'

Bolitho drew Keen to one side. 'I have to say something, Val. We must clear for action directly; after that we shall be divided by our duties. You have come to mean a great deal to me, and I think you must know it.'

Keen answered quietly, 'I understand what you are trying to say, Sir Richard. But it will not happen.'

Bolitho gripped his arm tightly. 'Val, Val, how can we know? It will be a hard fight, maybe the worst we have endured.' He gestured towards the ships astern. 'All these men following like helpless animals, trusting the Flag to carry them through, no matter what hell awaits them.'

Keen replied earnestly, They will be looking to you.'

Bolitho gave a quick smile. 'It makes it less easy to bear. And you, Val, what must you be thinking as the Dons draw to an embrace? That but for me you would be at home with your lovely Zenona.'

Keen waited while Allday stepped up with the sword.

Then he said simply, 'If I never lived beyond this day I have still known true happiness. Nothing can take that away.'

Allday clipped on the old sword and loosened it in its scabbard.

He said gruffly, 'Amen to that, I says, Cap'n.'

Bolitho looked at both of them. 'Very well. Have the marines beat to quarters.' He touched his pocket and felt the fan inside. Her presence. 'You may clear for action, Captain Keen!'

They faced each other, and Keen formally touched his hat.

He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. 'So be it.'

The stark rattle of drums, the rush of feet from every hatch and along both gangways made further speech impossible. Bolitho watched the gun crews throwing themselves around their charges, topmen swarming aloft to rig the slings and nets, ready to whip or splice their repairs even in the carnage of a broadside.

Jenour appeared on deck, his hat tugged well down on his forehead, the beautiful sword slapping against his hip. He looked stern, and somehow older.

As the ship fell silent once more, Parns strode aft and faced up to the captain. He wore a pair of fine hessian boots.

'Cleared for action, sir. Galley fire doused. Pumps manned.'

Keen did not take out his watch but said, 'Nine minutes, Mr Parns. The best yet.'

Bolitho smiled. Whether it was true or not, those who had heard Keen's praise would pass it on to each deck. It was little enough. But it all helped.

Keen came aft. 'Ready, Sir Richard.'

Bolitho saw him hesitate and asked, 'What is it, Val?'

'I was wondering, Sir Richard. Could we have the fifers strike up' Like we did in Tempest''¹'

Bolitho looked at the sea, the memory linking them once again. 'Aye, make it so.'

And as the old Hyperion leaned over to the same starboard tack, and while the edge of the horizon broke into more silhouettes and mastheads, the Royal Marine fifers struck up a lively march. Accompanied by the drums from the poop, and the seamen's bare feet stamping on the sanded planking, they strode up and down as if they were on parade at their barracks.

Bolitho met Keen's glance and nodded. Portsmouth Lass. It was even the same tune.

Bolitho raised his telescope and slowly examined the Spanish line from end to end. The two rearmost ships were well out of formation, and Bolitho suspected that the very end vessel was standing away so that the other one could complete some repairs as Olympus had done.

He shifted his gaze to the solitary frigate. It was easy to see why La Mouette's captain had been deceived. It took much more than a foreign ensign to disguise an English-built frigate.

He knew that Consort had been launched on the Medway, near Hernck's home. Would he be thinking of that now, he wondered⁵

Twelve sail-of-the-lme. The flagship in the van had already been identified by Parns, who had met with her before. She was the ninety-gun San Mateo, flagship of Almirante Don Alberto Casares, who had commanded the Spanish squadrons at Havana.

Casares would know all about Hyperion's part in the attack on Puerto Cabello. Some of these very ships had probably been intended to escort the treasure galleons to Spain.

Bolitho watched the Intrepido. At least the two squadrons had something in common, two frigates between them.

He heard Parris saying to the signals midshipmen, 'It will be a while yet.'

Bolitho glanced at the two youths, who could barely drag their eyes from the enemy. How much worse for anyone who had never faced a line of battle, he thought. It could take hours to draw together. At the Saintes it had taken all day. First the few mastheads topping the horizon, then they had risen and grown until the sea's face had seemed to be covered.

A lieutenant who had written home after the Saintes had described the French fleet as 'rising above the horizon, like the armoured knights at Agincourt '. It had been a fair description.

