The admiral tore his eyes from the Marie. It was evident that Anduaga had seen the French flag, and it was equally obvious he could do nothing about it. The harbour entrance was less than a mile across, and the French commander had timed it so that the Marie's great shadow had passed between the fortress and the long headland on the opposite side before, he showed his true colours.
The Marie heeled slightly, her yards bracing round as she sailed closer to the fortress side. Anduaga probably hoped to go about inside the wider expanse of the harbour and sail straight out of the opening in one swift manoeuvre.
Even a fast frigate would have found it difficult. Marte's men were hampered by the packed soldiers, and order of any sort gave way to complete confusion as the first gun opened fire from the battery walls. In addition the Marie's captain had failed to allow for the sheltering wall of the headland. His sails flapped aimlessly, and for a few long minutes the ship was all aback.
Moresby said tightly, 'Close the harbour entrance, Bolitho! We must support Andtiaga!' He turned as the air trembled to a full salvo from the battery. Tall waterspouts were rising beyond the Spanish flagship, but. still Anduaga had not fired one shot in reply.
Bolitho said harshly, 'Alter course two points to larboard, Mr. Gossett.' He looked across at Quarme. 'Have the guns loaded and run out.' He was surprised that his voice remained so calm. Inwardly his whole being wanted to scream with desperation at Moresby's latest order. It was useless to follow the Marie. It had been pointless from the moment the flag had been hoisted. No ship was a match for a carefully sited shore battery. And heated shot into the bargain. Bolitho looked up bitterly at the Hyperion's yards as they squeaked round obediently to the braces. Every shroud and spar, every plank above her waterline was as dry as tinder.
He called, 'Bucket parties ready, Mr. Quarme! If one heated ball has more than a minute in the timbers you know what to expect!'
Moresby lowered his glass. 'Signal the Princesa to take station astem.' Across the water he could hear the beat of drums, and as he watched saw the sixty-four running out her
guns.
Bolitho could not contain himself. `Too late!'
The admiral did not face him. `The Marie might still be able to withdraw. If we give her full support…' He broke off and stared transfixed as a great tongue of flame soared up the flagship's side. It was so vast that it made the Marie seem tiny by comparison. She had at last run out her guns, but even as her upper battery exploded in a ragged salvo the searing wall of flames engulfed the whole larboard side, so that the flapping sails and cheerful banners vanished in seconds, like ashes in a strong wind.
A fog of brown smoke drifted from the stone walls above the cliff, and every few seconds one or more of the big guns added to the holocaust below.
Somehow the Marie's jib and foresail survived, so that the breeze swung her round, the lazy movement carrying the flames leaping across her upper deck. Within minutes she was ablaze from bow to quarterdeck, and from the crowded poop tiny, pitiful figures were dropping overboard to join the struggling bodies who already sought safety in the glittering water.
Bolitho made himself concentrate on the slanting hillside as it pointed down towards the Hyperion's bowsprit. 'Steady! Starboard a point!' He heard Caswell sucking breath between his teeth, and in the grim silence he could listen to the burning ship like a man in some sort of nightmare.
Closer and closer, until mercifully the overhanging headland had crept down to hide the dying Marie from sight. But above the hill he saw the pall of black smoke and the great drifting curtain of blown sparks as the battery hammered the stricken ship into blazing ruins.
His mouth was bone dry, but he must not think about it. The Marie had a company of seven hundred men. She had in addition upwards of two hundred soldiers aboard and a hundred terrified horses.
There was a direct orange flash from the hillside and then a loud slap overhead. Bolitho looked at the smoking hole in the mizzen topsail and then at the admiral.
Moresby gritted his teeth as he said, 'We must attack, Bolitho! What else can we do?'
Bolitho looked away as another ball screamed past the mainyard and ricocheted across the water like a crazed serpent.
He said, 'We must withdraw, sir. With all respect, this move is lost to us.' Again he was amazed at his own calmness. Yet every second carried his ship nearer and nearer to the entrance. Fifteen more minutes and he would have to tack. One way or the other. He added doggedly, 'The Frogs can pound us to fragments, sir. Even if we reach the other part of the harbour they'll be waiting for our boats to try and land.'
He saw Moresby's features twisting with doubts and fears he could only guess at. Whatever he did now he would see his future in ruins. An eighty-gun ship destroyed and her company burned or captured, and above all the French flag over Cozar, untouched and unreachable. Then he pushed the feelings of pity from his mind and said harshly, 'For God's sake, sir! We cannot fight those guns!'
Then Moresby looked up at his flag rippling from the foremast and said with his old abruptness, 'Handle your ship as you will, Bolitho! But we'll not give in to those treacherous dogs!' He glared. 'Not now! Not ever!'
Bolitho eyed him squarely and coldly, then walked to the rail. 'Larboard batteries to full elevation, Mr. Quarme! We will engage as we round the headland!' He glanced up quickly as a shoulder of hillside lifted to blind the enemy gunners. But respite was only temporary. Once round the point and at least seven big guns would bear on the Hyperion.
He listened to the bosun's mates piping his orders between decks and heard the scrape of metal as the double line of guns pointed their muzzles skyward.
Then as the ship threw her shadow almost to the foot of the cliffs a great silence fell over the decks, unbroken even by distant gunfire.
Ashby's marines had clumped aft and now lined the quarterdeck and poop nettings, their muskets loaded and ready. Lieutenant Shanks, Ashby's second-in-command, stood by the poop rail, his heavy curved hanger still in its scabbard, as if to condemn the hopelessness of muskets against stone and heated shot.
Caswell called, 'Sir! The Princesa's hauled off!'
It was true. Horrified or fearful at the sight of the Hyperion driving right inshore to the foot of the cliffs, the other Spanish captain had obviously decided to use his own discretion rather than obey Moresby's last desperate signal.
Moresby said thickly, 'That cowardly dog! I'll see him in chains for this!'
Bolitho ignored him. It was easy to do with death so close at hand. His usual fear of mutilation and agony under the surgeon's knife at the approach of battle gave way to a dull acceptance. It was strange that but for his own single mindedness he would still be in Kent. He thought of Moresby's determination and felt violently angry. To think that such eager men, and others swept up by an impartial Press, should trust their lives to men like him! When all else failed, when he was proved wrong, all he could think of was dying bravely! And when Hyperion's old timbers lay rotting beside those of the Spaniard's the French flag would still be there.
A shaft of sunlight lanced across the quarterdeck and with something like shock he realised that his ship was already moving into the calmer waters of the harbour approach. There across the bow was the far side of the opening, an unfinished stone jetty shining in the sun like giant's teeth. He could seethe small sloop anchored around a bend in the steep hills which surrounded the protected bay like a green wall. There were some tiny figures rowing a longboat across the sloop's bows, untroubled by the horror below the fortress.
They were so confident that as the Hyperion's bowsprit crossed the opening they ceased rowing, and one man even stood up to watch.
Bolitho grasped the quarterdeck rail, feeling his heart against his ribs like drum beats. 'Mr. Rooke!' He saw the lieutenant turn his face up from the maindeck, shading his eyes against the glare. 'You will control the firing! I want the guns fired in succession, two by two as they bear! Aim for the parapet and fire on the uproll!' He saw Rooke nod and then turn back to his crouching gunners.