Enemy In Sight!

by Alexander Kent

  "Well, Captain Poulain?"

  "I will see you damned for this!" Poulain took a pace forward but was restrained by the marines. "You call yourself a captain! You are not fit to live!"

  Bolitho swung round, and as the marines stepped aside, lifted the pistol and fired, the crash of the shot making more than one seaman call out in alarm and horror. The blindfolded figure jerked back against the nettings and then fell heavily on the gangway. His legs kicked only once and then he lay still.

  Bolitho turned again towards the quarterdeck, the pistol smoke drifting past him as he watched the French captain for several seconds.

  Poulain's voice sounded as if he was being throttled. "France will not forget this! You are a butcher! But you can shoot me and all of my men, and it will do you no good!" He struggled forward against the marines' grip. "I spit on you and your ship!" Then he twisted round as two more marines appeared at the head of the gangway.

  Bolitho watched his sudden anguish as he said, "Not the rest of your men, Captain, but your son!"

  He gestured towards Lieutenenat Hicks as the young French officer was led, blindfolded, to halt above the other man's still figure.

  "Another pistol, Mr. Hicks!" As he received it he had to grip it with all his strength to stop it from shaking.

  "You have one minute." He raised the pistol, seeing the French lieutenant's chest across the barrel, while the rest of the ship and the motionless marines blurred in haze. Very deliberately he thumbed back the hammer, the sound making one of the marines flinch as if he had been struck.

  "Stop!" The cry was torn from Poulain's throat. "Do not shoot! In the name of mercy, do not kill my son!"

  Bolitho remained by the nettings but lowered the pistol slightly. "I am still waiting, Captain!"

  Poulain shouted, "I 'ave my written orders with me. They are sewn in my coat!"

  Bolitho swayed and pressed his arm against his forehead. Then he hard Farquhar's voice, as if from a great distance. "I have them!"

  Bolitho handed the pistol to Hicks and walked slowly towards the quarterdeck.

  "Thank you, Captain. I have no pride in what I have done. But as you were quick to tell me, it is war. Now you will be taken ashore and placed in the care of the Dutch governor."

  He watched the French lieutenant being led below again and added coldly, "When next you are tempted to kill helpless people, maybe you can find some worth in this lesson today."

  Poulain eyed him with undisguised hatred. "You are a murderer no less than I!"

  Bolitho replied emptily, "Not quite, Captain." He gestured towards the gangway. "You may get up now, Allday, it is finished."

  A great gasp of astonishment rose from the watching seamen as the corpse struggled to its feet between the two grinning marines.

  "As you see, Captain, he . is little the worse for his performance!" Then he turned away, sickened at the dismay and shame on Poulain's face.

  Herrick stepped from beneath the poop and reached his side in three strides. "That was a close call." He took Bolitho's arm and guided him past the grinning and relieved seamen. "I had no idea, nor did any of us."

  Bolitho listened to the laughing and shouting behind him and thought of the other captain's stricken features, "It was not a task I enjoyed, Thomas."

  He paused by the ladder and studied his hands, expecting to see them shaking violently.

  Herrick asked, "Would you have shot the lieutenant if Poulain had resisted further?" He watched the prisoners being led to the waiting boats. "Could you have done it?"

  Bolitho looked past him. "I do not know, Thomas." He shook his head. "In God's name, I do not know!"

  17

  OF ONE COMPANY

  Commodore Mathias Pelham-Martin lay quite still in his cot, his eyes fixed on some part of the deckhead as Bolitho outlined what he had discovered from Poulain's orders. If anything, the cabin was hotter than it had been some four hours earlier and Bolitho found time to wonder how the commodore could endure such added discomfort.

  But as he spoke he was thinking more of the other captains and of his own disappointment when together they had read and re-read the Frenchman's curtly worded instructions. No wonder Lequiller had been chosen for this task. He was indeed as wily as a fox. There was no mention at all of the final destination, nor was any port named or described. Poulain and the captain of the other damaged ship were to complete minimum repairs and sail with all haste to rendezvous with Vice-Admiral Lequiller's squadron at a position one hundred miles to the northwest of Cape Ortegal, the very comer of the Spanish mainland. As he -had studied the written instructions Bolitho had found little consolation in his own early assessment and solution of Lequiller's secret plan.

