ENEMY IN SIGHT

8. NEWS FOR THE COMMODORE

The marine sentry snapped to attention as Bolitho entered the stem cabin and closed the door behind him. He noticed that all the windows were wide open and the deckhead and sides shimmered with countless reflections from the ruffled water beneath the counter. The Hyperion rolled gently at her anchor, and when he glanced through one of the quarter windows he saw the nearest headland dancing in a heat haze, green and remote from the sights he had just left on the upper deck.

Through the door of the sleeping cabin he heard Pelham-Martin call, "Well, what have you to report?"

Bolitho•rested his hands on the desk and stared emptily at the clear water below the stem. "Twenty dead, sir. Twenty more badly wounded." There seemed little point in mentioning all the others. Flesh wounds and burns, or those who had gone deaf, perhaps permanently, from the crash of gunfire.

"I see." There were sounds of boxes being dragged across the cabin floor, and then Pelham-Martin strode heavily into the reflected sunlight. "The wounded you mentioned, Will they recover?

Bolitho could only stare at him for several seconds. The Hyperion had anchored less than thirty minutes earlier, and while he had been supervising the lowering of boats and checking the extent of damage to hull and rigging, the commodore had, it appeared, been attending to more personal details. He was wearing his heavy dress coat, and his white shirt and breeches looked as if they had just arrived from the tailor.

He said at length, "Splinter wounds mostly, sir. But five of them have lost arms or hands."

Pelham-Martin eyed him severely. "Well, I shall have to go ashore and meet the governor of this, er, place." He shook his shirt cuffs free of the gold-laced sleeves.

"Necessary, I suppose, but a damned nuisance all the same." He looked around the cabin. "You had better stay here and do what you must to put this ship to rights." He let his glance rest on Bolitho's torn shirt. "I would suggest that you make some effort on your own behalf, too!"

Bolitho faced him coldly. "I consider there are other things more important which need my attention, sir."

The commodore shrugged. "It is no use your adopting this attitude. You knew the odds, yet you forced an engagement."

"If we had been here a week earlier, sir, the battle would never have been necessary, unless on our terms."

The commodore looked at himself in the bulkhead mirror. "Maybe." He swung round violently. "However, we did manage to drive the French away, and I will see that your part in the affair is mentioned in my report at some later date. But now I will have to leave you. If I am needed you may send a boat to the town." He walked to the stem windows and leaned out across the sill. "I must 'say, it is not at all what I expected."

Bolitho watched him wearily. It was amazing what a change had come over Pelham-Martin since the battle. Of the desperate, pale-faced commodore in a heavy coat there was no sign at all. He looked calm and unruffled, and was even showing some sort of pleasure at what he saw in the distant town.

Bolitho felt the anger stirring his insides like raw spirit. How could Pelham-Martin be so cool and indifferent just now, when any small sign of sympathy and understanding might be of the greatest value to the men who had fought against such odds? Even without the Dutch ship's timely arrival Hyperion's seamen and marines had more than proved their worth.

He said, "I will call away the barge for you, sir."

Pelham-Martin nodded. "Good. It was lucky it survived I am surprised you retained all the boats inboard during the action."

Bolitho looked angrily at the fat shoulders. "There was little enough wind for us to attack twice our number, sir. To tow boats as well would have been too much. And to

cast them adrift…" He got no further.

Pelham-Martin thrust himself upright and turned to face him. "I am not very interested in excuses, Bolitho, Now kindly attend to my barge!"

On the quarterdeck the sun was already intense and blinding, but Bolitho hardly noticed it because of his anger.

Inch said, "All boats alongside, sir. Mr. Tomlin is just rigging canvas air ducts above the hatchways, and I've ordered him to open all ports." He hesitated, aware of Bolitho's grim features. "Sir?"

Bolitho looked past him. The Dutch ship was already surrounded-by small craft from the shore, while others of all shapes and sizes idled closer to 'the Hyperion, their occupants obviously uncertain whether to come alongside or remain at a discreet distance. The Hyperion must present a grim spectacle, he thought bitterly. Shot-scarred and blackened by smoke, with most of her sails too rent and pitted even to furl.

