Authors: Alexander Kent
Herrick beckoned to a midshipman. “My compliments to Mr Byrd. Tell him to open fire with four ranging shots. Gun by gun, so that I can watch it.”
The midshipman vanished below, and Bolitho could picture the men turning from their ports and loaded thirty-two-pounders to watch him scamper to the lieutenant in charge. The lower gun-deck was always an eerie place. With the lanterns extinguished, the only light filtered around the guns in their ports. Sounds and events were shut off from the many men who waited there. The sides were painted in red, a grim reminder that in battle it would hide some of the horror even if it could not lessen the pain.
Bang.
Some of the men on the upper deck stood to cheer as the gun spouted smoke and fire from below the forecastle.
Herrick commented, “Very close.”
Bolitho watched the second ball ricochet and then splash down in direct line with the right-hand ship.
Grubb rumbled uneasily, “Still comin', the buggers!”
“Continue firing, sir?” Herrick watched the widening array of craft, still expecting a change of direction.
“No.”
Bolitho moved the glass towards the galleys. Still too far away to pick out details properly. Except for the precision of the stroke, tireless and easy, as if no human hand was needed. And the gun above each prow, the only ugly thing there, was like a tusk.
He flinched, even though he was expecting it, as the leading galleys faded momentarily in a swirling curtain of smoke.
Then came the sound, a jarring roar, intermingled and threatening, as the great guns lurched back on their slides.
In the few remaining seconds Bolitho heard the angry shriek of gulls which had only just returned to the water after
Benbow
's opening shots.
“Pork and molasses!” Wolfe fell back with astonishment as the sea erupted in a leaping torment of spray and smoke. “Did you see
that,
for God's sake?”
Herrick exclaimed, “That was too near for comfort, sir. They must be thirty-two-pounders, bigger maybe!”
Browne said, “The Danish ships are changing tack, sir.”
Bolitho watched. It was like a cumbersome ballet, he thought. The two Danish ships were turning slowly to larboard, presenting themselves broadside on and heading roughly north-east. Passing ahead, through and astern of them the crimson galleys were splitting into smaller subdivisions, three or four to a section.
“Close the range, Thomas. Bring her up two points if you can.”
He fell silent and waited, counting seconds as the Danish guns fired again. He felt the hull shudder as some of the iron fell close alongside and flung cascades of spray high above the gangway to reach even the hard-braced foresail.
Bolitho recalled Allday's words to him. The enemy were certainly concentrating their opening fire on the flagship.
He said, “Mr Browne, make to
Nicator, Lee column will not engage.
”
He glanced up at the sails as they banged and protested to the change of course.
Benbow
was standing as close to the wind as Grubb could manage, but the Danes still held the advantage, their canvas full-bellied and perfectly set.
Herrick was watching an arrowhead of galleys forging past the leading two-decker.
He said, “Those devils are going to attack us from ahead, if we let 'em!”
Bolitho nodded. “There is nothing we can do at present. If we alter course to lee'rd to gain agility the Danish ships will rake our sterns. Even at this range it could do untold harm before we are to grips with them.”
As he spoke he saw the cool reasoning of the Danish commander. Like sharks around a helpless whale, the galleys could cut
Benbow
down to the bones without risking a single man.
He said harshly, “Signal
Lookout
to engage.”
Herrick turned away to watch Wolfe directing more men to the weather braces.
He knows,
Bolitho thought bitterly.
Lookout
was fast and lively, but her slender hull was no match for heavy cannon.
Browne called, “She's acknowledged, sir.”
Bolitho saw the sloop spreading her topgallants and sweeping round with her lee gunports almost awash. Like his own first command, he thought, so full of promise and high hopes. In his mind's eye he pictured Veitch, her commander, and prayed that he was using all his experience and shutting
Relentless
's fate from his thoughts.
The gunfire was growing and spreading as
Indomitable
loosed her first timed and aimed broadside at the enemy. Another crimson formation of galleys was pulling around the rear of the squadron, but with less confidence than the others as
Styx
altered course to meet them.
The sea's face was covered in a drifting mist of powder smoke, and the air shook to the screech and plunge of shot with barely a break.
In one brief lull Bolitho heard a deeper, heavier sound which seemed to drive through the water and lift the keel higher in his imagination.
Grubb ambled towards the deck-log. “Reckon the fleet is attackin' now, sir!”
Wolfe turned and gave a fierce grin. “'Bout bloody time, Mr Grubb! I'm fair sick of being the prime target!”
The hull gave a violent lurch as a ball smashed deep into the bilges, and Bolitho heard the boatswain urging some of his spare hands below to assist.
“
Lookout
's in trouble, sir!”
Bolitho looked at the sloop, his mind like ice as he saw her foremast topple into the smoke, wreckage tearing adrift from her engaged side. The galleys were closing in on her, their guns hammering as fast as they could reload. One had been too daring and was lifting slowly like a pointer, spilling sweeps and bodies from the shattered hull before diving to the bottom.
Someone yelled, “
Styx
has done for two of them!”
More cries and shouts came from below as another great ball punched into the side like a battering-ram.
Bolitho heard Wolfe yell through his speaking trumpet, “On the uproll, gun captains!”
The men at the upper battery waited like crouching statues, their eyes blind as they tensed for the broadside.
Wolfe yelled,
“Fire!”