  If the French admiral intended to enter a Spanish port and uphold Perez in an immediate rebellion, then he must be very sure of which harbour was the most suitable, both for himself and to produce the necessary sympathetic reaction from the local population. But this rendezvous was far out in the Bay of Biscay, and there was a choice of many such ports, from La Corufia in the north-west to Santander which lay a mere hundred miles from the French frontier.

  Pelham-Martin said suddenly, "So you were wrong after all, Bolitho. You still do not know where Lequiller is bound."

  Bolitho studied him impassively. "There is a chance we can bring him to action if we can reach the rendezvous in time, sir. We know his intention, if not the final destination. I believe the former more important. By catching him prior to any contact with the land we will have destroyed his chances completely."

  The commodore closed his eyes. "We do not have that time, but even supposing there was a chance of reaching the rendezvous as you suggest, Lequiller may have sailed on without waiting for the damaged ships to meet with him. I see no point in discussing it further."

  "I think it is a chance we have to take, sir."

  "I will not discuss it any more, Bolitho!" PelhamMartin's eyes flicked open as pipes shrilled along the main deck and feet padded across the poop overhead.

  "What is that?"

  Bolitho felt strangely relaxed and devoid of tension. "I have ordered all hands aft, sir. In view of what we have learned, and the need for haste, I must use my authority as senior captain."

  Pelham-Martin stared at him in disbelief. "You what?"

  "You have been wounded, sir, and as I have stated before, you should have the injury attended to without further delay." He watched the other man calmly. "Under the present circumstances, however, I see no alternative but to relieve you until such time as you are able to reassume overall command."

  "Do you realise what you have said?" Pelham-Martin's breathing grew faster and faster. "If you take this step, you will place yourself open to arrest and trial." His eyes were watering with concentration. "And I will see to it that you suffer the exact penalty which you so richly deserve!"

  Bolitho waited in silence. But Pelham-Martin seemed to have exhausted himself in the brief outburst and lay quite still but for the quick breathing beneath the sheet.

  He turned on his heel and left the cabin. Framed against the stern windows the other captains were still waiting for him, their faces hidden in shadow.

  Then Herrick asked quickly, "Is it done?"

  "I have told the commodore of my intention." Bolitho picked up his hat and walked over to the bulkhead. "It is fair to tell you that he was entirely opposed to my plan." He saw Fitzmaurice turn away, his shoulders sagging with anxiety. Then he reached up and removed his sword from the rack and moved with it to the door. He paused and looked back at them.

  "When you accepted my proposals this morning you were not then aware of the real difficulties which lay ahead. I intend to make sail within two hours. I would not blame any of you should you decide to remain at anchor." Then he left the cabin and walked out into the sunlight.

  Inch touched his hat, his face set in a worried frown. "All hands laid aft sir!"

  Bolitho nodded and crossed slowly to the quarterdeck rail. So many times he had ma
de this short walk. To watch the seamen at drills or to supervise the making or furling of sails. To witness punishment or merely be alone with his thoughts.

  He saw his officers lined against the opposite side, the paraded marines, the minute drummer boys, and Captain Dawson with Hicks beside him.

  He removed his hat and placed it beneath his arm, and then looked along the length of his command. The gangways and main deck were covered with men and upturned faces, while others clung to the shrouds or stood on hatch covers so that they should see him.

  In the silence, and as his eyes passed over the waiting men below him, individual faces stood out for the merest seconds before they merged once more into the mass. Some of those who had been pressed and had come aboard lost and terrified, and now stood shoulder to shoulder with the seasoned men, and were as tanned and confident as any. The grizzled tin miner who with nearly forty other Cornishmen had walked half across the county to volunteer for service in the Hyperion. Not because they had ever met Bolitho, but because of his name, one which was known and trusted, and as familiar to many of them as the port of Falmouth itself.

