ALEXANDER KENT - TO GLORY WE STEER

Bolitho felt his ship labouring round, his ears deaf to the cries and curses from officers and men alike. The weeks of sail drill in all weathers were taking charge, and like puppets the seamen tugged at sheets and braces, their minds too dazed by their captain's behaviour to understand what was happening.

VVibart yelled, 'My God, sir! We'll collide!' He stared past Bolitho's tense figure towards the onrushing frigate. Still the phalarope wallowed round, her bowsprit following the other ship like a compass needle.

Bolitho snapped, `Steer south-east! Out second reefs!' He did not listen to his repeated orders but walked briskly towards the scarlet-coated marine drummer boy beside the cabin hatch.

`Beat to quarters!'

He saw the boy's dull expression giving way to something like horror. But again training and discipline took charge, and as the drum began to stutter its warning tattoo the tide of men on the maindeck swayed, faltered and then surged in opposite directions as gun crews rushed madly to their weapons.

Vibart gasped, `Her ports are opening! My God, she's running up her colours!'

Bolitho saw the striped flag breaking to the crosswind and followed Vibart's shocked stare as the frigate's ports opened and the concealed guns trundled outwards like a row of shining teeth.

He said harshly, `Clear for action, Mr. Wart! Have the guns loaded and run out immediately!' He checked Vibart as he ran to the rail. `It will take all of ten minutes. I will try to give you that amount of time!'

The deck canted as the ship steadied on her new course around and away from the other frigate. But the Andiron was already turning on the same circle, her sails flapping as she headed into the wind in an effort to close the range. From her peak the new American flag made a patch of bright colour against the tan sails, and Bolitho had to tear his mind back to the present to stop himself thinking of what would have happened but for that one stupid signal.

Andiron would have crossed the Phalarope's unprotected stern and her gunners, hitherto concealed behind the bulwark and sealed ports, would have poured shot after shot through the big cabin windows. The balls would have screamed and torn the full length of his command, and with half the men still below, helpless and unprepared, the disaster would have been over within minutes.

Even now it might be too late. Andiron was a bigger ship, and her deep keel was better for this sort of handling. Already she was cutting across the Phalarope's stern and beating rapidly up to windward to regain her first advantage. In another fifteen minutes she would try the same manoeuvre again, or she could be content to close the range from the larboard quarter. With the wind in her favour action could not be avoided.

He made himself walk to the taffrail and stare back at the other ship. The pretence had gone now, and he could see the crouching gunners, the clusters of officers on the canting quarterdeck. What had happened to Masterman? he wondered. He were better dead than know his proud ship to be a privateer.

He turned his back on the Andiron's dark hull and looked along his own command. The chaos had gone, and to the unpractised eye the, hip looked ready and eager for battle.

On both sides the guns had been run out and the gun captains were testing their trigger lines and passing hoarse orders to their men. Boys ran the length of the deck throwing down sand to give the gunners a firm grip when the time came, while others scuttled from gun to gun with water buckets for the swabs and to damp down any sudden fire.

Vibart stood below the quarterdeck rail and yelled, `Cleared for action, sir! All guns loaded with double shot and grape!'

`Very well, Mr. Vibart.' Bolitho walked slowly towards the rail and ran his eye along the larboard side guns. They would be the first to engage. His heart sank as he picked out faults; in the pattern like flaws in a painting.

At one gun a captain was even having to put a rope fall into the hands of one of his men, as the poor wretch stared at it without comprehension. His mind was too full of fear, his eyes too mesmerised by the overtaking frigate with her long row of guns to heed what the petty officer was saying. At each gun there were men like this. With so many new hands, pressed from unwarlike jobs ashore, this danger was inevitable.

Given time, he could have trained each and every one of them. Bolitho banged his fist slowly on the rail. Well, there was no more time. Andiron not only had more guns, but they were eighteen-pounders against Phalarope's twelve-pounders. Most of her crew would no doubt be made up of English deserters and seasoned sailors who were no strangers to battle. Any crew which could take the Andiron from Captain Masterman was a force to be feared.

At his back Captain Rennie stood nonchalantly by the hammock nettings, his sword looped to his wrist with a gold lanyard, as he watched Sergeant Garwood dressing his men into neat scarlet ranks. There was something very reassuritt about the marines, Bolitho thought grimly, but their muskets would not be much use against eighteen-pounders!

All at once the remorse and despair he had been endurii since the Andiron's first treachery had shown with her fl,' gave way to something like blind rage. It was too late for th,,

,if onlys' and the `maybes'. He had brought his ship and hi,', men to this. His was the sole responsibility. He had recognise the American's trap just in time to save them all from the firs(blow, but he should have seen it earlier.

He walked to the rail and shouted along the deck, 'NoW listen to me, men! In a few moments we are going to give bat, tle to that ship!' He saw every face turned towards him, bal already they had lost meaning and personality. They were;{crew. Good or bad, only time would show. But that they should all trust him was essential.

