TO GLORY WE STEER

18. A TRADITION OF VICTORY

John Allday tied his neckerchief tightly around his head and ears and then dashed the sweat from his face with one forearm. Right forward on the frigate's tapered forecastle he had an uninterrupted view of the Cassius, and ahead of her he could just see part of the Volcano's upper rigging. Deliberately he turned his back on them and on the smokeshrouded tangle of ships beyond. He looked down at McIntosh, the gunner's mate, who was on his knees beside one of the carronades as if in prayer.

As Allday had slithered to the deck from the mainyard, Brock, the gunner, had halted him with a sharp, `Here you!' For a moment they had faced each other once again. Allday, the pressed seaman, whose skin still bore the scars of Brock's cane, and who had nearly hanged because of another's treachery and cunning. And the gunner, hard-faced and expressionless, who rarely showed any trace of his inner feelings, if he had any.

Brock had gestured with his cane. 'Up forrard, you! Join the crews on the carronades!'

Allday had made to run off but Brock had added harshly, `1 was wrong about you it seems!' It was not an apology. Just a statement of fact. `So get up there and do your best!' His thin mouth had moved in what might have been a smile. `My God, Allday, your sheep would be proud of you today!'

He smiled at the recollection and then looked round with surprise as Ferguson scrambled up beside him. His eyes were bright with fear, and he clung to the hammock nettings as if he would fall without their support.

McIntosh grunted, `What do you want here?'

'I-I was sent, sir.' Ferguson licked his lips. `I'm no use for anything else.'

McIntosh turned back to his inspection of the training tackles. `Christ Almighty!' was his only comment.

`Don't look at the ships, Bryan.' Allday picked up his cutlass and ran it through his belt. The hilt felt warm against his naked back. `Just don't think about 'em. Keep down behind the nettings and do as I do.' He forced a grin. `We have a fine view from here!'

Ritchie, the stolid Devon seaman, ran his fingers over the shot rack and asked vaguely, 'Wot are we to shoot at, Mr. McIntosh?'

The gunner's mate was edgy. 'The captain hasn't told me yet! When he does, I'll tell you!'

Ritchie shrugged. 'Us'll roast they devils!' He peered at the Cassius. `The Frogs'll turn an' run!'

Kemp, one of the loaders, grimaced. `When they sees you they will!'

Ferguson lowered his head against his arm. `It's madness! We'll all be killed!'

Allday studied him sadly. He is right, he thought. Nothing can live against such a force. He said kindly, `It's April, Bryan. Just think how it looks in Cornwall, eh? The hedgerows and the green fields..

Ferguson stared at him. `For God's sake, what are you talking about?'

Allday replied calmly, `Have you forgotten already what nearly happened to us, Bryan?' He hardened his voice, knowing that Ferguson was at breaking point. `Remember Nick Pochin?' He saw Ferguson flinch, but carried on. `Well, he's dead, hanged aboard the Cassius with the other fools!'

Ferguson hung his head. `I-I'm sorry.'

Allday said, `I know you're afraid. And so am I. And so is the captain, I shouldn't wonder.'

At that moment Lieutenant Herrick stepped on to the forecastle and walked briskly to the carronades. `Everything well, Mr. McIntosh?'

The gunner's mate stood up and wiped his palms on his trousers. `Aye, sir.' He studied the lieutenant and then added, ' Mola Island seems a long time ago now, Mr. Herrick.'

Herrick stared aft along the maindeck to the raised quarterdeck where Okes stood stiffly beside the captain. Would Okes crack this time? he wondered. Which way would his private shame make him react? He replied, 'It does indeed.'

Okes' voice, distorted by his speaking trumpet, echoed above the rumble of gunfire. `Another pull on the weather forebrace there! Mr. Packwood, take that man's name!'

Herrick hid hiss dismay from McIntosh. Okes was so much on edge that he had to say something. Anything.

McIntosh said dryly. `Promotion does not seem to solve everything, Mr. Herrick!'