He said, "Get all hands to work repairing damage, Mr. Inch. But first they must be fed. Send an officer and two boats ashore as soon as the commodore has left, and tell him to bring off as much fresh fruit as he can lay hands on. I will arrange for meat and water supplies as soon as I can."

Inch asked, "May I say something, sir?"

Bolitho looked at him for the first time. "Well?"

"Just that we're all lucky to be alive, sir. But for you…"

Bolitho turned to watch as Perks, the sailmaker, and his mates completed the grisly task of sewing up the last of the dead men in readiness for burial.

"Some were not so fortunate, Mr. Inch."

Inch shifted from one foot to the other. "But I'd never have thought that new, untrained men could behave as our people did, sir."

Bolitho felt some of his anger fading. Inch was so serious, so obviously sincere that it was hard to remain untouched by his concern.

"I agree. They did well." He paused. "And so did you."

He shaded his eyes to look at the town. "Now man the side for the commodore."

As Inch hurried away he crossed to the nettings and stared idly at the distant huddle of white buildings. Stark against the hillside beyond, they looked like part of Holland, he thought. The first Dutch garrison or setttlers must have clung to the memory of their homeland, and even through the shimmering heat haze it was possible to see the tall, pointed rooftops of the larger houses and the flat-fronted dwellings along the waterfront which could have been part of Rotterdam or any Dutch port.

Midshipman Gascoigne caught his eye. "Signal from Abdiel, sir. She lost five killed in the action. No serious damage."

Bolitho nodded. The heavier French frigate had been more concerned with withdrawing the raiding party and recovering her boats once she had realised the uncertainty of the battle. Abdiel had done well, but she had had more than her share of luck.

He said, "Pass my best wishes to Captain Pring, if you please."

The tired and grimy seamen fell back as the marines clumped to the entry port and fell into line beside the bosun's mates and sideboys. Bolitho looked down at his own rumpled state. The marines were a strange breed, he thought vaguely. Just two hours ago they had been on the quarterdeck and in the tops shooting and yelling, as wild and desperate as all the rest. Now, as Lieutenant Hicks stood at one end of the front rank to check the dressing it was very hard to believe they had been in action at all.

He heard Gossett mutter to someone behind him, "The bullocks'll always survive so long as they've got their pipeclay an' their bloody boots with 'em!" But there was genuine admiration in his tone.

Pelham-Martin walked slowly into the sunlight adjusting his cocked hat. Bolitho watched him without emotion. The commodore did not seem to see anyone about him, and when he walked over a wide patch of dried blood where a man had died within feet of him he did not even falter.

Pelham-Martin said, "When will you have a new topmast swayed up?"

Bolitho replied, "Mr. Tomlin is already dealing with it, sir. We brought plenty of spare spars from Plymouth." "Lucky indeed, Bolitho."

A seaman shouted, "Boat approaching from the Dutchman, sir!"

Pelham-Martin frowned. "Damn! I suppose I shall have to stay a while longer now!"

Inch hurried to the entry port, thankful for this unexpected interruption. He had seen the returning hardness in Bolitho's eyes, and had inwardly cursed Pelham-Martin for his stupidity and his ignorance. Did he never stop to consider how hard Bolitho had worked and sweated to get those spars from a dockyard which was more than well trained in withholding everything but the most meagre of ship's stores?

He called. "The boat has a captain aboard, sir!" He blinked. "No, sir, two captains!"

The commodore grunted. "Coming to gloat over their part in all this, I shouldn't wonder."

The boat hooked on to the chains, and as the pipes twittered and the marines' bayoneted muskets were brought to the present the first visitor appeared in the open port.

He removed his hat and looked slowly around the crowded main deck, his eyes pausing on the line of sewnup corpses, the splintered planking and all the litter of broken rigging and cordage. He was an elderly man, probably in his sixties, Bolitho thought, and the left sleeve of his coat was empty and pinned beneath a flashing gold order on his breast. His hair was almost white, but his skin was so tanned that it was almost mahogany in colour, and his step was as sure and light as a cat's.

