Enemy In Sight!

by Alexander Kent

  He felt the wind swirling damply around his legs and added shortly, "That will be all for now." He nodded to Inch. "Prepare to get the ship under way, if you please."

  Bolitho caught sight of Joshua Tomlin, the boatswain, by the entry port, his sharp eyes moving quickly across the men nearest him. Tomlin was another of the original company, a squat, massively built man, almost as broad as he was tall, and extremely hairy. When he smiled, which was often, he displayed a fearsome and maniac grin, having had both front teeth knocked out by a falling block many years before. He was known for his patience and his rough good humour, and Bolitho had never yet seen him strike a man in anger, which was unusual in his trade. But it would take more than his store of tolerance to remain calm with his new collection of hands, he decided grimly.

  Pipes shrilled again and the decks came alive with stampeding feet as the men ran to their stations, urged on by kicks and curses from harassed petty officers who had not yet had time to memorise the names of their own divisions.

  Bolitho touched Inch's arm and drew him aside. "The wind has backed a point." He glanced meaningly at the masthead pendant. "Break out the anchor at once and send the hands aloft." He saw his words causing havoc on Inch's horseface and added quietly, "It will be better to get the new people aloft now and have them spaced on the yards before you pass your orders. We do not want to have half of them dropping to the deck with the port admiral's glass on us, eh?" He smiled and saw Inch nod doubtfully.

  He turned his back as Inch hurried to the quarterdeck rail, his speaking trumpet at the ready. He wanted to help him, but knew that if Inch could not take the ship to sea from a wide and comfortable anchorage he might never have the confidence to move alone again.

  "Stand by the capstan!"

  Gossett crossed to Bolitho's side and said impassively, "We'll have snow afore the week's out, sir." He winced as one of the men at the capstan bars skidded and fell in a welter of arms and legs. A petty officer lashed out with his rattan, and Bolitho saw the lieutenant in charge turn away with embarrassment.

  Bolitho cupped his hands. "Mr. Beauclerk! Those men will work together if they have a shanty to bite on!"

  Cosset hid a grin. "Poor fellows, they must find it strange, sir."

  Bolitho breathed out tightly. Inch should have seen to it earlier. With Hyperion's sixteen-hundred-odd tons tugging on the cable it needed more than brawn to turn the capstan. The fiddle's plaintive notes were almost lost in the wind, but as the first pawl clinked home on the capstan Tomlin roared, "Now, me little sweethearts! Let's give them soft-bellied buggers in Plymouth a sight and sound to remember, eh!"

  He threw back his head and opened his mouth, so that one of the watching midshipmen gasped with awe, and then broke into a well-tried shanty.

  Bolitho looked up to watch the men spreading out along the massive yards, black and puny against the sky like so many monkeys.

  Then he took a glass from Gascoigne, the signal midshipman, and trained it towards the shore. He felt a lump in his throat as he saw her green cloak framed in the distant window, a patch of white as she waved towards the ship. In his mind's eye he could picture what she was seeing. The two-decker, swinging already on- her shortening cable, the figures clinging to the yards, the activity around the forecastle where already more men were standing by the headsails.

  "Anchor's hove short, sir!"

  Bolitho met Inch's eye and nodded. Inch lifted his trumpet. "Loose heads'ls!"

  A quick glance at Gossett, but there was no need to worry there. The master stood by the big double wheel, his eyes moving between the helmsmen and the first strips of canvas which even now were flapping and cracking in the wind.

  "Lay a course to weather the headland, Mr. Gossett. We will lie as close to the wind as we can in case it backs again directly."

  "Up an' down, sir!" The cry almost lost in the wind. Inch was nodding and muttering to himself as he moved restlessly across the quarterdeck.

  He yelled, "Loose tops'ls!"

  The great sails billowed and thundered wildly as the cry came from forward, "Anchor's aweigh, sir!"

  Bolitho gripped a swivel gun for support as freed from the land the Hyperion swung dizzily into a deep trough. There were a few nervous cries from a lot, but nobody fell.

