He heard Lieutenant Lucey whisper to Partridge, “By God, that was a long shot!”
There was another, almost exactly along the same line as before, and no less powerful.
Broughton remarked, “One gun, Bolitho. If that is all they have we need not wait much longer.”
“Signal from Zeus, sir.” Tothill was clinging to the lee shrouds
to watch the leading ship. “Disengaging.”
Bolitho looked at Partridge. “How long was that?”
The master examined his slate. “Ten minutes, sir.”
Ten minutes to cross the fort’s arc of fire, during which time they had only got off two balls.
“Tanais is closing the range, sir.” Keverne steadied his glass against his forearm. “She’ll be ready to fire in a minute or so.”
Bolitho did not reply, holding his breath until the big red and black flag broke from Tanais’s topsail yard to show she was within sight of the enemy.
Falcon did not wait as long as Rattray, and his guns started belching fire and smoke almost immediately. The gunnery was impeccable, with the forward ones firing their second balls almost before the aft sections had run in for reloading.
Broughton rubbed his hands. “That weight of metal’ll give the Dons sore heads, eh?”
But the enemy remained silent as before, and Bolitho said quickly, “I think the Spaniards are using a fixed battery, sir. They were sighting shots used on Zeus, but this time…” He broke off as the reverberating crash of gunfire welled out of the bay, followed by a terrible sound of splintering wood.
As he strode to the rail he saw the smoke spurting from the Tanais’s poop, and a black tangle of broken rigging pitching overboard as the shots slammed into her. Two, maybe more, he thought, with another which had missed, whipping the wave crests apart like an enraged dolphin.
Something like a sigh came from the watching men as more shots hammered into the Tanais’s hull and pieces of wood whirled high into the air before splashing into the sea on either side of her.
Falcon’s men fired again, but the rhythm was gone, and here and there along her tumblehome Bolitho could see an angled muzzle to show a gun was unmanned, or an empty port which told its own story better than words.
Keverne said, “Four guns at a time, I’d say, sir.” He sounded cool and detached. An onlooker.
Lucey remarked, “Quite big too, by the look of them.”
Bolitho glanced at him. Lucey was only twenty and had been terrified. Bolitho knew all the signs, the constant swallowing, the inability to find anything for the hands to occupy themselves with, all the little things which told of a man’s mounting terror. Now Lucey was swopping comments with Keverne like an old campaigner. He hoped the pretence would last, for his sake.
Broughton said, “I can’t see for the damn smoke! What is Falcon doing?”
The smoke was funnelling through the Tanais’s stern windows, but whether from a fire or the exertions of the guns it was hard to tell. She was still managing to shoot, but she looked in a bad way. Her braced sails were easy targets and were pitted with holes, the latter from her own wood splinters as much as the enemy’s gunfire. Long trailers of severed rigging hung over her gangways, and Bolitho could see men already hacking it away with axes, the distance making their efforts all the more frantic.
Partridge cleared his throat. “She’s dipped ’er flag, sir.” He squinted at his big turnip watch. “Nigh on fifteen minutes that time.”
Broughton said, “I hope your thirty-two-pounders earn their keep, eh?” He was smiling, the skin drawn back tightly from his even teeth to make his efforts a lie.
But Bolitho was thinking of other things. Fifteen minutes, during which time his ship would be subjected to another merciless bombardment. The Spanish gun crews did not even have to alter their elevation. They merely waited and fired, as ship after ship the squadron sailed across that strip of open water. Sun in their eyes or not, it was as easy as shooting birds off a branch.
“I suggest you signal the squadron to discontinue the action, sir.” He kept his voice low, but saw the words affecting Broughton as if he had cursed him. He added quickly, “Independent action
in support of the landing parties would…” He got no further.
“Never! Do you imagine I’ll let a few bloody Dons make me withdraw?” He glared at him with something like contempt. “By God, I thought you were made of sterner stuff!”
Bolitho looked past him and called, “Shake out the forecourse, Mr Keverne! Then hands aloft and get the t’gallants on her!” He held the lieutenant’s eyes with his own. “As quick as you can!”
As the men swarmed up the ratlines in response to the order he made himself walk slowly to the quarterdeck rail. He knew Broughton was staring after him but shut him from his mind. Broughton had made his decision, and the order had to be obeyed. But the Euryalus was his ship, and he would fight her to the best of his ability, and Broughton could think what he liked.
The big forecourse billowed out with a clap like thunder, the seamen scampering wildly as the wind momentarily took charge. Bolitho felt the deck tilting still further as the fore topgallant was released and hardened its belly to the wind, the additional thrust making the spray fly above the figurehead and jib boom.
To Partridge he snapped, “Steady as you go!”
“Steady she be, sir. West by north.”
The dark headland was slipping past more rapidly as the ship spread her canvas tautly in the sunlight. High above the decks the topmen worked like demons, and when he raised his glass Bolitho saw some marines dancing up and down on the headland and waving their muskets as the flagship plunged level with the out-thrust beak of land.
There was the opposite side of the bay now, misty with haze, or perhaps still foggy from Tanais’s own smoke. How blue the water looked below that far headland. Blue and unreachable. He touched his lips with his tongue but they were bone dry.
He heard Lucey whisper shakily, “My God. My God.” He probably imagined he was speaking to himself, or not at all.
Up forward, with one foot resting casually on a carronade slide,
Meheux was peering into the bay. He had drawn his sword, and as Bolitho watched he lifted it very slowly above his head. He stood motionless in the sunlight, and Bolitho was reminded of an old heroic statue he had once seen on a visit to Exeter.
The sword moved slightly and he heard Meheux shout, “Target in sight, sir!”
Bolitho cupped his hands, aware of the stiff, gripping tension all around him.
“Fire as you bear!” He saw some of the crouching seamen peering up at him, their faces like masks. He twisted his mouth into a grin and yelled, “A cheer, lads! Show ’em we’re coming!”
For an instant longer nothing happened, and while the ship forged steadily past the last piece of cliff Bolitho thought they were too stricken to respond. Then a seaman jumped up beside a twelve-pounder and shouted, “Huzza for the Euryalus! An’ another huzza for our Dick!”
Bolitho waved his hat as the wild cheering swept along the upper deck and was taken up by the men in the crowded batteries below. The madness was beginning, nor would it stop until the next time. And the time after that.
Meheux’s voice was almost drowned as he bellowed, “Fire as you bear!”
Bolitho gripped the rail as the first trio of guns roared out from forward. The harsh bark of the upper deck battery swallowed completely by the deafening thunder of the thirty-two-pounders. He wiped his streaming eyes as the smoke lifted above the larboard gangway and swirled and plunged around him, watching the distant fort, the waterspouts below and beyond as the ship’s first attack smashed home. What looked like white powder was drifting from the fortress wall, the only sign that they were hitting it also.