Then he saw Peiham-Martin and stepped briskly to greet him. "May I welcome you and your ships to St. Kruis! I am Piet de Block, Governor in the name of my country, and your ally!" His English was hesitant but extremely good. "I was visiting another island and returned in time to see your gallant fight." He paused with obvious emotion. "I can understand what the decision must have cost, and with my own eyes I have witnessed some of your sacrifice. It was incredible! And now," he waved his hat around the watching faces, "now you can still find the strength and the sense of duty to prepare this welcome for me!"

Pelham-Martin swallowed hard and flushed. "I bid you welcome, sir, and greetings from my Gracious Sovereign King George." He glanced quickly at Bolitho before adding, "My duty was plain, and I am indeed glad I was able to forestall the enemy's intentions."

De Block nodded gravely. "And this is Kapitein Willem Mulder of the Telamon. He is as eager for battle as your own men, but now I think it wiser to refit your ships first, is that not so?"

The Telamon's captain was slight and wiry, and as tanned as his governor. He, too, was studying the Hyperian's damage, but his face was more controlled than his superior's.

Pelham-Martin said, "And this is my captain, Richard Bolitho."

Bolitho stepped forward, conscious of the watching eyes, of Inch's obvious fury at Pelham-Martin's grand acceptance of credit, but above all of the Dutchman's firm handshake.

De Block studied him for several seconds without releasing his hand. He seemed to find an answer in Bolitho's strained features for he said suddenly, "As I thought, Kapitein." He paused. "My deepest thanks."

Pelham-Martin said abruptly, "You speak very good English."

"Well, there have been many wars." De Block shrugged expressively. "After I lost my arm I had plenty of time to meet with and learn your countrymen's ways and language."

The commodore eyed him thoughtfully. "You were a prisoner perhaps?" He shook his head indulgently. "These things can happen in war."

The Dutchman smiled. "After I lost my arm I was put in charge of our English prisoners, sir."

Bolitho coughed quietly. "Perhaps the Governor would like to go to the cabin, sir?"

Pelham-Martin recovered from his sudden confusion and'glared at him. "Quite sol"

But the island's governor shook his head. "I would not hear of it. You will come ashore to my house immediately. Kapitein Mulder will remain aboard to give every help at our disposal." He looked searchingly at Bolitho, the same expression of understanding in his deepset eyes. "We are well stocked, and I think able to meet your needs." He held out his hand again. "We are in your debt. We will do our best to repay your courage."

Then as the pipes shrilled once more he followed Pelham-Martin down into his boat alongside.

Bolitho stood by the port watching as the boat headed strongly for the shore. Most of the oarsmen were either coloured or half-castes, but there was no doubting their bearing or discipline.

Mulder said quietly, "You look tired. It cannot be easy to serve a man so lacking in understanding."

Bolitho stared at him, but already the other captain was looking aloft to where some seamen were reeving lines in readiness for swaying up the new topmast.

He said shortly, "Your Governor has been here a long time, I suppose?"

Mulder nodded, his eyes slitting against the glare as he watched with professional interest the sure-footed topmen working high above the deck.

"Thirty years to be exact. Both as a serving officer and then as Governor. St. Kruis is his home now, as it is for me." He seemed unwilling to continue the discussion and added briskly, "Now tell me, what do you require?"

Bolitho smiled gravely. It was, after all, better to talk as two captains rather than two subordinates. It was safer, and would certainly be more rewarding at this stage.

De Block may not have realised that the ceremonial guard was not, indeed, intended for his benefit, but it was obvious that he more than understood Pelham-Martin's part in the actual battle. He was shrewd and he was wise, and no stranger to local affairs and strategy. Bolitho hoped that Pelham-Martin was not so foolish that he would underestimate the one-armed Governor of St. Kruis.