  "Lee braces there!" That was Stepkyne's voice carrying without effort above the din of wind and canvas. "Jump to it, that man!" He was pointing angrily. "Take his name!"

  Clank, clank, clank went the capstan, the hidden anchor swinging below the surface like a pendulum. But the Hyperion seemed to care nothing for the confusion and frantic activity about her decks and yards. She showed a strip of bright copper as she tilted heavily in to the choppy water, throwing the spray high above her beakhead so that the gleaming Titan seemed to be rising from the sea itself.

  Inch came back wiping his face. "Sir?"

  Bolitho eyed him gravely. "Get the courses on her." He looked up at the masthead pendant as it streamed almost abeam and as stiff as a lance. "We'll have the t'gallants on her directly once we've cleared Rame Head."

  The helmsman intoned, "Sou'-west by south, sir! Full an' byel"

  Bolitho felt the deck tilting steeply as the old ship gathered the wind into her spreading canvas. She must make a fine sight now, he thought vaguely. Topsails and courses set and hard-bellied like pewter in the dull light, the yards braced round to take maximum advantage of the wind which was ruffling the blurred headland like wet fur.

  The anchor was clear of the water now and already being hauled towards the cathead.

  And still the men sang, some glancing across their shoulders as the green headland sidled so quickly into the mist of rain and spray.

  "I knew a lass in Portsmouth town,

  Heave, my bullies, heave!"

  How many sailors had sung as their ships had slipped into the Channel, how many on the shore had watched moist-eyed or grateful, or just thankful for being spared similar hardship?

  When Bolitho raised his glass again the land had lost all individuality. Like its memories and hopes it was now so distant as to be unreachable. He saw some of the younger men staring across the gangway, one of them actually waving, although the ship must be all but invisible by now.

  He thought suddenly of Herrick. When he had been his first lieutenant in the little frigate Phalarope. Bolitho frowned, when was that? Ten, no twelve years ago! He started to pace slowly along the weather side as his mind went back over the years. Thomas Herrick, the best subordinate he had ever had, and the best friend. He had said in those far-off times that he had looked forward to a command of his own more than anything else. Until it became a real possibility. He smiled at the memory, and two midshipmen seeing his face exchanged awed glances as their captain paced back and forth apparently oblivious or indifferent to the shouts and scurrying figures around him.

  Now Herrick had that command. Better late than never, and more than richly deserved, even if she was the old sixty-four, Impulsive. Herrick would be joining the squadron, too, when his ship was overhauled at Portsmouth.

  He heard Inch stammering with anger as a man caught his foot on a, hatch coaming and slithered into a master's mate, bringing him down with a crash on the tilting deck.

  It was hard to realise that when he met Herrick again it would all be different. Two captains with individual problems and not the common bond of keeping one ship alive. Herrick always had such a questioning mind and a complete understanding of what Bolitho needed.

  Bolitho shut the thought from his mind. It was pure selfishness to wish Herrick here with him.

  He looked at Inch and asked mildly, "Are you satisfied?"

  Inch stared round anxiously. "I-I think so, sir."

  "Good. Now turn the hands to and put extra lashings on the boats. It will keep them from mooning at the bulwarks until England is out of sight."

  Inch nodded and then grinned awkwardly. "It was not too badly done, sir, I thought?" He dropped his eyes under Bolitho's stare. "I=I mean ... "
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  "You wish to know what I think of your efforts, Mr. Inch?" Bolitho saw Gossett keeping his face like a mask. "I thought that considering only half of the men on each yard were doing more than holding on for their lives, and taking into consideration there was a five minute interval between each mast, I would say it was a fair beginning." He frowned. "Do you see it so, Mr. Inch?"

  Inch nodded humbly. "Aye, sir."

  Bolitho grinned. "Well, that is something, Mr. Inch!"

  Gossett called, "Ready to alter course, sir!"

  The headland, and indeed most of the shoreline, had disappeared into the grey murk, but the wind was as steady as ever, whipping the crests from the waves and cascading spray above the weather rail like tropical rain.

  "Bring her up to a point, Mr. Gossett. We will wear ship in four hours and run with the wind in our coat-tails!" He saw Gossett nod cheerfully. "We may have to reef before much longer, but I imagine you want to see how she behaves under full canvas?"

