ENEMY IN SIGHT

16. A PERSONAL THING

Allday walked slowly into the stem cabin and stood the big coffee pot carefully on the table. The early morning sunlight threw a bright pattern of shimmering reflections across the beamed deckhead, and for a moment longer he was unable to see Bolitho.

"What do you want?"

He turned and saw Bolitho lying on the bench seat below one of the open windows, his back propped against the heavy frame so that his face was thrown into silhouette by the glittering water beyond. His shirt was crumpled and open to the waist, and his black hair was plastered across his forehead as he stared listlessly towards the distant hills.

Allday bit his lip. It was obvious that he had not slept, and in the clear light he could see the shadows around his eyes, the absolute despair on his tanned features.

He replied, "Brought you some coffee, Captain. I've told Petch to arrange your breakfast just as soon as you're ready for it." He moved carefully around the table. "You should have turned in. You've not slept since…"

"Just leave me alone." There was neither anger nor _ impatience in his tone. "If you must do something, then fetch some brandy."

Allday darted a quick glance at the desk. Beside a crumpled letter was one empty glass. Of the decanter there was no sign at all. "It's not wise, Captain." He faltered as Bolitho turned his head towards him. "Let me get some food now."

Bolitho did not appear to hear him.

"Do you remember what she said when we left Plymouth, Allday? She told us to take care." He pressed his shoulders against the frame. "Yet while we were out here, she died." He brushed vaguely at the rebellious lock of hair above his eye and Allday saw the savage scar white against his skin like the mark of a branding iron. The gesture was so familiar, as was everything about him, that Allday felt strangely moved.

"She wouldn't have wanted you taking on, Captain." He took a few more steps. "When she was aboard the old Hyperion in the Mediterranean she had more courage than many of the men, and never once did I hear her complain when times got bad for us. She'd be distressed to see you all-aback now."

"Then there were those times at Plymouth when we were fitting out, Captain. They were good days." Allday rested his hands on the desk, his voice suddenly pleading. "You must try and think of those times, Captain. For her sake, as well as yours."

A marine rapped on the cabin door and Allday whirled round with a muffled oath. "Get out, damn you! I gave word that the captain was to be left alone!"

The marine's face was wooden. "Beg pardon, but I'm to inform the captain that there's a barge shovin' off from Impulsive."

Allday strode across the cabin and slammed the door. "I'll tell him!" Then he rubbed his hands on his thighs, his mind busy with what he must do.

A quick glance at the sealed door and the sleeping cabin told him that the commodore was still asleep. His lip curled angrily. Or drunk, more likely. Captain Herrick was coming aboard, and he was a friend. And as far as Allday could see it seemed as if Herrick was the only one who could help Bolitho now.

He set his jaw in a tight line. But not even Herrick would see Bolitho like this. Crumpled and unshaven, with his stomach more full of brandy than he was used to.

He said firmly, "I am going to shave you, Captain. While I'm getting the water from the galley you can be starting on this coffee." He hesitated before adding, "It was packed by her when we left Plymouth."

Then he hurried from the cabin before Bolitho could answer.

Bolitho lowered his feet to the deck and then thrust out a hand to steady himself as the nausea flooded through him. He felt dirty, and tired enough to collapse, but something in Allday's last words made him move across to the table.

He gritted his teeth as he poured some coffee into the cup. His hand was shaking so badly that it took two attempts, and he could feel the sweat running down his spine as if he had just emerged from a nightmare. But it was no nightmare, and it could not be broken, now or ever.

He thought of Allday's desperate attempts to rouse him from his anguish, of the glances thrown his way whenever he had shown himself on deck during the night. Some had been pitying and full of compassion, as if, like Allday, they shared his grief in some private fashion of their own. Others had watched him with curiosity and unveiled surprise. Did they imagine that because he was their captain he was beyond suffering and personal despair? That he was above such human feelings, just as he was beyond their world of common submission?

During the night he had moved restlessly about the upper deck, only half aware of what he was doing or the direction his feet had taken him. He had felt some small security from the night sky and the ship's high web of rigging above him, and while he had wandered aimlessly on her deserted decks he had sensed the ship all about him, as if she too was hushed by his torment and loss. It had been then he had returned to the empty cabin and had sat by the open window, drinking the neat brandy without tasting it, knowing of the letter on the desk, yet unable to find the courage to read it. Her last written word. So full of hope and confidence, not just for them, but for the future and for the men who shared his everyday life.

