STO'B 11

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With her rudder gone, Badger fell off the wind, bringing her starboard guns to bear. But the gun crews were still over at their port guns, peering for the enemy that was now behind them. Worse, the starboard guns had not even been cast loose.

"Other side!" shouted Philip, and he saw Wilkins and Smithers shoving the hands over to starboard. Philip leapt onto the nearest gun, ripping out its tompion and kicking open its port lid as it crew cast off the lashings that held it tightly to the sloop's side.

Badger continued to turn before the wind. The Frenchman - the Chasseur, for Philip could now make out her name in the growing light - continued to pound them. She was using chain now, and her shot screamed through the Badger's rigging, tearing it to pieces,

But now the Badger's gun's were free, and they started to fire: two, four and ten together, six, and a muffled roar and an immense cloud of smoke from eight: wet had gotten at the powder. Gun twelve suffered the same misfortune, and Philip watched its ball fall from its muzzle, straight into the sea.

In one of those strange silences that sometimes appeared in battle Philip heard six bells strike aboard the Chasseur - Badger's bell was gone, shot off by one of the Frenchman's earlier raking shots - and then the guns started in again. The Badger's wheel shattered, throwing the helmsmen right and left. On board the Chasseur, Philip saw the foretopmast, scored deep by at least one shot, start to teeter, but held by its shrouds it refused to fall. "Chain, chain! Aim for the foretopmast shrouds! Wilkins," he said, catching sight of the midshipman's red hair, "tell the for'ard guns to aim for the foretopmast shrouds."

Over at gun ten a splinter ripped open a flannel cartridge, spilling the gunpowder onto the deck, where it soaked up the wet. Philip climbed back to the quarterdeck and surveyed his sloop; several deep grooves marked the mainmast, and its starboard shrouds hung in useless ribbons, but the sea was steady and the mast remained upright. Near the foremast one of the guns lay on its side, and smears of blood marked where injured men had been carried below to the surgeon. Several bodies still lay on the deck, however, and near Philip the upper half of a man lay tangled in the wreckage of the starboard pump.

The carpenter was waiting. "Three feet of water in the well, sir, but we've a comfortable plug in the worst of the holes." Philip nodded, then turned his attention to the French brig. Badger, with no rudder, was now running before the wind, a course that would soon have her aboard of the Chasseur's port bow. The Chasseur was ripping Philip's sloop to pieces, but if he could board, the situation was not lost. "Boarders!" he cried, pulling his sword free and running forward to where the brigs would meet, "Badgers, prepare to board!"

Up at the bow he stepped around the wreckage of gun four and shared a few quick words with the remaining gun crews, switching them over to case shot, and the Badger bore down on the enemy. On board the Chasseur, Philip saw consternation appear among the men at the bow, and slowly spread aft. Some men began to retreat, joined by several others as Badger's forward guns sent dozens of metal shot into their midst. Several remained, however, gripping pistols, sabres and axes.

Gun two was ready to fire again. "Wait for it," said Philip. "Wait, wait." He felt the thump as gun six ran up against its port. "wait, wait! Now!" he cried, just before the brigs grounds together. The guns went off, cutting two awful red swathes through the Frenchmen clustered on the Chasseur's bow. Blood poured from the brig's scuppers, and bodies lay thick on the deck. "Badgers, to me, to me," cried Philip, leaping onto the barrel of one of the Chasseur's run out guns, and then onto her rail as grapnels flew past him on either side.

There were few Frenchmen left alive to meet him, but one of these fired a pistol at Philip, hitting a man behind him, then flipped the gun over and raised it as a club. Philip brought up his sword, parrying the blow, then gave the man a tremendous kick, throwing him down. Philip jumped down to the deck and the Badgers flowed around him, roaring. Philip found himself propelled along in front of the mob of Englishmen flooding onto the foc'sle and spilling into the waist.

Here it was close-packed fighting, barely room to move, with quick cuts, the combatants often chest to chest, pushing and heaving. Philip thrust at a small man with a axe, catching the man's blade and disarming him, then crushing his face with the pommel of his sword and leaving him for the next Frenchman. He felt several wounds: a half parried sword thrust on his thigh, something blunt had struck his shoulder, and his head rang with the noise of a pistol someone had fired off by his ear. "Rendre! Rendre!" he shouted, slowly working his way aft to the tafrail and its ensign staff.

A space opened up before him, and before he could react a French officer ran forward, slipping on the blood - no sand to save his traction - and sliding into Philip's legs, bringing him down. "Rendre, rendre!" roared Philip again as he grappled with the man. "No!" replied the Frenchman, breaking free and standing just as the foretopmast finally fell, covering them both with its sail and its tangled rigging.

"She's struck, she's struck!" Philip heard someone shouting as he fought with the canvas, and by the time he worked himself free the fighting had stopped. Men stood uncertainly, their weapons held awkwardly, except for a small group forward that Smithers and another man stepped in to break up. Over by the mainmast Philip saw Lt Grey pointing another French officer in Philip's direction and the officer limped up to Philip, offering his flag and sword.

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