THE INSHORE SQUADRON

16. ‘All Gone’

Lieutenant the Honourable Oliver Browne lowered his telescope and said, 'Signal repeated from Elephant, sir. The Inshore Squadron will anchor when ready.'

Bolitho, too, had a glass to his eye, but he was studying the long, overlapping folds of the land. It never seemed to get any nearer, but held a strange menace, as if the whole shore-line was waiting for their first move into the channel.

The burden on individual captains was severe in these enclosed waters, but with a commander like Nelson some of the strain was removed. There would be no unnecessary signals, no wasted time, and Bolitho guessed that the Hero of the Nile must have worked on Hyde Parker to get him to a point of attack so quickly.

All day, as the squadrons and distant patrols had headed south through the Kattegat, Bolitho had felt the finality of it. With the coasts of Sweden and Denmark on either beam, even when invisible, it was like leading his ships into a poacher's bag.

Even now, with brigs and ships' boats under sail darting through the ponderous lines of two-deckers, there would be unseen eyes watching their movements. Nelson had signalled the whole fleet to anchor, even though he knew Bolitho's squadron would get under way again as soon as it was dark. He rarely forgot anything. He had even shifted his flag from the big ninety-eight-gun St George to the Elephant because the latter was smaller and had a shallower draught so that she could get closer to the shore without grounding.

Bolitho lowered the glass and glanced around at the familiar faces of the watch on deck.

Old Grubb, squinting at his traverse-board with his master's mates. Wolfe, staring up at the maintop where some marines were exercising with a swivel-gun on the barricade. Browne, standing almost knee-deep in bright flags as his midshipman and assistants brought down another hoist of signals from the yards.

And Herrick, he seemed to be everywhere, as usual.

Bolitho said, 'Anchor when it suits you.' He glanced at the masthead pendant. `Wind's dropped a bit. It has to be perfect for our work.'

Herrick nodded and crossed to join the sailing master by the wheel.

'Be ready to box the ship off, Mr Grubb.' To Wolfe he called, `Shorten sail. Take in the t'gan's'ls and maincourse, if you please.'

Calls shrilled again and men dashed to their stations for reducing Benbow's display of canvas.

Bolitho watched them, the patterns they made as they scurried up the ratlines to the topgallant yards, or loosened belaying pins while they awaited the next order from aft. Hardly any hesitation now, even amongst the latest recruits or pressed hands. Men not ships. Herrick's comment of six months back seemed to be fixed in his mind.

He saw Midshipman Penels by the-mizzen shrouds, dwarfed by a boatswain's mate and a handful of seamen. He moved like a puppet and rarely showed interest in anything around him. Herrick had told Bolitho about Pascoe's visit, how he had tried to defend what Penels had done. The rights and wrongs seemed small in comparison with the next few days, and only Babbage's unfortunate death was indisputable fact.

Herrick had been unusually uncharitable about Penels. 'Not fit to receive a commission, sir. A mother's boy. I should never have accepted him.'

Bolitho thought he could understand Herrick's attitude, just as he could sympathize with Pascoe's rash attempt to recover the deserter.

Herrick had never had an easy time. From a poor family, he had been made to win each single advance without favour in high places. But he loved the Navy all the more because he had earned it, and seemed unshakable when it came to others less determined.

When Bolitho had tried to find some excuse for Penels' behaviour, Herrick had said scathingly, `See the Styx over yonder, sir? Her captain was Penels' age when we put down that 'bloody mutiny together! I didn't hear him moaning for his mother!'

But whatever the outcome, Penels would have to stand the

hardship and horror of battle with everyone else in the fleet. Bolitho made up his mind and beckoned to his flag lieutenant. 'Yes, sir?'

Browne more than anyone seemed to have thrived on the austere life at sea and monotonous food. The change from Admiralty to wardroom had been remarkable.

'Young Penels. Could you use him in your party?'

'Well, sir.' His face cleared of protest as quickly as it had appeared. 'If so ordered, I could.' He gave a gentle smile. 'Of course, sir, I could make the point that but for him Babbage would be alive, or at best still running for his life. Your nephew would not have been called out, and you, sir?'

'What about me?'

'I'll take him, sir. I have just remembered something. But for your nephew's challenge you would not have ridden me raw to Portsmouth. In which case your lady might not have come after you.'

