ENEMY IN SIGHT

14. AFT, THE MOST HONOUR…

As his barge came to rest alongside the crude wooden piles of the jetty Bolitho climbed from the sternsheets and then paused to stare back at the bay. Pelham-Martin's squadron had anchored just two hours earlier, but even in that short time a change in the weather was apparent. The sky was hidden by a film of pale cloud which distorted the afternoon sunlight into an angry glare and painted the irregular wavecrests with a harsh bronze hue. When he shaded his eyes to study the ships he noted the way they strained at their cables, as if fearful of the land's nearness.

Boats plied busily back and forth to the ships, while along the coast road and jetty parties of seamen waited to lower freshly filled water casks and hastily gathered fruit, before tramping inland again to collect another load.

Inch and Gossett clambered up beside him and stood in the swirling dust clouds which covered their faces and clothing in a matter of seconds.

The master said hoarsely, "Wind's still steady from the nor'-east, sir." He shook his head. "I'll be 'appier when we puts to sea again."

Bolitho followed his gaze and saw the waves leaping and breaking across the protective necklace of reefs to the eastern side of the bay.

"I agree."

He turned and strode along the dusty road towards the blurred outline of the governor's residence. He walked fast, aware of the others hurrying behind him, of the needling urgency in his mind. For twenty-four hours the ships had driven back to St. Kruis under all available sail, and while he had waited fretting and uncertain of the commodore's final decision, Pelham-Martin had gone ashore to see de Block accompanied only by Mulder of the Telamon.

When the Hyperion had dropped anchor Bolitho had seen that the missing sloop was already moored below the headland. Her commander having failed to locate the Spartan, to return to St. Kruis was the obvious course to take. But it was time gone. Time which might have been used to send her speeding with all haste to alert other, stronger forces of Legniller's possible intentions.

Stall groups of islanders stood in the doorways of their houses and shacks as they hurried past. There were few smiles or greetings, this time, and most of them seemed to be watching the sea beyond the reef.

In another month the first hurricane would come, and these same people would have more to contend with than the affairs of war. And a war of others' making, for a cause they did not understand or share, could only add to their worries and anxieties.

They reached the welcome shelter of the wide stone entrance and Inch asked breathlessly, "Will Mr. Selby stay _ down here, sir?"

Bolitho stopped to face them. When the message had at last arrived on board to say that the commodore required all captains, first lieutenants and sailing masters to report to him at once he had known a decision had been reached. He should have anticipated that Pelham-Martin would want to meet the one man whom Bolitho had suggested as a pilot to guide the frigate between the reefs, but the summons came as a shock nevertheless.

He was there now, three steps below Inch and Gossett, his face calm and immobile as he waited for Bolitho to reply.

"Yes. He can wait here." Bolitho added, "He might not be required just yet."

He saw Fitzmaurice and his two officers hurrying up the road towards him.

"Well, let us not delay any longer."

As he entered the long room above the waterfront he could feel his palms sweating badly, yet the place was cool after the hot, dusty road. Every moment his brother was confronted by others, the odds of being discovered mounted accordingly.

He nodded vaguely to those already present, only half aware of their greetings or remarks. The commanders of the two sloops were conversing in low tones by the window, and he saw Farquhar with his first lieutenant studying a chart on the table.

A native girl with a loaded tray moved to Bolitho's side. He took a glass and sipped slowly. It was some sort of wine, and as cold as ice.

Inch also took one and smiled shyly at the servant girl who was watching him with unblinking admiration.

Fitzmaurice came into the room banging dust from his coat, his voice suddenly loud in the stillness. He coughed awkwardly and beckoned to the servant who, still smiling at Inch, crossed reluctantly with her tray.

The other door opened and Peiham-Martin walked slowly and heavily to the table. He was accompanied by de Block and Mulder, and the latter looked strained and on edge as he waited for Pelham-Martin to speak.

Bolitho watched him carefully. The commodore's movements were slow and ponderous, but his eyes which fastened now on the commander er of the second sloop seemed nervous and agitated.

"Very well, Appleby." He lifted a fat envelope from his coat pocket. "Here are my despatches. You will take the Nisus to sea immediately and hand them to the first senior officer you can." As he held out the envelope to the sloop's captain, Bolitho saw that it was shaking badly. "A squadron of the Channel Fleet if possible, but if not, then on to Plymouth with all the speed you can muster!"

