Alexander Kent - ENEMY IN SIGHT

"Very well, Mr. Inch. You may pass the order to load."

As Inch beckoned urgently to a midshipman Bolitho recalled the other times when he had sailed into action. Every gun double shotted and loaded with grape for good measure for that first devastating salvo. But with halftrained men fumbling in the gloom of the tween decks it would be inviting disaster. It took experience to gauge those methods. One wrong charge and a gun would explode, killing its complete crew at the very least.

The wind eased slightly, and in the sudden stillness he heard the patter of feet across the sanded decks as the little powder monkeys scampered from gun to gun with the charges newly drawn from the magazine, where Johns, the gunner, in his sparkproof felt slippers would be standing in the one place from which there was no escape should the ship take fire in action. Thank God he was an old hand and unlikely to dwell too much on the skill of those he was supplying from his magazine.

Gossett called, "By my reckonin' we are rennin' about three miles abeam the 'eadland, sir." He coughed. "0' course, with this current an' the mist, it's a mite 'ard to be sure."

"All guns loaded, sir!"

Bolitho held his watch against the compass lamp. It should be getting light now. He looked around quickly. Was it in fact brightening slightly, or were his eyes so used to the gloom that the nine-pounders on the lee side appeared black and stark against the bulwark?

He wished he could take one further look at the chart, but there was no more time left. He tried to picture it exactly as he had last seen it, to memorise and recall-the headland and the sheltered water beyond, the soundings and shoals, the deep water, and the swirling current which could turn any foolhardy approach into total ruin.

"Starboard a little!" He stood beside Inch at the quarterdeck rail, his telescope across the weather side as the wheel creaked over.

"Steady as you go!" He could hear Inch breathing noisily, and level with his waist saw one of the quarterdeck gunners kneeling at the breech of a ninepounder, naked to the waist in spite of the freezing air, a cutlass thrust carelessly through his belt, the hilt black against his bare spine. The length of the man's pigtail told Bolitho he was no novice, and he hoped that at every division of guns there would be a few-other than the petty officers in charge-who would bring stability and order when the time came.

Someone dropped a rammer on the main deck, and when he darted an angry glance forward he realised with a start that he could see the forecastle and the web of rigging around the bowspirt and jib boom beyond. But as the ship regained her personality from the fading darkness the mist appeared to grow thicker and whiter, until at length Hyperion seemed to be floating helplessly abeam, the illusion made more complete by the speed with which the wet mist passed through and around the shrouds.

Bolitho said suddenly, "Get aloft, Mr. Gascoigne. You've a sharp pair of eyes."

As the midshipman hurled himself up the ratlines, Inch said, "We could miss the frigate, sir."

Bolitho saw the main topsail shake in a down eddy, and in those brief seconds noticed a faint patch of blue. Above the mist the sky was already clearing. Bright and cold, which was just as well.

Blocks and halyards clattered nervously, and Gossett murmured, "Wind's freshenin', sir."

It was very slight, but enough. All at once the mist was breaking up and thinning into low lying vapour, and even as Gascoigne's shrill cry came down to the waiting men, Bolitho saw the other ship's outline.

"Frigate fine on the starboard bow!" Gascoigne was yelling with excitement. "At anchor, sir!"

Inch stared from the other ship to Bolitho, as if unable to believe either.

Bolitho watched the frigate impassively as her outline hardened against the mist which was already passing her and drifting towards the open sea. There was the headland, blue-grey in the dawn light, and although it was still impossible to see the other side of the estuary he knew he had calculated correctly, and could almost find pity for the first man aboard the frigate to see the slow moving Hyperion. Placed between him.and safety she would look like a messenger from hell itself, he thought, with her gently flapping topsails and topgallants, her courses clewed up, and that gold-faced, hard-eyed figurehead pointing his trident as if to steer the ship straight on his victim.

Across the strip of swirling water Bolitho heard the sudden blare of a trumpet. A mile yet separated the frigate from the two-decker, but even if she cut her cable it would take time to drive the men to quarters and raise enough canvas to beat clear. Above his head Bolitho heard the topsail billowing like subdued thunder as the ship glided clear of the headland's shelter. The frigate would not get that time.

He gripped the rail and shouted, "Listen to me!" The men at the guns and braces tore their eyes from the frigate and stared aft as one. "That is a French ship yonder, and I intend to engage her." Someone cheered, but fell silent under his captain's unsmiling stare. "If we can take her as a prize all well and good. But if not we will destroy herl" He let his words sink in and then added, "But do not be deceived by her appearance. She can still give a good account of herself, and I have seen as many men die from overconfidence as from the enemy's accuracy!" Then he smiled, in spite of the steel-hard tension in his stomach.

''Do your best, lads! For the ship, and for England!"

He turned back to the nettings as cheers broke out along the lines of guns, to be taken up by the men on the lower deck, until the whole ship was alive with yells and cries of excitement.

Bolitho said quietly "Let them cheer, Mr. Inch. At least it might unnerve the Frogs, eh?"

Nearer, nearer, and all the while Bolitho watched the confusion aboard the rudely awakened frigate, as first a flapping jib and then the foretopsail appeared, before a lookout called down, "She's cut 'er cable, sirl" Another yelled, "'E's 'oistin' 'is colours!"

Bolitho watched as the Tricolour broke from the frigate's gaff. Her rightful flag this time. Anyway, it was quite obvious he was not going to give in without a fight.

"Run out, Mr. Inchl"

A whistle shrilled, and as the port lids were raised the waiting muzzles raced each other down the tilting deck until the Hyperion showed her full broadside to the French ship like a double line of black teeth.

Stepkyne was standing at the foot of the foremast, his i sword drawn, his eyes towards the quarterdeck.

On the forescastle Lieutenant Hicks of the marines waited beside the two massive carronades, while the bulk of the redcoats had broken from their neat square to deploy along the poop and quarterdeck nettings, their long muskets already trained on the approaching ship.

"Larboard your helm!".Bolitho held out his hand as if to control his ship. "Steady, lads!" He watched the jib boom settle in line with the frigate's foremast, until it seemed as if the other vessel was already pinioned on it like a giant tusk.

"Steady!" His heart was thumping against his ribs, and he could feel the dryness on his lips like salt. "Stand by, Mr. Gossett!"

The enemy captain had probably intended to turn away and run for it. He would not be able to pass the Hyperion's massive armament unscathed, but once in open water could outsail her within minutes.

Bolitho knew that to every captainn the enemies were the "ifs" and the "whys".

Why had the lookout not seen the Hyperion earlier? Or if only the mist had not prevented her being sighted, if Bolitho had misjudged his blind approach, and if only the sail could have been loosed just a few minutes quicker. All that and more would be flashing through the Frenchman's mind as he stared now at the gleaming two-decker as she drove straight at the heart of his own command.