An hour after Mulder had departed with his list of requirements the first boatloads of provisions started to arrive alongside. Like the governor's bargemen, the inhabitants of St. Kruis were a mixture of every race in the Caribbean. Laughing and chattering they swarmed aboard, showing sympathy for the wounded as they were carried in boats to more comfortable quarters ashore, and amusement to the seamen who crowded around them, touching them and using their own versions of. language and gesticulation to break down the last barriers of strangeness.

Inch said, "It is like another world, sir."

Bolitho nodded. He had been thinking the same thing.

The Dutch flag flew above the ancient ship and the town, but the island's inhabitants had seemingly become so interbred over the years, so dependent on their own resources, they would find it hard to bend to anther's domination. No matter who it was.

Allday came aft and knuckled his forehead. "Any orders for me, Captain?"

Bolitho stretched his arms and saw the rent in his sleeve left by the musket ball. Was it possible? Could he have been so near to death?

He said, "Take the gig, Allday, and go ashore. Keep your ears and eyes open, understand?"

Allday's features stayed expressionless. "Understood, Captain." Then he grinned. "I will be on board again in one hour."

Bolitho thought suddenly of fresh water and a clean shirt on his back. With a nod to Inch he strode aft to the chartroom.

Commodores and governors could discuss high policy, he, thought grimly. But the Alldays of this world often reached the bones of the matter in half the time.

For the Hyperion's company the days which followed their arrival at St. Kruis were unlike anything they had ever known. From dawn to dusk the work of repairing damage went on with hardly a pause, but because of the lush surroundings and friendly atmosphere they still found time to lend their attentions to other, more interesting activities. The memory of the battle, even the scars of it, had all but vanished, and as carpenters and seamen worked above the deck or deep in the hull, others, luckier or craftier, dragged out their time ashore collecting fresh water and fruit, and took every advantage to better their

Imuu relations with the local women.

At the beginning of the third week the Indomitable and the Hermes with their two attendant sloops dropped anchor in the bay, and Bolitho wondered just how long it was going to take Pelham-Martin to decide on a definite course of action. So far the commodore had done little, other than send the two frigates on separate patrols to the south-west, but now he had larger ships at his disposal he might at last be prepared to move.

It had been easy for Bolitho to keep his own men busy. There was ample work to do repairing rigging and decks, and with the battle casualties added to the previous shortages he was now lacking nearly a sixth of the total complement. But even such severe shortages might not be relied on to keep his men out of trouble. He could not, would not restrict them from going ashore in small parties, but already there had been squabbles, even fights with some of the local menfolk, and the cause was easy to discover.

The dark skinned women with their ready smiles and bold eyes were enough to set any sailor's heart aflame, and mixed with the blazing sunshine and easily obtained rum it was just a matter of time before something serious happened.

i And now, with more ships anchored in the bay the local people's ready welcome might soon give way to resentment and worse.

When he had told the commodore of his fears he had received no satisfaction. Peiham-Martin was no longer living aboard, but had taken full advantage of de Block's offer to set up temporary headquarters in the governor's own residence by the waterfront.

He had merely said, "If you cannot trust your people on shore, Bolitho, then you must keep them from going there!"

On another occasion he had implied that he was awaiting news from Caracas which might give some fresh idea as to where Lequiller had gone.

And that was the strangest part of all. Lequiller's squadron had vanished as if it did not even exist.

When the frigate Spartan had returned from Caracas, Bolitho had managed to meet her captain before he had been ordered to his new patrol area. Captain Farquhar had been both resentful and impatient.

"The Spanish Captain-General was polite but little else. He gave me ten minutes' audience and no more, and seemed barely interested in our commodore's greeting." His lips had twisted into a scornful smile. "He gave me to understand that the English have claimed control of the Caribbean for so long it was our duty to prove it."

Bolitho could well imagine Farquhar's irritation. He had never been noted for his tolerance, and the humiliation of being thus dismissed would not be easy to accept. But if he had been angry, he had not been slow in making full use of his visit. There had been only one shipof-war at Caracas, and she was obviously being retained as a local escort, probably for one of the Spanish treasure ships. One thing was certain, however. Nobody knew or would say a word about Lequiller's squadron. And yet-Bolitho had considered it countless times-it had to be somewhere, repairing damage as he was, preparing and watching for the next move. But where?