The officer thrust the envelope inside his coat and turned on his heel. Just for a few brief moments he allowed his. eyes to stray across the others around him, as if he was seeing them all for the last time.

Pelham-Martin watched him until he had vanished through the doorway, and Bolitho wondered if even now he was thinking of recalling him, of withdrawing those despatches which might so easily spell his ruin.

"I have called you together, gentlemen." Pelham-Martin cleared his throat and took a quick swallow of wine. "For a last conference before we sail."

There was a quick murmur of speculation and he added, "With the little information that we have, I can see no alternative but to accept the plan put forward by Captain Bolitho." He lowered his eyes and two small droplets of sweat ran down beneath his hair. "It now appears that this plan has more value than first showed itself." He looked slowly at de Block. "The governor of St. Kruis has informed me of the disappearance of his schooner, Fauna. She sailed with supplies to some neighbouring islands and has not returned." He looked at Bolitho before adding, "One of her calls was at the Isles of Pascua."

Bolitho said quietly, "I thought they were uninhabited?"

De Block nodded. "There is only a mission and a few fishermen. They are due to return here before the storms come again."

Pelham-Martin said, "Quite so. Now let us continue. There is much to do, and very little time left."

Bolitho was surprised by the sharpness in his tone. It was as if Pelham-Martin could not act fast enough now that he was committed.

"As soon as this meeting is concluded Captain Farquhar will weigh and proceed to the nor'-west. If he is to make this passage through the reefs it is essential for Spartan to be in position by first light tomorrow." Pelham-Martin looked at Bolitho again. "I will hoist my broad pendant in Hyperion, and together with Hermes we -will beat to the north-east of the islands. That will give us the wind-gage if and when the enemy breaks out." He glanced at the Dasher's captain. "Your sloop will patrol to the south'rd. If the enemy succeeds in escaping you will have to maintain contact as best you can."

He paused and sipped at his glass. "Questions?"

De Block asked, "You have made no mention of the Telamon?"

"That is true." Pelham-Martin studied the chart as he spoke. "I cannot further. order you to take station under my command. With the schooner lost, the Telamon is your one link with the outside world. Your only protection against privateers or pirates. With all respect, she is an old ship, and her days in the line of battle are long past."

Bolitho watched the two men, feeling the tension around him like a wall.

It was difficult to measure Pelham-Martin's true concern. He could still be looking for an excuse, some reason to give in a future defence. Without the Telamon's support, outdated and undergunned though she was, he might be able to justify any further retreat in the face of heavy odds.

De Block replied softly, "There is no doubt in my mind, or in that of her captain. When you saved St. Kruis from Lequiller all of us here knew we had a debt to repay. And should Lequi ler escape and return to his own country, then I think our future is doomed anyway. His country was reborn under a reign of terror. If he escapes to tell how we defied him, who can say what will become of us?"

Then he looked at Bolitho, his eyes suddenly sad. "Kapitein Mulder told me what you said. It seems our two countries will soon be at war again. If it comes, it comes, but I should like one small piece of honour to remember when all this is over."

Farquhar said, "Then if everything is settled, sir, perhaps I could meet this master's mate?"

His interruption seemed like a splash of cold water, but Bolitho felt it was welcome nevertheless. The sooner it was finished then the quicker they could get back to sea, if only to prolong the deception.

As his brother entered the room Bolitho pressed his spine against the chairback and tried not to watch him as he approached the table.

The commodore said, "I am told you can pilot the Spartan through the reefs on the western side of the islands?"

"Aye, Sir."

Farquhar leaned over the chart. "There are few marks, Mr. Selby." For once he was displaying his inner feelings, those of a captain about to entrust his ship, and possibly his career to a man entirely unknown to him.

They all watched as the master's mate traced a course with his finger.

"There's a good channel here, sir. Deep water, but with 248

two difficult ridges of reef. I' suggest that you have the boats. swung out in case the wind drops. We could warp her through under such circumstances." He rubbed his chin. "And we shall need two good leadsmen in the chains." He broke off, aware of Farquhar's searching stare. "Sir?"