Allday padded into the cabin and laid his razor on the desk. "Ready, Captain?" He watched as Bolitho moved wearily to his chair. "Impulsive's captain'll be aboard shortly."

Bolitho, nodded and leaned back in the chair, the absolute tiredness rendering him helpless as Allday rubbed his face with soap.

Feet moved overhead and he heard the steady sluice of water as the daily routine of swabbing down commenced. Normally he would have listened, finding strange content in the familiar. noises, and would have pictured the men who called to each other, even though they were hidden from view. He felt the razor moving swiftly across his cheek and knew Allday was watching him. Now it was all changed. It was just as if the closed cabin door was not only cutting him off from the ship, but from the world and everything in it.

The razor halted in midair and he hard Inch call from the doorway, "Captain Herrick is come aboard, sir. The other captains will be arriving at eight bells."

Bolitho swallowed and tasted the brandy like fire on his tongue. The other captains? It took physical effort to remember. Hazy faces swept across his blurred mind. Herrick returning from his brief audience with the commodore. Inch, torn between sorrow and concern, and many others which seemed lost in the overall confusion of his thoughts.

Inch added, "There is to be another conference, sir." "Yes. Thank you. Please tell Captain Herrick to take some coffee while he is waiting."

The door closed again and he heard Allday mutter savagely, "And a fat lot of good a conference will do!"

He asked, "Has the commodore been roused yet?"

Allday nodded. "Aye, Captain. Petch is dealing with him now." He could not keep the bitterness from his tone. "Shall I ask Captain Herrick to explain things to him?" He wiped Bolitho's face with a damp towel. "If you'll pardon the liberty, I think it's wrong that you should have to deal with this meeting."

Bolitho stood up and allowed Allday to strip the crumpled shirt from his back.

"You are right. That is a liberty. Now kindly finish what you are about and leave me in peace."

Petch came out of the sleeping cabin, Pelham-Martin's dress coat across one arm.

Allday took the coat and held it up to the reflected sunlight. The dried bloodstain looked black in the bright glare, and as he poked a finger throw the small splinter hole he said, "Not much bigger'n the point of a rapier." He threw the coat to Petch with obvious disgust.

Bolitho tightened his neckcloth and felt the clean shirt cool against his skin. His mind recorded all these facts, yet, he felt no part of them. The tiny splinter hole, PelhamMartin's clear intention of remaining an invalid, even the need for some sort of strategy, all seemed beyond his reach and as remote as the horizon.

The sudden prospect of meeting with the other captains only succeeded in unnerving him again. The watching eyes, the condolences and sympathy.

He snapped. "Tell Captain Herrick to come aft." As Allday made for the door he added sharply, "And I will have another decanter at once."

He dropped his eyes, unable to watch Allday's anxiety. The man's concern and deep desire to help were almost more painful than contempt. Allday might have cared less for him had he seen him sobbing against the open window. Had he known of his sudden impulse to hurl himself after the empty decanter and scatter the reflected stars beneath the ship's dark counter.

Herrick stepped into the cabin, his hat beneath his arm, his round face set in a grave smile.

"This is an intrusion, but I thought it best to see you before the others."

Bolitho pushed a chair towards him. "Thank you, Thomas. Yours is never an intrusion."

Petch enetered the cabin and placed a full decanter on the desk.

Bolitho looked at his friend. "A glass before we begin, eh?" He tried to smile but his mouth felt frozen.

"Aye, I could relish one." Herrick watched Bolitho's hand as the decanter shook against the glasses.

Then he said quietly, "Before we meet the commodore again there are things which I should tell you." He sipped at the glass. "The news I brought from England is not good. Our blockade is stretched almost beyond safety limits. Several times in recent months the French have broken out of their harbours, even from Toulon where they were met and repulsed by Vice-Admiral Hotham's squadron." He sighed. "The war is gaining in pace, and some of our superiors seem left astern by the speed of the enemy's thinking." His eyes followed the decanter as Bolitho poured another full glass. "Lord Howe has given up the Channel Fleet to Viscount Bridport, so we may be assured of some improvement there."

