FORM LINE OF BATTLE!

4. PLAN OF ATTACK

Lieutenant Ernest Quarme tucked his hat beneath his arm and stepped into the captain's cabin, squinting his eyes against the fierce glare which was thrown upwards through the stern windows to paint the deckhead and furniture in a strange green light.

'You sent for me, sir?'

Bolitho was leaning out over the sill staring down at the Hyperion's tiny wake as it bubbled sluggishly from the weedencrusted rudder. For a moment his eyes were blinded by the darkened cabin, then he sat down on the bench seat and gestured towards a nearby chair. He knew the first lieutenant was watching him intently, his features betraying nothing of his inner thoughts, and Bolitho hoped that his own face was equally devoid of expression.

Around the cabin the ship creaked and murmured as she wallowed heavily on a slow south-easterly course, her sails hardly filling, and showing more use as shelter for the sun for the men working about her decks. Like muffled drumbeats he could hear the thud of hammers and the occasional rasp of saws as Cuppage, the carpenter, and his mates completed the repairs and hid the last remaining scars left from the brief and savage action.

Bolitho rubbed his eyes and tried to clear the tiredness from his mind. If only the other scars were as easily erased. But the anger and relief, the jubilation of escape and the excitement of battle had soon given way to gloom and depression, which hung over the ship like a stormcloud. For that short, onesided fight had been two long days ago. Two days of monotonous tacking and patrolling back and forth, with the island and its mocking flag a constant reminder of their failure.

Bolitho had searched his mind again and again for some method of attack, so that as the hours drew into days each plan became more dangerous and every hope of success more doubtful, Then this morning the final blow had fallen. The dawn light load found the Hyperion some seven miles to the southwest of the island, an area which he had selected as the most suitable for making a quick dash down on the protected harbour, making use of the prevailing offshore winds.

He had placed the Spanish sixty-four, Princesa, on the othei side of the island, where she had the best chance of catching the captured sloop Fairfax should she try and escape by that route.

And the sloop was yet another essential link in the overall plan. The French garrison had no other ship available to carry the news of Moresby's attack and the patrolling British squadron, and unless some sort of storeship was sent from the mainland they would remain in a state of siege. Bolitho had toyed with the idea of a cutting-out operation, but had instantly rejected it. He knew in his heart that it was more as a balm to his hurt pride than a plan with any true value. Moresby's attack had cost Hyperion more than enough already. Eight killed and sixteen wounded. The damage to morale was beyond measure.

Then as the morning light had strengthened the news had broken. The lookout at the mainmast head had reported no sign of the Fairfax. She had somehow slipped out during the night, and now, as the midday sun beat down relentlessly on the dried decks, she was probably entering St. Clar and screaming the news abroad. The defences would be altered, but even worse, the French would now know the 'strength of the vanquished squadron. It was more than likely that along the French coast in inlets and harbours there were ships of the line just waiting the chance to dash out and avenge the indignity of Hood's blockade. Several such ships were known to have slipped past the British patrols, and others were probably in the vicinity already.

Bolitho blamed himself bitterly for the sloop's escape, although he knew well enough it was what he had expected. No ship of the line was fast enough to find her in the dark, and the hill-top battery made sure that the Hyperion stayed clear during daylight.

He looked across at Quarme and asked slowly, 'How is the visibility now?'

Quarme shrugged. 'It varies by the hour, sir. But just now it was less than two miles.'

Bolitho nodded. From first light the wind had dropped more and more, so that now the sea's milky surface was hardly ruffled by pitifully light airs which hardly gave the ship steerage way. And as the day drew on a strange mist had gathered, ebbing and writhing like steam, and even the island was lost from sight for quite long periods. Not that it mattered now, he thought heavily. The garrison knew they were there just the same. And the sloop had escaped.

Quarme said suddenly, 'May I ask what you intend to do, sir?'

Bolitho faced him and replied, 'Do you wish to make a suggestion?'

The other man dropped his eyes. 'It is hardly my place, sir, but I believe dwould be prudent to inform Lord Hood of what has happened.' He seemed to expect an interruption, but then continued, 'You could not be blamed for what occurred. By delaying your despatch to the admiral you might, however, incur his real displeasure.'