Farquhar asked, "Are you sure you have never sailed under me before?"

"Quite certain, sir."

"I see." Farquhar still watched him thoughtfully. "Where did you serve to gather such knowledge?"

Bolitho gripped the arms of his chair, feeling the sweat gathering on his brow as he waited for Farquhar's expression to change to sudden recognition.

But the reply was calm and assured. "In the old Pegasus, Sir. We were doing a survey out here some years back."

Farquhar's frown faded. "Then you did not waste your time, Mr. Selby. Have you never considered seeking a commission?"

"I am content, sir." He bent over the chart again. "You know what they say, sir. Aft the most honour. But forrard the better men!"

For an instant Bolitho thought he had gone too far. Farquhar stepped back as if suddenly conscious of close contact with an inferior, his mouth tightened into a thin line.

Then he shrugged and gave a curt nod. "Do they indeed?"

Pelham-Martin stood up. "Then we are done here, gentlemen." He paused as if seeking some phrase which they might all remember. "If we find Lequiller see that your people fight bravely and with no thought of defeat." He lowered his glass to the table and stared at it without recognition. "Return to your ships and recall all boats immediately. If we are to clear the reef and claw to windward of Pascua then we must suffer no further delays. "

Bolitho crossed to the table as the other officers began to file from the room. "That was a wise decision, sir. And if I may say so, a brave one."

Pelham-Martin looked past him, his eyes opaque. "Damn you, Bolitho!" He did not raise his voice. "If you are mistaken about this place and what we might discover there, no amount of good intentions will save me." His eyes swivelled round and fixed on Bolitho's face. "Or you either. If, as I very much doubt, you live long enough, you will discover that bravery is not always sufficient. I hope, if that time ever comes, you will be equal to it!"

Bolitho picked up his hat. "Yes, sir."

As he made his way down the stairway he still retained a picture of Pelham-Martin in his mind, so that his words seemed to follow him like an epitaph.

Perhaps after all Pelham-Martin was more entitled to pity than respect for his authority. Unlike so many others he was desperately afraid. Not just of dying or making a mistake. But fear of failure and of showing his own uncertainty, and things which Bolitho could only try to imagine. Yet in all his career he must have realised his own weakness, but had seemingly allowed himself to be carried on and upward by a system he had failed to master and understand.

Earlier or later in his life it might not have mattered so much. But now, at this very moment in time, while the little Nisus spread her sails and gathered way from the bay, he could see nothing but complete disgrace, and worse, the scorn of those he had tried for so long to emulate.

Inch asked, "Are you ready, sir?"

Bolitho glanced along the jetty and saw Farquhar speaking with his first lieutenant while they waited for their boat to arrive. His brother was standing a little apart, arms folded, his eyes on the distant frigate as she rolled uneasily at her cable. Then he saw Bolitho watching him and walked slowly to meet him.

Bolitho waited until Inch and Gossett were out of earshot and then said fiercely, "You fool! You nearly gave yourself away back there!"

"He made me angry. If he did know who I was he'd let 250

his ship founder rather than have me at the helm!" He smiled sadly. "You'll take care of the boy if anything happens to me, won't you?"

Bolitho studied him for several moments. "You know that." He heard Farquhar yelling, "Bring that boat alongside, damn your eyes!" It made a sudden urgency, and he had to check himself from touching his brother's arm. "Take care of yourself."

Then he turned and walked back to the others.

Inch said cheerfully, "Poor old Selby! Out of one ship into another!"

"Kindly lend your thoughts to receiving the commodore on board, Mr. Inch!" Bolitho turned his back to watch the barge drawing nearer and did not see Inch's confusion or Gossett's unsympathetic grin. He knew the brief anger was only to cover his own uncertainty. To hide the fact that he did after all care about his brother, even though he suspected Hugh was really laughing at him in spite of his constant danger. It had always been so between them, and it seemed now that even the threat of arrest and a traitor's rope could change nothing.

Allday stood and removed his hat as the officers scrambled into the barge.

"I shall want you to return and collect the commodore as soon as I'm aboard."

Allday nodded. "Aye, aye, Captain." He gestured to the bowman. "Cast off! Out oars there!" He watched the back of Bolitho's head, sensing his mood. "Give way all! Together!"

