Enemy in Sight! (13 page)

Pelham-Martin did not reply immediately. He looked calm and more relaxed than Bolitho had yet seen him, and seemed in good humour.

He said suddenly, “I have been thinking for some time that all this fuss may be without any justification, Bolitho.” He nod- ded ponderously. “Yes, I have been thinking a great deal of late.”

Bolitho kept his lips straight. Pelham-Martin had spent more hours in his cot than on his feet throughout the voyage, and thinking or not, he had often heard his snores through the chart- room partition.

Pelham-Martin continued, “Lequiller's mission could have been merely a catspaw. To draw more ships from the blockade, from Ushant and Lorient, so that the whole fleet could burst out and make for the English Channel.” He eyed Bolitho cheerfully. “That would be a slap in the face for Sir Manley, eh? He would never live it down!”

Bolitho shrugged. “I think it unlikely, sir.”

The smile vanished. “Oh, you never see these things properly. It needs vision, Bolitho. Vision and an understanding of men's minds!”

“Yes, sir.”

Pelham-Martin glared at him. “If I had listened to you we would have been involved with goodness knows what by now.”

“Deck there!
Abdiel'
s going about, sir!”

Pelham-Martin snapped, “If he asks permission to enter har- bour tonight, tell him it is denied!” He walked with heavy tread towards the poop ladder. “We will enter together, with my flag leading.” Over his massive shoulder he added irritably, “Frigate Captains! Damned young puppies, I'd call them!”

Bolitho smiled grimly. Captain Pring of the
Abdiel
could just manage to reach an anchorage in spite of the fading daylight. If
Hyperion'
s stores and water supplies were low, his must be almost completely gone. And he would know that once the two-decker had dropped anchor she would take precedence over all his own requirements. Bolitho could recall without effort an occasion when he had commanded a thirty-two gun frigate and had been made to idle outside port while three ships of the line anchored and stripped the local merchants and chandlers bare before he was allowed to take his pick of the frugal remains.

Midshipman Gascoigne was already in the mizzen shrouds, his glass on the distant frigate. As she swung gracefully across the wind her topsails caught the sunset, so that the straining sails shone like pink seashells.

Some of the seamen on the quarterdeck had heard the com- modore's last remarks and were grinning as
Abdiel'
s flags broke from her yards.

An old gun captain with a pigtail down to his waist growled, “Serve 'em roight, I says! Let 'em bide their time an' give us a chance with they coloured lassies!”

“
Abdiel
to
Hyperion.
Gunfire bearing west by north.”

Gascoigne's voice reached many of the men on the gangways and a great murmur of excitement and surprise made the com- modore pause at the top of the poop ladder as if he was suffering a seizure.

Bolitho snapped, “Acknowledge!” To Pelham-Martin he called, “It must be an attack on the harbour, sir!”

“
Abdiel
requests permission to make more sail, sir!” Gascoigne's eyes flitted between his captain and the commodore's portly fig- ure framed against the darkening sky.

Pelham-Martin shook his head. “Denied!” He almost fell down the last two steps in his haste to reach Bolitho's side.
“Denied!”
He was shouting, and seemed more angry than anything else.

Bolitho said, “I agree, sir. Ships powerful enough to attack a defended harbour would make short work of her frail timbers.” He held back at what he was really thinking. That if
Spartan
was still in company things might have been very different. Two fast frigates swooping in from the open sea could cause some havoc before taking advantage of the growing darkness. But alone it was asking too much of
Abdiel'
s captain, and it would take
Hyperion
hours to reach a position of any advantage. By which time it would be dark and too hazardous to close the land.

Pelham-Martin spoke rapidly. “Signal
Abdiel
to take station to windward.” He watched the flags dashing aloft. “I must think.” He rubbed one hand across his face.
“I must think!”

“
Abdiel'
s acknowledged, sir!”

Bolitho saw the frigate's yards bracing round as she started to swing back towards the
Hyperion'
s quarter. He could imagine her captain's disappointment. He said, “We can work to the sou'-west, sir. By first light we will be in a better position to surprise the attackers.”

Pelham-Martin seemed to realise that countless eyes were staring up at him from the crowded main deck. “Get those bloody people to work! I'll not be gaped at by a lot of damned idlers!”

Bolitho heard the sudden air of activity and bellow of orders. Pelham-Martin was just filling in time. The emotions which flooded across his face were proof enough of his inner confusion.

He said in a more controlled tone, “
Indomitable
and
Hermes
might be here within days. With their support I can give a bet- ter account, eh?”

