Enemy In Sight!

by Alexander Kent

  Overhead the sails cracked and thundered remorselessly as the hands fought to contain them in pitch darkness. Bolitho could well imagine the terror of being up there. Yet it was excellent sailing weather. If only they could free themselves from these wretched islands. Sail and fight had been intended, instead of taking the power out of the old ship's sails when she had such strength to offer.

  Inch shouted, "How do you think Mr. Selby is managing, sir`s"

  It was an innocent question and he was obviously trying to make amends for what he still imagined was his own lapse whilst waiting for the barge.

  "Well enough."

  Inch nodded vaguely. "He has a way with him. Like Captain Farquhar, I thought him familiar at first."

  Bolitho stiffened. Inch couldn't possibly have remembered him also. In St. Clar his brother had passed Inch in the darkness before the final evacuation, had handed him a ring, his mother's ring, to give to him as an only sign of recognition, and to say that he was not dead after all.

  Inch said, "It must be something about the man, sir." He showed his teeth in an uncertain grin. "Young Mr. Pascoe's quite taken with him and seemed quite worried when he left the ship. Strange how these things happen."

  Stranger than you know. Aloud he replied, "Now, if you have quite finished, Mr. Inch, perhaps you would be good enough to rouse the commodore and inform him of the weather. If the wind mounts further we will wear ship and gain more searoom."

  Inch paused as Bolitho added coldly, "Just tell the commodore the barest details, if you please. I am sure he will be in no mood for light conversation at this time of morning."

  He saw a shadow move by the lee rail and called, "Mr. Gascoigne! How do you enjoy your first watch as acting lieutenant?"

  Gascoigne staggered up the slanting deck, paused and then almost fell as the ship wallowed sickeningly into a steep trough.

  "Quite well, sir." He swallowed hard and added lamely, "Although only when Mr. Inch is on deck too, sir. Once when I was left alone I had a great dread that the ship was carrying me and every soul aboard into something solid yet invisible." He shuddered. "All this fabric and spars, the men below and the great weight of guns, yet I could find no word, even had there been danger."

  "That is naturaL" Bolitho gripped the rail, feeling it wet and cold under his hand. "Once you are over that sensation you start to learn how to master the ship yourself, without waiting for others to say and do things for you. You get the feel of her. You discover her moods, good or bad, and learn to give her her head when the moment offers itself."

  Gascoigne grinned. "I never thought of it like that." He walked away as Inch reappeared.

  "Well?"

  Inch replied, "I told him, sir."

  There was something else. He asked more gently, "Was he asleep?"

  "No, sir." He sounded puzzled. "He is just sitting there on the bench seat, the most uncomfortable place in a quarter sea in my opinion. He is fully dressed, sir. Just sitting there." His voice trailed away.

  Bolitho clapped him on the shoulder. "The privilege of rank, my lad!" Then he strode to the weather side before inch could see his expression.

  So it was worse than he had thought. Pelham Martin was unable to lie down let alone sleep. Figures ran across the main deck and once he heard a man laugh, the sound strangely sad in the chorus of wind and straining rigging. He wanted to pace to quieten his troubled mind, but knew the motion was too savage for that. Here, on this very. quarterdeck, two admirals had died within feet of him. One had been brave but stupid, while the other had died uncomplaining of his wound. He had been as courageous as he had been misguided, but never at any time had he faltered from what he thought to be his set duty. And before them perhaps other flag officers had fallen here. The lucky ones to be buried at sea or carried home to weeping relatives in casks of spirits to be laid to rest in some family vault. The unlucky had lingered on to die at a surgeon's hands.

  He banged his fist on the rail, his eyes staring into the leaping patterns of spray. But none so far had died of fear, yet that was the greatest threat in any battle.

  He was still by the rail when two hours later the first grey tentacles of light showed above the horizon far abeam and played across the faces of the men around him.

  Allday appeared with a fresh jug. "Coffee, Captain?" He held out the cup, his stocky body swaying at an angle with the deck.

  Bolitho sipped it slowly, feeling its rich heat burning into his stomach.

