Richard Bolitho – Midshipman

Tregorren was saying, 'Look, there's a fort of sorts on the island. Must be as old as bloody Moses.' He chuckled. 'Wait till you cast your eyes on some of these black lasses. They're beautiful, like -' He got no further. Bolitho had seen what looked like a dolphin skipping across the lively inshore current, and then he heard the far off boom of an explosion. The line of breaking crests vanished, and there was a chorus of shouts and curses as a great ball slammed down hard alongside the hull. The old gun captain shouted with disbelief, 'The devils 'ave fired on us, be God! ' The whole ship came alive to confused orders and the blare of a marine's trumpet. Tackles squeaked and gun trucks began to move overhead, and then came the cry, 'All guns load and prepare to run out! Starboard battery will engage first! ' Tregorren stared at the messenger's breeches, very white on the companion ladder, apparently unable to believe what he had heard. Then with a grunt he bellowed, 'All load! Stand by on the starboard battery! ' The seaman called Fairweather followed Bolitho to the opposite side as with sudden haste the barebacked figures began to ram home their bulky cartridges and wads, while each gun captain selected a ball from the garlands, feeling it, testing its shape and even finish before allowing it to be rammed and wadded into his waiting gun. Hand by hand shot up, and every eye was on the burly lieutenant. 'All loaded, sir! ' 'Run out! ' They threw themselves on to the tackles and hauled the lumbering guns to the open ports, each truck squealing and protesting like a hog going to market. The guns remained in deep shadow along the starboard side, but the ancient fortress, as it showed itself to each breathless crew, was clear to see. Its rough walls were like gold in the frail light, its shape merging with the rocks which supported it. Above the ramparts Bolitho saw several dark smudges which he took for an instant to be hovering clouds of mosquitoes. He heard a seaman mutter between his teeth, 'Them devils is heatin' shot, sir! They got furnaces goin' right the way along! ' Tregorren snarled, Til flog the next man to speak! ' But he sounded anxious. As well he might, Bolitho thought. His father had told him often enough what heated shot could do to a tinder-dry hull with all its top-hamper of tarred rigging and canvas. A voice yelled, 'Stand by to starboard! Maximum elevation and fire on the uproll! ' A petty officer jabbed a seaman on the shoulder so that he jumped as if he had been shot. 'Wind yer neckcloth round yer ears, man, less you want to be deaf all yer life! ' He winked at Bolitho. The warning had probably been for his benefit, but even midshipmen were allowed some respect. 'Stand by! ' The ship tilted to wind and rudder, and by each gun its captain was crouching inboard, his eye along every black muzzle towards the sky and the fortress. 'Fire!

5. Change of Fortune