'Thank you, Mr. Quarme. I have already thought of that.' Bolitho stood up and walked across the carpet. For a moment he stared hard at his sword hanging by the doorway and then added, 'But we have only two ships. If I send the Princesa there is no saying what story will be laid before the admiral, in spite of whatever written despatch from me. And if we leave this station" do you really think the Spaniard can deal with some sudden attack from the mainland?' He saw Quarme shuffle his feet uneasily and smiled. 'You think perhaps that I was too hard on the Princesa's captain?'

Without difficulty he could see the unhappy Spaniard sitting where Quarme now sat. He was a sullen, resentful man who at first had pretended to know little English. But Bolitho's scathing words had made his. eyes flash with anger and then shame as he had given him his verdict on the Princesa's failure to join the battle.

At one point the Spaniard had leapt to his feet, his mouth twisted in anger. 'I must protest! I could not' reach the entrance in time. I will complain to Admiral Hood of your accusations.' Then more loftily he had added, 'I am not unknown in high government circles!'

Bolitho had watched him coldly. Seeing again the death agonies of the Spanish flagship, the burned and butchered remains floating across the Hyperion's bows.

'You will be even better known, Captain, when I have placed you under arrest for cowardice! Admiral Moresby invested full command in me before he died.' It was surprising how easily the lie had come to his lips. 'And nothing you have said so far has persuaded me that you are fit even to remain

alive!'

Bolitho hated to see any man humiliated, and he had had to force himself to watch the other captain's misery and fear. But that was two days ago, when there had still been a slight chance of reversing their mutual defeat. By now the Spaniard might have ideas of his own.

Quarme said, 'I still think that you should inform Lord Hood, sir. Whatever the Spanish captain did or did not do will make little difference as far as the future is concerned.'

Bolitho turned away, angry with himself. Angry with Quarme because he knew he was right. Yet in the back of his mind he seemed to hear Hood's words, 'I want that island taken without delay!' Without delay. Right at this moment aboard the Victory the admiral would be in the middle of his own problems. The internal politics of Toulon, the show of confidence he had so carefully described. And all the time the French army would be moving south towards the coast.

Bolitho said calmly, 'You and I seem to disagree about several things. You disapproved of my burying Sir William Moresby at sea with the other dead seamen.'

Quarme was disconcerted by this new tack. 'Well, I thought that under the circumstances…

'Admiral Moresby died in battle, Mr. Quarme. I see no point in drawing a line between his sacrifice and those of the men who gave their lives for him.' His voice was still calm but cold. 'Sir William is as safe now as he would have been in some graveyard.' He made himself return to the stern windows. `Our people have lost heart. It is never good for men to lose a first battle. So much depends on their trust when next they face a broadside.' He added wearily, 'They died with their admiral. They will share his grave as well as his privilege!'

Quarme opened his mouth and looked round startled as a distant voice entered the quiet cabin.

'Deck there! Sail to the sou'westl'

Bolitho stared at Quarme and then snapped, 'Come with me. Maybe the French are out already!'

On the quarterdeck the sun greeted his shoulders like heat from a furnace, -but Bolitho hardly noticed it as he looked first towards the island and then to the masthead. Of Cozar there was still no sign. But to seaward the mist was thinner and more fragile above the blinding water, and as he took a telescope from Midshipman Caswell he asked, 'Can the lookout make her out yet?'

In the glass he could see little more, but for a splinter of white sail barely making a break on the sea's edge.

The lookout called, 'She's a small ship, sir! On 'er own an' steering due east!'

Bolitho said, 'Get up there, Mr. Quarme, and tell me what ' you see.' He knew the others were watching him and had to control the urge to go aloft himself.

Lieutenant Rooke was officer of the watch, and stood by the quarterdeck rail, a glass beneath his arm, his hat tilted against the glare. As always he was faultlessly dressed, and beside the other men in their stained shirts, or as most were stripped to the waist, he looked like a London dandy.

Bolitho ignored all of them and tried not to stare up at Quarme's tall figure as he climbed swiftly towards the crosstrees. Rooke would be enjoying all this, he thought grimly. No doubt he would be quick to enlarge on his captain's failure once they rejoined the squadron. Bolitho told himself he was being unfair. Maybe his dislike for Rooke hinged on his more general aversion to privileged aristocrats within the Navy. Titles given as rewards for valour and true achievement were one thing, but so often they became intolerable burdens for the eager offsprings. Bolitho had found plenty of them on his visits to London. Spoiled, self-important little upstarts who owed their appointments to birth and financial power, and knew little of the Navy but for the uniforms they wore with such dash and conceit.

