Colours Aloft! (31 page)

Tuson had never seen it, but the silent ceremony was almost legendary in the squadron, perhaps throughout the whole fleet. Allday with the sword was as well known as a bishop with his mitre.

Tuson said, “I have had Captain Inch taken forrard, sir. The place is less comfortable,” he glanced briefly through the door at the empty table and the waiting instruments, his crew standing or sitting like scavengers, “but I feel that he will be better placed there.”

A midshipman's white breeches appeared on the companion ladder and after a slight hesitation he said, “Captain Keen's respects, Sir Richard, and—”

Bolitho nodded. It was little Hickling, who, although quite unsuspecting, had helped him to smuggle the girl aboard the packet brig at Malta.

“I am ready, thank you.” He looked at Tuson, a lingering glance in which the surgeon later realized he could see no flaw or injury.

“Take care of the people.”

Tuson watched him leave. “And you take care of
you,
” he murmured.

Bolitho, with Hickling panting behind him, made his way, ladder by ladder, to the quarterdeck.

It was still very dark, with just occasional whitecaps beyond the sides to distinguish sea from sky. But the stars were fainter, and there was an air of morning, stale and damp.

Keen waited by the rail. “The wind's eased, sir. Still fresh enough to keep 'em guessing.” He sounded relieved that Hickling had found him. Keen had never known Bolitho to tour a ship alone before. Not even with Allday, as if he needed to feel the mood of each man under his flag.

Allday clipped on his sword and Ozzard handed him his hat before scuttling away to the hold where he would remain until the day was won or lost.

Bolitho could distinguish the litter of flags on the deck, the occasional movements of the signals midshipman and his assistants. Stayt was here too, and Bolitho guessed that he had taken time to clean and load his beautiful pistol.

“Just a matter of waiting, Val.” He wondered if the other ships were following astern, if
Rapid
and
Barracouta
were on station. It must have been a long night for most of them, Bolitho thought. He remembered the Battle of the Saintes when he had commanded his first frigate. It had taken an eternity for the two fleets to draw near enough to each other to fight. All day, or so it had seemed, they had watched the tremendous display of the French masts as they had lifted above the horizon. Like knights on the field of battle. It had been awesome and terrible. But they had won the day, if too late to win a war.

Keen stood beside him, silently preparing himself and searching his thoughts for any weakness. The sporadic gunfire had been a clear message that the convoy lay somewhere ahead and was under attack. Once he glanced at Bolitho to see if there was any surprise or satisfaction that he had been proved right, that he had found the enemy, when any honest man would have admitted that he had doubted his wisdom in acting on
Rapid
's information. But even in the gloom he recognized Bolitho's quiet determination, rather than any hint of relief.

And they were going to fight. It did not sound as if many vessels were involved. Keen saw the girl again in his mind and wanted to speak her name aloud if only to reassure himself. It only took a second for a man to die. The cause and the victory did not matter to the one who heard the cannon's roar for the last time.

He pictured Inch down on the orlop, hearing the din of war, unable to help or be with his friends. Keen had visited him after he had left the quarterdeck to speak with his lieutenants on the gun decks. Inch was very weak and in great pain from the two amputations to his arm.

Keen felt the sweat cold on his spine. He had been wounded, and still felt the raw wound on occasions. But to lie on a table, with his men all around watching and suffering, waiting their turn, how could anyone stand it? The flensing knife and then the agony of the saw, choking on the leather strap to stifle the screams. He recalled what he had told Zenoria.
It is what I am trained to do.
The words seemed to mock him now.

Luke Fallowfield, the sailing-master, banged his red hands together and the sound made several of the men nearby start with alarm. We are all on edge, Keen thought. The odds no longer matter. It is like a reckoning.

Bolitho looked abeam and saw the first hint of dawn, a faint glow on the horizon's edge. Many eyes would be watching it. Measuring their chances, the margin of life and death.

Keen strode to the compass and peered at the flickering light.

“Bring her closer to the wind, Mr Fallowfield. Alter course two points to starboard.”

Men moved like eager shadows in the darkness, and Bolitho thanked God he had Keen as his captain. If they wandered too far east they would never be able to beat back in time to close with the convoy. He bunched his fists and pressed them against his thighs. They needed light, and yet many were dreading what they might see.

Bolitho touched his left eyelid and wanted to rub it. He thought of all Tuson's arguments and warnings. They would count for nothing today.

The helmsman called, “Sou'-sou'-west, zur. Full an' bye!”

Bolitho heard the maintopsail flap as if with irritation as
Argonaute
nudged still further into the wind, her yards braced hard round to hold her on the same tack.

Soon, soon.
He thought momentarily that he had spoken aloud. He heard Keen telling Paget to put more lookouts aloft, one to take a telescope. When he looked up he thought he could see the white crossbelts of the marines in the maintop, a man stretching out in a yawn. Not tiredness this time, he thought. It was often the first sign of fear.

It was strange, he thought, that he might fall today and Falmouth would not hear of it until next year. A Christmas in the big grey house below Pendennis Castle, singers from the town to wish them well, and to amuse little Elizabeth.

He stopped his drifting thoughts and said, “Union Flag at the fore, if you please.”

He heard the squeal of halliards as his red command flag was hauled down and replaced seconds later by the biggest Jack in the ship. It was still hidden in darkness, but when the sun came up Jobert would see it. He felt strangely elated, with no sense of anxiety at all.

Paget's shadow turned from the quarterdeck rail. “Colours aloft, Sir Richard!”

