Enemy in Sight! (17 page)

Winstanley cleared his throat. “That is true, sir.”

“All the more reason for trusting no one, surely?” Pelham- Martin's good humour was returning. “I am not waiting for Lequiller to call the tune this time. We will put to sea immedi- ately.”

Bolitho stood back from the table. “I will have the barge standing by, sir.”

Pelham-Martin looked away. “Thank you, but it will not be necessary. I am shifting my broad pendant back to
Indomitable.
” He nodded curtly. “Return to your ships, gentlemen. We will make sail in two hours.”

Later, as Bolitho stood at the
Hyperion'
s quarterdeck rail he wondered what had decided Pelham-Martin to change flagships again. As the broad pendant had broken from the
Indomitable'
s topmast he had seen several of the seamen on the gangways point- ing towards it and calling to each other with something like indignation. Rightly or wrongly, they probably considered they had done more than any in the squadron to bring the enemy to close action, and the commodore's change of heart must seem like an unspoken rebuke which they could not understand.

Bolitho did not understand it either, although when he had gathered his officers together in the wardroom to explain briefly what the commodore intended to do, he had made every effort to show neither resentment nor bitterness. At any other time he would have been glad to be rid of Pelham-Martin's presence, but now, with a final and decisive action imminent he would have preferred otherwise. For whereas Pelham-Martin had in the past consulted his captains for even the most trivial despatches, he had added nothing at all to his brief orders prior to sailing.

Inch called, “Anchor's hove short, sir!”

Bolitho pulled himself from his brooding thoughts and shaded his eyes to peer across at the
Indomitable.

Winstanley was probably cursing Pelham-Martin for return- ing to his ship. He could see the men along the two-decker's yards, the crouching shapes of others plodding around her cap- stan. Beyond her, framed against the distant hills, the
Hermes
and the stately
Telamon
were also shortening their cables. Even with- out a glass he could see most of the island's population crowded along the waterfront and on the headland where Dawson's marines had repaired the battery and had helped to improve the defences in case of any future attack.

In spite of his apprehension at Pelham-Martin's failure to outline any proposed plan of battle, Bolitho could find some com- fort at the sight. With the sun beating down across the glittering blue water of the bay, a steady north-easterly ruffling the shrubs and rushes below the headland, the four ships made a splendid picture. As he looked along his own command he could afford to feel satisfied and pleased with the work his men had achieved. As good as his word, de Block had supplied the ship with everything at his disposal, even to the extent of new canvas to replace that lost in battle.

And as Perks, the sailmaker, had remarked, “It's none o' yer wartime rubbish, sir, 'tis the real stuff.”

Gascoigne yelled, “General, sir! Up anchor!”

Bolitho nodded. “Get the ship under way, Mr Inch!” He glanced at Gossett. “We will take station astern of
Hermes.
”

That was something else.
Hyperion
would be the last in the line in whatever action the commodore intended. With the prevailing wind from the north-east it was a sensible position, for
Hyperion
was the fastest ship in the squadron and could dash down on the van if
Indomitable
got into difficulty and needed support. But to her company, many of whom did not understand these matters, it must seem like a final insult. He would make it his business to set their minds at rest, he decided.

He heard Inch yelling, “Get those laggards to the mizzen braces! Mr Tomlin! Wake them up, for God's sake!”

Here and there a rattan swished across a tanned back as the seamen came alive to the business of getting under way. A month of comparative idleness had taken its toll, and it took more than soft words to drive the men to the braces.

“Loose tops'ls!”

Gascoigne ran across the deck as wheeling ponderously to the wind the ship went about, her sails cracking and booming over- head and the capstan still turning to the accompaniment of a breathless shanty.

“
Flag
to
Hyperion,
sir!” His eyes were streaming as the sun- light lanced down his telescope. “Make haste!”

Bolitho smiled. “Acknowledge.” Pelham-Martin would not wish to see any slackness with a Dutch ship in company. The
Telamon
was a splendid sight, and in the glare her gilded stern shone like some fantastic temple altar, while strung out along her yards the dark skins of her topmen glistened as if they, too, had been stained and polished to perfection.

But she would make little impression on Lequiller's ships, he thought. She was over fifty years old, and her guns were no match for the French artillery. And she had been out here for most of her lifetime, Mulder had said. So her timbers were probably rot- ten, in spite of the gilded carving and proud flags.