Bolitho swung away. 'Damn you to hell for your impertinence! You are as bad as my coxswain. No wonder Sir George Beauchamp was glad to be rid of you!'

Browne smiled at his back. 'Sir George has an eye for the ladies, sir. Quite unfairly, of course, he may have seen me as a rival.'

'Of course.' Bolitho smiled. 'I did wonder.'

In plodding procession the four ships of the line headed into the wind to drop anchor while their smaller consorts stood further to windward before following suit. Even here, with so many ships in company, you could never drop the guard against attack, either singly or in strength.

Eventually, Herrick lowered his telescope, apparently satisfied.

'All anchored, sir.'

'Very well, Thomas.' They walked away from the nearest seamen and Bolitho added, 'At dusk you can put the people to work. Rig top-chains to the yards and have nets spread in good time. There will be little moving in the channel after dark, but there may be just one vessel to raise an alarm. We must be ready. If the worst happens and we touch ground, we must be lively and warp her off without delay.'

Herrick nodded, glad to share his own views and anxieties. 'Benbow is sheathed with the best Anglesey copper, but I'd not risk it on the bottom hereabouts!-'

He paused to watch some men hurrying past with buckets of grease and fat. Every loose bit of tackle, from driver-boom to capstan, had to be well covered with it.

From a deck of a ship at night the sounds of wind and sails seemed terrifyingly loud, but, in fact, it was the isolated metallic noise which carried best across the water.

Herrick said, 'The selected boats from the squadron will begin sounding as soon as we are under way. It will give them confidence and practice. When we are through, or if we are attacked, I have ordered the boats to return to their ships only if they do not impede progress. Styx can collect them later if need be.'

Bolitho looked at him searchingly. Even in the dying light Herrick's eyes were clear and blue.

'I think we have thought of everything, Thomas. Beyond that, your Lady Luck will have to give us some assistance.'

Herrick grinned. 'I've already put in my bid.'

A figure flitted past like a shadow. It was Loveys, the surgeon. Bolitho felt a chill dart up his spine as he remembered the pain, the intent stare in Loveys' deepset eyes as he had probed into the torn flesh.

The squadron surgeons would be in demand in hours rather than days, he thought grimly.

He said, 'I am going to my cabin. Perhaps you can join me presently.'

Herrick nodded. 'I'd like to clear for action when the people have been fed, sir.'

Bolitho agreed. He had left it to each individual captain to prepare for battle when he thought fit. Herrick would take it badly, none the less, if one of them beat the flagship to it.

The cabin looked larger than usual, and Bolitho realized that Ozzard had had most of the furniture carried below the waterline. It always made him feel uneasy. A sense of committal and finality.

Allday had taken down the bright presentation sword and was cleaning the other one with a soft cloth.

`I've arranged supper for you, sir. Nothing heavy.' Bolitho sat down and stretched out his legs. 'Doesn't the prospect of another battle worry you?'

'It does, sir.' He peered along the blade and nodded with satisfaction. `But where your flag goes the others will follow and the enemy will be the thickest. That's far more to worry

about than a few bloody noses!'

Bolitho allowed Allday to continue with his own private routine. The courier brig would be in England now with any luck. A day or so on the roads and his letter would eventually reach Herrick's home in Kent where Belinda was staying.

Ozzard entered with his tray covered by a cloth.

He said, `They are about to dear for action, sir.' He sounded outraged by the disturbance it would cause. `But Mr Wolfe has assured me that this cabin will remain as it is until you have finished.' He placed the tray on the table.

'Salt beef again, I'm afraid, sir.'

`Bolitho smiled, recalling Damerum's mention of his London grocer. Mr Fortnum? Perhaps he would go there with Belinda one day.

Far away, as if aboard another ship, he heard the cry, growing louder as deck above deck the boatswain's mates and petty officers dashed through the hull.

`All hands! All hands! Clear for action!'

Benbow seemed to shiver as hundreds of feet pounded along her decks, as if she herself was stirring to give battle.

Bolitho looked at the tough meat and Ozzard's attempt to make it appear palatable.

He heard himself say, `Looks well, Ozzard. I'll take a glass of madeira with it.'