Bolitho walked forward to the rail and looked along the maindeck. The men were ready; the gun captains had selected the best-fashioned balls and grape for the first, double-shotted broadside. This time they would need to fight both sides of the ship at once, so there would be no extra hands to spare. They had to break through the line – after that, it was every ship for herself.

The Royal Marines were in the fighting tops, the best marksmen Major Adams could find, with some others to man the vicious swivels. The bulk of the marines lined the poop, not yet standing to the packed hammock nettings to mark down their targets, but waiting in gently swaying ranks, Sergeant Embree and his corporals talking to each other without appearing to move their mouths.

Penhahgon and his master's mates were near the wheel, with two extra hands at the helm in case of casualties.

Apart from the sea noises and the occasional slap of the great driver sail above the poop, it seemed quiet after the fifers had stopped playing. Bolitho raised his glass yet again and saw a seaman turn from a maindeck eighteen-pounder to watch him.

The enemy flagship was much nearer. He could see the glint of sunlight on swords and fixed bayonets, men swarming up the ratlines of her foremast, others rising from their guns to watch the approaching squadron.

The Spanish admiral might expect his opposite number to fight ship-to-ship. His ninety guns against this old third-rate. Bolitho smiled grimly. It would even be unwise to cross San Mateo's ornate stern in the first stage of the engagement. To be crippled breaking the line would throw the following ships into disorder, and Hernck would be left to attack on his own with just three ships.

Bolitho said, 'Signal Tybalt to take station astern of Olympus. It might add some weight to Herrick's line.' He heard the flags rushing aloft but continued to watch the big Spanish flagship.

Keen must have read his thoughts. 'May I suggest we break the line astern of the third or fourth ship, as it may present itself?'

Bolitho smiled. 'The further away from that beauty the better. Until we have lessened the odds anyway.'

Jenour was standing near the signals party and heard Bolitho's casual comment. Was it all a bluff, or did he really believe he could win against so many? Jenour tried to concentrate on his parents, how he would word his next letter. His mmd reeled when he realised that the concept eluded him. Perhaps there would be no more letters. He felt a sudden terror and stared up at the wispy clouds directly above Bolitho's flag at the foremast truck. He was going to be killed.

Midshipman Spnngett, who was the youngest in the ship, appeared on deck. His station was on the lower gundeck, to relay messages back and forth to the poop. In the bright sunlight he had to blink several times after the gloom of the sealed gundeck.

Bolitho saw the boy turn, watched his expression as he gazed at the enemy ships, seeing them probably for the first time.

For those few moments his uniform and the proud, glinting dirk at his belt meant nothing. He drove his knuckles into his mouth as if to hold back a cry of fear. He was a child again.

Jenour must have seen him, and strode across. 'Mr Spnngett, isn't it? I could do with you assisting me today.' He gestured to the two signals midshipmen, Furmval, the senior, and Mirrielees, who had red hair and a face covered with freckles. 'These old men are getting past it, I fear!' The two m question grinned and nudged one another as if it were all a huge joke.

The boy stared at them. Mesmerised. He whispered, 'Thank you, sir.' He held out a paper. 'Mr Mansforth's respects, sir.' He turned and trotted back to the ladder without once looking at the imposing ranks of sails.

Keen said quietly, 'Your flag lieutenant just about saved that lad from bursting into tears.'

Bolitho watched more flags rising and dipping above the San Mateo. To himself he said, 'And it saved Stephen Jenour, I suspect.'

Even across the expanse of glistening swell you could hear the slow rumble of gun trucks, while something like a sigh came from the waiting sailors as shadows painted the San Mateo 's tall side. All her larboard battery had been run out. It was like looking into the mouth of every one of them.

Bolitho heard the blare of a trumpet, and pictured the enemy gun crews at their quarters. Eyes peering over the muzzles, the next shots and charges already to hand.

'Hoist Benbow's number.' Bolitho took Keen aside as the flags were swiftly bent on to the halliards. 'I dare not wait too much longer, Val.' They both stared at the converging lines of ships, like one great arrowhead which must soon meet at some invisible westerly point.