Quarme shouted suddenly, 'I can see her right enough, sir! Sloop of war by the look of her! She's holding her course to the east'rd!'

Rooke spoke for all of them. 'She'll be from Gibraltar. Despatches and mail for the fleet.'

Bolitho looked across at Gossett's massive figure. 'You have served in these waters before, Mr. Gossett. Will this weather hold?'

The master frowned, his eyes vanishing into his brown face. 'Not long, sir. These light airs come an' go, but I reckon the wind'll get up afore eight bells.' He was not boasting, he was giving a statement born of long experience.

Bolitho nodded. 'Very well, Mr. Gossett. Call all hands and prepare to wear ship. We will alter course and intercept that sloop immediately.'

Quarme arrived at his side breathing heavily. 'We could signal her to close us, sir.' He sounded almost shocked that a line-of-battle ship should make allowances for such a tiny unit of the fleet.

Bolitho eyed him gravely. 'As soon as. we are within range have a signal bent on, if you please. I don't want to lose her now.'

Quarme was mystified. 'Signal, sir?'

Below on the maindeck the men pulled themselves from their dulled torpor as the pipes drove them to their stations for wearing ship.

Bolitho said quietly, 'Tell her to heave to and await my orders.'

'I see, sir.' Then Quarme said, 'So you have decided to send

despatches to Lord Hood, after all.' He bit his lip and nodded slowly. 'It is the best decision, in my opinion. No one will blame you, sir.'

Bolitho watched the marines clumping aft like soldiers to man the mizzen braces with their usual unseamanlike precision. Then he dragged his mind back to Quarme's remark and said flatly, 'I have no intention of sending a report to Lord Hood, Mr. Quarme. Not until there is something to report!'

It took the best part of two hours to close the other vessel within hailing distance, but by six bells of the afternoon watch both ships had gone about and were heading due south, away from the mist-shrouded island. -"

Then Bolitho signalled for the sloop's captain to come aboard, and as both ships shortened sail he returned to his cabin and sent for Quarme.

'I want all officers assembled in this cabin fifteen. minutes after the sloop's commander, Mr. Quarme.' He ignored the mystified expression on the other man's face and continued crisply, 'And all warrant officers not employed in working the ship, right?'

'Aye, aye, sir.' Quarme's eyes moved to the quarter windows where the little sloop rode easily in the Hyperion's lee. 'Can I ask what you intend, sir?'

Bolitho eyed him -impassively. 'Fifteen minutes, Mr. Quarme.'

He controlled his gnawing impatience as the sounds of a boat coming alongside and the shrill of pipes announced the new arrival. But by the time an equally mystified Lieutenant Bellamy, commander of H.M. Sloop Chanticleer, arrived in his cabin he was, outwardly at least, quite composed again.

Bellamy was a young, gangling officer with troubled eyes and an air of sad apprehension about him.

Bolitho got straight to the point. 'I am sorry to summon you aboard in this way, Bellamy, but as senior officer of this squadron I have need of -your ready assistance.'

Bellamy digested the beginning without much show of excitement. But he did not question Bolitho's right of stopping him either, and Bolitho considered the use of the title 'senior officer' had already been of some value.

He continued, 'Over yonder lies Cozar, which as you may know is now in enemy hands. It is my intenton to reverse that arrangement, and at once.' He eyed the lieutenant searchingly. 'But only with your help, you understand?'

Bellamy obviously did not. If a seventy-four was powerless to act it hardly seemed likely that his frail-timbered sloop could add much to the proceedings. But he nodded nevertheless. Maybe only to humour Bolitho, a squadron commander who had to all appearances but one ship at his disposal.

Bolitho smiled, 'Very well then, I will tell you what I intend.'

Fifteen minutes later Quarme opened the door and stood aside as the Hyperion's officers filed silently into the cabin, their eyes at first busy on these sacred quarters, and then finally settling on the gangling lieutenant.

Bolitho faced them calmly. 'Well, gentlemen, at last we have a plan.'

The eyes shifted to him and stayed there.

'In an hour or so we will alter course to the north and beat back towards the mainland. There is not much time, and a great deal to do. Now, it seems to me that the French will not attempt to return to Cozar during the night. For one thing it is a mite dangerous, and the other is that they might run against us or the Princesa.' He unrolled a chart on the table. 'By dawn tomorrow I intend to be in this position to the nor'-west of the island, and as soon as we are sighted by the garrison then Lieutenant Bellamy will take his ship into the harbour.'