Allday walked from the cabin, his huge, outdated cutlass beneath his arm. He would take it to the gunner's grindstone himself. Trust it to a seaman or ship's boy and it would come back looking like a woodsman's saw.

He had heard Bolitho's comment. So like the man, he thought. At a time like this he would eat that rock-hard meat rather than hurt Ozzard's feelings.

He strolled between the lines of guns, through the hurrying figures and bawling warrant officers.

Allday had seen it all before, and had often been one of these bustling shapes.

But as Bolitho's personal coxswain he was above it, unreach able afloat or ashore until fate decided otherwise.

Tom Swale, the boatswain, gave Allday a great gap-toothed grin as he passed.

`Busy, John?'

Allday nodded companionably. `Aye, Swain, busy.'

It was a game and they both knew it… Without it they would be useless when the guns began to speak.

One by one Bolitho's ships up-anchored as soon as it was completely dark, and like ghostly shadows moved slowly away from the rest of the fleet.

Bolitho rested both hands on the quarterdeck rail and strained his eyes directly ahead. He could see the pale uprights of the masts, the bulky webs of rigging stretching up into the night, but little else. Relentless and Lookout were invisible, as were most of the pulling boats as they moved ahead and abeam of their great charges like wary hounds.

A chain of men lined each of Benbow's gangways ready to pass back soundings from the leadsmen in the bows to Grubb and his assistants by the helm.

The wind hissed and slapped playfully at the reefed topsails, and against the ship's hull Bolitho heard the gentle sluice of water, almost the only sign that Benbow was under way.

There was a harder shadow to larboard, the Swedish coast creeping out towards them as if it and not the ships were moving.

'By th' mark ten, sir!'

Bolitho heard Herrick whispering with Grubb, someone's pencil squeaking on a slate as the depth was recorded.

Bolitho knew that the Indomitable, next astern, was very dose, but was afraid to climb to the poop and seek her out. It was as if he would miss something, or by turning away he might leave a gap in his own defences.

Surely the Danish batteries would be expecting something like this? He knew it was unlikely but, nevertheless, found it hard to accept. No admiral in his right mind would attempt to lead a fleet through the narrows under thosepowerful guns, so what would be the point of sending a mere handful like Bolitho's?

It had sounded all right in the cabin, but as the brooding shoreline hardened still further towards the larboard bow it was less easy to digest.

He thought of the leading boat pulling well ahead of the men-of-war. Busy with lead and line, watching for a prowling guard-boat, listening for an unusual sound. It must be like a black desert. He wondered which lieutenant was in charge. He had not asked. If he needed their trust, he must trust them also.

The boats had been cast off an hour before they had reached the start of the narrows. The oarsmen would be getting tired now, more conscious of their fatigue than the need for absolute vigilance.

He stepped back from the rail, cursing himself for his anxieties. It was done.

Herrick stepped out of the gloom. 'Seems fairly quiet, sir.'

`Yes. My guess is that the Danes have made such massive preparations for a frontal attack on the port that they are as reluctant as we are to move in the darkness.'

A few more hours and Nelson's ships would be roused and under way, ready to follow the same route through the Sound Channel and then head for an anchorage at Hven Island where they could lick their wounds before the final assault on the Danish forts and blockships.

The heads along the larboard gangway bobbed together with sudden urgency until the last man in the chain called, 'Shoal on the larboard bow, sir!'

Herrick snapped, 'Bring her up a point, Mr Grubb.'

Bolitho resisted the temptation to join some of the ninepounder crews at the nettings as they peered down into the darkness. It must have been Benbow's second cutter which had seen and signalled the danger.

Sails rustled together as the yards were trimmed, and Bolitho looked across to the opposite beam, wondering if any sleepy sentry had noticed the cutter's shaded lantern as the warning was flashed to the flagship.

But he doubted if the Danes were very different from Englishmen. It took a lot to get a sentry to rouse his officer and possibly the whole garrison merely because he thought he had seen something. Whole campaigns, let alone one fight, had been lost and won because of military protocol.

He pictured Wolfe somewhere up there in the bows. The first lieutenant had no particular duty for the moment. His experience, his hoard of skills gained in every sea in the world, was enough. He might see or feel something. Sense some dangerous shallows perhaps which even the leadsmen had missed.