Bolitho nodded. Paget sounded much as he felt. Committed, a chance to end the waiting.

“Deck there! Sail on the lee bow!”

Bolitho said, “Well done, Val. We are in a perfect position!”

A gun echoed across the water, just the one, and Bolitho thought he saw the flash for just a split-second.

Another lookout yelled, “Convoy ahead!”

“Make a general signal.” Bolitho moved restlessly across the deck, his fingers to his chin.

The lookout's cry made him look up again. “Two sail of the line, weather bow!”

Bolitho said, “So there we have it, Val. Two of the devils.” He glanced at Stayt, “Make to the squadron,
Enemy in sight.
”

When he looked across the lee side again he saw the horizon, salmon-pink, like an unending bridge.

Above the braced yards of the foremast the flag flicked out, huge and bright, and completely isolated from the ship, which remained in shadow for a few more moments.

“General chase, sir?” That was Stayt.

Bolitho opened his mouth and then shut it again. Two ships of the line. It was not the numbers, but the bearing. It did not fit the pattern. Again he felt the touch of warning. “No. Signal the squadron to maintain station.” He did not turn as more gunfire cracked over the array of white horses.

Some of the Royal Marines in the foretop were staring up at the flag above them and cheering, their voices wild above the press of wind and canvas.

Bolitho loosened his sword in its scabbard without even noticing what he had done.
Into battle.
All the resentment and suffering would be forgotten. It was their way.

Another gun banged out but from the squadron astern.

Keen exclaimed, “Hell's teeth, who is doing that?”

Stayt called, “
Icarus,
sir.”

Stayt clambered into the shrouds as the first light touched the masts and yards of the two ships which followed in their wake.

“From
Icarus,
sir. Enemy in sight to the nor'-east.”

Keen stared. “I don't believe it!”

Bolitho walked to the rail and grasped it firmly. It felt cold and damp. Not for long.

“Inform
Barracouta
and
Rapid.
” He watched the breathless signals party hoisting more signals and then walked to the shrouds where Stayt hung with one arm bent over a ratline while he levelled his telescope.

“Three sail of the line, sir.”
His lips moved as he read the flags.
“And two other vessels.”

Bolitho found that he could accept it, even though he could see his squadron caught in the prongs of the converging ships, like the neck of a poacher's bag.

The two ships originally sighted must have arrived by sheer coincidence or had been sent from hiding by another commander. But Jobert was here, and the balance had tilted completely. Five to three, and one of them would be Jobert's powerful threedecker. The two lesser vessels, as yet unidentified, must be the two frigates. The odds were formidable and his choice nonexistent. He watched the sun's rim as it lifted above the sea and painted the sails of friends and enemies alike in pale gold.

Bolitho took a glass and rested it on the hammock nettings, waiting for
Argonaute
to dip her flank into a trough. He saw the overlapping cluster of the convoy, and felt his heart tighten as he recognized
Benbow
's familiar hull and raked masts, her ports already open, her guns still in black shadow.

A ripple of flashes spat from the two Frenchmen, and he watched thin waterspouts leap amongst the waves and then be shredded by the keen wind.

Jobert's squadron must have sailed down the other coastline of Sardinia, making all speed while he had dealt with
Helicon
and her wounded. Now like tracks on a chart they were all met. Jobert's ships on the larboard quarter and not yet visible from the quarterdeck. The other two converging to starboard, firing towards
Benbow
as they advanced. Chain-shot and langridge to dismast or at least cripple her. Jobert would finish it. More gunfire crashed out, and Bolitho shifted the glass to stare at a small frigate which had appeared around the two seventy-fours. She must be Herrick's other escort, perhaps the one which had challenged the enemy and so foiled their surprise attack. She was out of control, and almost totally dismasted. She must have attempted to harry the enemy's rear, like a terrier going for a bear, but had drawn too near to their stern-chasers.

A marine was shouting, “There be another, lads!”

Bolitho saw a second set of sails filling and shortening as a brig appeared close to the crippled frigate.

It was impossible. The one thing which unnerved him. She was Adam's brig,
Firefly,
her tiny four-pounders spitting defiantly at the enemy but unable to draw off their advance.

Benbow
was changing tack, the sunlight laying bare her ranks of black muzzles as she turned towards the enemy. Bolitho saw the double line of guns shoot out their vivid orange tongues, the smoke billowing inboard as if Herrick's ship had taken fire.

Bolitho said harshly, “Prepare to engage Jobert's squadron.”

Herrick would have to defend himself; the treasure-ships could wait.

Keen cupped his hands. “Stand by, Mr Paget! Wear ship, and lay her on the larboard tack!” He hurried to the compass as his men flung themselves on the braces and halliards.

“We will steer nor'-east, Mr Fallowfield!” He was round again even as the first signal broke from the yards. “General,
Form line of battle!
”

The deck tilted to the thrust of rudder and braced yards, and Bolitho watched as first one, then the other of Jobert's ships appeared to glide into view.

“Steady she goes, sir! Nor'-east!”

We have the wind-gage, Bolitho thought, but not for long. It would be every ship for herself.

More crashes came from the convoy but Bolitho ignored them. He caught a glimpse of
Despatch
as she floundered round to follow her flagship, resetting her topgallants and even her main course to keep on station.
Icarus
was hidden astern of her, but every captain knew the odds, and there were the two frigates waiting to pounce if one of the bigger ships became disabled.

He said, “Signal
Barracouta
to engage the enemy.”

Keen looked at him, a muscle in his throat jerking as a full broadside vibrated against the hull like a peal of distant thunder.