Enemy in Sight! (4 page)

Gossett, who had been studying the leading two-decker said absently, “I know the commodore's ship well enough, sir. She's the
Indomitable,
Cap'n Winstanley. I fought alongside 'er in '
81
.” He glanced severely at Midshipman Gascoigne. “You should 'ave seen 'er and reported earlier, young gentleman!”

Bolitho studied the leading ship through narrowed eyes as flags broke from her yards, and after what seemed like mere sec- onds the whole line tacked slowly round until the
Indomitable
was 
running almost parallel with
Hyperion
and barely two cables dis- tant. Even without a glass it was possible to see the great streaks of caked salt and sea slime around her beakhead and bows, while as she plunged heavily into a shallow trough her lower gunports were momentarily awash. But her sail drill and manoeuvring were impeccable, and behind him Bolitho heard Gossett murmur, “Cap'n Winstanley 'as the feel of the old lady well enough.” From him that was praise of the highest order.

This time Gascoigne was ready. As more balls soared up the
Indomitable'
s yards and broke stiffly to the wind he yelled, “
Flag
to
Hyperion.
Captain repair on board forthwith!”

Bolitho smiled grimly. No doubt the commodore was impa- tient to hear what his old enemy had said about him.

“Heave to, if you please. Call away my barge.”

He stared at the leaping wavecrests and imagined his barge- men cursing the commodore for his early summons.

With the hands straining at the braces and the sails cracking and booming like cannonshots the
Hyperion
swung slowly and unwillingly into the wind, while Tomlin bellowed lustily at his boat-handling party to sway Bolitho's barge up and clear of the nettings. One of the steadying lines from the barge caught a young seaman round the throat and he fell heavily against some of the men at the main topsail brace. For an instant there was complete confusion, with the spray-swollen rope screaming out through its block, and bodies falling and scattering like puppets until a bosun's mate hurled himself into the mass of shouting and cursing men and chocked it himself.

Stepkyne, who was in charge of the main deck seized the unfortunate seaman and yelled at him, their faces only inches apart. “You stupid, whimpering bugger! I'll teach you to behave!”

The seaman held up his hand to his throat which had been flayed raw by the steadying line. “But, sir, I couldn't help it!” He was almost weeping. “Worn't my fault, sir!”

Stepkyne seemed beside himself. Had the bosun's mate not intervened the confusion might have caused a disaster, especially to the men working aloft on the topsail yard, but with the weight of the boat on one end of the line and the strength of several bargemen on the other, the man was lucky not to have lost his head.

Inch gripped the quarterdeck rail and shouted above the wind, “Fend off that boat! And you can dismiss that man below to the surgeon, Mr Stepkyne!”

The wretched seaman scurried for the hatch but Stepkyne stood his ground, his eyes blazing as he stared up at the quarter- deck. “Need never have happened! If these men had been properly drilled that fool would have seen the danger in time!”

Allday called, “Barge is alongside, Captain!” But his eyes were on Inch and Stepkyne.

Bolitho ran quickly down the quarterdeck ladder and said coldly, “When I return I will see you in my cabin, Mr Stepkyne. When an order is passed you will do well to obey it without ques- tion, do you understand?”

He kept his voice low, but knew the damage was done. Stepkyne was wrong to question Inch, let alone criticise his actions. But Bolitho knew too that his anger was justified. Inch should have checked each man before allotting him his station. Especially new and untried ones.

More than anything else he blamed himself for allowing Inch to remain as first lieutenant.

Touching his hat briefly he lowered himself through the entry port, and after waiting a few seconds jumped outward and down into the pitching barge.

As the boat pulled clear of the side Bolitho did not look back. It would all be waiting for him when he returned, by which time he must decide what action to take.

Captain Amelius Winstanley was ready to receive Bolitho at the
Indomitable'
s entry port, and even before the trilling pipes had fallen silent he stepped forward and gripped his hand and wrung it warmly with obvious relief.

“A man after my own heart, Bolitho!” He was grinning as Bolitho endeavoured to straighten his cocked hat and readjust his sword. “I never could take a bosun's chair up the side of a strange ship m'self either!”

Bolitho recovered his breath and tried to ignore the rivulets of water which were running down his chest and legs. The barge had made a rough passage to the flagship, but the last part had been by far the worst. As the
Indomitable
's towering side had lifted and rolled above them he had stood swaying in the stern- sheets, his teeth gritted to control his impatience and apprehension as the bowman made one frantic attempt after another to hook on to the ship's main chains and secure the madly tossing boat. Once, when an anxious Allday had reached up to steady his arm he had rasped, “I can manage, damn you!” And it was perhaps his coxswain's obvious lack of confidence in his ability to jump the wide gap to the ship's side which had finally decided him to decline the offer of a bosun's chair. It was far safer, but Bolitho had always considered it undignified when he had watched other captains swaying above a ship's side, legs spiralling, while seamen busily manipulated guide lines as if they were handling so much cargo.

But it had been a near thing this time. His sword had tangled between his legs, and for a brief moment as the barge had dropped beneath him he had seen the water swirling to pluck him from the ship's side and had heard Allday call out with alarm. Soaked and angry Bolitho managed to pull himself up to the safety of the entry port, and as the pipes shrilled in salute and the side party stiffened to attention he glanced quickly at their wooden expres- sions, expecting to see amusement or disappointment that he had not indeed fallen, if only to provide a ready topic of gossip for the lower deck.