Herrick murmured, 'How many of these miniature gunboats d'you reckon we'll find, sir?'

'The exact number is not known, Thomas. But more than twenty, and that is too many. Vice-Admiral Nelson intends to anchor eventually at the Middle Ground Shoal before he doses with the Danish ships. He will do it, no matter what we discover. But if those galleys can work through his line of battle, it could be disastrous.'

`Deep twelve!'

Grubb sighed. `That's more like it.' He even managed a chuckle.

As one hour dragged into the next, it felt to Bolitho as if he had been carrying some great weight. Each one of his muscles ached with strain, and he knew it was affecting everyone from captain to ship's boy.

There were several startled cries as a boat moved sluggishly down the starboard side. But it was one of the squadron's, the oarsmen bent double across their looms, barely able to breathe from exhaustion. A lieutenant, his white lapels very clear in the darkness, waved up at the flagship, and a marine said huskily, `We're through, sir! That's what he said!'

Herrick said quietly, 'Pass the word! Not a sound, d'you hear? They'll begin to cheer otherwise, it'd be just like them!' He looked at Bolitho, his teeth bared in a grin. `I feel a bit that way myself, sir!

Bolitho gripped his hands together to steady his nerves. Not a shot fired not a man lost. It would be different in daylight when the main fleet started its advance.

`Give it another turn of the glass, Thomas. Then we can recall the boats.'

Grubb said, 'Dawn'll be up in two hours, sir.' He rubbed his red hands together. 'I'm fair parched after that little lot!'

Herrick laughed. 'I understand, Mr Grubb. Pass the word to the purser. Break out a double tot of rum for each man, and no arguments from that miser or I'll skin him alive!'

Bolitho felt the tension draining away around him, even though the fight was still to come. Benbow was through, and that was something each man could understand. As Allday had remarked, they fought for each other, not some plan from high authority.

The half-hour glass squeaked round beside the compass and Grubb said, 'Time, sir.'

Herrick called, 'Tell the cutter to inform Indomitable that we are recalling the boats.'

Bolitho could imagine the relief in the various boats as the message was passed down the line. There would be a few blisters and aching backs when daylight found them.

Bolitho felt a tankard being put into his hands and heard Browne say, 'Don't fret, sir. 'Tis brandy, not rum. I know you do not take kindly to that,!'

Bolitho was about to reply when he felt some of the spirit splash across his fingers and realized Browne was shaking. 'What is wrong?'

Browne looked towards the hidden land. 'What is wrong? You can ask that, sir?' He tried to laugh it off. 'I am a fair hand at matters of ceremonial and Admiralty duty. I can use a sword or pistol better than most, and can hold my own at the tables.' He shuddered. 'But this sort of thing, this dreadful, long-drawnout crawl towards hell, I have no stomach for it, sir!'

'It will pass.' Bolitho was shocked to see Browne in such distress.

Browne said quietly, 'I was just thinking. It will be the first of April tomorrow. By the end of the second day I might be nothing!'

'You are not alone. Everyone in this ship, except the mindless fool, will be thinking like that.'

`You, too, sir?'

`Aye. I feel it now, just as I fear it.' He tried to shrug. `But I have taught myself to accept it.'

He watched Browne move away into the shadows and reflected on his words.

The first day of April. In Cornwall it would be green again, the snow and mist gone for another year. He could almost smell the hedgerows, the richer aromas of the farms.

And the house would be waiting, as it had done so often for a hundred and fifty years, for a Bolitho to return home.

Stop it now! It was useless to wallow in false hope and selfpity.

He stared up at the mizzen truck but his flag was still lost against the dull clouds.

It was chilling to accept that this small group of ships contained the last two sailors of the Bolitho family.

Lieutenant Wolfe strode to the nettings, his head cocked, as the first rumble of gunfire rolled over the ships like thunder.

'By God, listento that!'

On the gundeck many of the seamen were standing back from the long eighteen-pounders to stare aft at the officers, as if to determine what was happening.

Bolitho shaded his eyes and glanced up at the masthead lookouts. At first light he had managed to overcome his hatred of heights to climb as high as the maintop and watch the Danish shoreline, the towers and steeples misty and unreal. With the aid of a telescope, and watched curiously by the marine marksmen there, he had studied the span of Copenhagen 's defences.

