ALEXANDER KENT: In Gallant Company

Bolitho handed his instrument to Couzens. So it was sir again. "he last link broken.

He said, 'I agree. We may sight the island of Nevis tomorrow, and after that it will be a hard beat all the way across to Antigua.'

He felt a sharp sense of loss. The thought of losing the White Hills seemed unbearable. It was ridiculous of course. Just a few days, but what confidence she had given him, or had discovered in him.

Bolitho glanced along the sunlit deck. Even that no longer seemed so narrow and confined after Trojan's spacious gundeck.

Some of the wounded were resting in the shade, chatting quietly, or watching the other hands at work with professional interest.

Bolitho asked quietly, 'What will you do, James?'

Quinn looked away, 'As my father pleases, I expect. I seem to have the knack of obeying orders.' He faced Bolitho suddenly. 'One day. If you want to, I – I mean, if you have nowhere to go, would you care to see me?'

Bolitho nodded, wanting to strip away his despair. It was killing him with no less mercy than Gallimore's wounds.

'I will be happy to, James.' He smiled. 'Although I've no doubt your father will think badly of a mere lieutenant in his house. I expect you'll be a rich merchant by the time I get to London.'

Quinn studied him' anxiously. Something in Bolitho's tone seemed to comfort him and he said, 'I thank you for that. And much mdre.'

'Deck there! Sail on the weather bow!'

Bolitho stared up at the lookout. He tried to see the White Hills like a cross on a chart. There were so many islands, French, British, Dutch. This sail could be any kind of ship.

Since the Kittiwake had left Antigua anything might have happened. Peace with the American rebels, war with France.

With a start he realized they were all looking at him.

He said, 'Get aloft, Mr Quinn. Take a glass and tell me what you see.'

Frowd groaned as Quinn hurried past. 'God damn this leg! I should be up them, not, not…' By the time he had thought of a suitable insult Quinn was already hurrying up the shrouds.

Bolitho paced rapidly back and forth, trying to stay calm and unmoved. She was quite likely a Spaniard, southward bound for the Main and all its treasures. If so, she would soon haul off. She might think White Hills to be a pirate. In these waters you could choose from a dozen sorts of enemy.

Deck, sir! She's a brig!'

One of the wounded men gave a thin cheer. 'She'll be one of ours, lads!'

But Frowd rasped painfully, 'You know what I'm thinking, don't you?'

Bolitho looked at him, his brain suddenly ice-cold.

Of course, it made sense. Cruel sense. And they had got so far. This time, he had believed, with success.

There was still a chance.

He held his voice steady as he called, 'Keep watching her!' To Couzens he added more quietly, 'ire shall have a closer look at her soon enough, I imagine.' He saw the understanding clouding Couzens' eyes. 'Clear for action, if you please. Then load, but do not run out.'

He glanced along the deck, at the brig's small defences. Enough guns to rake the defenceless yawl, but if the oncoming vessel was Captain Tracy's previous command, they would be all but useless.

Bolitho waited for the deck to steady again and then trained his telescope across the larboard bow. He could see the other brig's topsails and topgallants sharply etched against the blue sky, but the rest of the vessel was lost in distance and haze.

If the vessel was the Revenge, her master would recognize the White Hills as soon as she was within reasonable distance. He might have done so already. To alter course away, to wear completely and fly with the wind would tell him what had happened quicker than any challenge.

Bolitho looked up at the masthead pendant. The wind had backed a point or so further. It was tempting to turn and run, but if the wind went against them again, and they were repeatedly made to change tack, the other brig would soon overhaul them. With only a small prize-crew to work the ship, Bolitho knew it. would be asking too much of any man.

He said, 'Let her fall off a point, Stockdale.'

From the mainmast he heard Quinn call, 'I can see her better now! She's the old Mischief! I'm almost certain!'

Frowd swore. 'Bloody hell! We'd better show her a clean pair of heels!'

y Stockdale said, 'Nor'-east by east, sir.'

Bolitho cupped his hands, 'Man the braces! You, Buller, put more men on the weather forebrace!'

,He watched narrowly as the yards moved slightly to allow each sail to fill to capacity. But not enough to betray an attempt to escape.

Couzens came running aft, his hands filthy, his shirt torn in several places.

'Cleared for action, sir. All guns loaded.'

Bolitho smiled tightly. By all guns, Couzens meant the White, Hills' eight six-pounders. She was designed to carry fourteen, and some swivels, but the sinking of the yawl had put paid to that. Eight guns, and only four on either beam. To try and shift a full battery to one side would certainly be seen by the other brig. She was growing in size at a surprising speed, and Bolitho could see the sun reflecting on metal, or perhaps the glass of several telescopes.

She was closing with the White Hills on a converging tack, bowsprit to bowsprit.

The White Hills' original crew had been new and raw, but the Revenge's master would certainly know Tracy by sight. They must try and stand off. Keep up some sort of bluff until dusk.

'Land on the lee bow, sir!' The look-out had been keeping his eyes open too while Quinn watched the other brig.

Bolitho looked at Frowd, seeing his despair. The land was most likely to be one or more of the tiny islands which marked their course past Nevis and then fifty miles on to Antigua. It made it seem much worse. So near, yet so far.

'Brig's altered course, sir!' Then another cry, 'She's run up her flag!'

Bolitho nodded grimly. 'Hoist the same one, Mr Couzens.' He watched as the red and white striped flag ran up to the gaff and broke to the wind.

Frowd was straining up on the hatch cover. 'No use, blast his eyes! He's closing, and making sure he can keep the windgage!'

'He'll want to speak with us. To find out if we got the guns and powder. This brig was probably meant to join with him at some point.' Bolitho was thinking aloud and saw Frowd nod in agreement.

Stockdale pulled at Couzens' sleeve. 'Get the real flag ready, Mr Couzens. I can't see our lieutenant fighting under false colours. Not today.'

Frowd said despairingly, 'How can we fight, you fool! These privateers are always armed to the gills! They need to smash an enemy into submission as fast as they can, and before help can be sent to drive 'em off!' He groaned. 'Fight? You must be mad!'

Bolitho made up his mind. 'We will begin to shorten sail directly, as if we are about to speak with him. If we can get near enough without rousing suspicion, we'll rake his poop, do for as many of the after-guard as possible and then run for it.'

Stockdale nodded. 'Later we could shift two guns aft, sir. A stern chase is better'n nothin'.'

Bolitho made himself stand quite still, to give his mind time to work. He had no other choice, and this was not much of one. But it was either a sudden act of daring, or surrender.

`Take in the mains'l.,

Bolitho watched the few spare hands swarming up the ratlines. The other master would see tine depleted crew, and might imagine they had been in a battle. The gash through the bulwark made by Trojan's eighteen-pounder must be plain enough to we.

He levelled his glass on the other vessel, ignoring the shouts and curses as his men fought with the rebellious canvas. Frowd was right. She was heavily armed, and there were plenty of men about her deck, too.