He staggered to his feet, staring with shock and dismay as his rescuer threw up both hands and fell after the man he had killed. He was bleeding badly, probably hit by a stray shot even as he watched the boarder fall from view between the hulls.
"Did you see thatT Adam grasped his shoulder, guiding and pushing him toward the quarterdeck. Just a brief glimpse, as he had tried to wrench the pike free of its victim. Mouth wide in a shout or a laugh of jubilation, even as he had been shot down. Jeff Lloyd, one of the sailmaker's crew, who had repaired his old uniform.
He shouted, "Stand by, on deck! "There was a gap now between the two ships, widening and gaining colour even as he watched. He could feel it on his face, and wanted to yell it aloud. The wind was returning, and not only in his mind. Or his prayers. Nautilus was already further away. He could see broken timber and corpses floating free.
More men running along Nautilus's deck, but confused now, perhaps leaderless.
Adam saw a gunner's mate peering up at him while Midshipman Simon Huxley continued to tie a bandage around his arm, taking his time.
"As you bear, lads! "He saw the gunner's mate acknowledge it."
Adam walked along the gangway and saw Jago coming to meet him. The crash of the first gun seemed to swamp everything as the two ships continued to edge apart, the water clearer, reflecting the smoke like harmless clouds. Nautilus was turning again, and would soon expose her side, ready to reopen fire.
There was more smoke swirling from her stern, from the great cabin itself. He saw the eighteen-pounder standing inboard, its crew sponging out and tamping home another charge, a fresh ball already held, ready to follow. The gun captain was gazing at Nautilus, and the smoke that marked his last shot. But there was no cheering this time.
Jago turned as Napier muttered to himself, "He saved my life, "and touched his sleeve, as he had seen his captain do many times.
'We needs you, for better days! "But the habitual wry grin had deserted him.
The gun was already being run up to its port, its captain staring over the breech. He did not even turn his head as the next gun crashed and recoiled, and was being sponged out before the smoke had cleared.
Adam glanced up at the topsails. They were still filled and steady. Onward could break off the fight and go with the wind.
Who would blame him? "Standing by, sir. "That was Squire, who was watching the gun crews impassively as they stared aft, waiting for his signal.
Adam was studying Nautilus's line of ports, still at an angle, but they would soon come to bear again. No jury-rig as yet, nor any attempt to hoist one. But the wreckage had been cut away.
Already drifting clear. He saw two boats close by, Onward's own cutters, unlikely witnesses to a necessary killing on both sides.
He walked to the rail and saw Monteith, sitting now on an upturned box, his head buried in his hands, a crude bandage beneath his fingers. He had apparently been knocked unconscious by a piece of falling timber.
A marine, leaning with his musket against the tightly packed hammock nettings, said, "Mister Monteith is goin "to be all right. "A pause. "Pity, ain't it? "But nobody laughed.
Adam clenched his fist and pressed it against his side. More of Nautilus's guns were visible now. A full broadside… he could wait no longer.
She was a much older ship than Onward. He thought of the empty and abandoned vessels that filled so many ports and inlets in England. Once proud, even famous names, waiting for the breakers "yards, or ignominy as hulks. But most of them would remain afloat. And still withstand a broadside if necessary.
He did not look along his ship again. She had been built for speed and agility. Endurance had outpriced itself, and stripped the forests.
"Full broadside!"
He knew that every fist would be raised, lanyards taut, ready to obey.
He reached out, not daring to take his eyes off the Nautilus.
It was a trick, to prolong the inevitable. The slaughter.
He gripped the telescope, still without turning his head, wasting seconds which could cost the lives of those who trusted him.
He saw part of Nautilus's upper deck, guns run out, the scars and broken timbers stark in the lens. Nothing moving except the shadows of torn and blackened canvas from her mainyard, which had somehow escaped destruction.
"Ready, sir! "Anxiety. Impatience.
Nautilus's deck was full of people. Not standing by the guns, or crouching along gangways waiting for another attempt to board this ship. There were so many of them, they would crush any resistance by sheer weight of numbers, heedless of the cost.
Some of them were moving now, faces toward Onward, but without authority or purpose. Held in check, waiting.
He wanted to look away; his eye was stinging with strain and concentration. But if he did, he would lose this fragile hope, and the world would explode into nightmare.
Some one said, "They're dropping weapons over the side!"
Then more loudly: "They are, for God's sake!"
Adam said, "Aft, by the mizzen. "He rubbed his eye with his wrist, and thrust the telescope at Jago. "Tell me, Luke, am I wrong?"
Jago took the telescope and lost precious seconds adjusting it. He would not be hurried. He knew, as did his captain.
A little cluster of figures beneath the mast, having climbed up from another deck, staring around now, as if half blinded by the daylight. Their progress had been slow, but the crowd around them had parted to allow them through without any attempt to prevent their passing. It was like a signal, when the swords and muskets had started to splash alongside.
Jago watched, not daring to breathe as one group lowered a tall ladder-backed chair and turned it toward Onward. It was a powerful telescope; no wonder Bolitho was so proud of it.
He wanted to clear his throat, but something stopped him.
He said, "It's the Frenchie, Cap'n. A bit knocked about, but still alive."
Adam could still see it. The tall figure he remembered, stooped over, and supported in a chair. The bandages and the blood on his torn uniform, like tar in the sunlight. He could have been dead. But one of his officers had taken his wrist and raised it carefully, and held the hand up almost in a salute.
And Marchand had smiled.
Adam had thought of Deacon's dying bird. When Marchand must have cut down his own flag.
Squire said, "They'll try to bargain, using him and his men."
Adam looked at Jago. "No bargains."
There was a sudden burst of cheering, which drowned out every other sound. Men stood away from their guns, and some embraced one another. Even Monteith lifted his face from his hands and stared around, startled, as if he could not recall what had happened.
Some one yelled from the forecastle and Adam saw the drifting cutter nudging against the hull.
A voice shouted orders, and a marine ran to pitch a grapnel and haul it alongside.
Adam stared at the stains and the scars of gunfire. It should have been Joshua Guthrie's leather-lunged voice, but it had been silenced forever. The boatswain had fought his last battle.
The cheering had died away, and he could hear the thud of hammers and the regular clank of a pump. Onward had been wounded. But she was the victor.
Julyan called, "We can't anchor here, sir! No bottom."
He thought he had heard the leadsman's chant even as they had approached Nautilus, feeling their way.
"No matter. We will take her in tow until we can make her fit for passage."
Jago said, "Cutter's made fast, Cap'n."
Adam walked to the larboard side, the wind at his back. Just in time. But too late for men who had deserved a longer span of life, to enjoy or to endure.
There was no land in sight, nor would there be until the Strait.
He saw young Walker by the flag locker, dabbing his eyes, which were red-rimmed with smoke or tears. Caught like that, he looked like a child in uniform.