If he had announced a visitation from God his words could not have had a greater effect. Some of the officers stared incredulously at Bellamy for explanation or confirmation, but the latter merely looked at his feet. Others exchanged baffled glances and threw strange stares at Bolitho, as if to reassure themselves that he had not gone raving mad.

Bolitho smiled slightly and continued, 'In the next hour I want one of our carronades taken across to the Chanticleer.' He tightened his jaw, hearing his own words committing himself and every man present. 'In addition she will carry one hundred of our seamen and all the marines.'

Captain Ashby could contain himself no longer. 'But what will happen, sir? I-I mean, dammit, sir.. He trailed away into helpless silence as Rooke's drawling voice broke in from the side of the cabin.

'So you want the Frogs to think that the sloop is the Fdirfax returning to harbour, sir?'

Bolitho nodded silently. Rooke was sharp enough anyway, and well ahead of the rest.

'Exactly.'

There was a great buzz of murmurs and questions, and then Quarme asked doggedly, 'What chance is there of success, sir? I mean to say, the Chanticleer is a sloop, but she's nothing like the Fairfax. She's older and smaller!' There were several nods around him.

'A good point, Mr. Quarme.' Bolitho thrust his hands behind him. `However, I have found from experience that men usually see what they expect to see. ' He looked around their faces very slowly. 'And the enemy will see a sloop being chased back into harbour by the Hyperion. They will open fire on this ship to cover her escape. By the time they realise what has happened we will be inside the harbour and too close to the landing place for the French to depress their guns.'

He had every man's full attention now. Even the midshipmen were craning forward to listen.

He said, 'But it has to be quick, gentlemen. At any moment from now on the French might be sending other ships. Then again some keen-eyed lookout might see the difference in sloops before we can enter harbour. But the garrison will be soldiers. Need I say more?'

Surprisingly, several of them actually laughed. It was a small beginning.

Bolitho looked round. 'Do we have a French flag? One of the new ones?'

Several heads were shaken.

Bolitho sought out the grey-haired sailmaker. 'Well, Mr. Buckle, you have thirty minutes to make one, so get to it!'

He did not wait for the man to reply but turned to the Hyperion's gunner. 'Mr. Pearse, you can get the carronade swayed across as soon as you like. Select a good crew for it, and use whatever boat you require.'

He watched him follow the sailmaker and then added evenly, 'When we made our last attack on the harbour we were hiddedn from the battery for a few moments by a shoulder of land. If this ship keeps on that same course as before the enemy might move some of the other guns across to hit us better. They will be very confident by that time, and will know that we would never attempt to sail directly into a trap. If they do that the sloop willl have an even better chance.'

There was a murmur of excitement. It was a plan at last. There was still a lot to be sorted out and explained. But it was a plan.

'Very well, gentlemen, you may go. Attend to your duties. I will be on deck directly to deal. with the next phase.' -

As they left the cabin Bolitho turned once more to Lieutenant Bellamy. He had expected some comment, even protest, but Bellamy had said nothing at all, and Bolitho was not sure he had understood half of what was expected of him-.-

He said, 'Thank you, Bellamy, that was most helpful.'

The lieutenant stared at him and swallowed hard. It was? He gulped again. 'Er, thank you, sir.'

Bolitho followed him on deck and watched him walk unsteadily towards the entry port. Then he breathed out very slowly. He had failed to inform Lord Hood of the failure to take Cozar. He had assumed overall command of an operation which might end in real disaster and a great loss of life. He had even waylaid a sloop with its despatches and mail, and would possibly destroy the little ship for good measure.

He looked up at the masthead and saw the pendant lifting and stirring itself in a growing breeze. But if there had been any excuse for avoiding action before, there was none now. The consequences for what he had already done had made that impossible.

Then pushing the doubt from his mind he crossed to the weather side of the quarterdeck and began to pace up and down with steady concentration.

Bolitho awoke with a violent start and for several seconds stared at Allday's stooping shape and the heavy jug which he carried in one hand.

Allday said quietly, 'Sorry to wake you, Captain, but it's getting a mite lighter on deck.' He held out a mug and began to pour a hot drink while Bolitho gathered his thoughts and peered around the sloop's tiny cabin.

Above the chair in which he had fallen into an exhausted sleep he could see a pale rectangle of light from the quarterdeck skylight, and the sudden realisation of what lay ahead held him rigidly in his seat, like a man emerging from a nightmare only to find it is real.