  He looked at Inch. "I am going to my cabin. I am sure you do not need me for the moment?" He turned and walked quickly towards the poop before he could reply. Inch had got over the first part quite well. It was only fair to give him his head in open water without his captain watching every move and decision. And Gossett would be quick to see if anything really serious was about to

  happen.

  He saw some of the unemployed seamen watching him as he ducked below the poop and made for his cabin. First impressions were all important and he had to appear quite unconcerned even though he was straining his ears to listen to the creak and whine of shrouds and stays as the ship plunged her way indifferently almost into the teeth of the wind. Faintly he heard Tomlin bellow, "Not that 'and! Yer right 'and, I said! The one you fills yer face with!" A pause. "'Ere, let me show you, you clumsy maggot!" Bolitho half smiled. Poor Tomlin, it was starting already.

  A marine sentry snapped at attention outside the stern cabin, his eyes unblinking beneath his shako. Bolitho closed the door and leaned his back against it, thankful to be alone for just a few precious moments.

  For the remainder of the forenoon and well into the afternoon watch the Hyperion drove steadily down channel, her yards bending like great bows as she heeled to the blustering offshore wind. Bolitho spent more time on the quarterdeck than he had first intended as one crisis after another called him from his cabin. Inch had managed to set the topgallants, and under the great pyramids of straining canvas the ship was heeling over at an almost permanent angle, so that working aloft seemed even more hazardous than before to the men on the lee side. Looking down from their dizzy perches the- ship appeared to have shrunk in size, while below them there was nothing but the angry wavecrests creaming and spitting from the labouring hull. One man clung to the fore topgallant yard and would not move at all. Or rather he could not, and his fear was greater than that of an enraged bosun's mate who clung to the mast cursing and threatening, all too aware of his opposite number on the mainmast who was calling insults to the delight of his nimble-footed topmen.

  Eventually Inch sent a midshipman who had already displayed a great agility aloft to fetch the wretched man down, and Bolitho had come on deck just as both had arrived on deck breathless and gasping with exertion.

  Lieutenant Stepkyne had yelled, "I'll see you flogged for that, you gutless doltl"

  Bolitho had called, "Bring that man aft!" Then to Inch, "I'll not have a man terrified to no good purpose. Get one of the older hands to go aloft with him now."

  As the man in question had stood shivering below the quarterdeck ladder Bolitho had asked, "What is your name?"

  The man had muttered thickly, "Good, sir."

  Stepkyne had been plucking at his belt with impatience and had said quickly, "He's a fool, sir!"

  Bolitho had continued calmly, "Well, Good, you must go back to that yard now, do you understand?" He had seen the man peer upward at the foremast again. The yard was over a hundred feet above the deck. "There's no shame in fear, lad, but there's danger in showing it." He had watched the mixed emotions on the man's pinched features. "Now off with you."

  The man went, and Inch had said admiringly, "Well, that was something, sir."

  Bolitho had looked away as the frightened seaman commenced to climb up the vibrating ratlines. "You lead men, Mr. Inch. It never pays to torment them." To Stepkyne he had added, "We are still shorthanded and need every fit man we can get. To flog that one senseless seems rather pointless, wouldn't you agree?"

  Stepkyne had touched his hat and strode forward again to supervise his men.

  To Inch Bolitho had continued, "There's no easy way. There never was."

  At six bells it was time to wear ship and the whole business started all over again. Dazed and bruised, with bleeding fingers and faces tight with strain the new men were led or dragged out along the yards to shorten sail, for the wind was freshening every minute, and although the land was only ten miles abeam it was hidden in mist and spray.

  Bolitho made himself stay silent as he watched the frantic efforts to obey his orders. Time and time again some men had to be shown what to do, even had halyards or braces put into their hands while Tomlin and his assistants scampered from one piece of confusion to another.

  Then at last even Gossett seemed satisfied, and with the men straining and sliding at the braces the Hyperion turned her bows to the southward, the wind battering across her quarter with relentless force so that two additional men had to be sent to the wheel.