  To Gascoigne he said, "See that all our people get a hot drink before they douse the galley fires." To Inch he added, "We shall go to quarters in half an hour. It will help wake them up and drive the weariness from their bones."

  "Deck there! Land on th' lee bow!"

  He threw the cup to Aliday. "Aloft with you, Mr. Canyon! Report what you see, and lively with it!"

  Gossett ambled across the deck, his hands deep in the pockets of his misshapen watchcoat. "A fair landfall, sir."

  He sounded vaguely satisfied. "'Bout five mile distant, I would think."

  Canyon slithered down a backstay and blurted, "Islands, sir. Sou'west of us!"

  He realised that Bolitho had remained silent and added, "All overlapping, but there's a great hill on the nearest one." He rubbed his nose and added doubtfully, "Like a slab of cheese, sir."

  Gossett whispered, "Gawd Almighty!"

  Bolitho smiled grimly. "Never mind, Mr. Gossett. That was as close a description as fits the chart. A slab of cheese suits it exactly."

  He saw Inch stiffen and turned to see the commodore's bulky figure emerging beneath the poop ladder.

  He touched his hat. "We have sighted the islands, sir. I am about to send the hands to quarters." He paused, seeing the deep shadows around Pelham-Martin's eyes. "Have you had some coffee, sir?"

  Pelham-Martin walked unsteadily to the rail and gripped it firmly. "I do not want any." He turned his head, squinting at the low clouds. "Where is the Hermes?"

  "On station, sir." Bolitho stepped beside him to shield his face from the others. "She will be able to see your signals directly."

  "And the Dutchman?"

  "Not sighted her yet, sir."

  The small head seemed to twist in either direction quite independently of the massive frame beneath it.

  "What?" Pelham-Martin peered across the tilting main deck below him. "Where is she?" He was shouting. "She must be here!"

  Bolitho said, "We had to change tack twice during the middle watch, sir. Telamon's spars may be too old for such violent treatment in this wind. She probably retained her original course at a more favourable pace." He was speaking quietly, aware of the watching eyes nearby. "But Captain Farquhar will be safe enough. He will have had the lee of the land to protect his approach."

  Pelham-Martin did not seem to hear. He was staring at the sea as the growing light opened it up and displayed the hardening line of the horizon and the dark untidy cluster of land which seemed to rail from the plunging jib boom like weed.

  "Empty!" He groped inside his heavy coat as if to

  produce his silk handkerchief. "Nothing!"

  There was a click as a boy turned over the half-hour

  glass beside the compass.

  Bolitho nodded to Inch. "Send the hands to quarters and clear for action."

  The commodore stared at him, his eyes bare and desperate. "Just two ships!" He fell silent as the drums started to rattle and the seamen and-marines poured on deck and scampered to their stations.

  Bolitho said, "They will suffice, sir."

  He could almost feel the man's anxiety. It was just as if the sight of this vast expanse of tossing sea and the huddle of islands had finally brought home the reality of his responsibility. In a moment he might lose his last shred of control. Just as young Gascoigne had described his own fear of his first watch on deck unaided, when everything appeared to be running away with him, beyond human control.

  He said harshly, "It is a fine day for it, sir. And if the French are here they'll be asle
ep most likely when Spartan pays them a call."

  Bolitho realised the thumps and bangs below decks had stopped, and when he looked down over the rail he saw the men at their stations, the only movement being made by the ship's boys as they scurried from gun to gun, sanding the decks as they ran.. The gunners would need plenty of grip for their feet if the wind rose further.

  Pelham-Martin said tonelessly, "Would you send someone for my sword?" He fumbled awkwardly with the heavy coat and then removed it.

  Bolitho saw he was wearing the same gleaming dress coat in which he had come aboard. In which he had sat out the night.

  One of the seamen on the larboard battery had been about to tie his neckerchief around his ears. Seeing the 258

  commodore he waved it over his head and yelled, "A cheer, lads! Hurrah."

  Bolitho said quietly, "You see, sir? They look to you today!"

  Then he turned away, unable to watch as Allday

  buckled the sword around the commodore's huge waist. His face seemed to have crumpled at the sound of that solitary cheer, and his expression was that of a man within the shadow of a gibbet.

