Then he was across, clinging to the enemy's boarding nets, which had been rent in great holes by the broadsides. Muljadi's own plans must have been ready, for there seemed to be hundreds of men surging to meet the cheering, cursing rush of boarders.
Muskets and pistols, while from somewhere overhead a swivel banged out, the packed canister tearing across the enemy's quarterdeck, hurling wood splinters and bodies in all directions.
A bearded face loomed out of the smoke, and Bolitho slashed at it, holding to the nets to keep from falling outboard and being crushed between the hulls. The man shrieked and dropped from view. A marine thrust Bolitho aside, screaming like a madman as he pinned a man with his bayonet before wrenching out the blade and ramming the musket's butt into a wounded pirate who was trying to crawl out of the fight.
Allday ducked under a cutlass and caught his attacker off balance. He even pushed the man away with his left fist, giving himself room for a proper stroke with his own blade. It sounded like an axe on wood.
Bellairs was striding in the centre of a squad of marines, snapping unheard commands, his elegant hanger darting in and out like a silver tongue as he forced his way aft towards the enemy's quarterdeck.
Another wave of insane cheering, and Bolitho saw Soames leading his own boarding party up and over the frigate's main shrouds, muskets barking point-blank into the press below him, his sword crossing with that of a tall, lank-haired officer whom Bolitho remembered as Le Chaumareys' first lieutenant.
Soames slipped and sprawled across an upended cannon, and the Frenchman drew back his arm for the fatal thrust. But a marine was nearby, the musket ball taking away most of the lieutenant's skull and hurling him from the deck like a rag doll.
Bolitho realised that Allday was shaking him by the arm, trying to make him understand something.
He yelled, 'The hold, Captain!' He jabbed at the wide hatchways with his cutlass. 'The bastards have set her afire!'
Bolitho stared at it, his brain and mind reeling from the screams and cheers, the grate of steel, the madness of close action. The smoke was already thicker. Perhaps Allday was right, or maybe a burning wad from one of Undine's guns had found its way into the hull when Soames had sent his last broadside crashing home. Either way, both ships would be destroyed unless he acted, and at once.
He yelled, 'Captain Bellairs! Fall back!'
He saw Bellairs gaping at him, blood dripping unheeded from a gash on his forehead.
Then he, too, seemed to get a grip on his own lust of battle and shouted, 'Sound the retreat!' He sought out his sergeant whose massive frame had somehow avoided both steel and musket ball. 'Coaker! Take that fool's name if he don't do as I ask!'
Coaker gripped a small marine drummer boy, but he was dead, his eyes glazed and unseeing as Coaker wrenched the trumpet from his hands and blew it with all his might.
It was almost harder to discontinue the battle thanto board the other frigate. Back and back, here and there a man' falling, or being hauled bodily across the gap between the hulls to avoid capture. The pirates had at last seen their own danger, and without the French lieutenant in command they seemed intent only on abandoning their ship as quickly as they could.
The first tongue of flame licked through a hatch, bringing a chorus of shrieks from the abandoned wounded, and within seconds the gratings and surrounding boat tier were well ablaze.
Bolitho gripped the ratlines and took a last look as his men threw themselves on to Undine's gangway. Forward, Shellabeer's men were already cutting the lashing which held the hulls together, and with the topsails once more braced round, and the helm over, Undine began to sidle clear, the wind holding the smoke and sparks away from her own canvas and vulnerable rigging.
Mudge panted, 'What now, sir?'
Bolitho watched the frigate slipping past, a few crazed men still firing across the widening gap.
He shouted, 'A final broadside, Mr. Soames!'
But it was already too late. A great sheet of flame burst upwards through the vessel's gun deck, setting the broken foremast and sails alight and leaping to the mainyards like part of a forest fire.
Bolitho heard himself reply, 'Get the forecourse on her, and smartly with it. We'll not be able to beat back the way we came. That ship's magazine will go at any moment, so we will try the eastern channel.'
Mudge said, 'May be too shallow, sir.' 'Would you burn, Mr. Mudge?'
He strode to the taffrail to watch the frigate as the blaze engulfed the poop. An English ship. It were better this way, he thought vaguely.
He turned and added harshly, 'Mr. Davy, I want a full report of damage.' He waited, seeing the wildness draining from his eyes. 'And the bill for all this.'
Bolitho saw the yards edging round, the sails, pockmarked and blackened by the fight, hardening to the wind. The channel seemed wide enough. About a cable to starboard, more on the other side. He had managed worse.
'Boat in the water, sir!' Keen was standing in the shrouds with his telescope. 'Just two men in it.'
Mudge called, 'I'll 'old 'er steady, sir. We're steerin' almost nor'-east again, but I dunno-'
The rest of his words were lost as Keen yelled, 'Sir! Sir!' He stared down at Bolitho, his face shining with disbelief.
Davy snapped, 'Keep your head, Mr. Keen!'
But Keen did not seem to hear. 'It's Mr. Herrick!'
Bolitho stared at him and then clambered up beside him. The boat was a wreck, and the scrawny figure who was now standing to wave a scrap of rag above his head, looked like a scarecrow. Lying in the bottom of the boat, half-covered with water, was Herrick.
As he held the telescope Bolitho could feel his hands shaking violently, and saw Herrick's face, ashen beneath a rough bandage. Then he saw his eyes open, imagined the other man shouting the news to him, his words as plain as if he could hear them himself.
He said, 'Pass the word to the bosun. I want that boat grappled alongside.' He gripped the midshipman's wrist. 'And tell him to be careful. There'll be no second chance.'
Allday had gone below for something. Now he was back, his eyes everywhere, until Bolitho said quietly, 'The first lieutenant is coming aboard. Go forrard and bid him welcome for me, eh?'
As the frigate slipped past another shelving hump of land the sun came down to greet them, to warm their aching limbs, to hold the shock of battle at arm's length a while longer. A deep explosion came from the main channel, and more smoke spouted high above the nearest land to show the wind which awaited them in open water, and to sound the other vessel's final destruction.
Muljadi may or may not have been aboard, and the real fight was still ahead.
Bolitho heard shouts from forward, and then a cheer as some seamen clambered into the sinking boat to pluck Herrick and his companion back on board.
But whatever was waiting beyond the green humps of land, no matter how hopeless their gesture might be, they would be together.
18. In the King's Name
'Alter course two points.'
Bolitho tried to pace along the littered deck, but was unable to overcome his anxiety. It was an hour since they had edged into the eastern channel, under minimum canvas and with two leadsmen in the chains they had felt their way towards the sea.
An hour of answering demands and listening to reports. Ten killed, fifteen wounded, half of them seriously. Considering what they had done, it was a small enough bill, but as he watched the familiar bundles awaiting burial, or heard occasional cries from the main hatch, he found little comfort in it.
If only Allday would come on deck and tell him about Herrick. He had already questioned the surviving seaman. It had been the little man called Lincoln, the one with the permanent grin made by a grotesque scar.
Bolitho had watched him reliving it as he had stammered out his description, oblivious to his captain and officers crowding around him, and seemingly only half aware he was actually alive.