Lieutenant Urquhart called, 'Cleared for action, sir! '
Trevenen glanced at his watch. 'Nine minutes. I expected better, Mr. Urquhart! '
Allday saw Bolitho's face. It was easy to read his thoughts.
Trevenen never praised anyone, even in the face of danger. The only thing he could inspire was fear.
It was dark and remarkably cool on deck after the heat of the day preceding. But dawn came quickly out here, and sunset would arrive with haste to cover the pain and disperse the fury of battle.
Bolitho glanced around. The master and his mates were near the wheel where extra men stood by the spokes. Chain-slings had been rigged to hold the great yards in place if all the rigging was shot away. And nets, although Bolitho could not yet see them, to protect the gun-crews from falling spars and blocks. It was something he knew so well, had known all his life from the age of twelve when he had first gone to sea in the forbidding and unfamiliar world of the old eighty-gun Manxman.
Herrick would be down there in the comparative safety of the orlop deck below the waterline: fretting over his lost arm and his helplessness, but most of all, remembering.
He moved towards the tightly-packed hammock nettings and almost slipped on a stretch of spray-soaked planking.
He said, 'This part of the deck is not sanded, Captain.' He kept his tone level but was inwardly angry at somebody's carelessness. A man or men could slip and fall in the heat of a sea-fight. Just one gun left unfired could make all the difference.
Trevenen's answer was even more surprising. 'None of the deck is sanded, Sir Richard. If the enemy fails to appear, we would have used good sand to no effect.'
Then do it now, if you please. I am sure that in an ocean of this vastness we could find some more sand! '
He heard a lieutenant passing the order and the immediate response of the ship's boys, who scuttled amongst the guns like terriers.
Allday had heard the sharp exchange and was glad Trevenen had felt the edge of Bolitho's tongue. He stared up at the rigging and said, 'I can see the masthead pendant, Sir Richard.'
Bolitho peered up at the dark sky, and imagined he could see the long red and white pendant curling out from the truck.
'As soon as the sun is up, they will see us.'
Avery glanced at the shadows around him. Listening, trying to gauge their own chances of seeing another sunset.
It was uncanny not to see or know the enemy's strength. Bolitho said, Tell your signals party to be ready, Mr. Avery. As soon as it is light enough, make Take stations as ordered and tell Larne to Close on Flag.'
Avery could now see the white patches on the collars of his two signals midshipmen, but some of the flags already strewn by the halliards were still colourless in the lingering gloom.
Bolitho spoke as though almost disinterested. 'I feel certain that they will already have made it ready, Mr. Avery, but the next signal will be Prepare for battle.'
He heard Trevenen ask, 'Suppose the enemy is not there, Sir Richard?' And Avery could feel the presence of the man he served like a force.
Bolitho answered coldly, Then I have failed, and by tomorrow Baratte will have found Commodore Keen's convoy. The rest you can imagine for yourself.'
Trevenen muttered thickly, 'Nobody can blame ValkyrieV
'You and I both know where the blame will lie, Captain! So let us all be patient a moment longer! '
Angry with himself for being so easily drawn, Bolitho said, 'I see the masthead.'
He strained his eyes upwards through the taut rigging, the web of ratlines glistening in the darkness from moisture and spray alike. Men he had not seen earlier stood out against the pale hammock nettings, or crouching like athletes as they waited to run and seize hold of braces and halliards when the next order came.
Bolitho looked over the weather quarter: there was light, a mere hint of it. It would soon lift above the invisible horizon to lay them bare for all to see.
Trevenen rasped, 'What is that masthead lookout about, Mr. Urquhart? Does he stand watch asleep?'
Urquhart was about to raise his speaking trumpet when Bolitho said, 'You go aloft, Mr. Avery. You are my eyes this morning.'
Avery lingered, his mind hanging on to the remark, and wondering if Bolitho had intended him to draw another meaning from it.
Bolitho smiled. 'No head for heights?'
Avery was strangely moved. 'Good enough, sir.' He took a signals telescope from the rack and swung himself out on the shrouds while two seamen opened the protective net for him. Bolitho could see the
sailors' eyes now very white in the gloom as they watched the flag lieutenant swarm up the ratlines, his sword slapping against his thigh.
Avery climbed steadily, feeling the shrouds vibrating beneath his shoes, the very strength of the ship as she opened up beneath him. The black guns, each with its crew, barebacked and waiting to load and run out, were clearly visible. He climbed out and around the mizzen-top where some marines stared at him with surprise and interest as they tended a swivel gun on the thick barricade.
He stopped and looked down again, at the yellow shoulder of the figurehead and the flapping jib and staysails, pure white against the undulating water below. He turned slightly and was in time to see the sun's rim rise slowly from the sea itself, saw it spill over the horizon and reach out in either direction to sharpen its edge with pale gold. He unslung the telescope and entwined his leg around a stay. You are my eyes this morning. The words still lingered like something written.
For an instant he felt stiffness in his shoulder, the wound which had struck him down on that terrible day. He had often probed it with his fingers, but had never actually seen it until he had used a looking-glass. The French surgeon had probably made it worse, but the wound had left a deep gouge in his body, as if someone had done it with a huge spoon. He was ashamed of it. It made him feel unclean.
He peered at the mainmast as the lookout yelled, 'Deck there! Ships on the lee bow! '
Below on the quarterdeck Bolitho thrust his hands under his coat to contain and hide his impatience.
Trevenen bawled, 'What are they, man?'
There was no hesitation this time. 'Ship-of-the-line, sir! And smaller ones! '
Trevenen's nostrils seemed to flare. 'Even my ship cannot match guns with a liner, Sir Richard! '
Bolitho watched him and heard the triumph in his voice, as if he were addressing the whole ship. Baratte had saved this unknown card for today. Trevenen was right about one thing: a frigate could not survive close action against a ship used to the line of battle and built to withstand its massive broadsides.
He thought of Adam and the other frigate, Baratte's own flagship when he had been taken prisoner. It was over before it had begun.
He looked around: at the guns, their crews staring aft to discover what was happening, the scarlet-coated marines with their muskets by the protective nettings. Even they could do nothing if the ship's company refused to fight or, as they would see it, to be killed for nothing.
There were footsteps across the deck and Bolitho saw Avery walking unhurriedly towards him.
'I did not order you down, Mr. Avery! ' Something on the lieutenant's face steadied him. 'What is it?'
Avery glanced briefly at Trevenen, but barely saw him. 'She's no ship-of-the-line, sir. She is the U. S. S. Unity, exactly as your nephew described her, spar by spar.'
He had heard Trevenen's words as he had climbed to the deck, the relief in his tone as the bright sunlight which was opening up the ocean all around them had shown him a possibility of escape.
All that had changed. Trevenen seemed unable to close his jaws, and was staring at him as if he were an apparition from hell.
'I did not wish to call out from up there, sir.' He pointed although the eastern horizon was still curtained by sun-filled haze. 'There are several small vessels with her, ahead and astern, merchantmen by the cut of them.'
Bolitho said quietly, 'A convoy then?'
Avery looked at the captain, but it was as if he had been turned to stone.
'Far up to the nor'east there are other sails they are clearly visible from the mizzen topmast. You were right,