  15

  THE MESSAGE

  Bolitho straddled his legs and waited until the deck had completed another steep roll and then raised the telescope to his eye. In the fast-growing light he could see the nearest island, its ragged crest grey against the low clouds, and beyond it, overlapping like the prow of some ancient galley, a smaller islet, below which the sea lifted and boiled in continuous movement. Reefs most likely, he thought. Or parts of the cliff worn away by the years to fall as one more natural barrier against would-be intruders.

  He lowered the glass, wiping his eye with the back of his sleeve. Around and below him the seamen waited by their guns, watching his face, or merely staring at the sealed ports in readiness for the next order.

  Pelham-Martin said suddenly, "Surely to God something will happen! Maybe the Spartan is aground!" He turned his small head and peered at Bolitho with something like shock.

  "We'll know soon, sir." He walked a few paces clear, unwilling to listen in case his own reserve of confidence should fade also.

  "Sirl" Canyon had his hands cupped over his ears. "Gunfire, sir!"

  Bolitho looked at him doubtfully. But there was no mistaking the expression on the boy's face. He was young and untroubled beyond his own duties, and his ears must have caught the far off sounds before anyone else, in spite of the wind.

  "Mr. Inch! Pass the order to load! But do not run out 'til I give the word!"

  To Gossett he called, "Mark our course well. The reefs sweep right out from that far headland."

  The master nodded. "I've noted 'em, sir. We've a good four mile as yet."

  "Deck there!" The masthead lookout's voice seemed puny in the din of wind and thrashing canvas. "There's a ship break-in' from the channel!"

  Bolitho gripped his hands behind him to control the rising excitement. "Mr. Inch! Alter course two points to lee'rd! Pipe the hands to the braces!"

  Then he snatched a telescope from Canyon's hands and peered at the clump of islands. They seemed to be pitching like flotsam across the spray-dappled glass, but even as his eye began to water from strain he saw the edge of the slabsided island harden and darken, and where there had been a sliver of broken sea something was moving. A ship.

  He heard Gossett call, "Course sou'-west by south!"

  Inch stared at him. "It's a frigate!" A muscle jumped in his cheek as a sullen rumble of cannon fire echoed across the water. "By God, the Frogs are there!'

  Bolitho pushed past him. "Shake out those reefsl And set the forecourse and t'gallants!"

  He walked to Pelham-Martin's side as Inch dashed to the rail with his speaking trumpet. "Well, sir, there are some in the bag today."

  He watched the men dashing out along the yards, the immediate response from every stay and shroud as first one then another of the topgallant sails filled to the wind, the thrust making itself felt to the very keel. With the wind almost dead astern the ship seemed to be leaning forward and down, and when the great spread of canvas bellied out from the forecourse Bolitho thought he could hear the sea parting across the bows like water in a millrace.

  "You may run out, Mr. Inch!" He watched narrowly as Pelham-Martin craned over the rail to watch the long twelve-pounders squeaking towards the open ports, their crews yelling to each other as if it was another contest.

  Inch shouted, "The frigate's cleared the channel, sir!"

  Bolitho watched the distant ship, her shape shortening as she turned slowly from the nearest spur of land. With the wind driving down from the north-east she had little room to tack, and being so close inshore she might be in irons and driven back into the channel if she mistimed it. He saw her yards swinging wildly, the spray leaping above her raked stem as he settled once more, this time on converging course with Hyperion.

  A hasty glance astern told him that Fitzmaurice needed no instruction as to what was needed. The Hermes was already spreading her topgallants, and he could see her leaning sickeningly to the press of canvas as she swung purposefully across the Hyperion's wake. Like the jaws in a trap. When the other French ships broke from the channel they would have to pass between two prepared and eager captains.

  He snapped, "Alter course another point! Steer south west!"

  He saw Stepkyne glance up at him from the main deck and then turn his head to speak with a gunner's mate. And there was Tomlin, already pushing his men to the braces again, his voice carrying like a trumpet above the bedlam of sea and canvas.

  Now there was more gunfire, louder than before, and Bolitho twisted his head to watch as several columns of water burst close to the frigate's counter.

  "Deck there! 'Nother ship comin' out!"