  He saw his brother standing beside Tomlin, his greying hair moving lightly in the breeze, and wondered what he must be thinking and feeling at this moment of their lives.

  Of his own future when once the ship returned to England and the constant threat of the , gibbet becoming stark reality? Or of his son, who now stood so grave-faced beside the other midshipmen, the living reminder of what might have been? Perhaps after all he was merely watching Bolitho with nothing but pity or indifference? Seeing him as the younger brother and reawakening the old contest between them?

  Gossett cleared his throat uncomfortably and Bolitho realised he must have been standing in silence for over a minute.

  He said, "When we came out here to seek the enemy and destroy him we had little but uncertainty, and more than enough to discourage any man. But not all the time has been wasted. Now you all know me, and I many of you." He paused, feeling the hopelessness crowding across his thoughts. "We are leaving this island today and giving chase once again." He saw several men exchanging glances. "Not westward this time, but to the east'rd, and to Spain! We will bring Lequiller to grips, fight him on open water in the manner which English seamen understand!" Someone raised a cheer but fell silent again as he added harshly, "It took six weeks to reach here from the Bay of Biscay. Six weeks, because we were groping and searching along the way. But we will drive east'rd and reach Spain in thirty days!" He heard some of the seamen gasp with astonishment. "Thirty days, if we have to tear the sticks out of her to do it!"

  He gripped his hands behind him, feeling the sweat across his wrists.

  "Our commodore is still too ill to manage our affairs. .So, by the authority invested in me, I am assuming command." He ignored the flurry of excitement which ran across the main deck like wind over a cornfield. "Carry on, Mr. Tomlin!"

  As the bosun loosened the halyards and the marines stamped to attention Bolitho heard feet moving across the deck at his back. When he turned he saw Herrick and the other captains forming into line and removing their hats as very slowly the big broad pendant was hauled down once more.

  In the quick glance it was impossible to tell which captain had made the first move to join him on deck. But they were here, and in front of the ship's company as well as those of the nearest vessels. And by doing so had openly allied themselves to him, and had deprived themselves also of any defence should he be proved guilty for his actions.

  Tomlin came aft, the pendant rolled beneath one massive arm. He handed it to Carlyon, who received it with equal gravity.

  Bolitho leaned on the rail and added slowly, "When we run Lequiller to earth it will be a hard fight, but that you know. I cannot ask you, to give of your best, for you will know I am depending on it." He straightened his back and said, "You must not falter. England will be waiting to reward you . . ."

  He broke off, unable to find any more words. To see them watching him, listening to his empty hopes and promises, visualising honour and glory when they should be thinking of the odds against such reward, pared away his determination like the blade of a knife.

  A voice shattered the silence and made him turn, startled and off guard.

  ""A cheer for the cap'n, ladsl An' another for the old Hyperionl"

  Bolitho could not hear what else the unknown man said, for at that moment the air seemed to quake from the force of the wild cheering which echoed across the dancing whitecaps to be held and taken up from the other ships close by..

  He swung away from the rail and saw Herrick grinning at him, and even Fitzmaurice looked confident and strangely excited. It was all the madness of a moment, but as the cheers swept over him from every side and Herrick stepped from the assembled officers to pump his hand, he could not control his own emotion, even gratitude, to all of them. For their simple trust, and so many other things which he could feel but not explain.

  Farguhar shouted above the noise, "Whatever the end to all this, it has been a fair beginning!"

  But Herrick was more definite. "We'll show 'em, by God!" He was grinning so widely his eyes had almost disappeared. "With you in the van we'll give 'em a lesson to remember!"

  Bolitho looked at each of them in turn. "Thank you, gentlemen." He tried again. "It will be a hard chase and little rest for any of us. I doubt that we will have time to meet again before we close with the enemy." He paused, very conscious of his last words. Some of them would never meet again if by achieving his demands they eventually met with Lequiller's powerful squadron. "But we know each other's ways now, and there is little else needed in a sea fight but to drive alongside an enemy and keep him there. Our people will do the rest. I only hope we are not too late."

