Alexander Kent - ENEMY IN SIGHT

Tempers became frayed, and here and there within the ship's confined world old conflicts flared into open violence. Three men were flogged, and a trusted and welldisciplined bosun's mate was placed in irons for refusing to turn out of his hammock during the night watches. There was no sane reason for his behaviour, it just seemed part of the whole pattern of bitter disappointment and frustration.

Five days after reaching the supposed rendezvous the lookouts sighted the Spartan clawing out from the southeast. For a few more moments something of the old excitement returned as men clambered into shrouds and rigging to watch her as she went about and ran down under the Hyperion's lee.

Midshipman Canyon lowered his glass and looked at Bolitho. "Nothing to report, sir." He dropped his gaze as if he felt partly to blame. "Spartan requests instructions, sir."

Bolitho knew Inch and the others were watching him, although when he turned his head they immediately appeared engrossed in anything but in his direction.

He replied slowly, "Signal Spartan to take station to wind'rd with Dasher."

He saw the frigate falling away, her yards swinging round as Farquhar let the wind carry him clear, The Spartan was streaked with salt and there were several figures aloft in her rigging splicing and repairing damage caused by the b"ffeting she had endured. What it must be like aboard the sloop, Bolitho could not imagine. But Dasher had kept up with them, had smashed through heavy weather and suffered calms, her topsails always visible to greet each morning watch.

Bolitho said, "I am going aft, Mr. Inch."

The lieutenant crossed to the weather side and asked hesitantly, "Will you see the commodore, sir?" He saw Bolitho's eyes and added, "There is still time, sir. We can all ride it out if you give the word."

Bolitho smiled. "There is no point in enforcing this misery now." He studied him gravely. "But thank you just the same. You have been given a hard time lately."

As he strode away he heard Inch say, "God damn those Frogs!"

He paused outside the sleeping cabin and then thrust open the door. Pelham-Martin watched him in silence for several seconds. Then he asked, "Well? Do you submit now?"

Bolitho gripped his hat tightly beneath his arm. "There is nothing in sight, sir. The rendezvous is overdue."

Pelham-Martin's eyes gleamed faintly. "Fetch me my writing pad." He watched Bolitho at the bulkhead bureau. "As of this moment I am going to relieve you of your command. You disobeyed my orders, you took advantage of my wound, and I shall write a report to that effect."

Bolitho placed the pad on the cot and watched him without emotion. His limbs felt light, as if he was drugged, and he could find no involvement in what was happening to him.

The commodore snapped, "Fetch a witness!"

At that moment Inch appeared in the doorway and stared at them curiously.

He said, "The masthead has just sighted the Hermes, sir."

Pelham-Martin struggled beneath the sheet. "Good. Now the whole squadron will be able to return to England." His eyes moved to Inch. "You will be the witness to this document. If you behave yourself I will try to spare your commission at the court martial."

Inch said thickly, "Sir, there is nothing which has happened that I did not agree…"

Bolitho interrupted harshly, "Just witness the document, Mr. Inch, and do not be a fool!"

"Quite so!" Pelham-Martin seemed entangled in the sheet. He shouted, "Munro! Come here at once!"

The marine sergeant entered the cabin and stood beside the cot.

"Lift me up, damn you!"

As the marine took his shoulder Pelham-Martin gave one terrible cry, so that he let him fall back again to the pillow.

Bolitho snapped, "Stand away!" He pulled down the sheet and then stared at the man's shoulder beneath the bandage. "Fetch the surgeon immediately." He felt sick and appalled. The commodore's upper arm and the visible part of his shoulder glowed hard yellow, like a ripe melon, and when he touched the skin with his hand it felt as if it was on fire.

Pelham-Martin peered up at him. "What is it? For God's sake, what are you staring at?"

Inch muttered, "My God!"

"The wound has become poisoned, Sir."

"You're lying!" The commodore tried to struggle up but fell back with a gasp of pain. "You are just saying that to save yourself."

Trudgeon pushed past Inch and stared at the discoloured skin in silence. Then he said tonelessly, "It must come off, sir." He looked at Bolitho, his eyes doubtful. "Even then, I'm not sure…"

Pelham-Martin shouted wildly, "You'll not touch me! I am ordering you to keep away!"

"It's no use, sir." Bolitho studied him sadly. "You may have thought such a small splinter could do you no real harm. It was probably some infection from the wood," his eye rested on the empty decanter. "Or your blood may have become affected." He looked away, unable to watch the man's growing terror.

You fool. You poor, frightened fool. To avoid a decision, just one decision, he had allowed this terrible thing to happen to himself.

He thought suddenly of the ships and all the men who had been depending on him and added flatly, "There is no other course, sir." He nodded to Trudgeon. "You have my consent."

Pelham-Martin screamed, "I am ordering you!" He writhed in the cot, the sweat pouring across his chest as he peered at Inch. "I was dismissing Captain Bolitho from his command!"

There was a clatter of feet on the poop above and then a muffled wave of cheering. They looked at each other and then turned to the door as Midshipman Canyon burst into the cabin.

"Sir!" He controlled his voice as he saw the stricken commodore. "Hermes is signalling!" He fumbled with his tattered book. "Strange sail to the nor'west!"

Bolitho stared at him. "Thank you, Mr. Canyon. Now back to your flags at the double!" To Inch he snapped, "I will be on deck directly." Then he smiled. "And thank you for your loyalty."

He turned and looked down at the commodore. "It must be Lequiller's squadron, sir. I will keep you informed whenever I am able." He moved to the door as Trudgeon beckoned his mates to enter.

On deck the air was bracing and clean with light drizzle, and the sun was again covered by cloud. But the wind was still steady from the south-west, and the masthead pendant almost rigid against the dull sky.

Gossett reported, "Course west by north, sir. Full an' bye!"

Bolitho nodded and lifted a telescope to his eye. Far away across the larboard bow he could see the Hermes' topsails etched on the horizon, the balls soaring to her yards and breaking to the wind in stiff, bright patches of colour.

Canyon yelled, "From Hermes, sirl Estimate five sail of the line!"

Bolitho lowered his glass and looked at Inch. All the weeks and days, the waiting and the planning had brought them to this point on the sea, this moment in time.

He said, "Alter course – point to starboard. Steer westnor'-west!"

As Inch groped as speaking trumpet Bolitho beckoned to Midshipman Carlyon and saw Inch pausing to listen.

"Mr. Carlyon, make this general signal to the squadron. He hesitated, sensing the eyes around him, the men on the main deck and the ship around all of them.

"Enemy in sight!"

As the flags soared aloft and broke to the wind Bolitho wondered. briefly what the other captains would be thinking as they read the signal. At St. Kruis, while they had listened and mulled over his ideas and suggestions they must have had doubts, many doubts. Now, the sight of his signal would clear their minds of everything other than the need to fight. To fight for their very survival.

Astern, aboard Impulsive, the acknowledgement was already hoisted, and he could imagine Herrick looking around his ship, his first command, which might be lost to him in a matter of hours,