Bolitho sat rigidly in the sternsheets, his eyes fixed on the black silhouette of the Hyperion's upper yards. He had seen the quick exchange of glances between the bargemen, like privileged persons hearing some secret information. How did men such as these really see their commanders? he wondered. A stern fate at a flogging or pronouncing punishment, or a man who strode his quarterdeck, aloof and untroubled by the crowded world beneath his feet? And during battle, did they seek out that same, shadowy figure with any sort of real understanding or warmth?

He recalled how these same men had reacted when Pelham-Martin had hauled down his broad pendant, their resentment and hurt, as if their ship and therefore they themselves had been slighted. Now they knew the pendant was returning and seemed genuinely pleased by it. He wondered what they would think of the man beneath the command flag. One so beset with inner worries and personal doubt that faced with another reverse he might well break under the strain.

He looked up and saw the hull high above him, the scarlet-coated marines at the entry port, the gleam of harsh sunlight across upraised bosun's pipes.

As Allday guided the barge beneath the ship's lee he thought suddenly of what Hugh had said. They'd follow you anywhere. But men who followed must have the right leadership. It was no use feeling sorry for Pelham-Martin merely because he was out of his depth. These men needed leadership. He frowned. No, they should have it as

a right.

He climbed up the side, still thinking of Peiham-Martin even as he returned the salutes and made his way aft to the poop.

"Captain, sir?"

Bolitho opened his eyes and stared dully at the chart beneath his forearm. In the enclosed cabin the deckhead lantern was gyrating wildly, throwing shadows back and forth like spirits in torment, and he was immediately conscious of the increased motion around him.

Allday stood beside the table, a giant pot of coffee tightly grasped against his body.

"What time is it?"

"Seven bells, Captain." Allday took a cup from the rack and poured some black coffee between the ship's uneven plunges.

Seven bells. Bolitho leaned back in the chair and rubbed his eyes. He had been on deck almost continuously since the ships had quit the bay and butted out into a rising wind. Then for perhaps two hours he had tried to rest. To restore his tired mind before first light. He groaned. The middle watch still had half an hour to run.

Allday stood back to watch him drink. Then he said, "Mr. Inch's respects, and the wind's freshening."

"From the nor'-east?"

"Aye." He slopped more coffee into the cup.

"Well, that's something to give thanks for." If it veered now they would have to beat further away from the hidden islands. Without searoom they might still be caught off guard when the enemy made a dash for it. But if the wind got up or shifted they would be seen the moment the sun rose, and the way would be open either for Lequiller to escape or give battle on his own, overwhelming terms.

He slammed down the cup. I f… when… He was beginning to think like the commodore.

Allday helped him into his coat. "Will I call the commodore, Captain?"

"No." He walked out of the chartroom and almost tumbled over the cabin servant who was curled up and asleep in the passageway.

He. said, "Leave the rest of the coffee with him." He glanced at the sealed door of the stem cabin, the marine sentry swaying in the lantern light like a toy soldier. "He can give it to the commodore in a moment." He's not even asleep, he thought. Probably lying there staring at the deckhead, listening to every sound.

The quarterdeck was in total darkness, and the sudden noise of wind and sea told him instantly of the increasing force behind them.

Inch groped towards him. "We'll have to shorten sail again, sir."

Bolitho walked up the tilting deck and cupped his hand over the compass bowl. South by west. He could picture the desperate, struggling course they had taken since leaving St. Kruis. Up and round in a great circle, mostly into the teeth of the wind, with all hands on deck for much of the time. Now they were sailing south again, on what was to have been the easiest part. The islands were somewhere across the starboard bow, and with the wind pushing down on the opposite quarter they would have all the advantage if an enemy came out of shelter. It would spoil everything now if they overreached their proper station.

"Very well, Mr. Inch. Take in another reef."

He wondered if the Spartan was near those treacherous approaches yet. Whether his brother could remember so I long back… he broke off as Inch said, "Hermes is still on station, sir. We saw her close astern at six bells." He was yelling above the wind, his face shining with spray in the dim compass light.

"And the Telamon?"

"No sign, sir." Inch broke off to yell at some men nearby who had not heeded or heard the demanding call of the bosun's pipe.

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 asleep 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.