Alexander Kent - With All Despatch

"There she is, sir, larboard bow!" It was Lieutenant Triscott, who had been preparing to take over the watch, and had run on deck with some butter and crumbs sticking to his lapel.

Paice thrust his big hands behind him. His eyes spoke volumes, but all he said was, "Got you!"

Bolitho wedged his hip against the companion hatch in an attempt to keep steady enough to train a telescope on the other vessel.

Above the leaping wave crests, broken here and there into ragged spectres by stronger gusts of wind, he saw the brig's topsails, now copper-coloured against the evening sky. Her hull was still hidden and he guessed that Paice had recognised her only after climbing aloft. Never before had he seen Paice show so much emotion, hatred even, and he guessed that the memory of his young wife was linked in some way with the man Delaval.

Hawkins bellowed, "She's settin' 'er forecourse, sir!"

Bolitho nodded, oblivious to the spray which was soaking him from head to toe. The brig was using the wind to full advantage and was already standing away, her two masts seeming to draw closer together above the tumbling water.

Paice glanced at him, his eyes in shadow. "Sir?" He could barely conceal his eagerness.

Bolitho lowered the glass. "Aye, give chase." He was about to add that the brig's master might have taken Telemachus for a French privateer, and was heading away to safety. But seeing Paice's intent expression killed the thought instantly. Paice knew this man, so Delaval would know him and his cutter equally well.

"Alter course, Mr Chesshyre! Let her bear up two points and steer South-West by West!"

As the men ran to braces to haul the long boom further out above the water, Dench the master's mate was already crouching by the compass box, his hair plastered to his forehead while the rudder went over.

One helmsman lost his footing on the tilting deck, but another took his place at the long tiller bar, his bare toes digging for a grip.

"Steady she goes, sir! Sou'-West by West!"

"Damn his eyes, he's making a run for it, Cap'n." Allday seemed the calmest one on the deck as he watched the other vessel's blurred topsails with apparently little more than professional interest.

Bolitho knew him too well to be deceived. Like me, perhaps? Holding it all inside, showing just a mask to others who looked to you for hope or fear.

Paice heard Allday's comment and snapped, "God, I'll not lose the bastard now."

Bolitho said, "Put a ball across her, Mr Paice."

Paice looked at him, unused to anyone's methods but his own.

"We're supposed to fire well clear, sir, as a signal."

Bolitho smiled briefly. "As close as your gunner can arrange it. In a long chase we might lose her when the night finds us, eh?" From the corner of his eye he saw one of the seamen grinning and nudging his companion. Was it because they thought him mad, or because they were beginning to discover their true role as a man-of-war, albeit a small one?

George Davy the gunner supervised the foremost six-pounder personally, one horny hand on the gun-captain's shoulder while the crew worked with their handspikes and tackles until he seemed satisfied.

Paice cupped his hands. "Load the larboard smasher as well, Mr Davy."

Bolitho balled his hands into fists to discipline his shivering limbs. Paice was thinking for himself. If the brig was prepared to fight, even if she tried merely to cripple Telemachus' s rigging and sails, it was sensible to have the deadly carronade loaded and ready to rake her poop.

"Fire!"

Bolitho had been too long away from the sea, longer still from the harsh roar of a frigate's broadside; the crack of a six-pounder was sharp enough to bring pain to his ears.

Allday muttered, "Bloody little popgun!"

Bolitho saw the boy Matthew Corker kneeling near the aftermost gun, his hands gripping a bucket of sand as he stared at the scene on deck where the six-pounder's crew were already tamping home another ball, each man very aware of the post-captain beside Paice.

Bolitho snapped, "Keep down, boy!"

The youth peered up at him. No trace of fear. But it was because he knew nothing. Nor would he, Bolitho decided grimly.

There was far too much spray to see the fall of shot, but the angle of the Loyal Chieftain' s masts and topsails was unchanged, and she was moving fast with the soldier's wind right under her coattails.

Paice looked at Bolitho. "Into her this time, if you please."

The six-pounder hurled itself inboard on its tackles and as Bolitho lifted his glass he was in time to see the brig's main topsail jerk, then split from head to foot. The wind greedily explored the ball's puncture and reduced the whole sail to wildly flapping ribbons.

Someone gave a derisive cheer then Hawkins shouted, "She's puttin' about, sir!"

Paice retorted, "Even if she is heaving-to, Mr Triscott, I want her under our lee, do you understand?" Urgency had set an edge to his voice.

Bolitho stood aside as Paice strode this way and that, his tall frame moving with remarkable ease amongst his men and the litter of cordage and tackles.

"Load the larboard battery, Mr Triscott, but do not run out!" He pivoted round. "Shorten sail, Mr Hawkins! Take in the fores'l!" His eyes moved across Bolitho and he exclaimed, "If that suits, sir?"

The brig had taken in her forecourse, and under topsail and jib only was floundering round into the wind. She was much closer now, less than a cable away, her masts and rigging glowing warmly in the copper light.

There were not many hands on her yards, or indeed working about the deck. But she was under control, and as Telemachus' s gun-captains faced aft and held up their fists, Bolitho knew that the brig could be swept with grape and canister before she could hit back.

Paice loosened the hanger at his side and said, "Lower the jolly-boat. Your best oarsmen, Mr Hawkins. It'll be a hard pull in this sea!"

Bolitho said, "I would like to come with you." Their eyes met and held. "You are going yourself, I take it?"

Paice nodded. "The first lieutenant can manage, sir."

"It is not what I asked."

Paice shrugged. "It is my right, sir."

"Very well." He could feel the lieutenant's strength like something physical, barely controlled. He added, "It were better I am present. For both our sakes, eh?"

The calmness of his tone seemed to stay Paice's emotion, although Bolitho felt anything but calm. He knew that if this man Delaval was caught on board the brig with contraband Paice would likely kill him. Equally, as senior officer, he would be seen as having condoned a murder by a subordinate.

Bolitho watched the boat being swayed up and over the side. The brig's people might attack the boarders as soon as they climbed aboard and still make off in escape.

Bolitho said, "Mr Triscott, if they attempt to make sail, fire into them." His voice hardened. "No matter what you may see."

Triscott stared from him to his commander. He looked suddenly very young and vulnerable.

He stammered, "Aye, aye, sir, if you so order."

Paice said sharply, "He does, and I am in agreement!"

The jolly-boat was manhandled alongside and once again Bolitho was impressed by the quality of the seamanship, the scarcity of spoken orders, let alone the use of a rope's end. He found himself wondering if all cutters were like this one. He glanced quickly at Paice as he scrambled down beside him in the sternsheets. Or was it just because of this impassive, haunted lieutenant?

"Out oars! Give way all!"

The sound of Allday's resonant voice brought a few stares from the boat's crew. But Allday had no intention of being left behind as a helpless onlooker. He was doing what he knew best. Nor would Bolitho deny him after all he had gone through.