Richard Bolitho – Midshipman

WITH the order to open fire being yelled from deck to deck, each gun captain thrust his slow-match to the vent and jumped aside. A split second, and yet to Bolitho, who stood between a pair of thirty-two-pounders, it seemed like an age. A long-drawn-out moment when everything was crystal-clear and unmoving, as in a painting. The barebacked seamen crouching at tackles or holding handspikes. Individual gun captains, grim-faced and concentrating only on their own ports and aim. And through each square port the sunlight-on the fortress, the sky very pale without even a puff of cloud. And then everything changed. The lower gundeck exploded to the thunder of cannon fire, the hull and timbers bucking as if caught beneath an avalanche. Gun by gun crashed inboard on its tackles, its crew running to sponge out, to ram home a charge and another gleaming ball. Taken by the wind, the dense clouds of smoke drifted away from the hull, shutting out the fortress, masking the sky in brown fog. Tregorren was yelling, 'Stop your vents! Sponge out! Load! ' But his voice seemed to be coming through a curtain, the first broadside having rendered eardrums and minds almost senseless. But the effect of firing the starboard battery was plain to see. The first nervousness was gone, instead there was a sort of wildness as gun crews peered at each other, grinned and gestured like children. It was not just another drill, it was real, and they were firing in earnest. 'Run out! ' Once more the trucks squeaked on the deck, the crews hurling themselves on their tackles to be first through the open ports. Bolitho heard Wellesley say excitedly, 'They'll pipe another tune now, by heaven! ' Tregorren rasped, 'Whoever they may be, dammit! ' In the pause, as each crew peered along the angled muzzles, Bolitho heard the clatter of movement from the deck above. Gorgon must make a brave sight if there was anyone to care, he thought. Under shortened sail, no doubt, her guns bared to the early sunlight, she must be heading close inshore. He did not even know who had fired on the ship, or why, and he was surprised to discover that it did not seem to matter. In these brief minutes the men around him, the ship around all of them, had become one. 'Stand by! As you bear! ' The suspense was breathstopping.

'Fire! ' Again the hull shook like a mad thing, the planking jarring under the feet as the guns crashed inboard, their smoke belching like a curtain beyond the ports. Eden was cheering, despite several angry glances from Tregorren, and some of the seamen were actually laughing. Dancer called, 'I hope they can see what we are about on the quarterdeck! We could be shooting at the sky! '

He winced as something jarred against the hull, followed immediately by a chorus of shouts from overhead. Bolitho nodded towards him. It was a direct hit. They, whoever they were, had struck back. Somewhere a pump began to clatter, and he guessed that a heated ball must have penetrated the timbers and water was needed to quench it before the wood took light. A seaman near him gestured towards the deckhead.