Herrick swung round as flags broke from the Cassius's yards. A moment later he heard Maynard yell, `Engage the enemy, sir!' Then, in a slightly steadier voice, `Tack in succession!'

The pipes trilled. `Lee braces. Jump to it!'

Keeping time with the ponderous two-decker the frigates tacked slowly to the south-east. Herrick shaded his eyes as the sun lanced down between the sails, and saw the nearest enemy ships less than a quarter of a mile away. They were in no apparent order, but with their yards braced round were tacking on a converging course with the British squadron. The big three-decker hid her gaping ranks of guns in deep shadow as she swung slightly up wind. The tow had been cast off, and the leading ship of the line, unhampered by her massive consort, heeled easily in the breeze, her command flag pointing directly at the Cassius.

Herrick tried to clear the dryness from his throat. 'Carry on, Mr. McIntosh. I must attend my duties!'

He had to force himself to walk slowly down to the maindeck. As he passed, an open hatch where a marine sentry leaned on his musket he saw the surgeon's scarlet face grinning up at him.

'Yer 'ealth, Mr. 'Errick!' He waved a tankard.

Herrick felt slightly mad. 'Damn you, Tobias! You'll not have my body today!'

Some of the men at the nearest guns chuckled. 'That's right, sir! You tell 'im!'

Herrick strode on to take up his position in the centre of the deck. Farquhar was below the quarterdeck, his haughty features slightly pale but determined. Herrick gave him a nod, but Farquhar did not seem to see him.

There was a crashing boom, all the more startling because every man had been expecting it. It was followed instantly by a ragged salvo, and another.

Bolitho's voice broke through Herrick's stricken thoughts. 'Note it in the log, Mr. Proby! We have engaged the enemy!' His voice was muffled as he turned away. 'Cut those boats adrift, Mr. Neale! They'll act like a damn sea anchor in this poor wind!'

Herrick looked at his hands. They were quite steady, yet he felt as if every bone and muscle was quivering uncontrollably. He could imagine the Phalarope's boats drifting astern, and thought of Bolitho's earlier words to the crew.

.. below us it is a thousand fathoms to the bottom!' Herrick winced as another thunderous broadside sent a dull vibration through the planks at his feet. A thousand fathoms, and now not even a boat to save the survivors!

He looked up and saw that Bolitho had returned to the quarterdeck rail and was staring at him. He did not speak, but gave a strange, lingering smile, as if he was trying to convey some personal message to him.

Then Bolitho called sharply, 'Mr. Neale, do not run like that! Remember our people are watching you today!'

Herrick turned away. The message could have been for him, he thought. He felt strangely calmed by this realisation and walked to the larboard battery and looked down the line of guns. In a few minutes every one of them would be firing. In a few minutes. He studied the faces of the men beside them and felt suddenly humble.

`Well, lads, this is better than practice, eh?’

Surprisingly they laughed at his stupid joke, and in spite of the cold fingers around his stomach Herrick was able to join them.

Bolitho blinked in the reflected sunlight and peered across the weather rail. Ahead of the Phalarope the flagship was holding her course, but the frigate Volcano which had been leading the line was pulling away to larboard, breaking the pattern as two French frigates drove down towards her.

Rennie gasped, 'He's done for! We cannot give him any help!'

The sea's surface shimmered as another crashing broadside rippled along the Volcano's gunports. Gun by gun, each one carefully aimed and fired in rapid succession.

Undeterred the two frigates, with the wind in their favour, swept down on either beam.

Proby said sharply, 'Volcano's luffing!'

Bolitho breathed out painfully. Fox was no fool, and as wily as his name. As the two enemy frigates swept downwind for a quick kill the Volcano swung lazily into the wind, her sails slapping in violent protest. The nearest French ship realised her mistake just too late. As her yards started to swing, the Volcano presented her opposite side and fired a full salvo. The French ship seemed to stagger as if dealt a body blow. Across the water Bolitho could hear the crash of falling spars and the sliding thunder of overturned cannon. All else was hidden in the billowing clouds of smoke, but above it he could see Volcano's ensign and all three masts still standing.