His own small squadron had no intention of drawing within range of the many batteries arranged along the coast. His duty was to find the galleys and destroy as many of them as possible before they could join in the fight.

From his many written instructions he knew much of what Nelson would have to face. At least eighteen moored ships, presenting an impregnable line of fixed broadsides, and the massive Three Crowns battery on Amager Island which mounted sixty-six heavy guns. To say nothing of other men-of-war, bomb vessels and military artillery ranged along the shore.

Against such a force Nelson would be leading just twelve seventy-fours, provided they could get through the last part of the channel without being crippled.

Now, as he listened to the continuous rumble of cannon fire he marvelled at the audacity or perhaps the recklessness of the plan. More so at the cool nerve of the man who was back there in command with his flag in the Elephant.

Herrick moved up beside him, his face worried.

'I wish we were with the fleet instead of here, sir. It seems wrong to leave them like this. Every extra gun will be needed just now.'

Bolitho did not answer immediately. He was watching the Relentless, a distant pyramid of gently flapping canvas as she changed tack slightly to larboard. Well astern of her the sloop-of-war Lookout was end on, one eye no doubt on the flagship.

Bolitho said, 'The Danes will not act until Nelson has committed himself. When the fleet weighs again tomorrow, and stands around the Middle Ground, that is the moment I would choose. Our ships would be caught in cross-fire from three directions at least.'

He watched the smoke spreading up and across the sky, blotting out the distant ships and also the city. Men were fighting and dying, and yet from Benbow's quarterdeck it held no threat, no sense of danger.

Browne lowered his glass and said, 'Signal from Relentless, sir, repeated by Lookout. Strange sail bearing south-east.' He added, 'Relentless is already making more sail, sir.'

Bolitho nodded, concealing his sudden doubt from the others. Captain Peel was acting as instructed, not wasting time passing vague sighting reports back and forth.

But surely the whole Danish fleet would be under orders for the attack. And no lone merchantman would be foolhardy enough to sail between two powerful fleets.

Relentless was drawing rapidly away from her smaller consort, and Bolitho knew Peel must have picked his masthead lookouts with care to make such a quick sighting.

'Gunfire's slackening, sir.' Wolfe crossed to the deck-log to make a brief scribble to that effect. 'Our Nel must be through.'

As if to confirm this, Browne called, 'From Indomitable, sir. Styx has reported that our fleet is in sight and already changing tack.'

Herrick wiped his brow with his handkerchief. 'That's a relief. At least we'll know we're not alone for the return passage!'

'Deck there!' The forgotten masthead lookout made every head lift towards him. 'Gunfire to the south'rd!'

Herrick swore. `What the bell! Peel must be engaging!'

'Signal from Lookout, sir. She's requesting permission to give assistance.'

Herrick shook his head and then glanced questioningly at Bolitho.

Bolitho said quietly, 'Denied. It would take Lookout two hours to catch up with the frigate. And if we sight the galleys. she will be needed to head them off.'

Browne watched the flag dashing up the yard and breaking to the wind. To see the quick exchange of glances between Bolitho and Herrick had pushed his own troubles into the background. He knew what they were thinking. What it must always cost a senior officer to place a friend or relative at risk.

The gunfire was reaching the quarterdeck now, savage, intermittent and very distinct, which suggested that the two or more vessels were firing at dose range.

Herrick said, 'Mr Speke! Aloft with you and tell me what you think.'

The lieutenant scrambled up the shrouds, his coat tails flying in the wind.

Wolfe touched his hat. 'Shall I pass the order to load and run out, sir?'

Bolitho said, 'No. There's no point.'

It was strange. In a matter of seconds the battle, Copenhagen, even their reason for being here at all, had been sponged away.

Somewhere on the horizon's misty edge one of their own was fighting. It sounded like two ships. Russian, Swedish or Danish made no difference now.

He recalled Peel's quiet competence and knew he would not be one to act foolishly. He thought, too, of Pascoe's expression as he had turned away from the cabin after he had heard about his father.

'Smoke, sir!' Speke's voice sounded shrill. 'Ship afire!' Bolitho bit his lip. 'Signal to the squadron, Mr Browne. Make more sail.'