There was a dull bang and Bolitho saw a puff of smoke drifting away from San Mateo's side. The ball hit the sea, rebounded and smacked down, flinging a ragged waterspout half a cable clear. A ranging shot? Or was it merely to raise the spirits of the Spanish seamen who had been sharing the same agony of suspense as Hyperion's?

'Benbow's acknowledged, sir!'

Make the signals as few as possible. Bolitho had always believed it a good idea in principle. It was not difficult for an enemy to guess or determine the next move from another's signals. It was likely too that the prize, Intrepido, had been captured with some secret signals still intact.

When poor Captain Price had run his ship aground he could never have visualised any of this.

Bolitho looked at Keen and his first lieutenant. 'We will alter course in succession. Hyperion and Benbow will lead the two divisions.' He saw them nod; Parris was watching his lips as if to read what he had not said.

'It will be as close to the wind as she can lie, so it will reduce our progress.' He saw their understanding. It might also mean that it would give the enemy more time to traverse his guns. Bolitho walked to the starboard side and stood on the truck of a quarterdeck nine-pounder, his hand gripping the bare shoulder of one of its crew.

He could see Benbow's masts beyond the others astern, Her-rick's flag rippling out from the mizzen. Benbow was still flying her acknowledgement, just as Hyperion had kept her number hoisted close-up. Like a trumpet signalling a cavalry charge into the jaws of hell. A charge which cannot be halted once it has been urged to attack. Bolitho feit the man's shoulder tense as he turned to stare up at him. Bolitho looked at him. About eighteen. The sort of face you saw around the farms and lanes of Cornwall. But not in times of war.

He said, 'Naylor, am I right?'

The youth grinned while his mates winked at each other. 'Aye, Sir Richard!'

Bolitho kept his eyes on him, thinking of the terrified midshipman, and Jenour, who was more frightened of showing fear than of fear itself.

'Well, Naylor, there is our enemy. What say you?'

Naylor stared at the nearest ships with their trailing banners and curling pendants, some of which almost touched the water. 'I reckon we can take 'em.' He nodded, satisfied. 'We can clear the way for t'others, Sir Richard!'

Some of the gun crews cheered and Bolitho climbed down, afraid that his eye might choose this moment to betray him.

Just an ordinary sailor, who if he survived today, would likely end in another battle before he was a year older.

He thought suddenly of the grand London house, and Belinda's scathing words to him.

He nodded to the bare-backed seaman called Naylor. 'So we shall!' He turned quickly. 'Captain Keen!' Again, time seemed to stop for both of them. Then Bolitho said in a more level tone, 'Alter course three points to starboard, steer nor'-by-west!' He waved to Jenour. 'Now! Execute!'

Every man in Herrick's flagship must have been poised for the moment. For as the flags were hauled down Eenbow appeared to swing immediately out of the line, as if she, and she alone, was mounting a solitary attack on the enemy.

Keen watched closely, as pursued by Parris's speaking trumpet the scrambling seamen hauled on the braces, while others freed the big maincourse even as the yards creaked round.

Penhaligon spread his legs while the deck leaned to larboard, as the wind explored the braced sails and thrust the ship over.

Then Keen was at the compass, although Bolitho had not seen him move.

'Meet her! Steady as you go!'

The sails boomed and thundered in protest, and the driver rippled from peak to foot as if it was about to tear apart. She could stand no closer to the wind, and from the Spanish line it must appear as if all her sails were overlapping fore-and-aft.

Bolirho clutched the rail and stared at the enemy. Someone was firing, but the nets rigged above the maindeck gunners, and the huge billowing maincourse hid the flashes.

Bolitho saw Benbow drawing level abeam, barely three cables away. The others astern of her were already following round, with Tybalt tacking wildly to take station as the last of the line.

Keen exclaimed, The Dons are taken aback, by God!'

Bolitho looked at the Spanish flagship. Now she seemed to be heading away from Hyperion's larboard bow, two others still following her as before.

Bolitho shouted, 'Load and run out, Captain Keen!'

The order was repeated to the deck below, and it seemed barely a minute had passed before each gun captain was faced aft, his fist above his head.

'All loaded, sir!'

'Open the ports! Run out!'