The hot coffee tasted bitter, but he felt it exploring his insides and was grateful for it.

'How is the wind?'

Allday shrugged. 'Light by steady, Captain. Still from the nor'-west.'

'Good.' He stood up quickly and let out a curse as his head struck the low deck beams.

Ailday controlled the impulse to grin. 'Not much of a ship, is she, Captain?'

Bolitho rubbed his arms to restore the circulation and replied coldly, 'My first command was a sloop of war, Allday. Very like this one.' Then he smiled ruefully. 'But you are right. Such craft are for the very young, or the very small!'

The door opened a few inches and Lieutenant Bellamy bobbed his head inside, 'Ah, sir, I see you have been called.' He showed his teeth. 'A fine day for it!'

Bolitho eyed him with surprise. It was amazing bow Bellamy had thrown himself into the scheme of things. If anything went wrong he would have much to explain. In the Navy it was not always sufficient to hold on to the excuse that you were only obeying someone else's orders.

Bent almost double, Bolitho followed him up a short ladder and on to the sloop's quarterdeck. It felt very cool, and in the pale light he could see patches of broken cloud and a few catspaws of tossing water. He shivered and wished he was wearing his coat. But like the rest he had discarded anything which might be seen and recognised by a vigilant sentry.

Bellamy was pointing across the larboard bow. 'Cozar is about five miles over yonder, sir. It'll not be long now.'

Bolitho walked aft to the taffrail and strained his eyes astern. The breeze was steady on his skin, but of the Hyperion there was no sign. He walked slowly back past the unprotected wheel, his shoes sounding strangely loud in the silence.

Once again he pushed his mind back over the past hectic hours, seeking any flaw or mistake in his plans. He recalled Quarme's brief show of dismay when he had told. him that he was to be left in charge of the ship. Even Bolitho's patient explanation had done little to change things.

If the French were not deceived; or the sloop was overcome before she could be laid alongside the landing place, nobody in the attacking force would survive.

It was Bolitho's plan. -He would take the risk. But he could sympathise with Quarme all the same. He had learned that Quarme was a career officer with little money or influence to back his progress. His sort depended on being given charge of a cutting-out operation, or a scatter-brained scheme like this one. Others climbed the slippery ladder to promotion by way of the deaths or advancements of their superiors, and maybe Quarme had already hoped that Captain Turner's sudden demise would see him on his way.

But if all failed in Cozar the Hyperion needed a good, level-headed man in command, no matter how temporary, and Quarme had proved that he was more than able to run the ship.

Bellamy said anxiously, 'The horizon's clearing, sir.' He was dragging at his watch. 'God, this waiting!'

It was certainly brighter. Bolitho could see the sloop's full upper deck and the black finger of her bowsprit against the paling sky beyond. But for the small ship's sluggish response to helm and wind it was hard to imagine that crammed below decks were all of Ashby's marines, as well as fifty of Hyperion's seamen, with another fifty uncomfortably hidden beneath a tarpaulin on the maindeck itself. It was fortunate that Bellamy was already sailing shorthanded, but nevertheless it took every piece of hold space as well as the berth deck to cram them inside the sloop's hull.

The Chanticleer's own seamen were sitting or lounging around the bulwarks, saying little, and waiting to spread every stitch of canvas as soon as the order was given.

Bolitho's mind strayed to the awful possibility of Quarme's failure to reach the rendezvous in time. All night the sloop had hurried on ahead, just in case some snooping fishing boat or coasting craft should see them sailing in company and kill the only possible chance of success before they had even started.

He looked along the starboard battery of guns. The sloop was armed with eighteen tiny cannon, the whole broadside of which would hardly make a scar on that imposing fortress.

'Ah!' Bellamy let out a gasp as the golden rim of sunlight lanced brightly over the edge of the sea.

And there was the island. Maybe four miles clear, with its humped hills and the fortress square and black against the growing sunlight. Approaching from the west gave the island a different shape, Bolitho thought, but as he lifted his glass he could see the white breakers at the foot of the headland, and realised how tall and formidable the cliff looked by comparison.

He shivered again and was instantly reminded of the months he had lain in his bed at Falmouth. Without effort he could picture the big grey house, the view of the anchorage and Pendennis Castle he had seen from his window between bouts of dizziness and oblivion. The house with its great dark portraits of all the past Bolithos who had lived and died by the sea. It was full of memories, but empty of warmth. For he was the last of the line, with no one to carry on the family tradition.