'Flagship signalling! "Close on Flag!"' Maynard ran to hoist an acknowledgement.

Bolitho tore his eyes from Captain Fox's lithe frigate as it went about to take the wind's advantage from the two Frenchmen. Cassius was heading straight for the powerful two-decker with the command flag. She would need all the help she could get. Fox would have to manage for himself for a while.

`Starboard a point!' Bolitho ran to the rail and leaned out as far as he could. Then he saw the towering sails of the ship of the line as it drove down on a converging course with the flagship. They should pass port to port, he thought. He shouted to the maindeck, `Stand by, Mr. Herrick!'

Okes yelled, `The Frenchman's changing his tack, sir!' He was jumping with agitation. `God in hell, sir! He's turning across the Cassius's bows!'

Either the French captain was unwilling to face a gun for gun contest, or he hoped to rake the Cassius's bows and masts as he crossed her course, Bolitho was not quite sure which. But either way he had not allowed for the extra sail carried by Admiral Napier's elderly flagship.

Instead, the two ships crossed their bowsprits and then met at right-angles with a sickening crash. As they locked together both ships opened fire, the arrowhead of water between them erupting in a great sheet of flame and black smoke.

Bolitho watched in chilled silence as Cassius's foremast and main topgallant leaned drunkenly and then smashed down into the all-enveloping smoke. He could see rigging and spars ripping away the sails and scattering men from the tops like dead fruit.

Another broadside split the air apart, and Bolitho knew that the Cassius's forward guns were within feet of the enemy's. Yet still they stayed locked together, their splintered bowsprits and jib-booms entangled like the tusks of two crazed beasts from a nightmare.

Bolitho cupped his hands. `Both carronades to starboard!' He waved his hand at Proby. `We will put her across the enemy's stern, if we can!' He half ducked as a ball screamed overhead and slapped through the driver leaving a ragged tear. A stray shot from the giants, but just as deadly, he thought grimly.

All around him men were coughing and wiping their eyes as the smoke reached out and over the frigate's decks.

The helmsman cursed as the Cassius's torn sails loomed over the fog like some great spectre. But Bolitho gauged the set of the flagship's masts and knew he was on the right course. The fog closed in again, and he saw the double lines of flashes as both fired salvo after salvo at pointblank range. He could hear the two hulls grinding together, the screams and cries of the wounded and dying, mingled with the unbelievable sound of the admiral's drum and fife band. It was impossible to tell what they were playing, or how a man could live, let alone think of an empty tune in that holocaust.

But Bolitho shouted, `A cheer, lads! Give a cheer to the Flag!'

Muskets banged through the smoke, and Bolitho heard the balls thudding into the bulwarks and whining against the ninepounders.

Rennie bellowed, `Marksmen! Shoot down those bastardsl' And from aloft came an answering volley.

The wind seemed to have gone altogether, although in the dense smoke it was impossible to gauge either speed or distance. Then out of the flickering, choking fog Bolitho saw the stern of the two-decker. It seemed to hang above the Phalarope's starboard bow like an ornate cliff, and he could see the flash of musket fire from her stem windows as marksmen directed their attention to the frigate's forecastle.

Bolitho banged the rail with his hands, ignoring the whining balls and the cries from forward. In his mind he was picturing the enemy ship'ss lower gundeck. Cleared for action it was one long battery which ran from one end of the ship to the other. Bolitho had been a midshipman in a ship of the line, and he knew that there must be upwards of three hundred men in there, stooping in semi-darkness, choking in the acrid fumes, and firing their guns more from familiarity than accuracy.

He shouted, `The carronades, Mr. McIntosh! Fire as we cross her stern!'

Rennie grinned and wiped his face with his sleeve. `That'll kill a few, sir!'