Herrick caught his mood and shouted, 'Mr Wolfe! Hands aloft and set t'gan's'ls! Then break out the driver!'

Wolfe strode about the deck, ginger hair flapping, his speaking trumpet swinging as he bellowed for the afterguard to be piped to the braces even as the topmen swarmed to the uppermost yards.

Benbow responded instantly, as under more canvas she heeled heavily to the thrust. Astern, down the line, the other ships were following her example, and to a landsman's inexperienced eye they would seem to be flying like frigates. In fact, Bolitho knew that in these moderate winds they were barely making five knots through the water.

The horizon seemed to shiver and then erupt to a single, violent explosion. Nobody on the quarterdeck said anything. Only a ship's magazine could sound like that.

Browne cleared his throat. 'From Lookout, sir. Sail in sight.'

Herrick stared at Benbow's flapping topsails with fixed attention. 'But which one, for God's sake?'

Speke called, 'One ship has gone down, sir. The other seems to be crippled!'

The masthead pendant whipped out, and Bolitho felt the deck give a sudden tremble as the strengthening gust pushed over the quarter to fill the sails.

He trained a telescope through the rigging, saw a man's face leap into focus as it passed over the carronades on the forecastle to reach far ahead of the ship.

He saw the pall of smoke, two masts with yards and sails in holed fragments standing above it like mute witnesses of the fight.

Then he heard the lookout cry, 'She's a Frenchie, sir!' Bolitho looked at Browne. 'The Ajax.'

Allday came from the poop and watched with the others.

'She'd done her repairs an' was trying to get back to France, I reckon.'

'Probably.'

Bolitho gripped his sword hilt until the pain made him think more dearly. Allday was right, had to be. After such a mauling from Styx the French captain would have needed at least five months to effect repairs. He had probably chosen a port which had become hemmed in by the ice, and now here he was, bringing with him a terrible revenge.

He said harshly, 'Tell Lookout to investigate but not to engage.' He turned and glanced at the sailing master's ruined features and added, 'Lay a course to take the wind-gage off that one, Mr Grubb.'

Herrick lowered his telescope. ` Ajax is not moving. She's lost her mizzen, and I think her steering may have gone.'

The torment of waiting, watching the battered frigate growing larger and larger while Lookout moved warily nearby like a hunter who has discovered a wounded lion, was made more terrible by the silence.

Then Wolfe said, 'Lookout's dropped her boats, sir. Looking for survivors, though after that explosion…' He fell silent as Herrick shot him an angry glance.

Major Clinton had left his marines to join Herrick by the quarterdeck rail. Suddenly he pointed with his stick and said, 'I think the Frenchman's getting under way!'

Wolfe nodded. 'He's cut the wreckage free. Now he's set another topsail.'

They faced Bolitho as he said, 'Run out the lower battery, Mr Wolfe.'

Even the repeated order was hushed. Then the deck gave a long quiver as the great thirty-two-pounders trundled noisily up to their open ports.

'Run out, sir!'

Blackened woodwork and a length of trailing rigging clattered along the Benbow's side. There were corpses, too, or what was left of them.

'Fire a warning shot, Mr Wolfe.'

The gun nearest the bows erupted with a violent bang, and as the smoke fanned out over the water Bolitho saw the great ball slam down almost in line with Ajax 's figurehead.

But the tricolour which had replaced the one lost overboard on the mizzen showed no sign of dipping, and even as he watched Bolitho saw the frigate's shape shortening as she began to turn away.

Wolfe asked, 'Broadside, sir?'

Bolitho stared past him, the French ship blurred in his vision as if through thick glass.

At a range of just over a mile, a full broadside from those great guns would smash the damaged frigate to fragments. The leaks caused by her fight with Relentless and the weight of her own artillery would finish it.

He heard Clinton exclaim, `That captain is a fool!'

Bolitho shook his head. 'Tell the gun captains to fire in succession.'

The second ball smashed through the Ajax 's quarter, hurling wreckage and shattered spars high into the air like straw in a wind.

Bolitho watched the tricolour as it was hauled down and added quietly, 'He is also a brave man, Major.'

A master's mate said, 'Lookout's boats have picked up some people, sir!'

Bolitho barely recognized his own voice. `Alter course to intercept Lookout. Make a signal to Indomitable to board the ' Ajax and take off her company.' He hardened his voice. `Then sink her.'

