Tregorren was saying, 'Look, there's a fort of sorts on the island. Must be as old as bloody Moses.' He chuckled. 'Wait till you cast your eyes on some of these black lasses. They're beautiful, like -' He got no further. Bolitho had seen what looked like a dolphin skipping across the lively inshore current, and then he heard the far off boom of an explosion. The line of breaking crests vanished, and there was a chorus of shouts and curses as a great ball slammed down hard alongside the hull. The old gun captain shouted with disbelief, 'The devils 'ave fired on us, be God! ' The whole ship came alive to confused orders and the blare of a marine's trumpet. Tackles squeaked and gun trucks began to move overhead, and then came the cry, 'All guns load and prepare to run out! Starboard battery will engage first! ' Tregorren stared at the messenger's breeches, very white on the companion ladder, apparently unable to believe what he had heard. Then with a grunt he bellowed, 'All load! Stand by on the starboard battery! ' The seaman called Fairweather followed Bolitho to the opposite side as with sudden haste the barebacked figures began to ram home their bulky cartridges and wads, while each gun captain selected a ball from the garlands, feeling it, testing its shape and even finish before allowing it to be rammed and wadded into his waiting gun. Hand by hand shot up, and every eye was on the burly lieutenant. 'All loaded, sir! ' 'Run out! ' They threw themselves on to the tackles and hauled the lumbering guns to the open ports, each truck squealing and protesting like a hog going to market. The guns remained in deep shadow along the starboard side, but the ancient fortress, as it showed itself to each breathless crew, was clear to see. Its rough walls were like gold in the frail light, its shape merging with the rocks which supported it. Above the ramparts Bolitho saw several dark smudges which he took for an instant to be hovering clouds of mosquitoes. He heard a seaman mutter between his teeth, 'Them devils is heatin' shot, sir! They got furnaces goin' right the way along! ' Tregorren snarled, Til flog the next man to speak! ' But he sounded anxious. As well he might, Bolitho thought. His father had told him often enough what heated shot could do to a tinder-dry hull with all its top-hamper of tarred rigging and canvas. A voice yelled, 'Stand by to starboard! Maximum elevation and fire on the uproll! ' A petty officer jabbed a seaman on the shoulder so that he jumped as if he had been shot. 'Wind yer neckcloth round yer ears, man, less you want to be deaf all yer life! ' He winked at Bolitho. The warning had probably been for his benefit, but even midshipmen were allowed some respect. 'Stand by! ' The ship tilted to wind and rudder, and by each gun its captain was crouching inboard, his eye along every black muzzle towards the sky and the fortress. 'Fire!
5. Change of Fortune
WITH the order to open fire being yelled from deck to deck, each gun captain thrust his slow-match to the vent and jumped aside. A split second, and yet to Bolitho, who stood between a pair of thirty-two-pounders, it seemed like an age. A long-drawn-out moment when everything was crystal-clear and unmoving, as in a painting. The barebacked seamen crouching at tackles or holding handspikes. Individual gun captains, grim-faced and concentrating only on their own ports and aim. And through each square port the sunlight-on the fortress, the sky very pale without even a puff of cloud. And then everything changed. The lower gundeck exploded to the thunder of cannon fire, the hull and timbers bucking as if caught beneath an avalanche. Gun by gun crashed inboard on its tackles, its crew running to sponge out, to ram home a charge and another gleaming ball. Taken by the wind, the dense clouds of smoke drifted away from the hull, shutting out the fortress, masking the sky in brown fog. Tregorren was yelling, 'Stop your vents! Sponge out! Load! ' But his voice seemed to be coming through a curtain, the first broadside having rendered eardrums and minds almost senseless. But the effect of firing the starboard battery was plain to see. The first nervousness was gone, instead there was a sort of wildness as gun crews peered at each other, grinned and gestured like children. It was not just another drill, it was real, and they were firing in earnest. 'Run out! ' Once more the trucks squeaked on the deck, the crews hurling themselves on their tackles to be first through the open ports. Bolitho heard Wellesley say excitedly, 'They'll pipe another tune now, by heaven! ' Tregorren rasped, 'Whoever they may be, dammit! ' In the pause, as each crew peered along the angled muzzles, Bolitho heard the clatter of movement from the deck above. Gorgon must make a brave sight if there was anyone to care, he thought. Under shortened sail, no doubt, her guns bared to the early sunlight, she must be heading close inshore. He did not even know who had fired on the ship, or why, and he was surprised to discover that it did not seem to matter. In these brief minutes the men around him, the ship around all of them, had become one. 'Stand by! As you bear! ' The suspense was breathstopping.