Bolitho watched the leading Danish two-decker, felt his mouth go dry as the packed mass of grape and whirling bar-shot swept through the enemy's rigging. Sails and cordage, then the main-topmast itself fell together in a devastating avalanche of destruction. The bar-shot, masses of spade-shaped metal linked together by rings, was hard to aim, but when it found a target it could reduce a vessel's canvas and rigging to shreds in seconds.
Inflamed by the Danes' superior tactics and manoeuvrability, the effect of the broadside brought new heart to the gun crews. Sponging out and shouting meaningless words into the drifting smoke they worked like demons, their arms and backs streaming sweat despite the chill air.
“Fire!”
Bolitho moved further aft; his eyes fixed on the leading ship as she began to fall downwind towards the
Benbow
's murderous broadsides.
All the months and weeks of drills born from dreary monotony were paying off now. Only a few distant waterspouts told of misses, and the majority of the shots, both ball and bar, were hitting their target. The Danes' fore-topgallant mast was falling, slewing round drunkenly as it fought against the pull of shrouds and stays before thundering over the side in a tremendous splash.
Benbow
received another massive ball from somewhere ahead, and Bolitho saw two galleys moving towards the ship, firing as they approached. His heart sank as he saw
Lookout
beyond the billowing smoke. All but her mizzen had gone and she was drifting helplessly to the mercy of the galleys' bombardment with only a few of her guns still able to reply.
“Try and mark down those galleys with the bow-chasers!”
Bolitho could feel the rage rising within him. Not one of despair or frustration, but something more terrible. It was cold, gripping his insides like a vice as he stared at the embattled vessels around him.
It was all suddenly stark and clear. Like Damerum's efforts to place him and his squadron here. Like his attempt to get Pascoe killed by a hired duellist. Now this. The sudden reality of defeat had acted as a spur rather than the opposite.
“Signal
Nicator
to engage the other ship now!” He felt metal hiss overhead and crash hard into the poop. “
Styx
will support
Nicator
and
Odin.
”
He swung round, seeking the nearest galleys, as the Danish two-decker staggered heavily downwind to be hammered again by
Indomitable
as she kept station on her flagship.
“Full broadside, Thomas! We will alter course to starboard and engage with both sides.” He watched
Nicator
and then
Odin
as they acknowledged his signal and then snapped, “Steer east-nor' east!”
Men ran from side to side as both batteries of guns prepared to fire.
Bolitho shouted, “It will have to be quick or the galleys will outpace us before we can rake them!”
By turning downwind and away from the remaining enemy two-decker it might seem that
Benbow
was withdrawing from the fight. And by ordering Keen and Inch to attack the rest of the enemy formation he knew he might be sacrificing them and every man under their command.
But he had to hit the galleys and destroy their confidence. Otherwise his whole squadron would be overwhelmed. No blame would lie with Damerum, for the Inshore Squadron would have served its purpose even in the blood of its own destruction. Nelson was at the gates of Copenhagen, and nothing which the galleys or anyone else could do would change that now.
Bolitho saw Pascoe walking between the guns, his borrowed hat gone, his black hair blowing-across his face as he spoke to some of the seamen. He must be feeling the shock more deeply now, Bolitho thought, and even along the length of the deck he could see his unnatural stiffness.
He heard Herrick explaining to Wolfe and Grubb exactly what he wanted, saw the seamen manning the braces and staring aloft at the sails, most of which were patterned with shot holes,
“Stand by on the quarterdeck!”
More shots hit the hull, but in the tension nobody cried out Gun crews stood by their tackles, the captains testing the trigger lines and picturing their targets.
“Now!
Put up your helm! Lee braces there! Roundly, lads!”
Bolitho felt the deck begin to tilt, saw an upended fire-bucket spill water across the pale planking as once again
Benbow
responded to her masters.
“The galleys are re-forming, sir!” Browne broke off choking in gunsmoke as the upper batteries crashed inboard once more from their ports.
Bolitho strode to the nettings, seeing
Nicator
and
Odin,
their hulls overlapping as they closed the range with the Danish ships. Galleys milled around them, sweeps pulling and then backing with equal precision as their commanders handled them as if they and the guns were one weapon.
Odin
was pouring smoke from her side and poop, but Keen's
Nicator
was firing at point-blank range at her adversary, so that as a full broadside smashed into the Danish ship she appeared to rock over as if struck by a mountainous sea.
Benbow
's alteration of course had not only taken her away from the squadron, but had also isolated her amongst the galleys. Her first massive broadsides as she had swung downwind had taken the galleys completely by surprise, and seven of them had been sunk or smashed beyond recognition. Figures floundered amongst floating timbers and broken spars, and Bolitho guessed that some were survivors from the
Lookout
which had foundered without anyone seeing her final moments.
Bolitho stared along the upper deck at the seamen and marines who had been working and firing, pulling wreckage and wounded men aside without a break since the opening shots. The hull was being hit again and again, and despite the din he could hear the occasional clank of pumps.
“
Odin
's signalling, sir!
Require assistance!
”
Bolitho glanced across at Herrick and said, “Inch will have to hold on, Thomas.”
He turned as a man fell kicking and choking on his own blood, cut down by a fragment of iron.
Someone found the breath for a cheer as another galley rolled over, gutted by a packed charge of round-shot and grape.
Falling further and further astern of her flagship, the
Indomitable
was fighting off attacks from both bow and quarter, the great balls slamming through the stern and forecastle, upending guns and forcing their crews to cower down for protection.