The last of the French seamen were leaping over the side, and as the boats' lines were cast off Fowler yelled, 'Ready forrard, sir!'
Bolitho shouted, 'Cut it!'
There was a clang of metal, and as the straining cable parted and cracked back over the bows like a whip the little sloop sheered away with the wind, her deck canting violently with her unexpected freedom.
Allday shouted, `Shall we bum her now, Captain?'
But Bolitho was gripping the rail and leaning out to watch the other ship. He could hear the hoarse bark of commands, the thud of ports, and then the telltale squeak of trucks as some of the guns were run out in readiness to fire.
'Not yet!'
The Saphir's captain probably imagined that this was a cutting-out operation to free the Fairfax before she could be taken elsewhere. Whatever the cost later, he must. be made to go on believing that.
Allday swallowed hard and took a firm grip on his cutlass. As the wind pushed the sloop sideways with the current he could see the Saphir's double line of ports. Some were open, and others were following suit as more and more men poured to their stations in response to the urgent trumpet.
The whole harbour lit up as if from sheet lightning as the first ragged salvo crashed and. echoed between the sides of the inlet. Tall columns spouted skyward on every hand, and Bolitho saw a broken white shape being carried down the sloop's side and heard the screams cut short as the shattered boat capsized and vanished. A ball must have ploughed into one of the Fairfax's own boats and cut it in two even as the released Frenchmen tried to row the wounded to safety.
More guns roared out, their long orange tongues reflected in the swirling water as if from a second battery. Bolitho felt the hull lurch beneath him and heard the splintering crash of torn timbers as the massive balls ploughed through the lower deck, rending the sloop apart and tearing out her heart.
A man screamed, 'Main topmast's cumin' down! Heads below there!'
Figures scattered wildly as the splintered spar and yard thundered across the narrow quarterdeck, the broken stays and shrouds clawing at the men and carrying one bodily over the side..
Again the rippling line of flashes, but this time it was nearer and better aimed. The Fairfax shook like a mad thing, the timbers and buckled deck beams groaning in agony, as if the ship teas cursing the men who stood by and let her perish.
Bolitho clutched the rail as a ball crashed through the starboard bulwark and ploughed into some seamen who were carrying an injured man to safety. He was thankful for the darkness, but the night could not completely hide the tangled and writhing remains which seconds before had been men, nor could it mute the screams and pitiful whimpers from those unlucky enough to hang on to life.
He shut the sounds from his mind and yelled, 'Fire the ship!'
A crouching seaman hurled his lantern into the pile of loose canvas and woodwork, and for a few seconds Bolitho saw his face in the small flame, a mask of unbelievable hatred as the unknown man made his own gesture of defiance and revenge.
The distance between the ships had dropped to less than seventy yards, and for a moment Bolitho thought he had left it too late. Already he could see men running along the Saphir's gangway towards the point where both vessels would embrace. He could hear them cheering and shouting, the voices mingled together so that they sounded like animals baying for the final kill.
Then the small flame seemed to dart along the sloop's tilting deck like a lighted fuse, and as it touched the oiled bundles the whole sloop lit up, so that men shielded their eyes and fell back, fascinated and appalled by what they had done.
Another salvo crashed into the hull, and below decks Boiitho heard the sudden inrush of water, the boom and clatter of collapsing compartments where the sea surged to complete its victory.
He coughed violently as the wind swept the smoke back from the bows, and when he wiped the moisture from his eyes he saw the foremast and topsail yard burst into flames like some giant crucifix. The fire was spreading at a fantastic speed, and aboard the Saphir the cries of jubilation were already changing to shouts of alarm and terror. Someone jerked the lanyard of a swivel gun, and Bolitho felt the cannister spray past his face and rip into the deck on the far side.
A seaman was picked from his feet, his scream caught in midair as he fell jerking like a bundle of sodden rags, his blood marking his movements on the planking like spilled paint
He saw Seton, bowed behind the bulwark, his hand to his mouth as he ran aft, and he had to call his name repeatedly' before he showed any sign of understanding.
'Into the gig, Mr. Seton! Clear the ship!' Beyond the flames he saw the two-decker's tall side, every port and bared gun shining as if in bright sunlight as the fireship cruised towards her.
Allday shouted, 'Come on, Captain! We'll be alongside in…”
Another blast of C nnister raked the deck, making the sparks fly from the leaping flames and cutting down more running figures as Fowler drove his men towards the stem.
Seton flung his hand to his shoulder and said faintly, 'I'm hit, sir!' Then he fell, and as a seaman hurried to his side the Fairfax drove her charred bowsprit hard through the Saphir's fore rigging like a lance.
Fowler was yelling, 'Come back, sir! Quick, they're boarding us!'
Men were leaping down, already on to the sloop's deck, and while some ran towards the flames others groped through the billowing smoke firing pistols or slashing at wounded and living alike.
Bolitho saw a French seaman charging towards him and felt the wind of a ball past his cheek before he could release the pistol from his own belt. The weapon jumped in his hand and he saw the man swerve and scream, fingers clawing at his chest before he fell back into the smoke. He threw the pistol at another shrouded shape and then pulled out his sword. Still more figures appeared on the quarterdeck, their arms groping like blind men as they ran through the drifting curtain of smoke and ashes. Bolitho noticed vaguely that the clock was chiming again, but from a new angle, and realised that both vessels were now drifting together. Someone aboard the French ship had at last succeeded in cutting her cable, but as an extra powerful gust of wind momentarily cleared the smoke he saw tongues of flame leaping up her rigging and knew that it was already too late to save her.
The smoke dropped again in a choking cloud, and he heard the wind urging the flames along the sloop's deck, the sparks hissing skyward beyond the masthead. Around him men were fighting and yelling, their cries punctuated with the harsh clash of steel and the occasional crack of a pistol. He could feel the deck sagging beneath him, the very timbers vibrating as water poured into the listing hull. It was a race between fire and sea, and with her work done the Fairfax seemed eager to slide beneath the surface, if only to hide her misery and escape the destruction they had wrought upon her.
Fowler was back at his side, his sword shining in the leaping flames while he parried aside the blades as more Frenchmen appeared through the smoke.
He shouted above the din, 'We must leave the wounded, sir!' He lunged forward and down and a man toppled shrieking towards the bulwark. As he fell the deck at his back seemed to open and more searing flames spurted- between the charred planks so that he twisted like a carcase on a spit, his hair on fire, his cries lost in the terrifying roar of flames forced up from the deck below.
Bolitho stumbled and found that Seton still lay by the rail, his head pillowed on his arm as if asleep. The seaman who should have taken him to the gig had either fled or was already killed, and with something like madness Bolitho stood astride his body, his sword cutting down a charging seaman and swinging back to catch another who was struggling with Allday beside the wheel.