He shifted his eyes to the
Hermes
as she tacked round to take station astern of the Dutchman. She on the other hand looked every inch an experienced warrior. Stained and scarred, with more than one patch in her pale canvas.

Inch said, “
Indomitable'
s setting her t'gallants, sir.”

“Very well. Do likewise, Mr Inch.” Bolitho staggered slightly as the deck lifted slowly beneath him. Like him, the ship seemed pleased to be rid of the land again.

He looked up to watch the canvas spread along the braced yards and the tiny silhouettes of the topmen as they raced each other to obey the orders from the deck far below. He saw Pascoe pause at the maintop, his body tilting to the roll of the ship, his head thrown back to watch the pigtailed seamen swarming past him as still more canvas ballooned and then hardened from the yards. His shirt was open to his waist, and Bolitho could see that his skin was already well tanned, his ribs less prominent than when he had come aboard. He was learning fast and well, but Bolitho knew from what he had seen and heard at St. Kruis that the boy still kept apart from the other midshipmen and was nurs- ing his inner hurt like some latent disease.

Gossett intoned, “Course is west by south, sir!”

“Very well.” Bolitho crossed to the weather side to watch as the headland slipped past, tiny figures running along the lip of crumbling rocks where the French raiding party had stormed up to the battery under cover of darkness.

Far away on the larboard bow he could just make out a tiny white sliver on the sea's edge to mark one of the sloops which had already hurried ahead to contact the frigates and pass Pelham- Martin's instructions with minimum delay.

To Inch he said quietly, “Set no more sail just yet. With our clean copper I'm afraid we might overreach the
Hermes!
”

Inch showed his teeth in a grin. “Aye,
aye,
sir.”

It was then, and only then, that Bolitho realised Inch had got the ship under way without a single flaw, while he had been so immersed in his own thoughts he had barely noticed it.

He eyed the lieutenant gravely. “We'll make a commander of you yet, Mr Inch!”

Leaving Inch with an even wider grin he walked aft to the cabin, where once more he could be alone with his thoughts.

9
R
ETREAT

T
HE THIRD
day after leaving St. Kruis dawned bright and clear, with the sky empty of cloud and the colour of blue ice. The sea, whipped up by an impatient north-easterly, was broken as far as the horizon in an endless pattern of small wave crests, yellow in the sunlight.

During the night, and in spite of Pelham-Martin's urgent sig- nals, the four ships had scattered, and it took more maddening hours to re-form the line to his satisfaction. Now, close hauled on the larboard tack and leaning heavily to the stiffening wind the ships drove south-east, with the shadowed coastline stretch- ing away on either bow and only the towering hills further inland bathed in sunlight. The bay of Las Mercedes was still hidden and shrouded in drifting haze which swirled above the sea's face like low cloud.

Bolitho stood on the quarterdeck with one hand resting against the hammock nettings, his body chilled in spite of the early warmth, his eyes aching from studying the land as it grew out of the shadows to take on shape and personality for the new day. Since they had weighed and put to sea with such haste he had thought of little else but this moment. While the ships drove westward, and then under cover of night turned to head more directly towards the land, he had considered what Pelham-Martin might do if the French had already quit the bay and were many miles away, as elusive as before. Or worse, that de Block's schooner had been misinformed, and Lequiller had never been in the vicin- ity at all.

If either was true it would be hard to know where to pick up the scent again. To draw two forces of ships together in combat was more guess than planning, and Lequiller might have decided to return to France or carry some scheme of his own to the other ends of the earth.

Around and below him he could feel the hull trembling and creaking as under shortened sail she followed the other ships towards the bank of pale mist. As soon as it was light enough to read his signals Pelham-Martin had ordered them to prepare for battle, and now, as in the other ships, the
Hyperion'
s company waited in almost complete silence, by their guns or high above the deck, or like Trudgeon, the surgeon, deep in the hull itself, hidden from the sunlight and dependent on others for their own survival.

Several telescopes lifted as if to some silent command, and Bolitho saw a pale rectangle of sail detaching itself from the mist far away on the larboard bow. It was the frigate
Abdiel
which Pelham-Martin had ordered to approach the bay from the oppo- site side and report any signs of life within its protective headlands.

Lieutenant Roth standing by his quarterdeck nine-pounders said loudly, “We'll soon know now, eh?” But fell silent again as Bolitho glared at him.

Midshipman Gascoigne was already in the weather shrouds with his telescope, biting his lower lip with fierce concentration, knowing perhaps the vital importance of that first signal.

