Alexander Kent - ENEMY IN SIGHT

"This time I will do the talking first. And with authority!'

As the banks of cloud closed across the horizon and plunged the sea into total darkness Bolitho still paced the quarterdeck. He was soaked to the skin with spray but did not even feel it. He was seeing that frigate again, feeling the arrogance of her captain as he had signalled to the two-decker. And it had been such a close call. He felt the anger twisting in his stomach like fire. Another few minutes and they would have parted. Hyperion would have informed the commodore there was nothing unusual to report, and he would have been more than willing to accept it.

And the frigate? He paused in his pacing so that the helmsman's eyes blinked anxiously in the compass light as Bolitho stared unseeingly through him. She would be able to tell her masters that the English were deceived. He frowned. But to what purpose? He continued his pacing, aware of nothing but his thoughts and what they could mean for him, and his ship.

Hyperion could have dismasted the frigate with one illaimed broadside as they had passed. Suppose she was no longer on her station when dawn came? Pelham-Martin would not even have the satisfaction of knowing an enemy ship had been destroyed when he wrote to Cavendish with the admission of Ithuriel's capture.

Pelham-Martin would not be in any mood to shoulder the blame alone either, Bolitho decided grimly.

But there had to be a reason for the Frenchman's actions. There had to be.

At length, worn out and suddenly ice cold, he said wearily, "I will go to my cabin, Mr. Stepkyne. Call me half an hour before the morning watch, if you please." He took Inch by the arm. "Pass the word that I want all hands roused at that time. They will be fed and ready for whatever we must do when light returns."

As he walked into the darkness of the poop he heard a voice mutter admiringly, "Cool as a shark's belly, that one! Sees a bloody Frog under his guns an' don't turn a hair!"

Then Gossett's bass voice. "'Old yer yap, damn youl You'll find plenty o' time for noise when the guns begin to crack around yer ears!"

Bolitho entered his cabin and slammed the door. For a few moments he stood quite still, his shoulders pressed against the bulkhead as he stared emptily at the swinging lanterns.

Gossett knew well enough. Less than a quarter of the company had set foot aboard a ship before, let alone known the horror of an enemy broadside.

He closed his eyes tightly and tried to clear his mind of doubt. There was no choice, nor had there been from the moment he had seen through the frigate's calm deception.

And it had nearly worked, that was the worst part in some ways. In spite of all his experience and training he had only seen what he had expected to see. The frigate's captain had gambled on this, but he must have known the consequences for failure, must have found each minute like an hour as the Hyperion had surged by within, two miles of him.

Whatever it was the French were hiding it must be very worth while. Surprisingly the realisation steadied him, and later when Petch padded into the cabin with some coffee he found Bolitho sprawled on the stern bench, his face relaxed in sleep.

Petch was a simple soul, and when he told some of his friends that their captain was so self-assured he was fast asleep already, the tale gained much in the telling.

Allday heard the story and said nothing. He knew Bolitho better than any of them, and guessed that like himself he had probably been thinking of that other time, so many years ago, when a similar ruse had all but cost him his life, and his ship.

Allday examined his heavy cutlass in the dim light of a shaded lantern. If there was going to be a fight, the Hyperion's raw company would need more than confidence. A whole lot more!

"Captain, sir!"

Bolitho opened his eyes and stared for several seconds at Inch's anxious face. He had been dreaming. There had been some sort of green field with an endless flowered hedgerow, and Cheney had been coming down the road to meet him. He had been running, and so had she, yet they never seemed to draw nearer to one another.

"Well?" He saw Inch pull back nervously and added, "I'm sorry. Is it time?"

Inch nodded, the lantern above the bench seat throwing his face into half-shadow. "There's a mist coming offshore, sir. It's not much, but Mr. Gossett says it could make the final approach more difficult." He jumped aside as Bolitho swung his legs over the side and began to pull on his coat.

Bolitho's mind was quite clear now. "What is our approximate position?"

Inch pouted. "Ten miles nor' nor'-west of the headland,

Sir."

"I'm ready." Bolitho took a last glance around the cabin and then extinguished the lantern.

On the quarterdeck it was very dark, and only when Bolitho looked up did he realise the extent of the mist. It was moving quite fast, so that the sails were still drawing well, but above the mainyard he could see nothing at all, as if some giant hand had sheared away the remainder of sails and spars.

Stepkyne spoke from the darkness. "Galley fire doused, sir."

There was an air of nervous expectancy on every side, but Bolitho forced himself to ignore the others as he walked aft to the compass again.

"Alter course two points. Steer sou'-east!" He held up his hand. "Make as little sound as possible!"

He crossed to the weather. side and peered at the nearest sails. It was a pity he could not reduce the spread of canvas, he thought. The Hyperion was creeping very slowly down the enemy coast, and at first light any vigilant sentry might be quick to see the ship's topgallants and sound an alarm before Bolitho could cross the last stretch of water and place himself in the best position to find the frigate. But if he was to have enough speed and manoeuvrability to catch the frigate before she could show him her stern, he had to be ready.

He made up his mind. "Hands to quarters, Mr. Inch. No piping or any excitement. Just pass the word, and then clear for action."

If anything it made the business of getting the darkened ship ready for, action all the more unnerving. Shadows flitted back and forth, while from below decks came muffled thuds and bangs as screens were removed, lashings cast off from guns, and officers spoke in fierce whispers as they sought out and checked their own men. And all the while the Hyperion was gliding through the long tentacles of mist like a phantom ship, her sails wet with spray and drizzle, her rigging and spars creaking as the hull countered the swift current and the lookouts strained their eyes into the unbroken darkness around them.

Bolitho gripped the nettings and watched the mist sifting through the mainshrouds, like pale liquid, before another clammy gust of wind across the ship's quarter drove it lifting and swirling towards the open sea. Behind him he could hear Captain Dawson speaking with his marines, the occasional click of steel or squeak of equipment as they swayed together in a close-ordered square across the quarterdeck. In the drifting mist their uniforms looked black and their white crossbelts stood out with startling clarity.

Inch appeared, puffing and sweating. "Ship's cleared for action, sir."

Bolitho grunted. What sort of a fool would he look if the Hyperion found the sea empty when daylight came? Any sort of confidence he had managed to build up amongst the barely trained seamen would soon be lost when the word went around that the captain was.frightened of his own shadow.

Any other time he might have waited. Experienced men could load and run out, reload and keep on firing while all around them was lost in a nightmare of deafening explosions and screaming men, and if necessary they could do it in total darkness. He thought of all these men now, crouched behind sealed ports, ears cocked to every sound, hearts pounding, and grateful of the darkness if only to hide the fear from their companions. It was not worth the risk. If it came to a choice he would rather his men should laugh behind his back than die because of his conceit.