  Fitzmaurice said quietly, "I'd rather face the French than a court martial." He shrugged. "But slow or not, the Hermes will give you every support when the time comes."

  Bolitho shook hands with each one in turn. "Go back to your people and tell them what we are about. We will weigh at four bells." He followed them down the ladder to the entry port and raised his hat as one by one they climbed into their waiting boats.

  As Herrick made to leave he said quietly, "I cannot thank you enough, Thomas. This morning I was near to madness. Tomorrow, who can tell?" He smiled and then stood aside to allow Herrick to leave. "But at this moment I am grateful to you."

  Herrick nodded slowly. "Take care. You obtained me my first command." He grinned. "Now I'll be content only with a knighthood!"

  The pipes twittered again and he was gone.

  Inch said, "I've not had a chance to say how I feel about your loss, sir."

  Bolitho looked at him gravely. "Then say nothing, Mr. Inch. For both our sakes."

  Inch watched him walk aft to the poop and wondered.

  "Thirty days, eh?" Gossett ambled across to him. "There'll be precious little sleep for you, I'm think-in'."

  Inch shook himself from his thoughts. "And I'll not stir on deck without calling the master, Mr. Gossett!"

  Halfway through the afternoon watch Bolitho returned to the quarterdeck and stood watching the land, his mind exploring the past weeks, the hopes and frustrations which had been constant companions. Around him he could feel the ship coming alive again, and from forward the steady clank of the capstan with an accompaniment from the shantyman's fiddle. And Tomlin's powerful voice raised above the tune as he mustered his men at their stations. It was a very old shanty which had found its beginning in the West Country, where most of the Hyperion's company had originally started life. As they moved busily about the decks and along the yards high overhead some of them were probably thinking of it now, Bolitho thought. Spain was a long, long way from Devon or Cornwall, but it was still better than the other side of the Atlantic.

  He turned as Inch crossed the quarterdeck and touched his hat.

  "Anchor's hove short, sir."

  "Very well." Bolitho glanced over towards the Impulsive and at the activ
ity on her yards. Beyond her the hulk of the Telamon lay as a reminder of what had gone before, and a grim warning to all of them. Along the waterfront he could see the silent watchers, and wondered if de Block was there also. He had come aboard an hour earlier to pay his respects and to offer his thanks. for the captured frigate. Neither had mentioned the fact that if Holland was drawn into the war as an enemy again the ship might be called to action against the donors. That too was part of what had gone before and had no place between them.

  De Block had handed him a small and finely carved model of a Dutch man-of-war. "To remind you, Captain. To give your son perhaps?"

  Bolitho had seen him over the side and had watched him rowed back to his lonely existence where he would end his days. It was to be hoped he at least would live the rest of that life in peace.

  He straightened his shoulders and said curtly, "Carry on, Mr. Inch! Get the ship under way, if you please."

  With the signal to up anchor streaming at her yards the Hyperion broke free of her moorings and swung heavily from the thrust of the steady wind. Bolitho gripped the nettings as the ship canted over and lifted his head to watch the topmen strung out above the deck, their arms working in fierce unison as more and more canvas bellied out from the yards. The men at the braces needed no urging, and with her anchor swinging clear of the water the ship went about and gathered way towards the last headland and the dark blue lines of the horizon beyond.

  As she pushed steadily abeam of the hill battery Bolitho saw the Dutch flag dipping in salute, and then turned to watch the other ships spreading their topsails and edging clear of the anchorage in obedience to his signal.

  Hermes, Impulsive and the lithe Spartan. The last to clear the headland was the little sloop, her hull almost awash as she fought clear of the reefs before tacking busily to windward of the depleted squadron.

  It was not much of a squadron, he thought. But at that particular moment he knew he would not have changed it for a fleet.