Herrick dabbed his face with a handkerchief. "Worried about young Saxby, sir?"
"No, Thomas." He lowered his voice. "About Probyn." "Nicator s acknowledged, sir. " Glasson sounded very alert now.
Bolitho nodded and climbed on to a nine-pounder, one hand resting on a seaman's bare shoulder. Heading on a diagonal tack towards Lysander's larboard bow he saw the French men-of-war reforming to protect their scattered convoy of supply ships.
He counted them carefully. Four ships of the line. Odds against his own strength, but not too much so. Beyond the overlapping straggle of supply vessels he saw the squared sails of a frigate, snapping at the heels of those vital ships like a Cornish sheepdog when a fox was after the lambs.
He looked past Veitch without seeing him. An hour more at the most. The French admiral would know by then that there were no more British ships close by. What then? Revenge and destruction of the little squadron? Or on to Alexandria in case there was one more trick to play?
Bolitho saw the gleam of red amongst the enemy's formation and knew it was the supply ship from Corfu. Veitch would remember. He"d had plenty of opportunity to watch her and her scattering consorts while he had set fire to the hillside to protect Osiris from the guns. And she would be carrying more of those great guns. Without the last of them, de Brueys would never dare to anchor inside Alexandria's narrow entrance. He would need their protection for his ships and the landing of so many soldiers and stores. Denied them, he would do it as Herrick had described, in AboukirBay.
And with any kind of luck, Nelson would find them there. After that, it would be up to him.
He looked along Lysander's decks, his heart heavy. And what of us? We did our best.
He heard several bangs, and saw smoke drifting downwind from the leading French two-decker. Some of the balls whipped across the low waves like flying fish, but were well clear of Lysander.
It was a show of anger. A sign that the French were ready and eager for battle after so long preparing behind their booms and harbour batteries.
Herrick said, "Bow chaser, Mr. Veitch! Try a ranging ball or two!"
The crash of the larboard bow chaser brought some cheers from those who were unable to see the enemy's show of strength.
Below the quarterdeck, other men were already wrapping their neckerchiefs around their ears,. and placing their cutlasses and boarding axes in close reach.
Bolitho heard Glasson say, "Half a cable short!" But nobody answered him.
The leading French ship was firm placed towards Lysander's larboard bow, sailing as close to the wind as she could, every sail fully visible on her tightly braced yards.
Bolitho watched narrowly, gauging time and distance.
Whether they would collide or break the enemy's line. They had to get amongst the supply ships.
A ripple of bright orange tongues from the leading ship, and this time the controlled broadside was better directed. He felt the hull jerk, and heard the searing whine of iron passing over the poop.
Up and down between the eighteen-pounders and their motionless crews, Kipling, the second lieutenant, walked unhurriedly, his drawn sword over his shoulder like a stick. "Easy, my lads!" He was speaking almost softly. As if calming a horse. 'stand-to and face your front!"
Bolitho saw the Frenchman's forecourse stretched and hard-bellied on its yard, and it looked for all the world as if it was spread on Lysander's bowsprit and jib boom.
Bolitho snapped, "Let her falloff two points!"
He nodded to Herrick as Grubb's men put up their helm. "As you bear! Fire!
From forward to aft, Lysander's larboard guns fired, reloaded and fired again, smoke and fire belching from her ports, the trucks squealing as the crews trundled them back again for another broadside.
Bolitho gritted his teeth, feeling the deck shaking violently to the guns" recoil. His eyes smarted as he trained his glass beyond the bow, seeing the Frenchman's sails jerking and tearing under the barrage. Some of Lysander's guns would not bear on the French leader, but he hoped that the heavier balls from the thirty-two-pounders might be finding targets over and beyond her stem.
Herrick shouted, "The French captain's altered course, sir!" He cursed as the enemy ship fired, the broadside haphazard and ill-timed, but nevertheless deadly. Great thuds shook the hull, and two large holes appeared in the main topsail.
Bolitho watched the enemy's yards moving, narrowing the exposed sails as she turned slightly away. To give her gun crews a better chance to fire and to take advantage of the wind, which by being so close-hauled had been denied her.
Bolitho said sharply, "Alter course to larboard again! Steer north by west!"
He had not wasted his first broadsides. It had unnerved the enemy captain enough to make him edge round to return fire. It would take him far too long to work his ship back so close to the wind.
Men hauled wildly at the braces, the yards creaking and allowing the sun to spill more light into smoke-hazed decks. "Fire!"
The larboard guns came crashing inboard, one by one, the crews sponging out and yelling like madmen as they reloaded.
Bolitho saw the second French ship rising above the rolling smoke, and knew he had caught the leader unprepared… The second one was already probing towards the larboard bow, and ahead of her, hidden in Lysander's own gunsmoke, was the gap between the ships, the hole in the line.
'set the forecourse!" Bolitho heard balls whimpering over- head and saw tall waterspouts bracketing the ship on either side. The deck bucked sharply, and several lengths of broken cordage fell unheeded on the spread nets. "Hold her, Mr. Grubb!"
Major Leroux yelled, "Ready, Marines!" He had his sword above his head. "By sections, fire!"
The sharper cracks of the muskets, the hollow bang of the maintop swivel, must have made the men at the lower battery on the starboard side realise for the first time just how near the Frenchman was. And as Lysander, holding the wind in her increased canvas, surged across the leader's stem, the crews cheered, blinking in the sunlight, then reeling aside as Lieutenant Steere blew his whistle, and the whole line of thirty-two-pounders roared out at the enemy.
Painted scrollwork, glass and strips of timber flew above the smoke, and Bolitho pictured the terror amongst the supply ships as Lysander s fierce-eyed figurehead thrust through the line towards them.
"Fire!"
The second Frenchman, another seventy-four, was changing course rapidly, swinging to larboard and firing as she followed Lysander round. Balls ripped into the hull and hissed above the sweating gun crews, while from the French leader came a less powerful challenge from a stem chaser and a few charges of canister. Several marines had-dropped, but Sergeant Gritton was holding them together. The ramrods rising and falling, the balls rammed home, and then the scarlet line back up to the nettings to shoot once more.
Bolitho ran to the lee side and peered through the smoke.
The French leader had lost her main topmast and was drifting heavily, with either her steering gone, or so badly hampered by dragging spars and canvas she was temporarily out of control.
"Again, Mr. Veitch! Full broadside!"
Gun captains yelled to restrain the din-crazed crews, even used their fists, as one by one the starboard guns were trundled to the ports and each captain held a blackened hand towards his officer.