Squeaking noisily, the guns were hauled up to their ports. On the lee side the sea appeared to be curling up to the black muzzles as if to drive them inboard again.

Hyperion's deck shivered violently as the nearest enemy ships opened fire. But the two small divisions had taken the Spanish admiral by surprise, and most of his guns could not be brought to bear. Several tall waterspouts shot above the gangways, and Bolitho felt the tell-tale crash of a ball hitting Hyperion's lower hull.

'Brail up the courses!'

Shots whimpered overhead, and the gun crews crouched even lower, their faces running with sweat as each group peered through their open port, waiting for a target.

As the forecourse was brailed up the scene opened on either bow as if a giant curtain had been raised.

Bolitho heard one of the midshipmen gasp with alarm as the stern of the nearest Spaniard appeared from nowhere, or from the depths – her high, ornate gallery, stabbing musket fire from above, and her name, Castor, reflecting the spray beneath her counter.

'Stand by to larboard!' Lovering, the second lieutenant, was striding inboard from the first division of guns. 'As you bear!'

Keen raised his sword, then sliced it down. ''Fire!'

The larboard carronade on the forecastle hurled its huge ball into Castor's stern with terrible effect. Bolitho heard the roar of its explosion within the other ship's hull, could imagine the scything horror of the packed grape as it swept through the ship. Cleared for action, any man-of-war was most vulnerable when an enemy was able to cross her stern.

The ship on the other side was looming through the smoke, her guns shooting out vivid orange tongues.

'Fire!'

Bolitho was deafened by the roar of guns as both sides vanished in swirling smoke and charred fragments from the charges. The ship to starboard was already being engaged by Obdurate, and Bolitho could see just her mastheads rising above the dense smoke like lances. He felt the deck jar again and again, Parris yelling, 'On the uproll, lads!' Then the next division fired as one, and Bolitho saw the Castor's mizzen mast topple, suspended momentarily in the rigging and stays before going over the side with a sound like thunder.

'Fire!'

Keen strode across the quarterdeck, his eyes streaming, as the upper battery recoiled singly and in pairs on their tackles, the crews leaping forward with sponges and rammers, ready to tamp home the next ball. To do what they had been taught, to keep on firing no matter what was happening about them.

Jenour coughed in the smoke, then shouted, 'Obdurate is in collision with a Spaniard, Sir Richard!' He winced as a musket ball slammed into the deck nearby and added, 'She requests assistance!'

Bolitho shook his head.

Keen said tersely, 'Inability!'

The flags bearing Keen's curt signal lifted and vanished into a great pall of smoke which came surging inboard as the lower battery roared out to starboard.

Parris shouted, 'We're through, we're through!' He waved his hat wildly. 'Huzza, lads! We've broken the line!'

More sails loomed like giant ghosts astern. Crusader, and Redoubtable, the latter almost colliding with another Spaniard which had either lost her steering or had her helmsmen shot down.

'Stand by to alter course to larboard!' Bolitho tossed his telescope to one of the midshipmen. 'I don't need this now!' He could feel his lips set in a grin.

'Deck there!' Someone up there above the smoke and shrieking iron was keeping his head. 'Benbow's through the line!'

There were more wild cheers and coughs as the larboard battery fired a full broadside through the smoke, some into the Castor's side, while the rest fell on and around the second ship in the enemy column.

'Lay her on the larboard tack, Mr Penhaligon! Afterguard, man the mizzen braces there!' Selected marines put down their muskets and ran to help, while some of their comrades squinted above the hammocks, their weapons cradled to their cheeks, seeking a target.

Bolitho looked up and saw lengths of severed cordage dangling on the protective nets, while above it all there was still the same peaceful sky.

A ball slammed into the larboard side, and crashed amongst the men by one of the forward eighteen-pounders. Bolitho gritted his teeth as two were smashed to bloody ribbons, and another rolled across the deck, his leg held on by a thread of skin.

He tried to concentrate. All his ships must be engaged now. The roar of battle seemed to roll all around, as if vessels were on every hand, masked from each other by their own smoke. Sharper gunfire, like the staccato beat of drums, echoed over the water, as if it were another part of destiny.

