Then the ball, clapped in by Doggo and followed by a final wad. Kydd's movements on the rammer were fierce and positive. If they could get away another broadside before the enemy, it was the same as doubling their firepower.
'Run out!' Stirk shouted hoarsely. The gun bellowed and slammed in.
Kydd leapt into action again, the same motions. The work, the need to intermesh his movements with the others, meant there was no time for fear.
The second broadside from Citoyenne came smashing in, a long roll of terrible crashes instead of the massed simultaneity of the first. Kydd froze as they beat in on his senses. To his left, next to him, Kydd saw Gully drop to his knees with a muffled cry. In the smoky darkness it was difficult to see the cause, but the spreading dark stain under him was plain enough. He fell to his side, and scrabbled at the fat of his upper thigh. Kydd stared at the foot-long splinter, which had been driven up by a rampaging ball and transfixed him. Gully wept with pain and crawled away in a trail of blood. Stirk's eyes searched wildly for a replacement.
Kydd glanced across the gun and saw Renzi, his face grave, and thought how easy it would have been for his friend to be a victim instead. He crushed the thought, and shoved the side tackle rope into the hand of the unknown seaman who was taking Gully's place.
The enemy were pacing them; there would not be any doubling of firepower — it would be a fight to the death among equals.
Powlett strolled slowly and grimly on the quarterdeck as debris rained down from above. Only the sails of the enemy were visible, but in her fighting tops above the smoke, moving figures could be seen levelling muskets at Artemis's quarterdeck.
Neville clasped his hands firmly behind him and paced slowly on the other side of the deck.
Parry had his sword out and was gripping the mizzen shrouds as he glared across at the enemy. Merrydew had disappeared into the hell forward with his mates, and the young midshipman attending on the Captain was visibly trembling.
A second broadside from Citoyenne crashed out into the thinning smoke between them. As the awful onslaught struck, Powlett was enveloped for a moment by the powder smoke. Then a sudden shock was transmitted through the deck planking. A thin scream came from out of nowhere and Neville was struck violently, sent sprawling by the flailing limbs of a man falling from aloft. Neville picked himself up; the man now lay untidily, dead.
A round-shot had nearly severed the driver gaff between the throat and peak halliards. The long spar began to sag. Then, in a slow rending, it fell apart. Without support the big sail first crumpled then ripped from top to bottom, the heavy boom and rigging crushing and entangling the larboard six-pounder crews.
'Can't hold 'er!' the helmsman shouted, spinning the wheel fast to prevent the ship sagging to leeward and the enemy.
Powlett turned to the midshipman. 'Tell 'em to get in the headsails!' he snapped. Artemis slowed, her fine sailing qualities useless. Without a driver sail aft if she showed canvas forward they would pivot around in a helpless spiral.
They could neither manoeuvre nor run away. The smoke drifted over the bright sea, revealing Citoyenne pulling triumphantly ahead. The sun caught a quick flash of glass on her quarterdeck as her officers eagerly inspected the damage to Artemis.
It was obvious that there was no way they could effect a battle repair on the driver quickly — it was a unique fore-and-aft sail that needed special gear to set it out from the mast. And without manoeuvrability they could only take what was coming . . .
After a few hundred yards Citoyenne began her turn into the wind. This would take her across the bows of Artemis, and would let her rake her adversary as she tacked around. This nightmare of a full broadside smashing headlong into her bows and down the length of the vessel was now upon them.
Forward the experienced fo'c'slemen saw the danger and frantically re-set the headsails — jib, staysails, anything. Artemis responded, falling away off the wind; but in so doing she kept her broadside to bear, turning in time with Citoyenne. With all the fury of helplessness Artemis thundered out her broadside again, strikes on Citoyenne visible now from her quarterdeck. The reply was thin and ragged, but this was only because most of the experienced French seamen would be at work putting the ship about.
Citoyenne completed her tack and was now ready to pass back in the opposite direction, poised to deliver her next broadside with full crews. Her tactics had also given her the weather gauge, an upwind position, which would allow her now to dictate the conditions of the battle. The French frigate began her pass, but there was one advantage that had been left Artemis — Citoyenne's battered side faced them once more, but it was their own undamaged opposite side that awaited the clash.