Then it died away, as did the fires, leaving only tiny, glowing pinpricks of red and orange, like slow-matches, to show where gorse and brush still smouldered on the hillside.
Once again, the sea and wind, the sounds of tackle and canvas returned, and Bolitho heard men talking, almost whispering, as if they had just witnessed an act of God.
He said harshly, 'Brail up the forecourse, Mr. Davy!' He walked to the rail, each step like physical pain. 'Mr. Shellabeer! Cast all but the quarter boat adrift!' He must keep talking. Get them moving again. Clear that dreadful pyre from his own brain.
He saw Soames watching him and shouted, 'Load and run out, if you please!'
His words were almost lost in the flap and thunder of rebellious canvas as the big forecourse was brailed up to its yard. Like a curtain, he thought dully. Pulled away for the final scene. So that nothing should be missed.
He heard the port lids squeaking in unison, and then, as Soames barked his command, the gun crews threw themselves on their tackles, and with increasing haste the black muzzles rumbled towards the daylight, thrusting out above the creaming water on either beam.
Davy touched his hat. 'All guns run out, sir!' He looked strained.
'Thank you.'
Bolitho kept his eyes on the dark hump astride the channel. No flashes from those great muzzles. It had worked. Even if the garrison managed to manhandle some of the guns from the far side of the fortress-it would be too late to fire on Undine as she surged into the drifting curtain of smoke.
He shaded his eyes and stared towards the spit of land, the dark lines which marked the masts and yards of the first anchored ship. Soon. Soon. He gripped the sword until his knuckles showed white. He could feel the hurt and the anger. The rising madness, which only revenge for Herrick would control.
And there was the sunlight, growing stronger every dragging minute. He climbed into the weather shrouds, heedless of the wind and leaping spray which dappled his coat like bright gems. Abeam he could see Undine's shadow reaching away across the broken water, his own blurred outline like part of the fabric itself.
He looked down at Mudge. 'Get ready to alter course once we are past that spit!'
He waited while those at the braces took the strain, each man an individual now as the sunlight found his naked back, or a tattoo, or some extra long pigtail to mark a seasoned sailor. He jumped down to the deck, tugging at his neckcloth, as if it were strangling him.
'Marines, stand to!' Bellairs had drawn his elegant hanger and was watching while his men nestled their long muskets on the closely packed hammock nettings.
At every open port a gun captain crouched with his lanyard almost taut as he watched for the first sign of a target.
The spit of land reached out as if to touch the bilges as the ship swept inshore, her bow wave causing a ripple amongst some jagged rocks which Bolitho remembered from his other visit.
'Braces there!'
Mudge shouted, 'Put the wheel to larboard! Lively now!'
Like a thoroughbred, Undine heeled round under pressure of canvas and rudder, the yards swinging together as she turned into the sunlight.
'Steer nor'-east by east!' Mudge heaved his ungainly bulk to assist the helmsmen. "Old 'er, you buggers!'
There were several muffled bangs, and a ball cracked through the foretopsail with the sound of a whiplash.
But Bolitho barely noticed it. He was staring at the anchored frigate, the scrambling activity along her yards and deck where her company prepared for sea.
Davy echoed his dismay. 'She's not the Argus, sir!'
Bolitho nodded. It was the other frigate. The one which had been abandoned by her crew. He screwed up his eyes, trying to watch every movement, still attempting to accept what had happened.
Le Chaumareys had gone. By chance? Or had he once again proved his superiority, a cunning which had never been outmatched?
Almost savagely he lifted the old blade over his head and yelled, 'Starboard battery! As you bear!' The sword caught the glare as it cut down. 'Fire!'
The broadside roared and flashed along Undine's starboard side, gun by gun, each captain taking his aim while Soames strode past every recoiling breech, yelling and peering towards the enemy. Bolitho watched the smoke spouting from the ports and rolling towards the other ship which seemed suspended in the fog, her hull lying almost diagonally across the starboard bow.
Here and there a gun flashed out in reply, and he felt the deck planking jerk under his feet as at least one ball smashed into the side.
The quarterdeck gun crews were all shouting and cursing as
they, too, joined in the battle. The stocky six-pounders hurled themselves inboard on the tackles, the wild-eyed seamen sponging out and ramming home fresh charges within seconds.
Overhead, and splashing violently into the channel on either beam, came a fusilade of smaller shot, from fortress or frigate Bolitho neither knew nor cared. As he paced briskly athwart the deck by the quarterdeck rail he saw nothing but the other ship's raked masts, the patch of colour from the prancing beast of her flag, the rising pall of smoke as again and again Undine's broadside thundered into her.
Once he chilled as he saw some charred flotsam bobbing past the quarter, a headless corpse pirouetting in Undine's crisp bow wave, tendrils of scarlet moving around it like obscene weed.
Herrick had known the Argus had gone. He must have seen the anchorage long before anyone in Undine. He would never have faltered. Bolitho felt his eyes stinging again, the hatred boiling inside him as the quarterdeck guns cracked out, their sharp detonations making his mind cringe even as their crews scrambled with handspikes to edge their weapons round for another salvo.
Herrick would have accepted it. As he had in the past. It was what he had lived for.
Bolitho shouted aloud, heedless of Mudge and Davy nearby. 'God damn them for their plans and their stupidity!'
Keen called, 'They've cut their cable, sir!'
Bolitho ran to the nettings, feeling a musket ball punch into the deck by his feet. It was true, Muljadi's frigate was yawing sluggishly in wind and current, her stern swinging like a gate across Undine's path. Someone must have lost his nerve, or perhaps in the confusion of the exploding schooner and Undine's savage attack an order had been misunderstood.
He yelled, 'We'll go alongside her! Stand by the tops'l halliards! Put the helm a'lee!'
As men dashed to the braces again, and topsails flapped and thundered wildly to their sudden freedom, Undine turned deliberately to larboard, her jib-boom sweeping round until it pointed to the distant pier and the litter of smouldering craft left by the explosion.
Soames bellowed, 'Point! Ready!' He was peering, red-eyed, along his panting gun crews, his sword held out like a staff. 'Drag that man away!' He ran forward to help pull a wounded seaman from a twelve-pounder. 'Now!' His sword flashed down. 'Broadside!'
This time, the whole battery exploded in a single wall of flames, the long tongues darting into the smoke, making it rise and twist, as if it, too, was dying in agony.
Someone gave a hoarse cheer. 'There goes th' bastard's fore!'
Bolitho ran to the gangway, marines and seamen pounding behind him.
High above the smoke the nimble topmen were already hurling their steel grapnels, jeering at one another as they raced even here to beat their opposite numbers on the other masts. Another cheer, as with a shuddering lurch Undine drove alongside the drifting frigate, her bowsprit rising above the poop. While the impetus carried them closer and closer together, the guns still bellowed, louder now as their fury matched across a bare thirty feet of tormented water.
'Boarders away!'
Bolitho waited, gripping the main shrouds, gauging the moment as Soames roared, 'Cease firing! At 'em, lads! Cut the bastards down!'