Bolitho shouted, 'General signal. Close on the Flag. Reform line of battle!'

How they could work with their flags was a miracle, Bolitho thought.

'All acknowledged, Sir Richard!' Jenour tried to grin. 'I think!'

'No matter!' Bolitho strode to the rail as he saw a Spanish two-decker standing out from the others as she made more sail. Her captain either wished to rejoin his own flagship, or he had increased sail to avoid hitting the crippled Castor.

Bolitho pointed, 'There, Val! Engage her!'

Keen yelled, 'Stand by to starboard!'

The newcomer seemed to gather speed as the distance fell away, but Bolitho knew it was the illusion made by smoke. He watched the Spaniard changing tack so that she would cross Hyperion's bowsprit; he could see the scarlet and gold banner of Spain, the huge cross on her forecourse.

Keen's sword rose in the air. 'As you bear!'

The other ship fired almost at the same time. Iron and wooden splinters flew across the maindeck, while overhead the sails flailed and kicked, shot through so many times that some could not hold a cupful of wind. Bolitho wiped his face and saw the other ship's foremast going down in the smoke, rigging and pieces of canvas vanishing into bursting spray alongside.

But he could ignore even that. Hyperion had been badly wounded. He had felt part of the enemy's broadside crash into the lower hull with the weight of a falling cliff.

He made to cross the deck but something held his shoe. He looked down and saw it was the young seaman, Naylor. He was lying against his upended gun, and was trying to speak, his face creased with pain, and the effort to find words.

Keen called, 'Over here, Sir Richard! I think we may -' He stopped, his feet slipping on blood as he saw Bolitho drop to his knee beside the dying seaman.

Bolitho took the youth's hand. The Spaniards must have used extra grape in their broadside. Naylor had lost half of his leg, and there was a hole in his side big enough for a fist.

'Easy, Naylor.' Bolitho held his hand tightly as the deck seemed to leap beneath him. He was needed, probably urgently. Around them the battle raged without let-up. Obeying his instruction. No matter what.

The seaman gasped, 'I -1 think I'm dyin', sir!' There were tears in his eyes. He seemed oblivious to his blood, which poured unchecked into the scuppers. It was as if he was puzzled by what was happening. He almost prized his broken body away from the gun, and Bolitho felt a sudden strength m his grip.

The youth asked, 'Why me, sir?' He fell back, blood making a thin line from a corner of his mouth. 'Why me?

Keen waited while Bolitho released his hand and let it fall to the deck.

Keen said, 'Capricious is in support, Sir Richard! But there is another Don breaking through yonder!' He stared at his own raised arm. There was a strip torn from his sleeve. Yet he had not even felt the ball hiss past.

Bolitho hurried to the side and saw the second ship already overhauling the one which had fired the last broadside.

Bolitho nodded. 'Trying to join her admiral.'

Keen waved his hand. 'Mr Quayle! Pass word to the lower battery¹ We will engage this one immediately!'

The fourth lieutenant was no longer pouting disdainfully. He was almost beside himself with terror.

Keen turned. 'Mr Furmval!' But the midshipman had fallen too, while his companion stood rigidly beside Jenour, his eyes on the flags where his dead friend lay as if resting from the heat of battle.

Bolitho snapped, 'Get below, Mr Quayle! That is an order!'

Keen dashed the hair from his forehead and realised that his hat had been plucked away.

'God damn,' he said.

''Ready, sir!'

Keen sliced down with his sword. 'Ftre!'

Gun by gun the broadside painted the heaving water between the ships in the colours of the rainbow. It was possible to hear Hyperion's weight of iron as it crashed into the other ship's side, smashing down men and guns in a merciless bombardment.

The smoke swirled away in a rising breeze and Keen exclaimed, 'She'll be into us! Her rudder's shot away!'

Bolitho heard a splash and when he turned his head he saw some of the boatswain's party hurrying from the upended gun. Naylor's corpse had gone over the side. There was only blood left to mark where he had fought and died.

Bolitho could still hear his voice. Why me? There were many more who would ask that question.

He saw Allday with a bared cutlass in his fist, watching the oncoming Spaniard with a cold stare.

Parns yelled, 'Stand by to repel boarders!'