Steel scraped on steel with the sound of a gunshot, and when Bolitho turned his head he saw Allday striding below the poop carrying the old sword in front of him like a talisman.

In spite of his anxiety Bolitho managed to smile as Allday buckled the sword around his waist. He at least seemed to have no doubts as to what the day would bring.

“
Abdiel'
s signalling, sir!” Gascoigne's voice cracked with excitement. “To
Indomitable.
Four enemy sail anchored inside bay.” His lips moved soundlessly as he continued reading. Then he shouted, “Four sail of the line, sir!”

Inch let out a great sigh. “By God, we've
found
'em!”

Bolitho pressed his lips together and made himself walk twice from one side of the deck to the other. Four ships. That was only half of Lequiller's force, so where were the rest?

Behind him Gossett muttered, “This mist'll go shortly. Then maybe
we'll
see the buggers!”

As usual he was right, and when the mist began to roll clear Bolitho raised his glass to study the anchored ships as first one and then the rest hardened into shape. With the sun only just above the hills the four ships looked black and solid, as if they had never, could never break free from their moorings, and as light filtered down above the departing sea mist he saw the rea- son. They were anchored fore and aft directly across the narrowest part of the bay's entrance, and he could tell from the way in which the water lifted and surged between the nearest ones that there were more hidden cables linking them together into one, formi- dable barrier. Each ship had her ports closed and sails neatly furled, but when more sunlight played across the yards and shrouds he saw tiny figures on every poop and the curling Tricolour at each gaff. There was no longer any doubt. Whether the French had beaten the Spanish garrison into submission, or had merely frightened them to impotent silence, the facts were the same. They were ready to fight, and what was more to the point, must have
known
Pelham-Martin's squadron was on its way. It would have taken a good deal of labour and planning to get the heavy two-deckers moored like that, and the French commander would not have wasted either on pure chance.

Inch said, “Just as if they've been wanting us to come, sir.”

Bolitho closed the glass with a snap. “Just so. I wondered why that West Indiaman was allowed to proceed after seeing what she did. Lequiller is no fool, Mr Inch, and I hope the commodore accepts the fact.”

Inch nodded doubtfully. “I wonder what he intends, sir?”

Bolitho studied the anchored ships for a full minute, aware of the hum of shrouds and rigging, the hissing sluice of water against the hull, yet hearing none of them. It was uncanny to see the ships lying like that, he thought vaguely. They were almost at right- angles to the squadron's line of approach, stretching away on the larboard bow, the furthest vessel still shrouded in mist below the distant headland. If Pelham-Martin maintained this course they would pass astern of the last ship, or he could tack and sail along the anchored line and engage them independently.

Gossett said, “There's plenty o' water at this side of the entrance, sir.”

“Yes.” Bolitho had already noted that the anchored ships were closer to the other headland, whereas the nearest two-decker was some three cables from the overhanging cliffs which were already bathed in bright sunlight.

Gascoigne yelled, “
Indomitable'
s signalling
Abdiel,
sir!” He climbed frantically up three more ratlines and then said, “I can't read the hoist, sir!
Hermes
is blocking my view!”

Inch said, “
Abdiel'
s acknowledged, sir, so we shall see.”

Bolitho looked at him gravely. It was the way men could dis- cuss the business of tactics and signals, when by nightfall they could all be dead.

The
Abdiel
shortened and then lengthened again, as with sails flapping and billowing from her yards she went about and headed for the rear of the French line.

Some of the seamen below the quarterdeck started to cheer her, although it was more to relieve tension than with any hope of reaching the frail frigate.

Bolitho watched in silence. So Pelham-Martin was sending
Abdiel
in first.

Carried faintly on the wind he heard a trumpet, and as he shaded his eyes against the mounting glare he saw the French ships opening their ports. It was both unhurried and well timed, so that as the double lines of gun muzzles trundled into view it seemed as if one man's hand was in control. A puff of smoke drifted above the
Abdiel'
s bows, followed seconds later by the jar- ring crash of the shot. A ranging ball, or just sheer high spirits, it was hard to tell. Maybe
Abdiel'
s captain was just loosing off a shot to break the tension. It was a pity that for the second time the lot of closing the enemy was going to Captain Pring and not Farquhar. The
Spartan
had not been found by the searching sloops, or at least had not yet arrived. Maybe Farquhar had troubles of his own, but just now Bolitho would have wished him in the van rather than Pring. The latter was keen enough, but seemed to lack Farquhar's cold self-control.