Bolitho bit his lip as the sound of a mast thundering across smashed and broken rigging broke through the roar of combat. Cassius was a very old ship. Much -more of this punishment and she would either break up or sink as she fought!

He wondered what had happened to the Volcano, and worse, the crippled three-decker. If the latter was able to engage, it would be over in minutes. Her lower gundeck was crammed with thirty-two-pounders. One of those could smash through two and a half feet of solid oak at maximum range. Bolitho tried not to picture what would happen to the Phalarope's frail timbers.

`Ready, sir!' McIntosh was yelling like a madman.

Bolitho drew his sword. `Larboard a point, Mr. Proby!' He watched the jib flapping and dropped his sword.

`Fire!'

Herrick felt the deck shudder beneath him as both carronades fired almost together. As the thick muzzle smoke eddied clear he stared up at the French ship's stern, momentarily forgetting the battle which raged around him. A few seconds earlier he had watched the tall stern emerge from the fog of gunfire and had seen the great cabin windows with their life-sized figures on either quarter, full-breasted nymphs carrying tridents with the vessel's name, Ondine, in scarlet and gilt across the wide counter between them, and had marvelled at the ship's overpowering appearance of grandeur and indestructibility. As the smoke moved clear he gaped at the black jagged holes which left the stem like the entrance of a fire-scarred cave. At the horror and chaos beyond he could only briefly imagine, for as a fresh gust of wind moved busily through the Phalarope's sails the deck tilted, and with her helm hard over she swung in a tight arc around the enemy ship's larboard quarter.

He shouted hoarsely above the din, `Ready, lads!' He peered along the crouching line of gun captains. `Fire as you bear!'

The first guns of the starboard battery fired as one, and in ragged succession the others followed as lanyard after lanyard was pulled taut, and the double-shotted charges crashed into the trapped smoke alongside.

A few men were cheering, their cries broken by coughs and curses as the smoke swirled back through the open ports.

Herrick yelled, `Reload! Reload and run out!' He watched narrowly as the frigate moved down the other ship's beam, barely twenty yards clear. He could see the crowded heads on the high bulwark, the stabbing yellow flashes of muskets from her tops, but from the lower gundeck with its line of powerful guns there was not a single shot in reply. The carronades' lethal attack must have swept through the crowded gundeck like a scythe through a field of standing corn.

But as he watched he saw the first guns on the upperdeck lurch back at their ports, and then in the twinkling of an eye the whole upper battery erupted in one deafening broadside.

Herrick fell back, half stunned by the volume of the combined sounds of exploding guns, following instantly by the demoniac screams of balls above his head. The nets which Bolitho had ordered to be placed over the maindeck jumped and vibrated to falling wreckage, blocks, severed rigging and whole strips of blackened canvas. But Herrick stared up with amazement as he realised that the ill-aimed broadside had missed everything vital to Phalarope's movements. Not a mast or spar had fallen. Had it been the lower battery, he knew that the frigate's starboard side and gunports would now be a shattered ruin.

He heard the gun captains shouting like demons. `Run out! Heave on the tackles! Stand clear!' Then with the jerk of trigger lines the guns rumbled back to the full extent of their tackles.

A musket clattered by Herrick's feet, and as he stared upwards he looked into the dead eyes of a spreadeagled marine who had pitched down from the maintop on to the net below.

But he forgot the marine immediately as something more terrible took his attention. Through the smoke, falling like a giant tree, he saw the Ondine's mizzenmast. It was impossible, but it was happening. Mast, top and topgallant, with all the attendant weight of sails, rigging and yards, hung in the air as if caught in a strong wind. Then, amid the screams and desperate cries of those men caught like flies in the shrouds, it crashed down across the Phalarope's quarterdeck. The hull quivered as if the frigate had hit a reef, and as Herrick ran aft to the ladder he felt the Phalarope shake from truck to keel and then begin to swing slowly to starboard. Like an unyielding bridge the Ondine's severed mast held both ships together, and as a fresh burst of musket fire struck foot-long splinters from the deck, Herrick fought his way up the ladder and stared with dismay at the destruction around him.