Major Adams went bustling forward, as the other ship's tapering jib-boom rose through the smoke and locked into Hyperion's bowsprit with a shudder which made even the gun crews pause at their work.

Keen shouted, 'Continue firing¹''

Hyperion's lower battery of thirty-two pounders fired relentlessly across the littered triangle of smoky water. Again, and yet once more, before the enemy's jib-boom shattered to fragments and with a great lurch she began to sidle alongside, until the gun muzzles of both friend and enemy clashed together.

Muskets cracked from the tops and a dozen different directions. Men dropped at their guns, or collapsed as they ran to hack away fallen rigging and blocks.

The swivels barked out from Hyperion's maintop, and Bolitho saw a crowd of Spanish sailors blasted away even as they swung precariously across the boarding nets.

Keen shouted, 'We've lost steerage way, Sir Richard! We'll have to fight free of this one, and I think the other two-decker is snared into her¹'

'Clear the lower battery, Val. Seal the ports! I want every spare hand up here!'

They dared not fire into the ship alongside now. They were locked together. It only needed one flaming wad from a gun to turn both ships into an inferno.

The seamen from the lower battery, their half-naked bodies blackened by the trapped smoke, surged up to join Major Adams's men as they charged to meet the attack.

Keen tossed his scabbard aside and tested the balance of his sword in his hand. He stared around in the drifting smoke, picking out his lieutenants amongst the darting figures. 'Where's my bloody coxswain⁵' Then he gave a quick grin as Tojohns ran to join him, his cutlass held high to avoid the other hurrying seamen.

'Here, sir!' He glanced at Allday. 'Ready when you are, sir!'

Keen's eyes settled on Parris by the rail. 'Stay here. Hold the quarterdeck.' Just the flicker of a glance towards Bolitho. It was as if they had clasped hands.

Then he too was up and running along the starboard gangway, as the enemy clambered aboard, or fired down from their own ship. Lieutenant Lovering pointed with his hanger and yelled, 'To the fo'c'stle, lads!' Then he fell, the hanger dangling from his wrist as an unseen marksman found his victim.

Dacie the one-eyed boatswain's mate was already there on the beakhead, swinging a boarding axe with terrible effect, cutting down three of the enemy before some of Adams's marines jumped down to join him, their bayonets licking through the nets, hurling aside the men caught there like flies in a web.

The swivels in the maintop banged out again, and some of Spanish sailors about to join the first boarders were scattered in a deadly hail of canister. Those already aboard Hyperion fell back, one throwing away his cutlass as the marines cornered him on the forecastle, but it was already too late for quarter. Gunsmoke drifted over the deck and when it cleared, there were only corpses as the jubilant marines fought their way across to the other ship's deck.

Jenour stood close beside Bolitho, his sword drawn, his face like one already dead. He shouted, 'Two of the Dons have struck, Sir Richard!'

Despite the clash of steel and the sporadic bang of muskets, there were faint cheers from another ship, and Bolitho imagined he could hear drums and fifes.

He climbed up the poop ladder and rubbed his eyes before peering through the enveloping smoke. He could just make out Obdurate, now completely dismasted and lashed alongside the Spanish two-decker she had collided with. A British ensign flew above the other vessel's deck, and Bolitho guessed it was Captain Thynne's men who were cheering.

Then he saw Benbow, pushing past another crippled Spaniard, pouring a slow broadside into her as she moved by. Masts toppled like felled trees, and Bolitho saw Hernck's flag curling above the smoke, so bright in the mocking sunlight.

He thought wildly, Hyperion had cleared the way, just as Naylor had promised she would.

Allday shouted, 'Here, watch out!'

Bolitho turned and saw a group of Spanish seamen clamber up over the starboard gangway, slashing aside the nets before anyone had noticed them. They must have climbed from the mam chains; they could have been creatures from the sea itself.

Bolitho drew his sword, and saw some of Adams 's red-coated marines already hacking their way aft on the other ship. These boarders had no chance at all. Their own vessel would have to strike unless the other two-decker could come to her aid. But another broadside hurled smoke and debris high in the air and even on to Hyperion's mamdeck, as one of Bolitho's squadron, probably Crusader, raked her from stern to bow.

