"General signal!" Gascoigne sounded shrill with despair. "Close around the commodore!"
Bolitho snapped, "Do not acknowledge!" Then to Gossett, "Now! Helm a'lee!"
Something like a great groan floated over the water, and he guessed that the Telamon had collided with the Indomitable's quarter. With so much smoke it was hard to see what was happening.
Forward his men were already loosing the headsail sheets, and as the rudder went over, the bowsprit began to swing slowly and the more rapidly across the Hermes' stem.
"Off tacks and sheets!" It was amazing that men could think, let alone act, and they moved more from rigid training than with any sense of understanding.
Bolitho looked up, holding his breath as the yards came round, the sails in confusion and disarray as the bows. swung across the wind.
"Let go and haul!" Inch was screaming through his trumpet. "Haul!"
"Get the t'gallants on her, Mr. Inch!"
A ball whimpered above the quarterdeck but hardly a man looked up. It was probably a misfire from the embattled Indomitable, but all eyes were on the Hermes as with extra canvas drawing loudly and the deck canting to the opposite thrust the Hyperion surged past her, the seamen coughing as the smoke drifted above them.
Hermes was firing past her two consorts, both of which were locked together in helpless confusion, the Dutchman's jib boom rammed through the Indomitable's shrouds like a lance. And while men ran with axes to hack away rigging and entangled nets, the French maintained a devastating fire at a range of some fifty, yards. Bolitho could see men falling from aloft and others being pared away like so many rags by both grape and canister from the nearest enemy vessels.
As the Hyperion sailed on past her three consorts Bolitho thought he saw Pelham-Martin on his quarterdeck, his gold-laced hat glittering in the sunlight as he strode this way and that, arms flailing, his voice lost in the roar of cannon fire.
The smoke was dense and rising as high as the topsail yards, and Bolitho tried to count the minutes while his ship moved steadily along the hidden enemy line, her yards braced round so far that they were almost fore and aft.
It must be time. It had to be. Desperately he glanced astern and saw Indomitable's ragged outline surrounded by smoke and flickering gun flashes. Smoke hid the Hermes and the snared Dutchman, and the drumming of the enemy's bombardment went on and on without a single break or hesitation.
He yelled, "Stand by to go about!" He saw Inch gripping the rail, his teeth bared as he peered into the smoke.
"Ready ho!"
Bolitho ran to the starboard side. If he had misjudged the distance, or the wind failed him, he would probably drive into the nearest enemy ship and be as helpless as the Telamon.
"Now!"
As the ship started to swing back again across the wind he cupped his hands and shouted at the main deck gunners. "Starboard battery firel"
It was like a double roll of thunder, the lower gundeck being caught unprepared for the order. He felt the ship stagger as gun after gun hurled itself back on its tackles, the flashes masked instantly by the choking smoke which came funnelling inboard through the ports to turn day into night.
He heard the smashing impact of some of the balls striking home, but shouted to the larboard gunners, "Ready, lads!" 1k was grinning wildly, and was only half aware of the ship swinging beneath him, the rigging jerking as if to tear from blocks and yards alike.
While the starboard gunners reloaded with feverish haste the Hyperion continued to turn, until with the suddenness of magic Bolitho saw the topmasts and yards of an anchored ship swinging across the bows barely fifty yards clear.
Then as the wind cleaved the smoke aside he saw the French two-decker clear and stark, some of her guns already firing as the Hyperion pushed out of the drifting smoke and started to sail back along "the line of ships. It was the leading Frenchman, and when Bolitho leaned across the nettings he saw with cold satisfaction that the next astern was smoking from a dozen holes in her bulwark and gangway where his blind broadside had scared several hits.
"Fire as you bear!" The larboard guns were ready and eager, and as captain after captain jerked his lanyard the smoke came back above the gangway in an unbroken wall.
"Deck there! Her mainmast's gain!" A cheer rippled along the shrouded deck, voices breaking in coughs and curses as the lower battery fired once more.
A seaman came running aft, whirled round in his tracks and fell dead at Stepkyne's feet. The lieutenant strode on, pausing merely to step over the corpse as he controlled his gunners in their fighting madness.
Bolitho felt someone grip his sleeve and saw it was Gascoigne. He must have been signalling to him, his voice lost in the din.
"Sir! Signal from Indomitable!" He gasped as a ball shrieked close overhead and parted a handrail like a cotton thread.
"Well, boy?" Bolitho felt the deck quiver and knew that some of the enemy's shots were hitting home.
"Signal says "Discontinue the action", sir!"
Inch came aft wiping his face. "What's that? Discontinue action?" He seemed dazed.
"Acknowledge." Bolitho met his despairing stare. "It means retreat, Mr. Inch." He turned on his heel and walked to the opposite side to watch as the Hermes' bows pushed downwind from the tangle of battle, her sternchasers still firing and all masts intact.
The gunfire suddenly ceased as if every man had been rendered deaf. And when the wind pushed the smoke aside Bolitho saw that already they had moved well clear of the anchored ships, and while the Telamon wallowed round to follow the battered Indomitable, the Hermes was already clawing about to take station astern of her once more.
The Indomitable was a pitiable sight. She had now lost -all her topmasts, and her upper deck and starboard side were splintered and gouged from stem to stem.
Then across the water came the exultant cheering mixed with derisive cries and jeers that seemed to beat on the ears of the Hyperion's seamen and marines like some final damnation.
"General signal, sir." Gascoigne sounded crushed. "Steer south-west." And that was all.
Bolitho climbed the poop ladder and stared across the larboard quarter. Beyond the jubilant French ships he could see a few smouldering remains of the Abdiel and some thrashing survivors, like so many dying fish in a poisoned stream. Then as the headland crept out to hide their misery he found that he was shivering uncontrollably as if from fever.
Allday climbed up beside him. "Are you sick, Captain?"
Bolitho shook his head, almost afraid to speak. "Not sick, just angry!"
He stared unseeingly at the endless panorama of hills and lush green undergrowth above the distant surf. Retreat. It stuck in his mind like a barbed hook. Retreat.
Inch clattered up the ladder and touched his hat. "Two men killed, sir. None wounded."
Bolitho looked at him, not seeing Inch's pain as he recoiled from his captain's cold eyes.
"Two men, eh?" He turned away, the words choking in his throat. They had been outwitted and outgunned, but not beaten. They had not even started to be beaten. He looked forward along the silent men restoring the lashings to their guns. They had been made to slink away because of Pelham-Martin's blind, arrogant stupidity!
Inch asked quietly, "What will we do now, sir?"
"Do?" Bolitho faced him savagely. "Write a bloody report, I shouldn't wonder! Let us hope the Abdiel's people will be satisfied with it!"
With a sudden impulse he unbuckled his sword and handed it to Allday. "Next time we sight the enemy you had best bring me a white flag instead!"
Then he swung on his heel and strode to the ladder. Inch looked at Allday. "I have never seen him so angry."
The coxswain turned the sword over and caught the sunlight on its worn hilt. "Begging your pardon, sir, but it's time someone got angry, if you ask me!"