Then, after another week of waiting and fretting, a small armed schooner slipped into the bay and anchored close inshore. She was the Fauna, de Block's link with the other Dutch islands, and almost as old as the sixty-gun Telamon.

Within an hour Bolitho received a summons to report to Pelham-Martin's headquarters, and as the barge pulled away from the Hyperion's side he saw with grim satisfaction that boats were already leaving the other ships and heading for the shore. It must be something urgent for the commodore to call his captains together before lunchtime, he thought. Since taking up residence in de Block's house Pelham-Martin had adopted a grand and remote way of life. If anything he had grown larger in his new surroundings, and when he entertained some of his officers to dinner, which was not often, his capacity for food and wine was a topic of conversation for days afterwards.

Bolitho found him in the low ceilinged room above the waterfront seated behind a gilt-edged table which was completely covered with charts and loose papers.

He looked up as Bolitho entered and waved one hand towards a chair. Then he said casually, "News at last, Bolitho." He seemed to be holding back his excitement with real effort. "De Block has informed me of Lequiller's whereabouts, so now we can act!"

Winstanley and Fitzmaurice came into the room together followed by Captain Mulder of the Telamon.

Pelham-Martin waited for them to arrange themselves in chairs and then said, "Lequiller's ships have been found, gentlemen." He watched their sudden interest and added grandly, "I know that there are some who might have wished to act prematurely," he let his eyes rest briefly on Bolitho before continuing, "but as I have always stressed, there is a correct method of bringing an enemy to action, a positive way of showing our strength." He was warming to his theme, and from the expressions of the other two British officers, Bolitho guessed it was a well-known one. Winstanley looked faintly amused, while Fitzmaurice appeared to be attentively bored.

"We are a safeguard of considerable affairs, gentlemen, and it is the deployment and use of our available resources which is far more valuable than any brief devil-may-care skirmish!"

At that moment de Block entered by a small side door, a chart under his arm. He nodded to the commodore and then unrolled the chart across the others on the table.

Pelham-Martin frowned slightly and dabbed his forehead with a silk handkerchief. "As I was saying, Lequiller has been found, is that not so?"

De Block was filling a long pipe with tobacco, his single hand doing all the functions like a wiry brown animal.

"It is so." He rapped the chart with the pipe stem. "My schooner spoke with a West Indiaman four days ago. She wished to land one of her officers who was suffering from fever and made to put into here," the pipe stem paused and the officers around the table craned forward as one, "the port of Las Mercedes on the Spanish Main. But they were refused entry."

Pelham-Martin said, "Only two hundred miles west of Caracas and yet the Captain-General knew nothing about them!"

De Block eyed him wryly. "Two hundred miles in distance maybe, but in that country it is like ten times that amount." He sighed. "But no matter, the West Indiaman's master reported seeing several ships-of-war at anchor."

Captain Mulder said, "This Lequiller has chosen well. It is a…" he groped for the word, "… a barren place."

Bolitho was on his feet and leaning over the chart. "I have heard of it. Once the haunt of pirates. A good anchorage, and easy to defend by sea or overland." He circled the craggy coastline with his finger. "It has a bay very like we have here, but according to the chart there is a wide river which protects it from any inland assault."

De Block smiled. "Not a river. Once maybe, but now it is little more than a swamp. Nobody really knows how far it goes inland, and few have wanted to discover its secrets. It is full of fever and death. No wonder pirates thought themselves safe there."

Pelham-Martin glared at him. "When you have all finished, gentlemen!" He eased his heavy body to the edge of the chair. "I am not interested in what the pirates did or did not do, nor do I care much for the swamp. The fact is that Lequiller has found shelter and sustenance in Las Mercedes, and Spanish Main or not, I intend to seek him outl"

Captain Fitzmaurice shifted uneasily. "But surely an attack on any Spanish territory would be seen as a hostile act against Spain, sir?"

Winstanley nodded. "We might be doing what Lequiller wishes. It would drive Spain into the French camp quicker than anything."