More smoke, and this time a ragged broadside, the balls throwing up thin waterspouts abeam of the last French ship, which Bolitho could now recognise as the one he had crippled at St. Kruis. Without a glass he could clearly see the gaping holes in her bulwark and the crude jury rig replacing her severed mizzen.

Gascoigne called, “General signal, sir! The commodore intends to pass astern the enemy's line to obtain the weather-gage!”

“You may load and run out, Mr Inch.” Bolitho stepped clear of the sudden activity around the quarterdeck guns as the order was passed, and strode to the poop ladder. By standing a few steps above the deck he could see the
Indomitable'
s larboard tumble- home cutting across the rearmost Frenchman. In another two cables Pelham-Martin would cross her stern and then lead the line round and parallel with the anchored ships. The French gunners would not only have the sun in their eyes, but also be deluged with smoke once the firing began.

Overhead the topsails flapped loudly and then refilled to the wind. So close to land it was difficult to keep them drawing well, and Bolitho watched with satisfaction as Tomlin's men manned the braces in readiness for the next order.

Inch touched his hat. “Larboard battery loaded and run out, sir!” In spite of the distant bangs from
Abdiel'
s guns he seemed relaxed and vaguely cheerful. “They knocked a few minutes off their time, too!”

Bolitho saw the
Hermes
lifting uneasily to some offshore cur- rent, and noted that she, too, had run out her larboard battery ready to engage.

He said slowly, “Now the
starboard
guns, Mr Inch.” He gripped the teak rail as through the criss-cross of rigging he saw the
Abdiel'
s shape shorten until she was stern on, yards braced round to seize the wind, her scarlet ensign streaming from the gaff like a sheet of painted metal.

Inch had been with Bolitho long enough not to question his orders, and as his men faltered, off guard, he cupped his hands and yelled, “Load and run out, you idlers! Petty Officer, take that man's name!”

It had the desired effect, and with squeaking trucks the guns lumbered towards the ports, the seamen skidding on the damp planking as the heavy cannon took charge and rolled down the canting deck. Below on the lower gundeck the ports might be nearly awash as the ship leaned dutifully to the wind, but Bolitho breathed more easily. It was going well, but perhaps too well.

He looked at Inch and shrugged. “It is always prudent to be prepared.”

Someone aboard the
Hermes
had apparently found time to drag his eyes from the enemy ships, for seconds later her starboard port lids opened and here and there a gun muzzle poked out, like hastily awakened beasts sniffing the air.

Inch grinned. “That caught 'em, sir!”

One of
Indomitable'
s bow-chasers fired, the flash masked by the ships astern of her, and Bolitho swung round to watch as the ball ricocheted across the cruising ranks of white horses before ploughing close to the sternmost Frenchman. There was more cheering, and from one of the ships—Bolitho thought it was the
Telamon
—came the sounds of drums and fifes.

“Deck there!
Abdiel'
s under fire!”

The masthead lookout's cry was drowned by the ragged crash of cannon fire, and as Bolitho ran to the rail snatching a glass from a startled midshipman, he saw the frigate's hull surrounded by leaping waterspouts.

Inch yelled, “The French must have some stern-chasers out!”

But Bolitho dragged him from the nettings. “
Look,
man! Those balls are coming from the land to starboard!” He winced as the
Abdiel'
s foremast toppled sideways and plunged towards the deck, and even as he watched he saw her sails quiver as more balls slammed through shrouds and canvas alike, so that the sea around her seemed alive with splintered woodwork and whirling pieces of debris.

Bolitho gritted his teeth. It was a trap, just as he had half feared, half expected.
Abdiel
was being pounded by several guns at once, the hidden marksmen unhampered by movement or range as they fired again and again at the ship which must be lying below and right across their sights.

“Pring's trying to go about!” Inch was almost weeping with anguish as the
Abdiel'
s mizzen lurched and hung suspended in the tangle of rigging before falling across her quarterdeck, the sound carrying even above the gunfire.

Gascoigne shouted wildly, “General signal! Tack in succession!”

The
Indomitable
was already turning very slowly to larboard, her jib boom pointing towards the poop of the sternmost French ship as she wallowed round into the face of the wind. For an instant she appeared to be all aback, but as more men ran to the braces she staggered across the short steep waves, her topsails flapping and lifting madly as if to tear themselves from the yards.