Alexander Kent - FORM LINE OF BATTLE!

Quarme said suddenly, 'May I ask what you intend to do, sir?'

Bolitho faced him and replied, 'Do you wish to make a suggestion?'

The other man dropped his eyes. 'It is hardly my place, sir, but I believe dwould be prudent to inform Lord Hood of what has happened.' He seemed to expect an interruption, but then continued, 'You could not be blamed for what occurred. By delaying your despatch to the admiral you might, however, incur his real displeasure.'

'Thank you, Mr. Quarme. I have already thought of that.' Bolitho stood up and walked across the carpet. For a moment he stared hard at his sword hanging by the doorway and then added, 'But we have only two ships. If I send the Princesa there is no saying what story will be laid before the admiral, in spite of whatever written despatch from me. And if we leave this station" do you really think the Spaniard can deal with some sudden attack from the mainland?' He saw Quarme shuffle his feet uneasily and smiled. 'You think perhaps that I was too hard on the Princesa's captain?'

Without difficulty he could see the unhappy Spaniard sitting where Quarme now sat. He was a sullen, resentful man who at first had pretended to know little English. But Bolitho's scathing words had made his. eyes flash with anger and then shame as he had given him his verdict on the Princesa's failure to join the battle.

At one point the Spaniard had leapt to his feet, his mouth twisted in anger. 'I must protest! I could not' reach the entrance in time. I will complain to Admiral Hood of your accusations.' Then more loftily he had added, 'I am not unknown in high government circles!'

Bolitho had watched him coldly. Seeing again the death agonies of the Spanish flagship, the burned and butchered remains floating across the Hyperion's bows.

'You will be even better known, Captain, when I have placed you under arrest for cowardice! Admiral Moresby invested full command in me before he died.' It was surprising how easily the lie had come to his lips. 'And nothing you have said so far has persuaded me that you are fit even to remain

alive!'

Bolitho hated to see any man humiliated, and he had had to force himself to watch the other captain's misery and fear. But that was two days ago, when there had still been a slight chance of reversing their mutual defeat. By now the Spaniard might have ideas of his own.

Quarme said, 'I still think that you should inform Lord Hood, sir. Whatever the Spanish captain did or did not do will make little difference as far as the future is concerned.'

Bolitho turned away, angry with himself. Angry with Quarme because he knew he was right. Yet in the back of his mind he seemed to hear Hood's words, 'I want that island taken without delay!' Without delay. Right at this moment aboard the Victory the admiral would be in the middle of his own problems. The internal politics of Toulon, the show of confidence he had so carefully described. And all the time the French army would be moving south towards the coast.

Bolitho said calmly, 'You and I seem to disagree about several things. You disapproved of my burying Sir William Moresby at sea with the other dead seamen.'

Quarme was disconcerted by this new tack. 'Well, I thought that under the circumstances…

'Admiral Moresby died in battle, Mr. Quarme. I see no point in drawing a line between his sacrifice and those of the men who gave their lives for him.' His voice was still calm but cold. 'Sir William is as safe now as he would have been in some graveyard.' He made himself return to the stern windows. `Our people have lost heart. It is never good for men to lose a first battle. So much depends on their trust when next they face a broadside.' He added wearily, 'They died with their admiral. They will share his grave as well as his privilege!'

Quarme opened his mouth and looked round startled as a distant voice entered the quiet cabin.

'Deck there! Sail to the sou'westl'

Bolitho stared at Quarme and then snapped, 'Come with me. Maybe the French are out already!'

On the quarterdeck the sun greeted his shoulders like heat from a furnace, -but Bolitho hardly noticed it as he looked first towards the island and then to the masthead. Of Cozar there was still no sign. But to seaward the mist was thinner and more fragile above the blinding water, and as he took a telescope from Midshipman Caswell he asked, 'Can the lookout make her out yet?'

In the glass he could see little more, but for a splinter of white sail barely making a break on the sea's edge.

The lookout called, 'She's a small ship, sir! On 'er own an' steering due east!'

Bolitho said, 'Get up there, Mr. Quarme, and tell me what ' you see.' He knew the others were watching him and had to control the urge to go aloft himself.

Lieutenant Rooke was officer of the watch, and stood by the quarterdeck rail, a glass beneath his arm, his hat tilted against the glare. As always he was faultlessly dressed, and beside the other men in their stained shirts, or as most were stripped to the waist, he looked like a London dandy.

Bolitho ignored all of them and tried not to stare up at Quarme's tall figure as he climbed swiftly towards the crosstrees. Rooke would be enjoying all this, he thought grimly. No doubt he would be quick to enlarge on his captain's failure once they rejoined the squadron. Bolitho told himself he was being unfair. Maybe his dislike for Rooke hinged on his more general aversion to privileged aristocrats within the Navy. Titles given as rewards for valour and true achievement were one thing, but so often they became intolerable burdens for the eager offsprings. Bolitho had found plenty of them on his visits to London. Spoiled, self-important little upstarts who owed their appointments to birth and financial power, and knew little of the Navy but for the uniforms they wore with such dash and conceit.

Quarme shouted suddenly, 'I can see her right enough, sir! Sloop of war by the look of her! She's holding her course to the east'rd!'

Rooke spoke for all of them. 'She'll be from Gibraltar. Despatches and mail for the fleet.'

Bolitho looked across at Gossett's massive figure. 'You have served in these waters before, Mr. Gossett. Will this weather hold?'

The master frowned, his eyes vanishing into his brown face. 'Not long, sir. These light airs come an' go, but I reckon the wind'll get up afore eight bells.' He was not boasting, he was giving a statement born of long experience.

Bolitho nodded. 'Very well, Mr. Gossett. Call all hands and prepare to wear ship. We will alter course and intercept that sloop immediately.'

Quarme arrived at his side breathing heavily. 'We could signal her to close us, sir.' He sounded almost shocked that a line-of-battle ship should make allowances for such a tiny unit of the fleet.

Bolitho eyed him gravely. 'As soon as. we are within range have a signal bent on, if you please. I don't want to lose her now.'

Quarme was mystified. 'Signal, sir?'

Below on the maindeck the men pulled themselves from their dulled torpor as the pipes drove them to their stations for wearing ship.

Bolitho said quietly, 'Tell her to heave to and await my orders.'

'I see, sir.' Then Quarme said, 'So you have decided to send

despatches to Lord Hood, after all.' He bit his lip and nodded slowly. 'It is the best decision, in my opinion. No one will blame you, sir.'

Bolitho watched the marines clumping aft like soldiers to man the mizzen braces with their usual unseamanlike precision. Then he dragged his mind back to Quarme's remark and said flatly, 'I have no intention of sending a report to Lord Hood, Mr. Quarme. Not until there is something to report!'

It took the best part of two hours to close the other vessel within hailing distance, but by six bells of the afternoon watch both ships had gone about and were heading due south, away from the mist-shrouded island. -"