For three days after leaving the smoking ruins of St. Clar he had gone over each detail again and again, trying to see thee short campaign with impartial eyes, to assemble the facts as they. would be viewed by an historian.
He bit his lip as he stared unwaveringly at the humped outline. Occupied and reoccupied a hundred times. Fought over and discarded, the island lay waiting for the next assault on its isolation. Now it was abandoned and derelict, with only the many dead to guard its barren heritage.
Herrick had joined him at the nettings. He said carefully, 'I wonder if we'll ever see it again, sir?'
Bolitho did not speak. He was watching the sloop Chanticleer, her sails and yards clearly etched against the dull cliffs as she drove close inshore. Bellamy must be thinking of his part in the capture of Cozar. The reckless excitement, the very impudence of their attack might seem mockeries to him now.
He realised that Herrick had said ,something and asked, `Did you wish to speak about the routine?'
Herrick's face softened slightly. 'Well, sir, as a matter of fact ..’
'Go ahead, Thomas.' Bolitho turned away from the island. 'I have been poor company of late. You must forgive me.' He had in fact hardly spoken to Herrick since leaving St. Clar. His officers must have respected his wishes to be left alone with his brooding, for on his rare walks on the quarterdeck they had been careful to leave the weather side vacant and undisturbed.
Herrick cleared his throat noisily. 'Have you spoken with the admiral this morning, sir?'
Bolitho smiled. The words had come blurting out, and he guessed that Herrick had been planning this interview for days.
'Mr. Rowistone is with him now, Thomas. Sir Edmund is very ill, that is all I can tell you at the moment.'
Poor Rowlstone, he thought. He was as much out of his depth with Pomfret as any unskilled seaman. The admiral certainly looked a bit better, but where his body was trying to rally, his mind seemed to stay unmoving and remote, blocked off by the shock and realisation which it still refused to accept.
Pomfret was like a living corpse. He allowed Gimlett to shave him and keep him clean. He opened his mouth to receive soup, or carefully cut meat like a child with no understanding, and he never said a word.
Herrick persisted, 'Look, sir, I must speak my mind! In my opinion you owe nothing to Sir Edmund, quite the reverse!' He gestured towards the Tenacious. 'Why not shift this responsibility to Captain Dash before we sight the fleet? He is the senior officer, it is unfair that you should have to carry him!'
Bolitho sighed. 'You have seen Sir Edmund, have you not?' Herrick nodded as he continued evenly, 'Would you take his last shred of honour and self-respect and stamp on it?' He shook his head. 'When we rejoin the fleet Sir Edmund will at least be under the protection of his flag and not carried to the reckoning like a trussed chicken for the pot!' He gripped his hands behind him. 'No, Thomas, IT have none of that!'
Herrick had his mouth open to argue, but closed it with a click as Bolitho swung towards the bows, his head on one side like a dog at a scent.
'Listen!' Bolitho seized the quarterdeck rail and leaned forward. 'It was more of a feeling, and yet . . .' He watched Herrick's face until it too showed understanding.
Herrick murmured, 'Thunder?' Their eyes met. 'Or gunfire?'
Bolitho cupped his hands. 'Mr. Inch! Get the royals on her!' He crossed to the binnacle even as the pipes shrilled to break the silence. 'Bring her up a point!' He waited, biting his lip, until the helmsman intoned, 'Course nor' by east, son!'
Bolitho said aloud, 'Where is the Harvester, for God's sake?'
Herrick was watching the startled seamen scrambling aloft in answer to the call. He said„'She's away up there on the larboard now, somewhere!'
Bolitho made himself walk slowly to Herrick's side. 'Well, it was no frigate, Thomas. That was heavier metal on the wind!'
When he peered over the quarter he noticed that the Tenacious was still on the same bearing, in spite of his own ship's extra canvas. He pounded the rail in time with his thoughts. If only they could get the filth and weed off her bottom the old Hyperion would soon show them something!
Herrick said suddenly, 'Could be a blockade runner, sir.'
'Unlikely.' Bolitho was staring at the dull streak where the horizon should have been. 'Lord Hood will have too much on his hands with his own evacuation to care much for enforcing a blockade elsewhere. It will be St. Clar multiplied ten thousand times over, Thomas.'