A complete yard had fallen amongst Rennie's marines, and he turned away from the smashed, writhing remains as Sergeant Garwood roared, `Stand to! Leave those men alone!' He was glaring at the remainder of his marines. `Rapid fire on her poop, my lads!' He vanished in a fresh cloud of smoke as the frigate's guns fired again, the shots crashing into the Ondine's hull, which at the nearest point was ten feet clear.

Herrick pushed past the struggling seamen who were trying to hack away the French rigging and dropped on one knee beside Bolitho. For a moment he thought the captain had been hit by a musket ball, but as he slid his arm beneath his shoulders Bolitho opened hiss eyes and struggled into a sitting position. He blinked at Herrick's anxious face and said, `Keep the guns firing, Herrick!' He peered up at the enemy ship alongside and pulled himself to his feet. `We must stop them boarding us!' He groped for his sword and shouted harshly, `Cut that wreckage away!'

Okes staggered through the smoke, his breeches and coat splashed with blood and torn flesh. His eyes seemed to fill his face, and although he appeared to be shouting, Herrick could hear nothing.

Bolitho pointed with his sword. `Mr. Okes, clear the larboard battery and prepare to repel boarders!' He reached out and shook the lieutenant like a dog. `Do you hear me, damn you?'

Okes nodded violently, and a long thread of spittle ran down his chin.

Bolitho pushed him to the ladder, but Herrick said quickly, `I'll do it, sir!'

`No you won't!' Bolitho looked wild. `Get your guns firing! It is our only chance!'

At that moment the Ondine's guns banged out once again, and Herrick flinched as the salvo seared his face like a hot wind. He saw a party of sailors hacking away a length of broken shrouds. In the next instant there was nothing but a squirming mass of pulped flesh and bones, with a gaping gash in the lee bulwark beyond,

Bolitho shouted in his ear, `We'll not be so lucky next time!'

Herrick ran down the ladder, closing his eyes and ears to the horror beside him as more great blows shook the frigate's hull like hammers on an anvil. He walked through the smoke, his eyes streaming, his throat like sand, as he shouted wild and unheeded encouragement to the powder-blackened gunners.

Farquhar caught his arm and shouted, `They'll never cut that mast away in time!' He pointed towards the Ondine's lower gundeck. `They'll not be silent for ever.'

Herrick did not reply. With the wind at her beam, and held aft by the broken mast, the Phalarope's bows were starting to swing inwards towards the Ondine's hull. Through the smoke he could see men running along the two-decker's side towards the point of contact, the filtered sunlight playing on raised weapons.

He saw Okes groping towards the forecastle, his sword still in its sheath. He snapped, `Go with him, Mr. Farquhar! He looks in a bad condition!'

Farquhar's eyes gleamed coldly. `It will be a pleasure!'

Herrick flinched as a complete section of the starboard gangway splintered skyward and one of the twelve-pounders lurched on to its side. A seaman screamed as a severed head landed at his feet, and another ran from the gun, his eyes blinded by flying splinters.

Herrick called, `Take those men below!' But as he shouted he heard the sudden clank of pumps and knew that it was probably just as safe on deck.

He tried to shut it all from his mind and made himself walk back along the line of guns. Men were falling all around him but he knew he must not falter, and shouted, `Keep hitting 'em, lads!' He waved his hat. `If you want to see England again, keep those guns firing!'

On the forecastle the men from the unemployed guns gathered below the nettings, their hands gripping cutlasses and boarding axes as the bowsprit quivered against the enemy's forerigging. Okes croaked, `Over you go, lads! Keep those swine off our bows!'

Some of the men cheered and began to scramble out along the bowsprit, others fell back as a flurry of musket shots cut through the eager sailors and sent their corpses spinning into the water below.