Bolitho held the glass up to the light. "And what of us, Thomas? When do all our reinforcements arrive? In time to hear of Lequiller's final victory, no doubt?"

Herrick watched him gravely. "There are no more ships. Mine is the only one to be spared for the squadron."

Bolitho stared at him and then shook his head. "I imagine that our commodore was interested in this piece of news?"

He drank some more brandy and leaned back in the chair as it explored his stomach like a hot iron.

Herrick replied, "I got no impression from him at all." He placed his glass on the desk but held his hand above as Bolitho made to refill it. "He must be made to act. I have spoken_ with Fitzmaurice and young Farquhar, and I have heard what you believe of Lequiller's intentions. They make good sense, but time is against us. Unless we can call the French to action we are useless here and would be better employed with the fleet."

"So you have been discussing it with them, eh?"

Herrick looked at the desk. "I have."

"And what else did you discover?"

"That any success this squadron has achieved has been at your doing." Herrick rose to his feet, his features suddenly stern. "I have been with you in- action many times and have sailed by your side in worse conditions than many think exist. You know well enough what our friendship means to me, and that I would die for you here and now if I believed it would help. Because of this, and what we have seen and done together, I feel I have earned the right…"

He hesitated as Bolitho asked flatly, "What right is that?"

"The right to speak my mind, even at the risk of destroying that friendship!"

Bolitho looked away. "Well?"

"In all the years I have never seen you like this." He gestured to the decanter. "Always you have been the one to help and understand others, no matter at what cost to your own feelings. Your loss has been a terrible one. She meant much to me also, as I think you know. There is not a man aboard this ship who knew her who does not share your pain at this moment." He added harshly, "But viewed against what you believe and have taught others to accept in the past, it is a personal thing. And one which cannot, must not influence your deeds when you are most needed by all of us."

Bolitho looked at him coldly. "Have you finished?"

"Not quite. Often you told me that responsibility and authority are privileges, not the rights of every man for the taking. When we served in frigates there was a world of difference, with little at risk but our own lives. Here, our few ships might decide greater events which we cannot even begin to understand." He looked hard at the sleeping-cabin door. "And when we require an example, what do we have? A man so filled with self-deception and ignorance that he can see no further than his own skin." He turned and faced Bolitho again, his eyes troubled but stubborn. "So we will be looking to you. As the captain of the Hyperion, and a man who has never put self-advancement before honour and duty." He took a deep breath. "As the man chosen by Cheney Seton for her husband!"

In the muffled distance Bolitho heard the squeal of pipes, the sounds of boats alongside. The whole cabin seemed to be swimming in mist, and the words of anger and scathing retort would not come.

As he stood beside the desk Herrick stepped forward and seized his hands. "Believe me, Richard, I know what you are suffering." He studied his features with sudden determination. "1 know!"

Bolitho looked at him and gave a small shudder: "Thank you, Thomas. I do not know of anything which could ever break our friendship. And speaking your mind to me is not one of them, I am sure of that."

Herrick nodded but did not release his grip. He said, "I have been a sea officer long enough to learn that it is not the Pelham-Martins of our life who really matter. You, and those like you, who have found the time to think and plan for others will finally decide the rights and wrongs of our cause. And one day, perhaps in our lifetime, we will see a better Service because of that example. One which men will take as a calling, and not an enforced and heartless existence which can be determined by the whim of mere individuals." He smiled briefly. "Tyrants and influential nincompoops have a way of fading in the smoke of real danger."

Bolitho swallowed hard. "Sometimes I believe that I set you a wrong example, Thomas. You always were an idealist, but now that you have a command you must be sparing with those ideals and be content with the improvements of your own making." Then he smiled. "Now we will greet the others." He looked down at the decanter for a long moment then added softly, "There is little solace there either!"

But later as he stood with the other captains around Pelham-Martin's cot he knew it was going to be far worse than he had thought possible.

The small cabin was oppressively hot, with the skylight tightly shut and only one small port partly open to allow the sea air to penetrate. The commodore had apparently enjoyed a large breakfast for there were several empty plates beside the cot, and the atmosphere was sickly with the aromas of brandy and sweat.