'Deck there! Sail fine on th' weather bow, sir!'
They stared up at the swaying masthead. Then Bolitho said
,quietly, 'We shall soon know now. Get up there, Thomas, and
report the moment you recognise the facts for me.' Midshipman Piper appeared as if by magic. 'Sir!
Harvester's signalling!'
Bolitho took a glass from its rack and peered along Piper's outstretched arm. The frigate was well out on the larboard bow, suddenly clear and sharp in the lens as some freak wind brushed away the wet haze like smoke.
Piper was shouting, 'Ships in sight to the nor'-east!' He paused and flipped through the pages of his book. 'Estimate six sail of the line!'
Bolitho looked aloft and abeam, his mind busy as it digested the frigate's information and slotted it into his own knowledge. The ships, whatever they were, were almost directly ahead of his own. They could not possibly be slower than Hyperion, so therefore it seemed most likely they were on the opposite tack and heading straight for him. -
Herrick called hoarsely, 'Deck there! It's a stem-chase, sir! Maybe five or six. sail of the line after one another!'
Bolitho glanced briefly at the Tenacious. 'Come down, Mr. Herrick!' He caught Inch's eye and snapped, 'General signal to our ships, Mr. Inch. "Prepare for battle!"
As the flags soared up the Hyperion's yards Herrick arrived with a thud beside him, by way of a backstay.
Bolitho looked at him gravely. 'Beat to quarters, and clear for action!'
Herrick touched his hat. 'Aye, aye, sir!' Then he grinned: 'Do you think we can snatch a prize from right under the noses of those other ships, sir?'
Bolitho did not smile. 'I think you will discover that the ship being chased is one of ours, Mr. Herrick!' Across the water he heard the mounting rattle of drums as the Tenacious beat to quarters. Dash' probably thought he was mad, and like Herrick imagined it impossible for the enemy to be at large already and in such strength.
The Hyperion's drummers took up the call, and as men poured from the hatchways and petty officers hurried to their stations yelling names' as they ran, Bolitho looked once more at Pomfret's flag as it flapped briskly from the mizzen.
When the clamour and noise died away Herrick hurried once more to the quarterdeck and reported, 'Cleared for action, sir!'
Bolitho was still looking at the masthead, his eyes thoughtful. Then he said, 'Hyperion has been on the fringe of things for too long, Thomas. That flag will ensure our proper place in affairs this morning!' He met Herrick's anxious stare and added, 'So you see, I could not transfer Sir Edmund to Tenacious even if I wanted tol'
Piper had climbed up to the maintop to get a better view. 'Deck there! The leading ship is wearing our colours, sir!'
Bolitho banged his palms together. 'Did I not say so, Thomas?' He was trembling inwardly with excitement. 'Have chain slings rigged to the yards immediately, and lower all boats for towing astern! We want no additional woodwork about our ears this day, Thomas!'
Herrick passed his order and stood aside as Tomlin's spare hands dashed aft to secure. the towing lines. A ball striking a boat while it lay inboard could fill the air with murderous splinters. But, nevertheless, he felt vaguely uneasy as first one and then the rest of the boats were swung outboard and dropped alongside. It was like casting off the last chance of safety, he thought.
Bolitho said distantly, 'Signal Chanticleer to take station to lee'rd. I do not want her to follow Snipe's fate.' He too was watching the boats being passed aft until they bobbed astern at the
full extent of their lines. 'The sloop can watch the battle and give us some encouragement!'
Herrick stared at him. How could he do it? To be so calm, so utterly indifferent to the approaching danger.
Bolitho did not see Herrick's expression. He was looking along the full length and breadth of his command. Each detail must be checked. Soon there would be no more time.
Every gun was manned, and each captain was busily looking over his crew and equipment, while back and forth to the magazine hatch the little powder monkeys ran with their shot carriers and charges, their faces engrossed and concentrated on their tasks, their only purpose in life to keep those muzzles supplied when the moment came.
The marines lined the nettings, bayonets fixed and muskets at the ready. And forward by the carronades he could see Lieutenant Shanks with his own , detachment, his back to the enemy as he stared aft to the quarterdeck.