Farquhar said urgently, `You must lead them! My God, you're asking the impossible!'

Okes swung round, his mouth slack. `Hold your tongue! I'll give the orders!'

Farquhar eyed him coolly. `I have said nothing in the past, Mr. Okes! But I will say it now as it seems we will all die today!' His hat was plucked away by a musket ball but he did not drop his eyes. `You are a cheat, a coward and a liar! If I thought you were worth it, I, would discredit you here and now in front of these men, whom you are too squeamish to lead!' He turned his back on Okes' stricken face and shouted, `Follow me, you ragged heroes!' He waved his sword. `Make way for a younger man!'

They laughed like lunatics and slapped his shoulders as he crawled over the nettings and clambered on to the smooth bowsprit. Shots whined all around him, but he was breathless with j mixture of relief and madness. All this was worth it, if only for telling Okes what he thought of him for his cowardice at Mola Island.

Okes stared back at the quarterdeck and whimpered as a seaman crawled past him, half disembowelled by a great sliver of torn planking. Bolitho was still at the quarterdeck rail, a speaking trumpet in one hand, his sword in the other. His uniform seemed to shine in the frail sunlight, and Okes could see the hammock nettings jumping as hidden marksmen tried to find the Phalarope's captain.

Okes cried, 'I hope they kill you! I hope they kill all of you!'

He sobbed and groped for his sword. Nobody listened to his wild words, or even heeded his presence on the bloodspattered forecastle. He thought of the stinging words and the contempt in Farquhar's eyes.

`Never!' He pulled himself towards the bowspnt where already some of the men were clashing steel with the enemy seamen. `I'll show the lot of you!' Heedless of the curses and screams he pulled himself over the clinging sailors and hacked at a French petty officer with his sword. He saw the man's shocked surprise as a great gash opened across his neck and he fell between the grinding hulls. Then he was up and over, pushing Farquhar aside in his frenzied efforts to reach and strike at the enemy.

Farquhar saw the madness on Okes' face and tried to pull him back. But it was useless. Encouraged by the apparent bravery of their officers the British sailors swarmed on to the Ondine's bulwark.

Okes snarled, `Are you afraid, Mr. FarquharT He threw back his head and emitted a shrill laugh. `Your uncle won't like that!'

Farquhar parried a thrusting pike and followed Okes down on to the wide deck. It was every man for himself now.

Bolitho strained his eyes through the smoke and watched his men changing from defenders to boarders. Whoever had decided to board the Ondine had made the right guess, he thought grimly. He heard the axes ringing on the tangle of wreckage behind him and knew it was impossible to free Phalarope from its embrace before the Ondine's heavy guns were brought back into action.

He crossed the deck and said to Rennie, `We must board her from aft, too!' He saw the marine nod. `Get some men together immediately!'

He heard someone sobbing and saw Neale on his knees below the lee rail. Midshipman Maynard was lying on his back, one hand held upright entangled in a signal lanyard, his eyes wide and unseeing and strangely peaceful. Neale was holding his hand and rocking back and forth, oblivious to the crash of gunfire and the slapping musket balls which had already claimed his friend.

Bolitho reached down and pulled Neale to his feet. The boy's last reserve seemed to collapse, and with a frantic cry he buried his face in Bolitho's coat, his body shaking with convulsions of grief. Bolitho prised him away and lifted his chin with the hilt of his sword. For a moment he stared down at him, then he said gravely, `Take a grip on yourself, Mr. Neale!' He saw the stunned look in Neale's eyes and shut his mind to the fact that he was talking with a terrified thirteen year-old child who had just lost his best friend. `You are a King's officer, Neale!' He softened his voice. `I said earlier, our people are watching you today. Do you think you can help me now?'

Neale brushed his eyes with his sleeve and looked back at Maynard's body by the bulwark. As the halyard jerked in the breeze his arm moved as if he still held on to life. Then Neale turned back to Bolitho and said brokenly, `I'm all right now, sir!'