Pelham-Martin dabbed his brow with quick, savage thrusts.

"I was coming to that!"

"Perhaps if I could explain?" De Block stepped forward, his pipe still unlit. "The captain of my schooner also said it is rumoured there are English sailors in the prison at Las Mercedes." He shrugged. "Maybe they are mutineers, or perhaps deserters from some passing ship, it is of no account." His eyes flashed in the shaded sunlight. "But their presence at Las Mercedes might be used as an excuse for a closer study, eh?"

The commodore eyed him stonily. "I was about to say that, de Block." He sniffed. "However, as you have put it so well, I think I can state I am in total agreement."

Bolitho rubbed his chin. In his mind's eye he was seeing the natural harbour, three hundred miles distant from St. Kruis. It was an ideal hiding place, and for a man like Lequiller who knew the area well it would have been a careful choice. It was a formidable place, but had Lequiller been able to take St. Kruis as well, the situation would have been even worse.

He said slowly, "You could send a sloop to inform the Captain-General at Caracas, sir. He might wish to withhold any treasure ship until we have found and defeated the French squadron." He looked up, seeing the sudden hostility in Pelham-Martin's eyes.

"Inform him! After his damned insolence!" PelhamMartin was sweating badly. "He's probably hand in glove with the governor of Las Mercedes. Inform him indeed!" He controlled his anger with effort. "I shall be happy to do so when I can produce this traitorous Spaniard to him in person."

Bolitho looked at the chart. He could hardly blame Pelham-Martin for wanting to keep all the credit as a final return of insults.

He said, "From my experience, sir, it is not likely that the Captain-General knows about this. The Spanish governors of the various provinces usually keep their own council and are responsible only to the Court in Spain. It takes months to get decisions agreed upon, so many of them act alone and share nothing of their problems in case of recriminations at a later date."

Winstanley cleared his throat. "That is true, sir."

"All the more reason for trusting no one, surely?" Pelham-Martin's good humour was returning. "I am not waiting for Lequiller to call the tune this time. We will put to sea immediately."

Bolitho stood back from the table. "I will have the barge standing by, sir."

Pelham-Martin looked away. "Thank you, but it will not be necessary. I am shifting my broad pendant back to Indomitable." He nodded curtly. "Return to your ships, gentlemen. We will make sail in two hours."

Later, as Bolitho stood at the Hyperion's quarterdeck rail he wondered what had decided Pelham-Martin to change flagships again. As the broad pendant had broken from the Indomitable's topmast he had seen several of the seamen on the gangways pointing towards it and calling to each other with something like indignation. Rightly or wrongly, they probably considered they had done more than any in the squadron to bring the enemy to close action, and the commodore's change of heart must seem like an unspoken rebuke which they could not understand.

Bolitho did not understand it either, although when he had gathered his officers together in the wardroom to explain briefly what the commodore intended to do, he had made every effort to show neither resentment nor bitterness. At any other time he would have been glad to be rid of Pelham-Martin's presence, but now, with a final and decisive action imminent he would have preferred otherwise. For whereas Pelham-Martin had in the past consulted his captains for even the most trivial despatches, he had added nothing at all to his brief orders prior to sailing.

Inch called, "Anchor's hove short, sir!"

Bolitho pulled himself from his brooding thoughts and shaded his eyes to peer across at the Indomitable.

Winstanley was probably cursing Pelham-Martin for returning to his ship. He could see the men along the twodecker's yards, the crouching shapes of others plodding around her capstan. Beyond her, framed against the distant hills, the Hermes and the stately Telamon were also shortening their cables. Even without a glass he could see most of the island's population crowded along the waterfront and on the headland where Dawson's marines had repaired the battery and had helped to improve the defences in case of any future attack.

In spite of his apprehension at Pelham-Martin's failure to outline any proposed plan of battle, Bolitho could find some comfort at the sight. With the sun beating down across the glittering blue water of the bay, a steady northeasterly ruffling the shrubs and rushes below the headland, the four ships made a splendid picture. As he looked along his own command he could afford to feel satisfied and pleased with the work his men had achieved. As good as his word, de Block had supplied the ship with everything at his disposal, even to the extent of new canvas to replace that lost in battle.