He thought too of Nancy, his youngest sister. She had watched over him during his illness, and with Allday had nursed him through one agony after another. She adored him, he knew that well enough, and had tried to mother him whenever she got the chance.

Bolitho studied the slow-moving clouds impassively. If he was to die this morning, Nancy would have the old house. She was married to a Falmouth farmer and landowner, a County man who lived only for blood sports and good fare. He also had a ready eye for Bolitho's house, and would be more than ready to move in.

Allday whispered, 'Your sword, Captain.'

Bolitho lifted his arms automatically and felt the firm clasp of the belt about his waist as Allday adjusted the buckle.

Allday muttered, 'It's a mite loose from the last time you wore it, Captain.' He shook his head. 'You need some good Cornish lamb inside you!'

'Don't fuss, damn you!' Bolitho dropped his hand and ran it over the worn hilt. He should have left the old sword hanging in his cabin aboard Hyperion. But the thought of leaving it to fall into someone else's hands, or worse, for it to go to Nancy 's husband, was unbearable. That man would stick it on his wall amongst his fox masks and deer heads like one more shabby souvenir.

He tried to recall exactly the moment when his father had given it to him, but he could no longer obtain a clear picture of the proud old man, with his single arm and thick greying hair.

He lifted the sword a few inches in its scabbard and saw the razor-edged blade glimmer in the frail sunlight. It was old, but it was as true as ever. He snapped, it down and swung round as Bellamy muttered thankfully, `There she is, by God!'

The Hyperion's hull was still deep in shadow, but her topsails and courses were clear and white in the sunlight, like those of a phantom ship. Even as he watched he saw the topgallants appear as if by magic, and the sudden lift of spray around her beakhead as the land breeze found her and heeled her slightly in a tired curtsy.

Allday said, `She's altering course. She's seen us!'

There was a sudden flash from the Hyperion's forecastle, followed within seconds by a dull bang. Everyone on the sloop's deck ducked with alarm 'as a ball screamed overhead and smashed hissing into the sea beyond.

Bellamy gasped, 'I say, that was close!'

Bolitho could feel the same cold excitement that he had known so often in the past, and felt a grin frozen to his face like a mask: 'It was meant to be! This has to look right!' He seized the outraged Bellamy's arm. `Come on then! Jump to it!'

The lieutenant cupped his hands and yelled, `Hands aloft! Loose courses and foretops'll!' He ran to the opposite rail as his men broke into sudden acitivity. `Run up the colours, damn you!' But even he seemed surprised as the makeshift French flag broke from the gaff and whipped defiantly in the wind.

The sloop was responding well, and caught in a lazy offshore swell she threw back the spray from her stem in great white streamers.

The Chanticleer's only other officer joined in the confusion. 'Hands to quarters! Have the guns run out!'

Bolitho watched the ports jerking open and the slim muzzles sniffing above. the creaming water alongside. There, lashed like some snub-nosed beast was the Hyperion's second carronade. It was already loaded and had been doubly checked while Bolitho had slept in his cramped chair.

Such a weapon threw a giant sixty-eight-pound shot which burst on impact. It was crammed with grape, and at short range was murderous in its performance. Today it might be the margin between success and failure.

Another twelve-pound ball whimpered overhead and threw a tall waterspout within half a cable of the sloop's bows.

Bolitho turned as Rooke appeared beside him, his slight figure wrapped in a borrowed pea-jacket. Even like that he somehow looked smart and well turned out.

Rooke said tightly, 'That'll be Mr. Pearse, the gunner. He'll fire each shot himself, if I'm not mistaken, sir.' He tightened his jaw as a third ball slammed hard alongside and deluged the sloop's own gunners with spray.

'He certainly has a good eye.' Bellamy sounded anxious.

Bolitho lifted his glass as a distant trumpet call echoed above the moan of rigging and hiss of spray. He saw the flag rising above the fortress, the gleam of sunlight on a telescope or weapon by the battery wall.

He snapped, 'Alter course, Bellamy! Remember what I told you, and cut as close as you dare to the headland!'

He left Bellamy to his work as the Hyperion changed her tack and swung round menacingly to run almost parallel with the sloop. She was a good mile away, but under her great press of canvas and with the wind under her stem she was moving fast and well. Any observer from the shore would certainly assume she was making a desperate effort to overreach the sloop and catch her before she could tack and enter the safety of the harbour.

