Men were coughing and retching, but some were peering around in the smoke for friends. Gun crews were calling to each other, throwing their weight on tackles and handspikes, their world concentrated on the open ports before them.
Adam reached for his telescope, then waved it aside as a hand offered it through the thinning smoke.
He did not need it. The regular drills and the gun crews" patience and trust had done their work today.
Nautilus's proud beauty was broken, disfigured. Her foremast had gone completely, dragging over the forecastle and into the water alongside, the tangled mass of spars and severed rigging already dragging her round like a giant sea anchor. The main topmast was also shot away. He thought of Maddock the gunner, down below the waterline, sealed in his cavern of explosives and instant death. He must have heard it, felt the success of his training and hard work, and been proud.
Somebody exclaimed, "That'll make ‘em put their bloody heads together an' think again!"
Squire sounded wary, impatient. "They've got plenty of those, for God's sake!"
Adam walked aft to the wheel, men turning toward him, still too dazed and deafened to grasp the significance of the lieutenant's warning.
Nautilus was not responding to her rudder, and it seemed nothing was being done to cut away the burden of mast and sails which was dragging her further and further downwind.
Squire had seen it. The wind was no longer an ally.
He looked at the smoke, drifting just above the water. The wind was dropping, biding its time. The real enemy.
Napier was beside him, as if he had expected to be called.
"Ask the first lieutenant to lay aft. "He saw him touch his hat and hurry to the larboard gangway.
He heard musket shots, far-off and ineffectual. Some of the Royal Marines of the afterguard were listening, gripping their muskets, gauging the range.
They would not have long to wait.
The wind had almost dropped, but there was still enough to carry a new sound, more threatening than the infrequent report of a musket.
Voices, hundreds of them, joined together like a muffled roar.
Vincent had reached the quarterdeck, his eyes on the loosely flapping topsails, and then the men at the wheel.
"If the wind returns, I can bring our guns to bear."
Adam shook his head. "So might Nautilus. But she'll need a dockyard before she can fight and win under any flag."
He saw the familiar frown, the old challenge. Then he said quietly, "They'll try to board us, sir. Their only chance. Fight or die."
Adam turned the old sword over in his hands.
"And ours, Mark."
He stared along the upper deck, the men at their guns, others dragging away fallen rigging. There were two bodies lying by the empty boat-tier, already covered. Wasted.
"So be it. Close quarters!"
July an called, "She's swingin', sir!"
Adam laid the sword on the rail and took his telescope.
Onward was answering the helm again, the quartermaster peering at the compass as a gust of air lifted the big ensign above the poop defiantly, and another volley of musket fire made some of the seamen duck for cover.
Adam stood motionless, the telescope hot against his skin.
Nautilus was turning very slowly, the sun suddenly like a mirror across the quarter, and then more slowly still over the poop itself. He felt something crack against the deck and saw splinters blown aside. More shots, this time from the maintop, some of Gascoigne's marksmen returning fire.
Adam wiped his eye and steadied the glass again. Figures running along Nautilus's gangway, above the entry port, where Marchand had welcomed him aboard. More were already clambering around the cathead, trying to hack away the remaining shrouds which held the fallen mast alongside.
"As you bear! "He heard Napier, then another voice passing the order to the guns.
More shots, and a louder bang: a swivel gun, he thought. The glass remained steady, but he could feel sweat running down his spine like blood.
It was now. The crash of the first eighteen-pounder seemed sharper, louder, not double-shotted this time. The stern windows were blown aside, pieces of carved "gingerbread" splashing and resurfacing beneath the counter even as the next gun fired, blasting through Nautilus''?, stern.
Adam picked up the sword, the stench of smoke and charred timber searing his throat and eyes.
He saw a marine reloading his musket, and pausing to fix the bayonet, before running to join his section. He was shouting, but Adam could barely hear over the gunfire.
Julyan shouted, "You got your wish, sir! "and turned to say over his shoulder to the quartermaster, "Watch your helm, Carter! "Then he stepped over the man's body and added his own weight to the wheel. The quartermaster had been a trusted friend. But there was no time to think about him, even as he was trying to drag himself to his feet.
He shook his fist, swearing as more shots pounded the deck and clanged aside from one of the nine-pounders.
Adam saw the Nautilus looming over the side, and felt the two hulls shudder together. On deck, the gun crews were reloading, some falling, wounded or dying, as grapnels clattered on to the gangway above them.
"Repel boarders! At ‘em, lads! "The marines ran to obey, bayonets gleaming, as others fired down from the main and mizzen tops. A mob was clambering on to the gangway and reaching for shrouds and ratlines, only to be trapped by the loosely rigged boarding nets.
Blade against blade, teeth bared: almost inhuman as they tried to hack the stout netting aside. No time to reload; it was man to man. Some were through the defenses, to be met by cutlass and boarding axe, and sometimes fists, as they fought and struggled above the guns.
The boatswain was using a cutlass; it looked like a dirk in his massive fist.
"They'm runnin', th "bastards! "Then, like a great tree, he fell, his own men still cheering as they ran across him in pursuit.
Adam hurried to the midships part of the gangway, where the nettings had been hacked away completely. Men were shouting and cursing, some too exhausted even to cry out if they were cut down. There were bodies fallen and trapped between the two hulls, and Adam saw some of the attackers wilt and retreat in confusion as they were confronted by some marines and their cherished musketoon.
Wild cheers now: Vincent was running along Nautilus's, quarterdeck with some of his seamen, climbing back to Onward after pursuing the attackers.
Too late, he became aware of his own danger, and found himself face to face with a strongly built figure brandishing a double-bladed sword as if it were weightless. Perhaps he had seen the uniform, or maybe he was too crazed by the fighting and death all around him, that it was merely a final spur to his madness or his courage.
Their blades locked, and Adam thought he heard Squire yell, "No heroics! "then he drove his own sword into his ribs.
He staggered as his shoe slid on blood, and yelled to the gun crews below him.
The attackers had fallen back to Nautilus's deck, but they were rallying, being led or driven by the same relentless chanting.
"More men! "Adam waved his sword. Monteith should be ready with a party of seamen and the last loaded swivel gun on the opposite gangway.
But he was lying on the main deck, his uniform impeccably clean amidst the blood and filth of fighting.
He saw Napier coming to join him, a hanger drawn and ready, and shouted, "Fall back! Watch yourself, David!"
He pushed two struggling men aside, but another had climbed on to the gangway, a long knife clenched between his teeth.
Napier lost his balance, and the hanger slithered out of reach. His attacker leaped on to his shoulders, dragging him down, gripping the knife as two more of his companions hauled themselves on to the gangway.
Wo, you don't, you bastards! "Some one was running from the side, a boarding pike held like a lance as he charged across the deck.
The pike struck Napier's attacker in the back, with such force that Napier could see the bloodied tip protruding from his chest as he went down and over the side.