Nautilus would try and hold the wind-gage and remain on the same tack. Once abeam, she would open fire and attempt to dismast and cripple Onward, regardless of the range when they passed. He realized that he had punched one hand into the other. Then reload while she crosses our stern with another full broadside. The death of any ship which was cleared for action, decks open from bow to stern when the iron thundered through.
He said, "Cast off the breechings and open the ports. "He turned to look directly at Vincent. "Larboard side only!"
He saw him nod, and perhaps smile. "Warn the starboard crews to standby."
He saw Julyan turn aside from the quartermaster as if to confirm his own thoughts about a trick which could so easily turn into disaster. He had been looking up at the masthead pendant, feeling the wind like a true sailor.
Adam did not. Instead he looked along the deck, the gun captains signalling that they were prepared. Breeching ropes cast off, the ports along one side open, the sea sliding briskly beneath them.
But if the wind drops? He took the telescope and realized that Jago had joined him, grim-faced, watching the distant frigate. As for most fighting sailors, waiting was the worst part. Or so they told themselves.
But he said, "Ready to cast off the boats, Cap'n. Just give the word."
Adam opened the telescope. Another hour? Less, if the wind holds steady.
"Do it now, Luke. I'll lay odds that every available glass is trained on us at this very moment."
He looked at Vincent. "Run out!"
He could see it in his mind. All along one side, the black muzzles were poking into the sunlight. Like one of the drills, with extra hands from the starboard side to add their muscle and run the guns up the sloping deck.
Vincent said, "With permission, sir? "He did not finish it, but touched his hat formally before walking to the gangway.
Squire was already making his way aft to take his place.
Opposite ends of the ship… Like hearing a voice from the past.
Don't display all your eggs in the same basket.
He saw Lieutenant Gascoigne, his face almost as scarlet as his tunic, moving slowly along the front rank of his Royal Marines, eyes noting every detail, making a comment from time to time. As if they were mounting guard in the barracks ashore.
Napier had come aft with Squire, calm enough, but he glanced round, startled, as the two cutters were cast adrift and were soon falling astern.
Then he stopped by the companion and said deliberately, "I shall be here, sir. "He seemed to nod. "I'm not afraid. Not this time."
Adam held his arm, and thought he flinched.
"Keep on the move, David."
Napier bit his lip, feeling the bruise left by Fowler's starter, but no longer caring. This was the closest they had been; had been allowed to be.
"You, too. "Then he did smile. "Sir!"
Jago had returned, and Adam saw that he was wearing his broad-bladed dirk. Like Athena and Unrivalled.
He said only, "Gig's gone adrift, Cap'n."
Adam loosened his belt and moved the old sword into the glare. Jago gave a crooked grin.
"Now we'll have the bastards!"
There was a sudden explosion, a solitary gun, probably a ranging shot, the sound echoing and re-echoing across the water like something trapped in a tunnel or shaft.
Adam watched the sunlight touching the open port-lids of the oncoming frigate, then the line of guns. He thought he saw the flash of reflected sun: some one training a glass on Onward. Perhaps on me.
He dragged off his hat and waved it toward the men below him at the guns.
Too soon! Or too late? "Stand by to come about!"
Calls shrilled and men who had been crouching at braces and halliards shouted to one another as they ran to obey.
"Helm a-lee! Hard over!"
'open the ports! Run out!"
Some one even gave a wild cheer as the eighteen-pounders squealed against the side, the gun captains racing one another to sight and lay on the target even as Onward thrust into and across the wind, topsails flapping and booming while the yards braced round, as if responding to a single hand.
At that moment, Nautilus opened fire.
Only seconds, but it seemed forever: the intermittent flash of gunfire and the shuddering onslaught through canvas and rigging overhead, the shock of iron slamming into the hull.
Adam stood quite still, his eye fixed on the bowsprit and jib boom as it continued to swing, like a giant pointer, as if to reach out and touch the bulging canvas. Nautilus seemed to loom closer, as if she and not Onward was swinging to engage.
His muscles tensed as he felt the deck shake under his feet, expecting the sounds of broken spars, anticipating the agony that would end everything.
The ship was still answering the helm, while the headsail sheets were let go to allow her to swing unheeded through the wind.
He saw Nautilus, shrouded in her own gunsmoke, but no longer free to sail past and deliver another broadside. Onward's agility and sudden, seemingly reckless change of tack and direction had caught her gun crews unawares. Most of the shots had passed overhead.
Here and there small scenes leaped out at him. A seaman seizing one of his companions at the gun below the quarterdeck, and throwing him aside as a massive block, severed from the rigging high above, smashed down beside them. Shock, obscenities, then a grin. Midshipman Hotham, the clergyman's son, face screwed up in concentration as he loaded and examined a long pistol, flinching as more debris fell clattering nearby. Then he handed the pistol to Monteith, who took it with a curt nod.
And the men at the braces, stiff with crouching, waiting and willing the ship to complete her tack. And hit back. One of them, naked to the waist, was sharing his handhold with another, younger sailor, who was not even daring to open his eyes as the smoke billowed across the water. The scars of the cat were still livid on his back, as if the flogging had given Dimmock some kind of authority.
Adam thrust out his arm and heard Julyan yell, "Ready, sir!"
Perhaps he had not dared to look aft, in case the helm was shot away or manned only by the dead.
"Steady as you go! Meet her! "The spokes were turning, but Adam was staring up at the masthead pendant, stark and clear again above the thinning smoke. Broken cordage jerking in the wind, and a blackened hole in the topsail, where two shots had missed both mast and yard by a few inches. There was blood too, drying on the canvas. One of the topmen. A face he would have known.
"Let go and haul!"
"Heave, me lads! Heave! "Guthrie's voice, powerful, unhurried, ready to send or push more hands where they were needed.
Adam heard some one cry out in pain, but he kept his eyes on the yards, still swinging in response to the men at the braces.
He watched the big arrowhead of water changing shape, the Nautilus very bright now in the sun, her gunports empty and with every crew trying to reload and run out again, before…
He shut his mind to it, surprised that he felt neither doubt nor anger. Only hatred.
"Steady as she goes, sir!"
Adam did not hear. He had drawn his sword, and held it lightly across his right shoulder.
He saw a slight movement, sunlight disturbing the pattern as the first gun to reload thrust through its port.
Too late.
He brought the sword down to the rail, and thought he heard some one cheer.
"Fire!"
Every gun fired as one, recoiling from its port and brought under control before the full impact of their combined, doubleshotted broadside exploded against the enemy. They were already sponging out and reloading with fresh charges, shouting and cheering like madmen, and despite the neckerchiefs tied around their ears were too deaf to hear or share the excitement and relief after hours of waiting behind sealed ports while the larboard side had bared its teeth.
Adam covered his mouth and nose as the smoke billowed inboard in a solid cloud. The roar of the full broadside seemed to hang in the air, an echo perhaps of the double-shotted onslaught which had found its target.