  Pelham-Martin was clinging to the rail, his eyes half closed with concentration.

  Bolitho said, "Now we shall see!" He ran to the lee side to study the first ship while she clawed away from the treacherous line of reefs and then tilted steeply on the larboard tack. It was a dangerous manoeuvre. At any second she could be all aback and at the mercy of the reefs, but her captain had no choice but to fight clear and give himself searoom.

  Bolitho lifted his hand. "Steady as you go!" His eyes watered in the spray and wind but he kept them fixed on the other ship. Two miles only separated them. He heard the grate of handspikes as the gun captains increased their elevation, and wondered momentarily if Fox was remembering the hill battery as he managed his own section on the lower deck.

  Inch shouted wildly, "Sir, sir! The second ship is the

  Spartan!" He sounded stunned. "She's signalling!"

  Bolitho turned away and looked at Pelham-Martin. If Spartan was close astern of the enemy it meant one thing only. There were no other ships to attack.

  Carlyon yelled, "From Spartan, sir! One enemy ship to the south-west!"

  He swung round, his mind grappling with the signal as a lookout shouted, "'Nother ship on th' laboard bow, sir!"

  Inch squinted up at the masthead. "What the hell is he talking about?"

  But Bolitho pointed with the telescope, his voice bitter. "She must have found her way through another channel! Look, man, you can-see her topmasts!"

  He felt fingers locked into his sleeve and swung round to stare into the commodore's wind-reddened face.

  "Do you see what you've done? She's escaping, and you cannot catch her now!" He was almost screaming. "I'll see you hung for this, damn you! Damn you!"

  Bolitho tore his arm free. "Alter course three points to larboard! Steer south by west!"

  The men threw themselves on the braces again, as with her sails booming and wrenching at the yards the Hyperion swung heavily towards the second islet, against which the Frenchman's topsails seemed to shine as if in one final mockery.

  The enemy frigate seeing the Hyperion swing back on her original course turned towards the open sea. Her attempted escape could have been a ruse to allow her consort to gain the other channel, or her
captain might still have believed he had a chance for his own ship. But as the Spartan tacked dangerously around the reefs the Hermes began to wear ship. For those with time to watch she was an impressive sight, her sails very white against the dull clouds and her tall side shining with spray as she presented her double line of guns to the French frigate. Then she fired. It was at an extreme range, and when Bolitho turned his eyes from the other ship to look he guessed that Fitzmaurice had fired across more than a mile of tossing water. But it was enough. The frigate's foremast and bowsprit crumpled in the barrage, and as the wind took charge he saw the ripped canvas and broken rigging whipping about like things gone mad, while the ship, moments before a picture of grace and beauty, ploughed drunkenly into a deep trough between the waves and began to broach to.

  He turned back to look for the other vessel, and felt the anger and despair tugging at his throat as he saw her grow into sharp silhouette beyond the jutting prow of land.

  She was a two-decker, probably one of those damaged by Hyperion's blind broadside during the first fruitless attack on Las Mercedes. Now she was clearing the land, and if she got away, as well she might, Lequiller would soon know the failure of this attack and the weakness of Pelham-Martin's squadron.

  Gossett said harshly, "We can still catch 'im, sir!" But he sounded wretched.

  "Deck there!" Every eye went aloft. Surely nothing worse could happen? "Sail weatherin' the 'eadland!" A brief pause. "It's the Dutchman, sir!"

  Bolitho ran to the nettings and jammed his telescope tightly against his eye.

  The French ship was well away from the reefs now, but beyond her, her sails yellow in the strange light, he saw the other vessel. It was the Telamon. There was no mistaking that high poop and the shining splendour of her figurehead. She was close hauled and standing almost into the teeth of the wind, and in the jerking glass appeared to be touching the land itself.

  Inch muttered fiercely, "For God's sake, Mulder'll be aground if he's not careful!"

  Pelham-Martin seized Inch's glass. "What's happening? Is the Telamon going to engage?"

  Bolitho closed his telescope with a snap. He could feel the ship straining every spar and timber, and when he looked up he saw the hard-bellied sails gleaming like steel as the ship threw herself in pursuit.