* * *

Bolitho strained his eyes through the smoke and watched his men changing from defenders to boarders. Whoever had decided to board the Ondine had made the right guess, he thought grimly. He heard the axes ringing on the tangle of wreckage behind him and knew it was impossible to free Phalarope from its embrace before the Ondine’s heavy guns were brought back into action.

He crossed the deck and said to Rennie, “We must board her from aft, too!” He saw the marine nod. “Get some men together immediately!”

He heard someone sobbing and saw Neale on his knees below the lee rail. Midshipman Maynard was lying on his back, one hand held upright entangled in a signal lanyard, his eyes wide and unseeing and strangely peaceful. Neale was holding his hand and rocking back and forth, oblivious to the crash of gunfire and the slapping musket balls which had already claimed his friend.

Bolitho reached down and pulled Neale to his feet. The boy’s last reserve seemed to collapse, and with a frantic cry he buried his face in Bolitho’s coat, his body shaking with convulsions of grief. Bolitho prised him away and lifted his chin with the hilt of his sword. For a moment he stared down at him, then he said gravely, “Take a grip on yourself, Mr Neale!” He saw the stunned look in Neale’s eyes and shut his mind to the fact that he was talking with a terrified thirteen-year-old who’d just lost his best friend. “You are a King’s officer, Neale!” He softened his voice. “I said earlier, our people are watching you today. Do you think you can help me now?”

Neale brushed his eyes with his sleeve and looked back at Maynard’s body by the bulwark. As the halyard jerked in the breeze his arm moved as if he still held on to life. Then Neale turned back to Bolitho and said brokenly, “I’m all right now, sir!”

Bolitho watched him walk back to the shouting gunners, a small figure half hidden in the smoke and flame of this savage battle.

Rennie reappeared, a cut above one eye. “Ready, sir!” He swung his curved sword. “Shall I take ’em across?”

Bolitho looked around the battered quarterdeck. There seemed to be more corpses than live men, he thought wearily. He faltered as a shot crashed against the quarterdeck ladder and tore into the planking like a plough. With disbelief he saw Proby put his hands to his face and watched his fingers clawing at the sudden torrent of blood. The master staggered against the wheel, but as Strachan left the spokes to hold him he fell moaning on to his side and lay still. His hands thudded on the planking, and Bolitho saw that his face had been torn away.

“We must take the Ondine!” The words were wrung from his lips. “If the French see their command ship strike, they’ll . . .” He faltered and stared again at Proby’s body. I’ve done for the lot of them! He felt the anguish changing to helpless anger. I have sacrificed the ship and every man aboard just for this!