Speke, still on his lofty perch in the cross-trees, yelled, 'Six hands, sir! Five seamen and a marine!'

Bolitho ducked beneath the furled boarding nets and stood on the starboard gangway as he watched the slow-moving boats, the drifting remains of Peel's command. Flotsam, burned timber, fire-blackened canvas. And men. Men so torn and disfigured that they would have known very little about it.

He gripped the shrouds and almost cried out as his wounded thigh grated against the iron-hard cordage.

A hand reached up and he saw Midshipman Penels staring at him. 'Let me, sir!'

'Thank you.' Bolitho rested his elbow on the boy's shoulder as he waited for the pain to ebb away.

Damerum, however unwittingly, had found an assassin after all.

He made himself look at the procession of bobbing remnants as they parted beneath Benbow s staring figurehead.

Behind him he could hear some of the seamen yelling, congratulating each other on preventing Ajax 's escape.

Penels said in a small voice, 'Sir, I think I saw something move out there.'

Bolitho raised his glass and followed the direction of his arm. Half of an upturned boat and a long spar with one end blasted off like chalk.

There were several corpses floating nearby, and for a moment he thought Penels had imagined it, or had wanted to say something to please him.

He said, 'I see it!' It was just an arm, sticking up over the spar. But it was moving. Alive. Someone who had survived. Who might know…

He was gripped by something like panic. Even in these few moments the ship had moved some fifty yards.

`Captain Herrick! Man in the water, starboard side! Quarter boat, quick!'

He almost fell as Penels darted from beneath his elbow. He had a vague impression of the boy's terrified face, matched only by some last spark of determination, before he was up and diving straight for the water. He broke to the surface and was swimming strongly before Herrick understood what had happened.

Bolitho saw the quarter boat appear around the stem, the coxswain staring blankly at his officers.

Herrick cupped his hands. `Follow that boy, Winslade! Fast as you can!'

Bolitho climbed back to the quarterdeck as Browne said apologetically, `I am sorry, sir, but Indomitable has signalled to say that the Ajax will be destroyed once we are standing clear of the danger.'

Loveys, the surgeon, hurried across the quarterdeck, his white face alien amongst the guns and the seamen.

He said calmly, `The boat is returning, sir. I took the liberty of borrowing a telescope. There are two survivors.' He relented slightly. 'One is Mr Pascoe.'

Bolitho clasped his arm then hurried past him to the rail as the boat nudged carefully alongside.

Winslade, the boat's coxswain, waited for more seamen to limb down the tumblehome to assist and then called, `Just the two, sir!' He swallowed hard before adding, 'I'm afraid we lost young Mr Penels, sir! He just seemed to give up as he reached the boat!'

Bolitho reached the entry port as the two limp figures were handed through. The first he did not recognize, a pigtailed seaman with one arm so badly burned it looked inhuman.

Loveys was on his knees running his hands over Pascoe's body while his aproned assistants hovered behind him like butchers.

Bolitho watched the painful rise and fall of his nephew's chest, the sea water running from beneath his dosed lashes like tears. His clothes had been all but blasted from his body and he gave a quiet groan as the surgeon's boney fingers felt for internal damage.

Loveys said at length, `He's young and fit, of course. Nothing broken. He's lucky.'

He turned to the seaman and said, 'Now, let me have a look at you.'

The seaman muttered vaguely, 'I didn't hear nothin'. One minute the cap'n was yellin' and cussin' about fire.' He shook his head and winced as Loveys touched his burned arm. 'Next thing I was deep underwater. Goin down. I can't swim, y'see?' He realized that Bolitho and Herrick were there and stammered, Beggin' yer pardon, sir!'

Bolitho smiled. `Easy now. What happened next?'

`Our new third lieutenant, sir. Mr Pascoe 'ere, 'e pulls me to some floatin' wreckage, then goes back for my mate, Arthur. But he died afore the boat come for us. It was just me an' Mr Pascoe, sir. The rest is all gone.' He'had to repeat it as if he still could not accept the enormity of it. `All gone!'

As the seaman was carried away to the sick-bay, Pascoe opened his eyes. Surprisingly, he smiled and said weakly, `I've come back after all, Uncle!' Then he fainted.