Peiham-Martin looked much as before, his round face shining and pink with heat, and his body covered by a sheet right up to his throat, so that it was more like standing around a bloated corpse than awaiting the word of their senior officer.

Bolitho said, "We are all present, sir." He glanced at the others, noting their mixed expressions and feeling his own complete sense of detachment, as if he was a mere spectator.

Fitzmaurice looked grimfaced and worried, while Farquhar seemed more irritated than concerned for the commodore's appearance. Beside Herrick's sturdy figure Lambe, the sloop Dasher's young commander, was perhaps the most obviously affected. He appeared quite unable to tear his eyes from Pelham-Martin's face, and was peering into the cot like a man witnessing something entirely beyond his understanding.

Pelham-Martin's tongue moved across his lower lip and then he said thickly, "You have all heard Captain Herrick's news. You will no doubt have realised the impossibility of our present position." He gave a hollow sigh. "It was fortunate I despatched the Nisus when I did. Others will have to decide on a course of action if Lequiller ever returns to France, or whatever country his orders take him."

Fitzmaurice asked, "What do you intend for us, sir?"

"Without the rest of my ships, what can I do?" His lips tightened in a frown, so that for an instant he looked like a fat, petulant child. "I was given an impossible task. I do not intend to further the chances of my enemies by sailing on a wild-goose chase!"

Herrick spoke slowly and carefully. "It is my belief that Captain Bolitho is right, sir. This Perez from Las Mercedes would be an obvious pawn for the French to use to arouse a rebellion, to drive another wedge between us and the Dons."

The commodore's eyes swivelled towards him. "Are you suggesting I should sail this squadron five thousand miles on some stupid, unsubstantiated rumour?" He winced and allowed his head to fall back on the sweatstained pillow. "If you think that, Herrick, you are more stupid than I would have given credit."

Fitzmaurice glanced at Bolitho as. if expecting some lead or example. Then he said shortly, "I think you should take heed of your wound, sir. It is unsafe to leave it untended."

Pelham Martin scowled. "Your concern fits you well. It is a pity that others have been so sparing in their attention."

Bolitho clenched his fists and stared at the bulkhead beyond the cot. The heat in the cabin, and the brandy and the overwhelming sense of defeat left him almost indifferent to the tension around him. As he fixed his eyes on the bulkhead yet another memory flitted through his mind, so that he could almost hear his own despair. It was here, in this very cabin that Cheney had slept during the voyage from Gibraltar to Cozar. In this cabin and in this same cot, while he had stayed at a distance from her, yet had felt drawn closer with every passing hour.

The others.looked at him as he said sharply, "There is no alternative. You must give chase." He kept his eyes above the cot. "Captain Farquhar has some prisoners from the prize, including her captain. We should be able to discover something."

Pelham-Martin's sudden anger at Bolitho's interruption gave way immediately to something like triumph.

"Did you not know? Farquhar found no documents or sealed orders aboard!"

Farquhar turned as Bolitho looked at him questioningly.

"That is true. Every sort of evidence had been thrown overboard when we closed to give battle. The first lieutenant was killed, and now only the captain knows -anything of use, and he will not betray his trust." He shrugged. "I am sorry, but there was nothing I could do."

Pelham,Martin wriggled beneath the sheet. "I shall want a new dressing. Send for my servant immediately." He raised his head to peer above the cot. "That is all, gentlemen. I have nothing further to add at present."

They filed out into the stern cabin and stood by the open windows in silence.

Then Farquhar said bitterly, "That seems to be an end to it!"

But still none of them moved away from the windows, and Bolitho could almost feel their uncertainty, the unwillingness of each man to take a first irrevocable step.

He said quietly, "To go in the face of the commodore's orders is to overrule him. " He looked at each of them in turn "The only way to force a change of tactics is to relieve him of his command!" His voice remained quiet, yet each of the other officers seemed stricken by it. "I will not implicate you further by asking what you think or consider our chances of success. The commodore is wounded, how badly we cannot know without a proper examination, and that he will not allow. To relieve him I, as senior captain, must confront him and haul down his broad pendant." He walked to the desk and touched the lip of the decanter with his fingers. "After that, I am committed, and rightly or wrongly, so are those who would follow my example."