Rooke and young Gordon were pacing together between their lines of guns, and Bolitho wondered momentarily what they were finding to discuss.
He glanced round the quarterdeck. The nerve centre which could decide the fate of every single life aboard. Caswell was by the nine-pounders, but his eyes were on Piper and Seton at the 'signal halyards. He was remembering his own past, Bolitho decided. It would be better if he thought of his future.
Bolitho could not bear the waiting. He said, 'I am going below, Mr. Herrick. Then I will see the admiral.' He glanced up at the masthead pendant. 'It will be an hour before we close with them.' He listened to the intermittent boom of gunfire. It was indeed like thunder.
Then he turned and climbed down the larboard ladder. The overall picture of preparation seemed to break up as he approached and individual faces stood out to bring back some past event or memory.
A grizzled gun-captain touched his forehead and said, 'Us'll show 'em today, sir!' He laid a horny hand on the breech of his twelve-pounder. 'Old Maggie 'ere is just bidin' 'er time!' The men around him grinned and nodded.
Bolitho paused and looked at them gravely. 'Do your best, lads.' He shook himself to drive away the realisation that before many hours some of these faces would be dead, and others praying for death to receive them. He said abruptly, 'Make sure they have their scarves around their ears. When we reach England I want them to hear the welcome they'll get!' It was terrible the way they laughed and cheered as he passed.
Almost blindly he ran down another ladder and stood for a few moments to allow his eyes to recover. On the lower gundeck it seemed like night after the grey light above. But soon now those ports would fly open and the guns would make this low-beamed place shudder with the hammers of hell.
Inch was now at his station with the big twenty-fourpounders, and was actually grinning as he strode to meet his captain.
Bolitho said, 'Do not lose contact with the upper battery. And try to prevent your gunners from getting too excited. We are depending on you today!'
Inch nodded. 'Midshipman Lory is with me, sir. He can keep me informed.'
Bolitho saw the double line of guns, the eyes of their crews glittering in the gloom as they peered towards him.
He called briefly, 'Good luck, lads!'
He glanced at the red-painted sides and decks. They might help to hide the blood, but the sights would be bad enough. He saw the midshipman watching him and recalled his own terrible experience in his first ship. Almost thirteen years old, and he had been serving on the lower gundeck of a similar ship to Hyperion. Perhaps the very horror had been too unreal to unhinge him, he thought vaguely. There could be no other reason.
Bolitho was grateful to return to the daylight and the damp air. But as he walked aft into his cabin he wondered what he should do with Pomfret. What might it do to his mind if he was shut below in the orlop?
Rowlstone stood by the windows, staring listlessly at the Tenacious. He asked, 'Shall I go to my station, sir?'
Bolitho did not answer immediately. He walked to the open door of his sleeping cabin and stared past Fanshawe's drooping figure beside the cot. Pomfret was propped almost to a sitting position, his chest bared in the stuffy air, his eyes moving back and forth in time with a deckhead lantern.
Bolitho spoke very quietly, 'We are about to engage the enemy, sir. Do you have any orders at present?'
The pale eyes stopped and settled on his face.
Fanshawe said helplessly, 'I don't think he understands, sir.'
Bolitho said slowly, 'Sir Edmund, the French are out!' But Pomfret's eyes did not even blink.
From behind him he heard Rowlstone say, 'I'll have him carried to the sickbay, sir. I can keep an eye on him there.'
Bolitho caught his arm. 'A moment!' He was watching Pomfret's hands. Like two claws they had fastened to the sides of the cot, the knuckles bone-white with strain. Then his mouth opened very slightly, but no words came from it.
Bolitho looked straight into Pomfret's eyes, holding them, willing him to speak. For just an instant he saw a small understanding, a kind of defiance, like that of a trapped animal facing an enemy.
He said quietly, 'You stay with him here, Mr. Fsnshawe.' Pomfret's fingers relaxed slightly, and he added, 'I will keep the admiral informed whenever I can.' Then he turned on his heel and walked back to the quarterdeck.'
