Alexander Kent - ENEMY IN SIGHT

There was a heavy step at his side and he turned to see the commodore staring along the upper deck, his eyes all but hidden in puckered flesh as he squinted against the dying sunlight.

Bolitho said, "Unless the wind drops we will anchor tomorrow morning, sir. There is a two-mile shoulder of reefs on the eastern side of the bay and we will have to tack from the south to avoid them."

Peiham-Martin did not reply immediately. He looked calm and more relaxed than Bolitho had yet seen him, and seemed in good humour.

He said suddenly, "I have been thinking for some time that all this fuss may be without any justification, Bolitho." He nodded ponderously. "Yes, I have been thinking a great deal of late."

Bolitho kept his lips straight. Pelham-Martin had spent more hours in his cot than on his feet throughout the voyage, and thinking or not, he had often heard his snores through the chartroom partition.

Pelham-Martin continued, "Lequiller's mission could have been merely a catspaw. To draw more ships from the blockade, from Ushant and Lorient, so that the whole fleet could burst out and make for the English Channel." He eyed Bolitho cheerfully. "That would be a slap in the face for Sir Manley, eh? He would never live it down!"

Bolitho shrugged. "I think it unlikely, sir."

The smile vanished. "Oh, you never see these things properly. It needs vision, Bolitho. Vision and an understanding of men's minds!"

"Yes, sir."

Pelham-Martin glared at him. "If I had listened to you we would have been involved with goodness knows what by now."

"Deck there! Abdiel's going about, sir!"

Pelham-Martin snapped, "If he asks permission to enter harbour tonight, tell him it is denied!" He walked with heavy tread towards the poop ladder. "We will enter together, with my flag leading." Over his massive shoulder he added irritably, "Frigate Captains! Damned young puppies, I'd call them!"

Bolitho smiled grimly. Captain Pring of the Abdiel could just manage to reach an anchorage in spite of the fading daylight. If Hyperion's stores and water supplies were low, his must be almost completely gone. And he would know that once the two-decker had dropped anchor she would take precedence over all his own requirements. Bolitho could recall without effort an occasion when he had commanded a thirty-two gun frigate and had been made to idle outside port while three ships of the line anchored and stripped the local merchants and chandlers bare before he was allowed to take his pick of the frugal remains.

Midshipman Gascoigne was already in the mizzen shrouds, his glass on the distant frigate. As she swung gracefully across the wind her topsails caught the sunset, so that the straining sails shone like pink seashells.

Some of the seamen on the quarterdeck had heard the commodore's last remarks and were grinning as Abdiel's flags broke from her yards.

An old gun captain with a pigtail down to his waist growled, "Serve 'em roight, I says! Let 'em bide their time an' give us a chance with they coloured lassies!"

"Abdiel to Hyperion. Gunfire bearing west by north."

Gascoigne's voice reached many of the men on the gangways and a great murmur of excitement and surprise made the commodore pause at the top of the poop ladder as if he was suffering a seizure.

Bolitho snapped, "Acknowledge!" To Pelham-Martin he called, "It must be an attack on the harbour, sir!"

"Abdiel requests permission to make more sail, sir!" Gascoigne's eyes flitted between his captain and the commodore's portly figure framed against the darkening sky.

Pelham-Martin shook his head. "Denied!" He almost fell down the last two steps in his haste to reach Bolitho's side. "Denied!" He was shouting, and seemed more angry than anything else.

Bolitho said, "I agree, sir. Ships powerful enough to attack a defended harbour would make short work of her frail timbers." He held back at what he was really thinking. That if Spartan was still in company things might have been very different. Two fast frigates swooping in from the open sea could cause some havoc before taking advantage, of the growing darkness. But alone it was asking too much of Abdiel's captain, and it would take Hyperion hours to reach a position of any advantage. By which time it would be dark and too hazardous to close the land.

Pelham-Martin spoke rapidly. "Signal Abdiel to take station to windward." He watched the flags dashing aloft. "I must think." He rubbed one hand across his face. "I must think!"

"Abdiel's acknowledged, sir!"

Bolitho saw the frigate's yards bracing round as she started to swing back towards the Hyperion's quarter. He could imagine her captain's disappointment. He said, "We can work to the sou'-west, sir. By first light we will be in a better position to surprise the attackers."

Pelham-Martin seemed to realise that countless eyes were staring up at him from the crowded main deck. "Get those bloody people to work! I'll not be gaped at by a lot of damned idlers!"

Bolitho heard the sudden air of activity and bellow of orders. Pelham-Martin was just filling in time. The emotions which flooded across his face were proof enough of his inner confusion.

He said in a more controlled tone, "Indomitable and Hermes might be here within days. With their support I can give a better account, eh?"

Bolitho eyed him gravely. "They could just as easily be delayed for weeks, sir. We cannot take the chance, or the risk."

"Chance? Risk?" Pelham-Martin was speaking in a fierce whisper. "It is my head on the block! If I close and give battle and we are overwhelmed, what then, eh?"

Bolitho hardened his voice. "If we do not, sir, then we could lose the island. Our ships would not have to be beaten in battle. They could be starved and parched into submission!"

Pelham-Martin searched his face, his expression both desperate and pleading. "We can sail for Caracas. The Spanish might have ships to assist us."

"It would take too long, sir, even if the Dons have ships there and are willing to help us. By that time Lequiller will have taken St. Kruis, and it would need a fleet to drive him out, and at a great cost."

The commodore swung away angrily. "Lequiller! That's all you think about! It might not even be him!"

Bolitho said coldly, "I don't think there is much doubt about that, sir."

"Well, if you hadn't let him slip through your fingers, if you'd held fast instead of weighing anchor, all this might never have happened."

"And let those prisoners hang, sir?" Bolitho watched the massive shoulders tense. "Is that what I should have done?"

Peiham-Martin faced him again. "I am sorry. I was overwrought." He spread his hands. "But what can I do with only one ship of any size?"

"You have no choice, sir." He kept his voice quiet, but could not hide his anger. "You can fight, or you can remain a spectator. But if you decide the latter, the enemy will know that he can do as he likes. And our friends here will also know it."

Pelham-Martin looked at him, his face in shadow as the sun's dying rays disappeared beyond the horizon like the tails of a comet. "Very well." He still waited, as if listening to his own words. "I will do as you suggest. But if we fail, Bolitho, I will not suffer the consequences alone." He turned and walked aft to the cabin.

Bolitho stared after him, his face set in a frown. If we fail there will be nobody left to argue the rights or wrongs of it, he thought bitterly.

Then he sought out Inch's lanky shape by the rail. "Mr. Inch, show a shaded stern lantern for Abdiel's benefit. Then you may take in the courses and reef down for the night." He listenerA to Tnch nncsino hic nrrler, and raisad his glass to peer beyond the dark mass of rigging and shrouds.

The island had vanished in the gloom, but so too had any sort of gun flashes. The enemy would have to wait for dawn now.