And as Perks, the sailmaker, had remarked, "It's none o' yer wartime rubbish, sir, 'tis the real stuff."

Gascoigne yelled, "General, sir! Up anchor!"

Bolitho nodded. "Get the ship under way, Mr. Inch!"

He glanced at Gossett. "We will take station astern of Hermes."

That was something else. Hyperion would be the last in. the line in whatever action the commodore intended. With the prevailing wind from the north-east it was a sensible position, for Hyperion was the fastest ship in the squadron and could dash down on the van if Indomitable got into difficulty and needed support. But to her company, many of whom did not understand these matters, it must seem like a final insult. He would make it his business to set their minds at rest, he decided.

He heard Inch yelling, "Get those laggards to the mizzen braces! Mr. Tomlin! Wake them up, for God's sake!"

Here and there a rattan swished across a tanned back as the seamen came alive to the business of getting under way. A month of comparative idleness had taken its toll, `and it took more than soft words to drive the men to the braces.

"Loose tops'ls!"

Gascoigne ran across the deck as wheeling ponderously to the wind the ship went about, her sails cracking and booming overhead and the capstan still turning to the accompaniment of a breathless shanty.

"Flag to Hyperion, sir!" His eyes were streaming as the sunlight lanced down his telescope. "Make haste!"

Bolitho smiled. "Acknowledge." Pelham-Martin would not wish to see any slackness with a Dutch ship in company. The Telamon was-a splendid sight, and in the glare her gilded stern shone like some fantastic temple altar, while strung out along her yards the dark skins of her topmen glistened as if they, too, had been stained and polished to perfection.

But she would make little impression on Lequiller's ships, he thought. She was over fifty years old, and her guns were no match for the French artillery. And she had been out here for most of her lifetime, Mulder had said. So her timbers were probably rotten, in spite of the gilded carving and proud flags.

He shifted his eyes to the Hermes as she tacked round to take station astern of the Dutchman. She on the other hand looked every inch an experienced warrior. Stained and scarred, with more than one patch in her pale canvas.

Inch said, "Indomitable's setting her t'gallants, sir."

"Very well. Do likewise, Mr. Inch." Bolitho staggered slightly as the deck lifted slowly beneath him. Like him, the ship seemed pleased to be rid of the land again.

He looked up to watch the canvas spread along the braced yards and the tiny silhouettes of the topmen as they raced each other to obey the orders from the deck far below. He saw Pascoe pause at the maintop, his body tilting to the roll of the ship, his head thrown back to watch the pigtailed seamen swarming past him as still more canvas ballooned and then hardened from the yards. His shirt was open to his waist, and Bolitho could see that his skin was already well tanned, his ribs less prominent than when he had come aboard. He was learning fast and well, but Bolitho knew from what he had seen and heard at St. Kruis that the boy still kept apart from the other midshipmen and was nursing his inner hurt like some latent disease.

Gossett intoned, "Course is west by south, sir!"

"Very well." Bolitho crossed to the weather side to watch as the headland. slipped past, tiny figures running along the lip of crumbling rocks where the French raiding party had stormed up to the battery under cover of darkness.

Far away on the larboard bow he could just make out a tiny white sliver on the sea's edge to mark one of the sloops which had already hurried ahead to contact the frigates and pass Pelham-Martin's instructions with minimum delay.

To Inch he said quietly, "Set no more sail just yet. With our clean copper I'm afraid we might overreach the Hermes!"

Inch showed his teeth in a grin. "Aye, aye, sir."

It was then, and only then, that Bolitho realised Inch had got the ship under way without a single flaw, while he had been so immersed in his own thoughts he had barely noticed it.

He eyed the lieutenant gravely. "We'll make make a commander of you yet, Mr. Inch!"

Leaving Inch with an even wider grin he walked aft to the cabin, where once more he could be alone with his thoughts.