Bolitho eyed him gravely. “They could just as easily be delayed for weeks, sir. We cannot take the chance, or the risk.”

“Chance? Risk?” Pelham-Martin was speaking in a fierce whisper. “It is
my
head on the block! If I close and give battle and we are overwhelmed, what then, eh?”

Bolitho hardened his voice. “If we do not, sir, then we could lose the island. Our ships would not have to be beaten in battle. They could be starved and parched into submission!”

Pelham-Martin searched his face, his expression both des- perate and pleading. “We can sail for Caracas. The Spanish might have ships to assist us.”

“It would take too long, sir, even if the Dons have ships there and are willing to help us. By that time Lequiller will have taken St. Kruis, and it would need a fleet to drive him out, and at a great cost.”

The commodore swung away angrily. “Lequiller! That's all you think about! It might not even be him!”

Bolitho said coldly, “I don't think there is much doubt about that, sir.”

“Well, if you hadn't let him slip through your fingers, if you'd held fast instead of weighing anchor, all this might never have happened.”

“And let those prisoners hang, sir?” Bolitho watched the mas- sive shoulders tense. “Is that what I
should
have done?”

Pelham-Martin faced him again. “I am sorry. I was over- wrought.” He spread his hands. “But what can I do with only one ship of any size?”

“You have no choice, sir.” He kept his voice quiet, but could not hide his anger. “You can fight, or you can remain a spectator. But if you decide the latter, the enemy will know that he can do as he likes. And our friends here will also know it.”

Pelham-Martin looked at him, his face in shadow as the sun's dying rays disappeared beyond the horizon like the tails of a comet. “Very well.” He still waited, as if listening to his own words. “I will do as you suggest. But if we fail, Bolitho, I will not suffer the consequences alone.” He turned and walked aft to the cabin.

Bolitho stared after him, his face set in a frown. If we fail there will be nobody left to argue the rights or wrongs of it, he thought bitterly.

Then he sought out Inch's lanky shape by the rail. “Mr Inch, show a shaded stern lantern for
Abdiel'
s benefit. Then you may take in the courses and reef down for the night.” He listened to Inch passing his orders and raised his glass to peer beyond the dark mass of rigging and shrouds.

The island had vanished in the gloom, but so too had any sort of gun flashes. The enemy would have to wait for dawn now.

Inch came after at the trot. “Anything else, sir?” He sounded breathless.

“See that our people eat well. We may have to forgo break- fast tomorrow.”

Then he crossed to the weather side and watched the frigate's ghostly outline until she, too, was hidden from sight.

7
A
CTION THIS DAY

B
OLITHO
closed the chartroom door and walked swiftly on to the quarterdeck, pausing only beside the dimly lit compass to see that the ship's head was still pointing almost due north. For most of the night the preparations for battle had gone on without a let up, until as satisfied as he could be Bolitho had called a halt, and the hands, tense but exhausted, had curled up beside their guns for a few hours' rest.

As he crossed the quarterdeck Bolitho felt the light breeze cold and clammy through his open shirt, and wondered how long it would hold when the sun lifted above the horizon once more.

Inch said, “Good morning, sir.”

Bolitho stared at his pale shape and nodded. “You may load and run out now, but pass the word for as little noise as possible.”

As Inch craned over the rail to pass his orders he looked up towards the sky. It was much lighter than when he had been on deck half an hour earlier. Now he could see the tightly spread nets which Tomlin and his men had hauled above the decks dur- ing the night to protect the gunners from falling spars, when before they had been merged with the sky. Towards the eastern horizon the last stars had vanished, and some small, isolated clouds had their bellies touched with the colour of salmon-pink.

He took several deep breaths and tried to ignore the squeak of trucks and the dull thuds of guns being hauled up to the open ports. Unlike his men, he had not slept, and even during the last half hour he had filled in his time by making himself shave by the light of a small lantern. He had twice cut himself, so great was his inner tension, but he had known that if he did not occupy himself fully his nerves would be in an even worse state. It was always the same. The doubts and anxieties, the fear of failure and the dread of mutilation with its attendant horrors under the sur- geon's knife, all these things lurked at the back of his mind like spectres, so that as he shaved he had needed all his strength to hold the razor steady.

Now the waiting was almost done. There, black across the bows and stretching away on either hand was the island, and he no longer needed a glass to see the faint necklace of white feath- ers which marked the sea's breaking over the reefs.

Hyperion
was close hauled on the starboard tack with her top- sails and topgallants braced hard round to take maximum advantage of the low wind. All the courses were clewed up, for these large sails were always a fire risk once the fighting started.