`Just take your time and obey orders, no matter what iy happening around you! Each gun is, fitted with the nevi flintlock, but make sure there is a slow-match at hand in cast, of failure!'

He saw Okes look across from the starboard battery tc where Herrick waited by his own guns. A quick exchange of glances which might have meant anything.

He felt Stockdale slipping the coat over his shoulders and then the firm clasp of the swordbelt around his waist. He watched the powerful frigate plunging over towards the lax, board quarter, his eyes gauging the speed and the distance.

`One more thing!' He leaned forward as if to will them to listen. `This is a King's ship! There will be no surrender!'

He thrust his hands beneath the tails of his coat and walked slowly to the weather rail. It would not be long now. He looked across to Proby's shabby outline beside the wheel. `In a moment we will beat to windward, Mr. Proby.' He heard a mumbled assent and wondered what the master would make of his order.

The American captain would no doubt expect the smaller ship to turn again and try to slip downwind, and as soon as she turned he would pour a full broadside into the Phalarope's stern, as he had first intended. Bolitho's manoeuvre would bring the Phalarope round towards the other ship, and with luck Herrick might be able to get in the first blood.

He saw the flash of sunlight on a telescope from the Andiron's quarterdeck and knew the other captain was watching?'nn.

`Stand by, Mr. Proby!' He lifted his hat and yelled along the maindeck, `Right, lads! A broadside for old England!'

With a protesting groan the yards came round, while overhead the canvas thundered like a miniature battle. Bolitho found that his mouth was as dry as sand, and his face felt chilled into a tight mask.

This was the moment.

John Allday crouched beside the second gun of the larboard battery and stared fixedly through the open port. In spite of the cool morning breeze he was already sweating and his heart pumped against his ribs like the beating of a drum.

It was like being a helpless victim of a nightmare, with every detail clear and stark even before it happened. Somehow he imagined it would be different this time, but nothing had changed. He could have been sailing into battle for the first time, new and untried, with the agony of suspense tearing him apart.

He tore his eyes from the open square of water and glanced back across his shoulder. The same men who had jeered Ferguson or ringed Evans in menacing silence now stood or crouched like himself, slaves to their guns, their faces naked and fearful.

Standing a little apart from the battery, his back to the foremast, Lieutenant Herrick was watching the quarterdeck, his fingers resting on his sword, his bright blue eyes unwinking and devoid of expression.

Allday followed the officer's stare and saw the captain at the quarterdeck rail, his palms resting on the smooth wood, his head jutting slightly as he watched the other ship. The latter was almost hidden from Allday by the high bulwark and gangway and the other guns, but he could see her topmasts and straining, sails as she bore down on the larboard quarter, until she seemed to hang over the Phalarope like a cliff.

Pryce, the gun captain, slung the powder horn over his hip and squatted carefully behind the breech, the trigger line in his hands. Through his teeth his voice sounded strange and taut. `Now, lads, listen to me! We'll be firing a broadside first.' He looked at each man in turn, ignoring the other gunners at the next port. `After that it will all depend on how quickly we load and run out. So move sharply, and as the cap'n said, take no notice of the din about you, got it?'

Ferguson clung to the -rope tackle at the side of the gun and gasped, `I can't take it! God, I can't stand this waiting!'

Pochin on the opposite side of the breech sneered, `Just as I said! It takes more than pretty clothing to make men of the likes o' you!' He jerked savagely at the tackle. `If you'd seen what I've seen you'd die of fear, man.' He looked around at the others. `I've seen whole fleets at each others' throats.' He let his words sink in. `The sea covered in masts, like a forest!'

Pryce snapped, `Hold your noise!'

He cocked his head as Herrick called, `Gun captains! As soon as we engage on the larboard side send your best men to back up the other battery under Mr. Okes!'

The captains held up their hands and then turned back to watch the empty sea.

Allday looked across at Okes and saw the officer's face gleaming with sweat. He looked white. Like a corpse already, he thought.

Vibart's voice rang hollowly through his speaking trumpet. `Braces there! Stand by to wear ship!'

Allday ran his fingers along the cold breech and whispered fervently, `Come on! Get it over with!'

The Phalarope was outclassed and outgunned, even he could see that. With half her men already too terrified to think it was just a matter of how soon her colours would fall.

He glanced down at his legs and felt a chill of terror. It never left him, and the years on the quiet Cornish hillside amongst the sheep had done nothing to dispel it. The fear of mutilation, and the horror of what followed.

Old Strachan called softly from the next gun, ` 'Ere, you lads!' He waited until his words had penetrated the minds of the new men. `Wrap a neckscarf around yer ears afore we start to blow! You'll 'ave no eardrums else!'

Allday nodded. He had forgotten that lesson. If only they had been prepared and ready. Instead they had stumbled out from their hammocks and almost at once the nightmare had begun. First the excitement of a friendly ship, fading instantly in the drummer's roll as the men ran gasping and wide-eyed to quarters. He could just see the same little drummer boy beside one rank of marines. He was staring across at the captain as if to read his own fate.