There was an echoing roar from the cliff, and they all heard the high-pitohed whine as the ball passed high overhead.

Rooke said, 'I didn't see anything!'

Bolitho bit his lip. Through his glass he had seen a hole appear right in the belly of the Hyperion's main course. It was a very good shot indeed.

He said, 'At least they are concentrating on Quarme for the moment!' But the humour was only in his voice. In the growing light Hyperion held a kind of beauty which he found hard to explain. He could see the angry figurehead, the gleam of reflected water in her tall side, and felt something like pain as another gun fired from the battery to throw a waterspout right alongside the old ship's poop.

That one could possibly have ricocheted into the hull timbers, he thought grimly. When he looked up at the fortress again he saw that there was still no furnace smoke above the ramparts. But it would not take them long to fan the overnight embers awake, and then any such shot could turn the Hyperion into an inferno.

Quarme was too close inshore. Maybe he had misjudged it, or perhaps he wanted it to look extra realistic.

He heard Rooke snarl, 'Tell that fool to hide himself!'

A pair of horny bare feet were protruding from beneath the spread tarpaulins, but they vanished with a yelp as a petty officer lashed out with his rattan.

Bellamy was more concerned with his own ship than the Hyperion's danger. He was beside the wheel watching both binnacle and sails as the dark-sided headland crept out as if to meet the Chanticleer's bows head on.

He dropped his hand. 'Braces therel Lively, you idle bastards!'

Groaning and protesting the sloop quivered and then heeled over to the thrust of wind and rudder. One snag-toothed rock seemed almost to graze the hull as she surged around the headland to where the flat water of the harbour greeted her like a placid trap.

Bolitho said quietly, 'Shorten sail now, Mr. Bellamy. And pass the word to the men below.' His hand against the sword hilt felt clammy with sweat.

He turned to watch the Hyperion's shape shorten as she started to tack closer inshore. She too had reduced sail, and he held his breath as two more waterspouts lifted within feet of her side. The French were firing more rapidly now, and it seemed likely that they had acted just as he had anticipated by moving more of the guns to the seaward side of the battery.

He swung round to face forward, unable to watch the Hyperion's dangerous manoeuvres. He saw that some of the sloop's men were clustered by the forecastle, watching the widening approaches of the harbour. He shouted angrily, 'Look astern, you idiots! If you were Frogs you'd be more afraid of the Hyperion than your own anchorage!'

His words steadied them and helped to break the tension of his own thoughts.

Rooke said, 'There's the landing place, sir!'

Bolitho nodded. It was little more than a wooden pier below a rough, narrow road which twisted away between a great cleft in the hillside beyond. There were many figures already there, and he could just make out the muzzle of an old fieldpiece crouching between its two massive iron wheels.

'Steady now, Mr. Bellamy.' He had to lick the dryness from his lips. 'Make for the anchorage beyond the pier. But when we are within a cable of the landing place get the sails off her and steer for the pier! You'll be in the lee of the hill by then, the ship's own way should take her in!'

Bellamy tore his eyes from the bows. 'It won't do my timbers any good, sir!' But he grinned. 'My God, this is better than running the fleet mails!'

Bolitho caught a glimpse of Inch, the Hyperion's horsefaced junior lieutenant, his head framed in an open hatch, and knew that the rest of the landing party were packed behind him like peas in a barrel. It must be worse for them, he thought vaguely. Crammed in the sloop's small hull in complete darkness, with nothing but fear and the sounds of gunfire to keep them company.

He snapped, 'Wave to the soldiers on the pier!' Some of the sailors gaped at him. 'Wave! You've just escaped the bloody English!'

He sounded so wild and angry that several of the men actually yelled with insane laughter and capered like madmen as the figures on the pier began to wave back.

Bolitho wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve and then said quietly, 'When you are ready, Mr. Bellamy.'

When he glanced briefly astern the harbour mouth was already sealed by the outflung wedge of headland. Above it he could see the Hyperion's upper yards and felt an overwhelming relief as he realised that she was already going about and heading for the safety of the open sea.

Then Bellamy barked, 'Now! Helm alee!'

When he faced forward again, Bolitho saw that the bowsprit was pointing straight towards the cleft in the hillside. Very deliberately he drew his sword from its scabbard and began to walk towards the caironade.