Inch straightened his back as a voice called up from the main deck.

“All run out, sir.”

Like Bolitho and the other officers he was stripped to shirt and trousers, and there was a slight tremor in his voice which could have been either excitement or because of the chill air.

“Very well. Send a midshipman to inform the commodore.”

Several times while he had been shaving Bolitho had paused to listen through the partition. But for once he had heard no gen- tle snores. Pelham-Martin must have been lying in his cot fretting and pondering, without even the ship's affairs to occupy his mind.

Gossett blew his nose into a large red handkerchief, the noise shattering the silence like a musket shot. He muttered humbly, “Pardon, sir.”

Bolitho smiled. “We may need all your wind for the sails later on.”

Some of the marines at the nettings chuckled, and Bolitho was glad they could not yet see his face.

Inch said, “What are the Frogs up to, I wonder?”

“They are quiet enough at present.” Bolitho watched the small, white-crested waves cruising slowly down on the ship's weather beam. He could see them stretching away much further now, and when he shifted his eyes forward he saw that the land had taken on a harder outline, so that it appeared to be right on top of the bows. It was a normal illusion at first light, but nev- ertheless they should sight something soon.
Hyperion
was driving as close to the reefs as she dare to give maximum advantage when the time came to turn and head either across or into the bay itself.

A lot depended on the island's defences. No ship was a match for a well-sighted shore battery, but you could never be sure. Bolitho recalled how he and Tomlin had been the first men up the cliff when he had successfully overpowered the French bat- tery at Cozar in the Mediterranean. It could be done with enough determination.

Inch called, “Good morning, sir!”

The commodore walked stiffly to the rail and sniffed the air. Bolitho studied him in the strange half-light. He was wearing a long blue watch coat which came almost to his ankles, and was without a hat or mark of rank of any sort.

He would be sweating hard when the sun reached him, he thought. He felt a touch of compassion when he considered the reason for this strange garb. Pelham-Martin was a very large man, a big enough target for some French marksmen without drawing attention to himself by showing his proper uniform.

He said quietly, “Soon now, sir. The wind is steady from the nor'-east, and until we close right inshore we shall have enough power in our sails.”

Pelham-Martin sank his small head firmly into his collar. “Maybe. I don't know, I'm sure.” He moved slightly to one side and lapsed once more into silence.

Bolitho was about to speak to Inch when he saw the lieu- tenant's eyes light up like twin furnaces. Even as he swung round he heard a violent explosion rumble across the open water and saw a tall column of flames leaping skyward, the sparks breaking away and rising hundreds of feet in the air.

Inch gasped, “A ship! She's afire!”

Bolitho narrowed his eyes, picturing for the hundredth time the bay as he had expected it would look. The ship which was now burning so fiercely above her fiery reflection was a small one, and somewhere on the
Hyperion'
s starboard bow.

There were shots, too, puny and sporadic, and he guessed the enemy were using boats to slip closer inshore under cover of the remaining darkness. Maybe the ship had been fired by accident, or perhaps the raiders just wanted to inflict as much damage as they could before hauling off again.

Another explosion roared dully over the water, but this time there was no flash, nor any indication of bearing or distance.

“Ah, 'ere she comes!” Gossett lifted his arm as the sun raised itself slowly above the sea's edge, thrusting shadows aside and painting the endless patterns of wave crests with pale gold.

“Deck there! Two ships on th' lee bow!” A startled cry and then, “Belay that! Thar's another close inshore, sir!”

But Bolitho could see them well enough now. In the Caribbean there was little break between night and day, and already the sun- light had changed the island's rough outline into purple and green, with a sliver of gold to mark the crest of the nearest hilltop at the far side of the bay.

The first two were ships of the line, sailing slowly on the opposite tack, almost at right angles to his own course and barely two miles clear. The third looked like a frigate, and a quick glance at her sails told him she was anchored close under the western headland.

Anchored? His mind brushed away doubts and apprehension as the realisation came to him. The enemy must have fired the anchored ship inside the bay as a diversion.

On the opposite side of the protected anchorage where the main shore battery was said to be sited the attackers had launched a full-scale assault, the defenders momentarily distracted and off guard. In the early hours it would not be too difficult, he thought grimly. It was human enough for men to find comfort from oth- ers' misfortunes, even their own comrades', if it meant being spared from attack.

And while the awakened gunners watched from their battery walls, the raiders would have landed stealthily from boats and scaled the headland from the other side.

Pelham-Martin said in a tight voice, “They have sighted us!”