Herrick said firmly, "I'm with you, and here's my hand on it!"

Bolitho smiled. "Think before you plunge beyond your depth. If the commodore recovers his health and denounces our action, there will be only one verdict. Even if he does not, it will be seen as disloyalty amounting to mutiny, especially as there is an excellent chance of failure at the end of this effort."

Fitzmaurice studied him grimly. "It is a serious and disturbing supposition. I would rather face one hundred broadsides than your decision."

Bolitho walked away from the desk and paused by the cabin bulkhead below his sword.

"Consider your alternatives carefully. If you remain here at anchor until the commodore recovers sufficiently to change his plans, you might be criticised, but you cannot be harmed for obeying his last order… Whereas," the word hung in the air, "… if you join with me now, you could suffer disgrace and worse within the next few weeks."

Farquhar said calmly, "Then you have already decided?" He crossed -to his side and looked up at the old sword. "That brings back a memory or two!" Then he said, "There is no doubt in my mind." He looked at the others. "I am for going on with the hunt!"

Bolitho turned and studied him gravely. Farquhar, out of all those present had perhaps the most to lose. It was strange to consider that he had been a midshipman while Herrick had be his first lieutenant. Now he was a postcaptain, with enough youth and ambition to gain whatever heights and honours which might lie before him. Herrick's reaction to his words had been instant and predictable. He saw nothing but immediate loyalty, and had never paused to consider the dreadful consequences of his ready conspiracy. Fitzmaurice would fall in with the rest, while young Lambe was too junior to be seriously implicated., no matter what happened later.

He gripped his hands behind his back and tried to clear the dragging mists from his mind. Was he merely recording their reactions, or had he in fact planned this from the very beginning?

He heard himself ask, "The French captain, is he ashore under guard?"

Farquhar shook his head, his eyes still on Bolitho's face. "No. I have him and the rest of his officers aboard Spartan. His name is Poulain and, I suspect, a very hard man."

Bolitho took down the sword and turned it over in his hands. So many voyages, so many battles against his country's enemies. It appeared in nearly every portrait in the old house in Falmouth. Captains and admirals, gone now like their ships and their conflicts. There might have been a son to wear it one day. But perhaps it was better as it was. If this sword was to be smeared by disgrace, it was best forgotten, as he would eventually be.

He said, "Bring Captain Poulain aboard Hyperion with his remaining officers." He paused, seeing the concern on Herrick's face. "I will also want ten of his seamen."

Herrick said hoarsely, "Then we are agreed?"

"It seems so." Bolitho nodded slowly. "I hope you will not live to regret your agreement."

Farquhar picked up his hat and studied it calmly. "At least we know one thing. Lequiller has no frigates now that we have seized the Thetis. So what we lack in strength we might make up with agility." Then he smiled, a brief, humourless movement of his lips. "Poulain will be as curious as I am when he hears of this summons. He seems concerned more for his son, who is a lieutenant under his command, than for the loss of his ship. Lequiller musthave instilled a great confidence in victory in his subordinates!" He clapped the hat on his head, adding, " I would not take so kindly at losing my ship, no matter what the intention!"

Fitzmaurice watched him leave and then asked, "When will you see the commodore?" He was almost whispering, and Bolitho could find something like compassion for him. Fitzmaurice had no influence outside his rank and personal achievements. It would be little comfort to him to know he was not alone at the moment of decision.

"Presently. Now, if you care to remain here I will go on deck. I must have a word with Allday about a small matter which will not wait." He returned the sword to its rack and walked towards the door.

As it closed behind him Lambe said fiercely, "My God, how can he be so calm when his own head, is at stake?"

Herrick said, "Many is the time I have asked that question." He thought of Bolitho's eyes and the pain held behind them as he had spoken his thoughts aloud. "I still do not know the answer."

Less than an hour later, as two bells chimed out from the forecastle, Bolitho walked slowly on to the quarterdeck and rested momentarily against the rail. The sun was shining brightly and throwing dark shadows from the shrouds and yards, and across the bay he could see the little wavelets cruising towards the anchored ships with the promise of a fresh wind in spite of the growing heat.

