"Two sail of the line, sir! One other dismasted." He broke off and Bolitho heard the master murmur, "That's not like Bob. It must be bad then."
The speed with which daylight was ripping away their defences made every moment worse. The enemy must have stumbled on the convoy before dusk yesterday, while they had been crawling out of the Sound with no thought but rescue in their hearts.
They must have taken or destroyed the whole convoy, leaving the clearing up to do until daylight. Until now.
Keen said in a tired voice, "Too late after all, sir."
The sudden echo of cannon fire vibrated over the sea and sighed through the masts and flapping canvas like an approaching squall.
Taverner called, "Dismasted ship has opened fire, sir! She's not done in after all! " Discipline seemed to leave him and he yelled, "Hit 'em, lads! Hit th' buggers! We'm comin'! "
Keen and Bolitho stared at one another. The mastless, helpless ship was Benbow. There was no other possibility.
Bolitho said, "Hands aloft, Val. Full sail. Just as we would if we were a prize and escort." He saw the eagerness and despair in Keen's eyes and said, "There is no other way We must hold the surprise, and we must keep the wind-gage." He felt his muscles harden as a responding broadside overlapped another and knew that the enemy would divide Benbow's remaining firepower, then board and take her. The ship could not even be manoeuvred to protect her stern from a full broadside. He clenched his fists together until they ached. Herrick would die rather than surrender. He had already lost too much.
Black Prince leaned steadily under the mounting pressure in her sails, and began to turn towards the western horizon beyond the blurred finger of land, a sea where the darkness still lingered.
With every minute the daylight revealed the awful evidence of a lost fight. Spars, hatch-covers, drifting boats, and further out, the long dark keel of a vessel which had capsized under the bombardment. As the darkness continued to retreat they sighted other ships. Some were partly dismasted, others outwardly undamaged. All flew the French Tricolour above their English flags, mocking patches of gaiety in a panorama of disaster.
Of the second escort which Tyacke had described there was no sign at all. Under Herrick's flag she would have gone down, too, rather than strike.
Taverner's voice was controlled again. "Deck there! They've discontinued their fire! "
Keen raised his speaking-trumpet almost desperately. "Have they struck?"
Taverner was watching from his private eyrie. All his years in ships under every kind of captain; but always learning, stowing it all away like rhino in a ditty-box.
He called, "The big ship's standin' away and makin' more sail, sir! "
Bolitho gripped Keen's arm. "They've sighted us, Val. They're coming! "
He saw his nephew, Midshipman Vincent, staring wildly over the nettings as far-off screams ebbed and flowed through the lengthening pall of dense smoke from one or more of the wrecks.
Tojohns said between his teeth, "What's that, in Hell's name?"
Keen looked at him and answered flatly, "Horses. Caught below decks when their ship was torn apart."
He saw Bolitho touch his injured eye. Remembering too. The awful cries of army mounts dying in terror and in darkness until the sea finally ended it.
Bolitho noticed some of the seamen staring at each other with anger and sick dismay. Men who would barely turn a hair when they saw an enemy fall, or even one of their own if the time was wrong. But a helpless animal-that was always different.
"May I, Val?" Then all at once he found himself at the rail again, his voice surprisingly level and controlled as every man turned aft towards him.
"That ship is coming for us, lads! Whatever you may think or feel, you must stay your hand! Behind each port is a double-shotted gun with Englishmen to use them when I give the word! " He hesitated as he saw Ozzard's tiny shape scurrying along the starboard gangway towards the forecastle with one of the big signals telescopes over his shoulder like a mace.
He dragged his mind away from what it must have been like here. Helpless ships; Herrick standing like a rock between them and impossible odds. Perhaps Herrick was dead. In the same breath he knew he was not.
"Stand together! This is our ship and those people yonder were our kin! But this is not revenge! It is justice! "
He fell silent, exhausted, empty. He said quietly, "They don't have the heart for it, Val."
"Right, lads! Huzza for Our Dick! " The ship seemed to shiver to the sudden wild burst of cheering. "An' huzza for our Cap'n whose bride's waitin' for 'm in England! "
Keen turned, his eyes full of tears. "There's your answer-they'll give you all they have! You should never have doubted it! "
Allday seized Ozzard and cursed the men for cheering when they had no minds for what they were facing.
"What the hell were you doin'? I thought you'd run dizzy like them natives do in the sun! "
Ozzard put down the telescope and stared at him. He seemed very composed. More so than Allday could ever recall.
He said, "I heard what Sir Richard just told them. That it's not revenge." He looked at the powerful telescope. "I don't know much about ships, but I know that one right enough. How could I forget?"
"How d'you mean, matey?" But the throbbing pain in his chest had already warned him.
Ozzard glanced towards Bolitho and the captain. "I don't care what they call her or what flag she flies. She's the same one that destroyed our Hyperion. It will be revenge all right! " He peered at his friend, his courage gone. "What shall we do, John?"
For once there was no answer.
Midshipman Roger Segrave pressed his palms on the quarterdeck rail and took in great gulps of air, as if he were being suffocated. His whole body was like taut wire, and when he looked at his hands and arms he expected to see them shaking uncontrollably He glanced quickly at the figures around him. The master and his mates by the compass, the four helmsmen, with extra hands standing by but pretending to look like men with nothing to do. It was like a madness. The larboard gangway, the one which was nearest to the tall enemy three-decker, was packed with sailors, all unarmed, apparently chatting to each other and occasionally pointing at the other ships as if they were not involved. Segrave dropped his eyes and saw the lie revealed. Beneath the gangway and matched by the two decks below that, the gun crews were crammed against their weapons. Handspikes, rammers and sponges were close to hand, and even the breechings were cast off to avoid even a second's delay.
He looked at Bolitho who was standing with Captain Keen, hands on hips, sometimes pointing at the other ships but mostly keeping his eyes inboard. Even without their uniforms they stood out from the rest, Segrave thought wildly The lordly Midshipman Bosanquet was speaking with the flag lieutenant and Segrave saw signal.
flags rolled and ready to bend on, partly hidden by some hammocks stretched out to dry in the sunshine. Only the marines made no pretence of hiding their true identities. Their scarlet coats filled the maintop by the depressed swivel guns, and two more squads were properly deployed with fixed bayonets on the forecastle and aft near the poop.
Segrave heard Bolitho say, "Mr Julyan, you are supposed to be the captain today! "
The tall sailing-master gave a broad grin. "I feels different already, Sir Richard! "
Segrave felt his breathing and heartbeat steady. He must accept it, as they did.
Bolitho added in the same easy way, "I know that our Danish opposites dress somewhat more soberly than we do, but I think a hat might make all the difference."
More grins as Julyan tried first Keen's cocked hat and then Bolitho's, which fitted him perfectly.
Bolitho glanced around the quarterdeck and Segrave tensed as the grey eyes rested momentarily on him. "The waiting's over. Stand by! "