There was a lieutenant leading the small group, and as he saw Bolitho he brandished his sword and charged to the attack.

Jenour stood his ground, but the Spaniard was a fine swordsman. He parried the blue blade aside as if it was a reed, twisted it with his hilt and sent it flying. He drew back to balance himself for a last thrust, then stared with horror at the boarding pike which lunged up through the quarterdeck ladder. The seaman gave an insane yell, tugged the pike free and drove it into the lieutenant's stomach.

Bolitho faced another Spaniard who was armed only with a heavy cutlass.

Bolitho yelled, 'Surrender, damn you!'

But whether he understood or not the seaman showed no sign of giving in. The wide blade swung in a bright arc and Bolitho stepped aside easily, then almost fell as a shaft of sunlight probed through the smoke haze and touched his injured eye. It was like that other time. Like being struck blind.

He felt himself swaying, the old sword held straight out, pointing uselessly at nothing.

Parris yelled, 'Stop that man¹' Bolitho could only guess what was happening, and waited for the searing agony of the cutlass he could not see. Someone was screaming, and occasional yells told Bolitho thai more of Keen's men were running to vanquish the last of the attackers.

Allday sliced his blade at an angle, his mind numb as he saw the other man lunging towards Bolitho, who was apparently unable to move. The blade took the man on one side of his head, a glancing blow, but it had Allday's strength and memory behind it. As he pivoted round, squinting into the sudden glare, he saw Allday looming towards him.

Jenour heard the next blow even as he scrabbled in the bloodstained scuppers to retrieve his sword. Parns, who was sobbing with pain from a slash across his wounded shoulder, saw the cutlass hit the Spaniard on the forearm; could only stare as the arm, complete with cutlass, clattered across the deck.

Allday spat, 'An' this is for me, matey!' He silenced the man's scream with one final blow across the neck.

He grasped Bolitho's arm. 'You all right, Sir Richard?'

Bolitho took several deep breaths. His lungs felt as if they were filled with fire; he could barely breathe.

'Yes. Yes, old friend. The sun…'

He looked for Jenour. 'You have true courage, Stephen!'

Then he saw Jenour's features change yet again and thought for an instant he had already been wounded. There were wild cheers from the ship snared alongside by a tangle of fallen rigging, but as a freak gust of wind drove the smoke away Bolitho knew the reason for Jenour's stunned look of dismay.

He turned, covering his left eye with his hand, and felt his body cringe.

The Spanish admiral's flagship San Mateo had stayed clear of the close-action, or maybe it had taken her this long to put about. She seemed to shine above her own tall reflection; there was not a scar or a stain on her hull or a shot hole in her elegant sails. She was moving very slowly, and Bolitho's mind recorded that there were many men aloft on her yards. She was preparing to change tack again. Away from the battle.

Bolitho could feel his limbs quivering, as if they would never stop. He heard Parns shout, 'In Christ's name! She's going to fire''

San Mateo had run out every gun, and at the range of some fifty yards could not miss with any of them, even though two of her own consorts lay directly in the path of her broadside.

Bolitho's mind refused to clear. It was Hyperion they wanted. The defiant ship with his flag still at the fore which had somehow broken their line, and inspired the others to follow. He looked at Allday but he was staring at the enemy flagship, his cutlass hanging loosely from his fist.

Together Even now

Then the flagship fired. The sound was deafening, and as the weight of the broadside smashed into the drifting Hyperion, Bolitho felt the deck rear up as if the ship was sharing their agony.

He was thrown to the side of the quarterdeck, his ears deaf to the thundering roar of falling spars, of men crying and screaming before the torn rigging dragged them over the side like corpses in a huge net.

Bolitho crawled to Midshipman Mirnelees and dragged at his shoulder to turn him on to his back. His eyes were shut tight, and there was moisture like tears beneath the lids. He was dead. He saw Allday crouching on his knees, his mouth wide as he sucked in the air. Their eyes met and Allday tried to grin.

Bolitho felt someone pulling him to his feet, his eyes blinded again by the sunlight as it laid bare the destruction.

Then the smoke drifted lower and hid San Mateo from view.