Winstanley guided him to the quarterdeck, his resonant voice held down with obvious effort. He was a giant of a man, loose limbed and outwardly ungainly, but gave an immediate impres- sion of great competence. His face was toughened and seamed from countless voyages, but his small twinkling eyes and the mass of crowsfeet around them gave an equal impression of a ready sense of humour.

The captain of a flagship, even that of a lowly commodore, needed all of that and more, Bolitho thought grimly as he squelched up the ladder and into the shelter of the poop.

Winstanley was saying gruffly, “I was watching your ship through my glass. She looks a mite different from the last time I saw her. Like new she is.” He glanced up at the commodore's broad pendant which streamed stiffly from the masthead. “The
Vectis
will sail for Plymouth now that you've arrived to relieve her, and after that it'll be my turn.” He gripped Bolitho's arm as they approached the stern cabin. “Next to me you're the senior captain, so I've no doubt
Hyperion
will wear
his
pendant in due course.”

He must have seen the question on Bolitho's face for he said quickly, “I'll speak with you later. Pelham-Martin is no man to keep waiting.”

He opened the door and Bolitho followed him into the cabin, his hat jammed beneath his arm, and conscious of the wet foot- marks across a rich, pale coloured carpet as he approached a littered table which was arranged to one side of the stern win- dows.

The commodore was seated comfortably at a high-backed chair, seemingly relaxed in spite of the slow, sickening motion around him. He was incredibly broad, but as he got slowly to his feet Bolitho sensed something like shock when he realised that Pelham-Martin was extremely short and his effort at standing made little difference at all. All his bulk seemed to go into his breadth, like Tomlin, the
Hyperion'
s bosun, but there the similar- ity ended. He had a round, pale complexioned face and his fair hair was cut in a newly fashionable short style. But whereas it may have suited the Navy's younger bloods, it merely made the commodore's head appear even smaller when compared with the great bulk beneath it.

“Welcome, Captain.” His voice was smooth, even gentle. “You must have made a quick passage.” His eyes moved calmly over Bolitho's bedraggled appearance, but he did not remark on it. Then he waved to some chairs and pointed to a silver wine cas- ket which swung gently from the deckhead. “A drink perhaps?”

Across his bulky shoulder Winstanley gave the merest shake of his head and Bolitho said, “No, thank you, sir. Not for the moment.”

He saw Winstanley relax slightly and noticed that Pelham- Martin was smiling. He was grateful for Winstanley's warning, yet at the same time he was irritated at being put to some pri- vate test for the commodore's own purpose.

“Well, I expect you have read all the available reports, Bolitho. Our duty here is to patrol the approaches to the Gironde Estuary and stop any shipping entering or leaving. I have made a signal to
Vectis
to sail for Plymouth for repairs. She lost her mizzen in a great gale some two weeks back, and spare spars are in great demand here. In a few months' time we will be joined by two more sail of the line, and by then we should know what the Frogs intend to do, eh?” He leaned back comfortably and smiled. He looked more like a rich merchant than a sea officer, Bolitho thought vaguely.

He heard himself say, “The French will be out before that, sir.”

Pelham-Martin's smile stayed fixed on his small mouth. “You say so? Where did you gather this information?” He leaned forward slightly. “Has the admiral been keeping something from me then?”

Bolitho smiled. “No, sir. But I have been reading all the avail- able reports, and I consider that the French will have to break out soon if they are to be of any use to their cause.”

Pelham-Martin nodded slowly. “That is a masterpiece of self- deception, Bolitho.” He waved one hand towards the windows and through the salt-stained glass Bolitho could see the next ship astern throwing the spray across her bows, yet giving the impres- sion of ponderous indestructibility.

The commodore added calmly, “These ships will prevent any such foolishness.” He seemed to become impatient and dragged a chart from beneath some leatherbound books. “We are here,” he stabbed the chart with one pink finger, “and I have placed the two frigates,
Spartan
and
Abdiel,
on the southern approaches to warn of any attempt by the enemy to cross into this area from Spanish waters.” The finger moved towards the rambling coast- line above the Gironde. “Here I have deployed my third frigate,
Ithuriel,
in the exact area to see and report any French attempt to leave Bordeaux for the north.”

Bolitho looked up. “And the sloops, sir?” Again a quick shake of the head from Captain Winstanley, but Bolitho's anger at Pelham-Martin's easy dismissal of his ideas had thrust caution at one side.

“Sloops?” Pelham-Martin nodded gravely. “You have
indeed
read your reports, Bolitho.” The smile vanished. “I have despatched them to Vigo for, er, extra stores.”

Bolitho looked away. It was incredible. Vigo, on the north- west coast of Spain, was over four hundred miles away. Further from the Gironde Estuary than Plymouth itself!

The commodore's hands began to tap a slow tattoo on the edge of the table. Like two smooth, pink crabs. He asked quietly, “You seem to disapprove?”

Bolitho kept his tone level. “The frigate
Ithuriel
is all alone so close inshore, sir. And the other two frigates are too far to the south'rd to assist her if she is attacked.”

Pelham-Martin eyed him for several seconds. “
Ithuriel'
s cap- tain has my orders, my
orders,
d'you understand, to close the squadron the moment he sights any sign of activity.” The smile came back slightly. “I understood that you had been a frigate cap- tain, Bolitho? Surely you do not deny the
Ithuriel'
s captain the chance to prove his worth?”