The ship seemed strangely quiet, but he was conscious of the watching seamen on the gangways and others. working aloft who were staring down, their hands stilled as they waited for the drama to commence.

In the centre of the main deck the selected French prisoners stood surrounded by a scarlet rectangle of marines, their faces curious and apprehensive as they too watched the solitary figure by the quarterdeck rail.

Captain Dawson crossed the deck and touched his hat, his florid features grim and vaguely anxious.

"Ready, sir."

"Very well."

Bolitho faced the mounting breeze and took a deep breath. He heard boots clumping behind him and turned to see Farquhar and a marine escort, and with them the French captain. He was old for his rank, but gave an immediate impression of competence and assured selfcontrol. He seemed, above all, a hard man, as Farquhar had described.

"Do you speak English, Captain?" Bolitho faced him, his voice calm, but very conscious of the dryness in his throat and the countless watching eyes.

"When I choose." Captain Poulain watched him with equal gravity. "But I 'ave nothing to add to what I told your young officer 'ere."

Bolitho nodded. "Ah yes. The young officer who took your ship from you. Yes, I understand."

Poulain's eyes flashed angrily. "I will say nothing morel I know my rights and the code of honour which you 'old so dear to your decadent soulsl"

Bolitho saw Dawson biting his Up, but continued calmly. "I would prefer not to discuss matters of honour, m'sieu. I understand that when the Spartan made passage between the reefs at Pascua they discovered the remains of the Dutch schooner Fauna? Destroyed, I believe, by your guns while she tried to escape."

Poulain regarded him coldly. "It is war. There was no time for sentiment."

"But she was unarmed and contained some helpless fishermen and their families." Bolitho clenched his fingers behind him, willing himself to continue without any sign of emotion. "I repeat, there is little point in discussing matters of honour."

'Then I would wish to be taken ashore." Poulain's mouth lifted slightly in a smile. "No doubt I will be exchanged for some of the many prisoners my country 'as taken, yes?"

Bolitho nodded. "No doubt, Captain. But first there is one small, detail which I require explained." He fixed his eyes on the other man. "I wish to know your destination after you had completed your repairs, and by this I mean, where does your Vice-Admiral Lequiller intend to make his attack?"

For one brief instant he saw the Frenchman's eyes light up with surprise. Then the shutter closed and his expression became controlled as before.

"I know nothing. If I did, I would not tell you."

"We both realise that you are lying of course." Bolitho could feel the sweat pouring down his back and chest, his shirt clinging to his skin as he added, "Lequiller sailed from the Gironde with orders. He executed the first part of those orders at Las Mercedes and when he seized the San Leandro. Now all I wish to know is the final part. Nothing more."

"Then you are a fooll"

Bolitho heard Inch's quick intake of breath and saw one of the marines plucking angrily at his bayonet.

He moved to the opposite side of the quarterdeck. The sun was burning his shoulders so that he felt faint and sickened from the brandy in his empty stomach, but he made himself walk slowly, conscious of the silence and the men gathered along the deck of the Spartan nearby.

"Mr. Tomlin, clear the larboard gangway!" He did not need to raise his voice, and even the men in question fell back towards the forecastle as if fearful of breaking the silence.

Without turning his head he continued, "Now, Captain Poulain, I am going to shoot one of your men. Execute him, if you would prefer the term?" He hardened his voice. "Perhaps you will recall those prisoners who were hanged aboard your admiral's flagship? It may help you to arrive at a decision."

Two red-coated marines marched slowly along the larboard gangway, their tunics gleaming like blood in the bright sunlight. Between them, blindfolded and with his arms bound was a man in the uniform of a French master's mate.

The marine lieutenant came aft and said formally, "Prisoner and escort ready, sir!"

"Very well, Mr. Hicks." Bolitho held out his hand. "A pistol, if you please."

Then he walked along the gangway, above the twelve= pounders and past the tiered boats, his step unhurried and the pistol hanging loosely at his side. Halfway along the gangway he turned and looked aft towards the group on the quarterdeck, his vision blurred by strain and the unbearable tension.

"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!"