  But she was enjoying it, Bolitho thought. Even shortened down to topsails she was leaning forward and down, plunging her bowsprit towards the invisible horizon in great sweeping thrusts as each successive roller cruised against her fat flank and then broke high over her tumblehome in a welter of frustrated spray.

  He gripped the hammock nettings and looked astern, even though he knew there was nothing to see. But somewhere back there was the rugged coast of Cornwall, with his own Falmouth a bare twenty miles to westward. The big house below the bulk of Pendennis Castle would be waiting for Cheney's return. For the birth of their child which he would not see for some time to come.

  Another wave roaring hissing over the weather gangway, and he heard Gossett murmur, "A second reef 1 be needed shortly, I'm thinkin'. '

  Pipes shrilled as the watch below was dismissed at long last, and Bolitho said, "Keep me informed." Then he made his way aft once more.

  The big stern cabin looked warm and friendly after the windswept quarterdeck. The deckhead lanterns swung in busy unison and cast strange shadows across the green leather chairs and the bench seat below the windows, the old polished desk and table which gleamed in the lamplight like new chestnuts. He stood by the broad windows staring at the distorted panorama of leaping waves and flying spectres of spray. Then he sighed and sat down at his desk and looked at the pile of papers which his clerk had left for his. inspection. But for once he found he had no stomach for it, and the realisation troubled him.

  The door opened silently and Allday padded into the cabin, his stocky body appearing to lean at a grotesque angle on the tilting deck.

  Allday studied him sadly. "Begging your pardon, Captain, but Petch, your servant, says you've not eaten since you came aboard today." He ignored Bolitho's frown. "So I've taken the liberty to bring you some game pie." He held out a plate which he had covered with a silver lid. "Your good lady gave it to me special for you, Captain."

  Bolitho did not protest as Allday laid the plate on the slanting desk and busied himself with the cutlery. Game pie. She must have packed it while he was getting dressed that morning.

  Allday pretended not to notice the look on Bolitho's face and took the opportunity to retrieve his sword from a chair and hang it in its place on the bulkhead. It shone dully in the spiralling lanterns, and he said quietly, "It'd not be the same without it now."

  But Bolitho did not answer. That sword, his father's and his father's before that was something of a talisman, and a ready topic of lower-deck conversation wh
enever Bolitho's exploits were being discussed. It was part of him, part of his background and tradition, but at this moment he could think of nothing but what he was leaving behind. Even now the horses would be trotting along the road from Plymouth. Fifty miles to Falmouth where his housekeeper and his steward, Ferguson, who had lost an arm at the Saintes, would be waiting to greet her. But he would not be there. Above the hiss of spray against the windows, the creak of timbers and the over-riding boom of canvas he imagined he could hear her laugh. Imagined perhaps he could feel her touch, the taste of her freshness on his lips.

  Oblivious to Allday he opened the front of his shirt and looked at the small locket around his neck. In it was one lock of her hair, a talisman better than any sword.

  The door opened and a sodden midshipman said breathlessly, "Mr. Inch's respects, sir, and can he have permission to take in a second reef?"

  Bolitho stood up, his body swaying to the steady roll. "I'll come." Then he saw Allday and gave a small smile. "There is little time for dreaming, it seems." He followed the midshipman's envious stare and added, "Or for game pie either!"

  Allday watched him go and then covered the plate with the silver lid.

  He had never seen him like this before and he was troubled by it. He looked across at the sword as it swung from its hook, seeing again that same blade gleaming in the sunlight as Bolitho had stormed the French battery at Cozar, had charged across the bloodsoaked planking of an enemy ship, had done so many things so many times. And now Bolitho seemed changed, and Allday cursed the mind which had despatched Hyperion to blockade duty and not to a place to do battle.

  He thought too of the girl Bolitho had married. They had even met for the first time aboard this ship. He stared round, finding it hard to believe. Perhaps that was what was lacking. She had been part of the ship, had known danger and terror when the old hull had quivered to the broadsides and the scything winds of death. Bolitho would be thinking that too, he decided. Thinking and remembering, and that was bad.