Bolitho watched him walk back to the shouting gunners, a small figure half hidden in the smoke and flame of this savage battle.

Rennie reappeared, a cut above one eye. `Ready, sir!' He swung his curved sword. `Shall I take 'em across?'

Bolitho looked around the battered quarterdeck. There seemed to be more corpses than live men, he thought wearily. He faltered as a shot crashed against the quarterdeck ladder and tore into the planking like a plough. With disbelief he saw Proby put his hands to his face and watched his fingers clawing at the sudden torrent of blood. The master staggered against the wheel, but as Strachan left the spokes to hold him he fell moaning on to his side and lay still. His hands thudded on the planking, and Bolitho saw that his face had been torn away.

`We must take the Ondine!' The words were wrung from his lips. `If the French see their command ship strike, they'll…' He faltered and stared again at Proby's body. I've done for the lot of them! He felt the anguish changing to helpless anger. I have sacrificed the ship and every man aboard just

for this!

But Rennie eyed him evenly and said, `It is the right decision, sir!' He straightened his hat and said to his sergeant, `Right, Garwood, do you feel like a little walk?'

Bolitho stared at him. It was as if the marine had been reading his, mind. He said, `The Cassius will support us.' He looked at the waiting marines. They crouched like animals, wild and beyond fear or even anger. `It's us or -them, lads!'

Then, as the men shouted and cheered he jumped on to the Ondine's broken mast and began to claw his way across. Once he looked down at the water below him. It was littered with broken woodwork and sodden corpses, French and British alike.

As he reached the Ondine's poop he felt the balls whining past him and heard screams at his back as men fell to join the waiting corpses below. Then as he reached the scarred bulwark he hacked away the remains of the French boarding nets and leapt down on to the deck. Dead and dying lay everywhere, but when he glanced quickly across the far side he felt a further sense of shock as he saw the Cassius. She was not alongside anymore, but drifting away in the smoke of her own wounds, a mastless hulk,. battered beyond recognition. From every scupper he could see long, glistening streams of blood, which poured down the ship's side to colour the water in one unbroken stain. It was as if the ship herself was bleeding to death. But from the stump of her mizzen the ensign, pitted and torn with shot holes, still flapped in defiance, and as Rennie's yelling marines swept across the Ondine's poop there was a burst of cheering from the Cassius's deck. It was not much of a cheer, for there could not be many left to raise it, but to Bolitho it acted like the stab of a spur.

He ran across the littered deck, cutting down two seamen with hardly a pause, propelled on by the cheering and the battle-crazed men at his back. He could see his men on the Ondine's forecastle, almost encircled by an overwhelming mass of French seamen, their stubborn resistance faltering as they were forced back towards the rail.

Bolitho yelled, `Hold on Phalarope's!' He saw the Frenchmen falter and turn to face this new threat. `To me, lads! Cut your way through 'em!'

More men were swarming from the frigate now, and he saw Herrick's uniform through the smoke as he waved his men forward.

He turned as Okes slashed a path for himself in the press of figures, his sword gleaming red as he cut down a screaming midshipman and went on towards a man who was reloading a swivel gun beside the quarterdeck. Okes was bleeding from a dozen wounds, and as he reached the ladder the swivel gun exploded with a dull roar. The packed grapeshot lifted Okes like a rag doll and flung him lifeless into the fighting men below the ladder. The gunner fell a second later, cut down by a swinging cutlass.

Then, all at once, it was over. The deck clattered with the weapons thrown down by the Ondine's seamen, and Bolitho realised that their cries of defiance had changed to pleas for quarter. He knew he could not hold his men back if they wanted to complete the slaughter. It fell to some unknown sailor to break the spell of destruction and killing.

`A cheer for the Phalarope!' The voice cracked with relief and jubilation. `An' a cheer for Mad Dick!'

Bolitho climbed down the ladder, past the dazed Frenchmen and the mangled litter of entwined corpses.