The leading French ship was already signalling her consort but as the frail sunlight lifted over the sheltered water of the bay and across the white painted houses at the far end, neither ves- sel showed any sign of altering direction or purpose. The first shock of seeing the
Hyperion'
s topsails emerging from the half light must have been eased when the enemy realised she was accompanied by a solitary frigate.

Bolitho felt the sun's weak rays touching his cheek. He could continue across the enemy's bows and into the bay, but if the French seized the battery their own ships could sail after him with impunity. Yet if he stayed clear, they would withdraw into the bay anyway and prevent even a large force from following.

He glanced at the commodore, but he was still staring at the French ships, his face a mask of indecision.

Inch murmured, “Two seventy-fours, sir.” He, too, glanced at Pelham-Martin before adding, “If they reach the other side of the bay they'll have the advantage, sir.”

Bolitho saw some of the seamen by the braces craning to stare at the French ships. They looked perfect and unmarked by the island's gunners, and seemed all the more menacing because of their slow approach. Sunlight glanced on levelled telescopes from the leading ship's poop, and here and there a figure moved or a pendant whipped out from a masthead as if lifted by some force of its own.

But otherwise the ships glided across the small whitecapped waves slowly and unhurriedly, until it seemed as if
Hyperion'
s jib boom would lock into the leading Frenchman's like two mam- moths offering their tusks for combat.

On the main deck the tension was almost a physical thing. At every open port the men crouched at the guns, their naked backs shining with sweat while they waited for the first harden- ing line as a target crossed their sights. Each hatch was guarded by a marine, and aloft in the tops the marksmen and swivel gun- ners licked their lips and screwed up their eyes as they sought out their opposite numbers across the shortening range.

Pelham-Martin cleared his throat. “What do you intend?”

Bolitho relaxed slightly. He could feet the sweat running down his chest and the heart's steady beat against his ribs. The question was like the opening of a dam. The removal of a great weight. For one moment he had feared Pelham-Martin's nerve had failed and that he would order an immediate withdrawal. Or worse, that he would drive at full speed into the bay, where the ship could be pounded to fragments at the enemy's leisure.

“We will cross the enemy's bows, sir.” He kept his eye on the leading ship. The first sign of extra sail and the
Hyperion
would never be in time. It would mean either a collision or he would have to wear ship and present an unprotected stern to a full French broadside.

Pelham-Martin nodded. “And into the bay?”

“No, sir.” He swung round sharply. “Starboard a point Mr Gossett!” In a quieter tone he continued, “We will wear ship once we pass her and engage her larboard side.” He watched his words playing havoc on the commodore's face. “With luck we can then cross her stern and pass between both ships. It will mean losing the wind-gage, but we can give both of them a good raking as we come through.” He grinned, and could feel his lips drying with the effort. But Pelham-Martin
had
to understand. If he tried to change the manoeuvre halfway through it would be disastrous.

He looked again at the French ships. Half a mile at the most now separated the leading one from his guns. It would be disas- trous anyway if the enemy dismasted him at the first encounter.

The French frigate was still anchored, and by using a glass Bolitho could see her boats plying back and forth to the head- land, and when he saw the smoke rising from the top of the slope he knew that the loud explosion must have been some sort of bomb to breach the battery wall or ignite a magazine.

He felt Pelham-Martin's hand on his arm. “Sir?”

The commodore said, “Signal
Abdiel
to engage the frigate!” He wriggled his shoulder beneath the heavy coat.
“Well?”

“I suggest she stays to windward, sir. Until we start our attack. If they suspect for one moment we are not trying to seek the protection of the harbour, I fear we may be out-manoeuvred.”

“Yes.” Pelham-Martin stared fixedly at some point above the headland. “Quite so.”

Bolitho tore his eyes away and hurried to the opposite side to watch the leading ship. He thought suddenly of something Winstanley had said when he had first gone aboard
Indomitable
to meet the commodore.
He'll need you before we're done.
As his senior captain Winstanley must have known Pelham-Martin's weaknesses better than anyone. The commodore surely owed his rank to influence, or perhaps he had just been unfortunate at being available for the appointment when he had not the expe- rience to back up his authority.

A dull bang echoed across the water and Bolitho looked up as a round hole appeared suddenly in the fore-topsail. The Frenchman had used a bowchaser for a ranging shot. He turned to watch as a thin feather of spray lifted above the sea far out on the weather beam.

He said, “Pass the word to the lower gundeck of my inten- tion, Mr Inch.” As a midshipman darted to the ladder he snapped, “
Walk,
Mr Penrose!” The boy turned and blushed. “There may be a French telescope watching your feet, so take your time!”