The distant firing had stopped, and as he levelled his glass he saw that the ships were clearly visible now. The one being pursued was a seventy-four, like Hyperion, and as she tacked slightly to windward he saw that her outline was marred by the loss of her mizzen. But she had managed to rig a crude jurymast, and her ensign was streaming bravely above the pockmarked sails as more flags broke from her yards.
Piper shrilled, 'She's the Zenith, seventy-four, Cap'n Stewart, sir!'
Bolitho nodded, but kept his glass trained beyond the battle-scarred ship towards the jumbled mass of white topsails. He counted six enemy vessels before he had to lower the glass to rest his eye. They were in a ragged line, and were already tacking slowly to windward, their hulls leaning over in the pressure.
Herrick lowered his glass and said, 'They have the windgage, sir. There's no doubt about it.'
Bolitho looked round the quarterdeck. 'General signal. "Form line of battle ahead and astern of the admiral!" '
He ignored the burst of feverish activity at the halyards. He knew Stewart vaguely. He was a good captain, and was already tacking his ship to face the enemy. Astern, Dash was acknowledging the signal, and in minutes Bolitho saw the yards begin to swing as the Tenacious manoeuvred comfortably astern of the flagship.
He tried not even to think the word. Flagship. Pomfret was incapable of speaking, let alone directing a battle. And it was eleven years since Bolitho had been in a real sea-fight. At the Saintes he had commanded a small frigate, and that great battle had been fought and won against an enemy equal both in strength and experience. He made himself look towards the enemy. Two to one. Even Rooke might consider the odds unfavourable.
Herrick said, 'We will pass larboard to larboard, sir. We cannot hope to tack across their course now.'
Bolitho nodded. To windward lay Cozar, it seemed as if they were doomed by that place, no matter what they did. Now it acted as a barrier to cut their chances of tacking to windward. If they continued as they were the French ships would pass down their larboard side, would pound them to submission before they could turn and fight again.
He snapped, 'General signal. "Shorten sail!" ' The Zenith had completed her tack and was now leading. the line.. Through his glass he could see the mauling the enemy bowchasers had given her, the great scars across her poop. He said calmly, 'We will cut the enemy line in half, gentlemen! That way we will take the weather-gage, and give him a moment of alarm!'
He saw Herrick and Ashby exchanging anxious glances and added, 'It will mean facing three broadsides instead of six.'
Bolitho turned as Allday padded from the poop carrying his best coat and hat. The men around the quarterdeck were all watching in silence as he threw his old seagoing coat aside and slipped
his arms into the other one. It was something he had always done before a fight. Madness or conceit? He could not be sure. Perhaps, unlike his predecessor in Hyperion, he did not wish to leave anything worthwhile behind should he die today. The stupidity of his racing thoughts helped to steady him, and the watching seamen and marines saw him give a small smile.
Allday held. out the sword and asked quietly, 'Must I stay with the admiral, Captain?' He looked wretchedly at the crouching gunners. 'My place is here.'
'Your place is where I choose, Allday!' Then Bolitho nodded. 'I will know where you are if I need you, never fret!' 'Both ships have acknowledged, sir!' Piper was shouting, his voice very loud in the silence.
'Good. Now bend on another signal, Mr. Piper, but do not
hoist it, "Take in succession and re-form line of battle!" ' He withdrew his sword and turned it over in his hands. The steel felt like ice. To the deck at large he added, 'There will be one final signal. You will keep it flying until I order otherwise.'
Piper peered up from his slate, his face pinched with strain and concentration. 'I'm ready, sir!'
Bolitho looked evenly towards the approaching ships. Not long now.
He said, 'When we break their line you will hoist "Engage the enemy closer!"'
Then he returned the sword to its scabbard with a snap.
'And now, Mr. Herrick, you may give the order to load and run out.' For a moment longer he held Herrick's gaze. He wanted to grip his hand. To say something personal or trivial. But the moment was already past.
Herrick touched his hat and then raised his speaking trumpet. He had seen the pain in Bolitho's eyes. He did not have to be told anything.
As he shouted his order the deck seemed to come alive. Ports were hauled open, and as one captain after another raised his hand.Rooke roared, 'Run out!' Then he too turned aft and looked towards Bolitho.
Form Line Of Battle! Page 31