`Captain Rennie!' He paused beside the remains of Liuetenant Okes. `Hoist our flag above the French ensign!' He felt his hands shaking. `Let them all see what you have done today.'

Sergeant Garwood said gruffly, `The cap'n is dead, sir!' He unrolled the flag carefully. `But I will do it!'

`Dead?' Bolitho stared after him. 'Rennie, too?' He felt Herrick pulling his arm and asked heavily, `What is it’

'The ship is ours, sir!' Herrick was shaking with excitement. `The gundeck is like a slaughterhouse! Our carronades did more than…' He broke off as he saw Bolitho's face.

`Very well, Mr. Herrick. Thank you.' His voice shook. `Thank all of you!' He turned away as more cheering echoed round the bloody decks.

Herrick shook his head as if he was beyond understanding. `A two-decker, sir! What a victory!'

Bolitho replied quietly, `We have a tradition of victory, Mr. Herrick.' He seemed to be speaking to himself. `Now gather our people and send them back to the ship. They have cut the wreckage away.' He stared dully at the Phalarope and let his eyes move slowly along her length. There were great gaping holes in her once-trim hull, and she was well down by the head. It sounded as if the pumps were only just containing the inrush of water. All three topmasts had gone, and the sails flapped in the breeze in long canvas streamers. He could see bodies hanging in the tops, the great patches of scarlet across the smashed and buckled planking below. Intruding for the first time since their -battle had begun came the distant thunder of that other great fight. Still far away and impersonal.

Bolitho made another effort to pull himself together. `Lively, Mr. Herrick! The battle is still not over!'

If only his men would stop cheering. If only he could get away and be with himself.

Herrick waved his arm. `Clear the ship, lads! We can take this wreck later in our own good time!'

Bolitho walked to the bulwark. Across the gap he could see Neale standing just where he had left him beside the wheel. He said, `Tell my coxswain to take Mr. Okes and Captain Rennie over to the ship.' He saw Herrick's sudden anxiety and felt despair closing in again. `Not Stockdale, Mr. Herrick?'

Herrick nodded. 'He fell as you were fighting on the poop, sir. He was defending your back from the marksmen.' He tried to smile. `I am sure that was what he would have wished!'

Bolitho stared at him. Stockdale dead. And he had not even seen him fall.

Farquhar pushed forward, his features wildly excited. 'Captain, sir! The lookouts report that our fleet has broken the enemy's lines in two places!' He stared round the stained, watching faces. 'Rodney has broken the French line, do you hear?'

Bolitho felt the breeze across his cheek, feeling its way through the battle's stench like an awed stranger. So de Grasse was beaten. He stared at the listing frigate below him, feeling the prick of emotion behind his eyes. Was all this sacrifice for nothing after all?

Herrick took his arm and said thickly, 'Look,i sir! Over yonder!'

As the freshening wind pushed away the curtain of smoke from the embattled and shattered ships, Bolitho saw the tall outline of the big three-decker. Her guns were still run out, and her paintwork was gleaming and unscarred by any cannon. Throughout the fighting she had lain impotent or unwilling to face the holocaust of close combat, and no British blood had been given to her massive armament.

Yet in spite of all these things there was another flag flying above her own. The same that flew on the dismasted Cassius and aboard the Ondine. The same as the Phalarope's own ensign and the victorious Volcano which now pushed her way through the last rolling bank of smoke.

Herrick asked soberly, `Do you need more than that, sir? She's struck to you!'

Bolitho nodded and then climbed over the bulwark. `We will get the ship under way, Mr. Herrick. Though I fear she may never fight again!'

Herrick said quietly, `There'll be other ships, sir.'

Bolitho stepped down on to the Phalarope's gangway and walked slowly above the spent and sweating gunners.

`Other ships?' He touched the splintered rail and smiled sadly. `Not like this one, Mr. Herrick.' He tilted his head and looked up at the flag.

`Not like the Phalarope!'