Then Herrick said, 'I still can't see the flagship, sir.'
'We won't wait for her!' Bolitho watched the men swarming aloft and listened to the harsh bark of commands. 'That is gunfire ahead. Make no mistake about it!'
Proby came on deck buttoning his heavy coat. He seemed half asleep, but as the big spanker filled with wind and the deck canted obediently to the wind's eager thrust he contained any comment he might have felt and crossed to the wheel.
Bolitho said calmly, 'Alter course. two points to larboard, Mr. Proby.' The ship's sudden response to wind and sail had swept away the strain and sleep from his mind. He had been right. The waiting was almost over.
He looked sideways at Herrick and saw that his face was clearer in the growing light. He looked worried and not a little startled by the swift chain of events.
Bolitho said quietly, 'We will investigate, Mr. Herrick.' He pointed at the men swarming back along the yards. 'I want chain slings fitted on every yard. If we are called to action our people have enough to contend with at the guns. I don't want them crushed by falling spars.' He halted the lieutenant in his tracks. 'And have nets spread above the maindeck, too.' He made himself stand quite still by the rail, his hands resting on the worn and polished wood. He could feel the ship trembling beneath his palms, as if his thoughts were being transformed into new life, and the life was flowing through the Phalarope even as he watched.
From newly awakened chaos the ship had already settled down into a purposeful rhythm. All the weeks of training, the hours of persistent instruction were giving their rewards. Stockdale joined him by the rail. 'I'll get your coat, sir.' 'Not yet, Stockdale. That can keep for a moment longer.'
He turned as Okes appeared at the ladder, his face still crumpled from sleep. 'I want the hands to eat well this morning, Mr. Okes. I have a feeling that the gallery fire will be out for some time to come.' He saw the understanding spreading across the officer's face. `This time we will be ready!'
Like a living creature the Phalarope lifted her bows and smashed jubilantly into each succeeding rank of low waves, the spray bursting back over her forecastle in long white streamers.
Herrick reported, 'Chain slings rigged, sir.'
'Very well.' It was an effort to speak calmly. `Have the boats swung out for towing astern. If we fight today there will be enough splinters flying without the boats adding to them!'
Okes managed to ask, 'The gunfire, sir? What do you make of it?'
Bolitho saw several men pausing to listen to his reply. He said slowly, 'Two ships. One much smaller than the other by the sound of the firing. We can be sure of one thing, Mr. Okes. They cannot both be enemies!'
Herrick was back again. 'What now, sir?
'I am going down to shave and wash. When I return I will expect to hear that the men have been fed.' He smiled. 'After that, we shall have to see!'
But once back in his cabin it was almost more than he could bear to take this time to shave and change his clothes. The breakfast which Stockdale hurriedly laid on the cabin table he could not even face. By tonight, or perhaps within the next few hours, he might be dead. Or even worse, screaming for mercy under the surgeon's knife. He shuddered. It was pointless even to think of it. More, it was harmful.
Stockdale said, 'I have laid out a fresh shirt, sir.' He looked searchingly at Bolitho. 'I think you should wear your best uniform, too.'
'For heaven's sake why, man?' He stared at the coxswain's battered face in surprise.
Stockdale replied, gravely, 'This is the day, sir. I have the same feeling I had with you once before.' He added stubbornly, 'And the men will be looking to you, sir. They'll want to see you.' He nodded as if to settle the matter. 'After all that's happened they'll need to know you're with them.'
Bolitho stared at him, suddenly moved by the man's halting, broken voice. 'If you say, so, Stockdale.'
Ten minutes later a voice echoed faintly above the sounds of sea and canvas. 'Deck there! Sail on the starboard bowl'
Bolitho made himself wait just a few more seconds as Stockdale buckled on his sword, and then walked to the cabin ladder. The quarterdeck seemed -crammed with figures, all pointing and speaking at once. Every voice fell silent as Bolitho walked to the rail to take a telescope from Maynard.
Through the frigate's criss-cross of rigging he could see the distorted patterns of tossing whitecaps beyond her bows. The sky was already clear, but the water seemed to writhe in the grip of a slow-moving sea mist, and for once the new day felt drained of warmth.
Then he saw them. Two ships close together, their hulls hidden in a dense cloud of smoke and mist, their tattered sails hanging disembodied above the hidden battle below.
But the flags were easily visible. One blood red, like that which flew above him. The other clear and white. The flag of France.
He closed the telescope with a snap. `Very well, Mr. Okes. Beat to quarters and clear for action!'
His eyes held there a moment longer. `We must give well of ourselves today, gentlemen. If our people see us doing our best, they will be willing enough to do their duty!'
He half listened to the distant thunder of gunfire. `Carry on, Mr. Okes!'
They all touched their hats and then looked at one another, as if each man realised that for some, maybe for all of them, it would be the last time.
Then the drum began to rattle, and the small moment was past.
17. FORM LINE OF BATTLE!
Within ten minutes of the drum's urgent tattoo the Phalarope was cleared for action. Decks were sanded and buckets of water stood within reach of every gun. Over the whole ship there had fallen a strange, gripping stillness, broken only by the uneasy slap of canvas and the steady sluice of water around the stem.
Bolitho shaded his eyes and watched the sun's unearthly orange glow as it tried to filter through the unending wall of sea mist. The bang and clatter of gunfire had become more uneven and sporadic with each dragging minute, and now as the distance fell away between the Phalarope and the other ships there came new sounds, more vicious,, and somehow more personal. Bolitho could hear the sharp cracks of muskets and pistols, the jarring scrape of steel against steel, and above all the mingling cries of men fighting for their lives.
Okes wiped his face with the back of his hand and said quickly, `This damn mist! I can't see what's happening!'
Bolitho glanced at him briefly. `It is a godsend, Mr. Okes. They are too busy to see us!' He lifted his hand to the quartermaster. `Starboard a point!' Then he walked to the rail and looked down at Herrick's upturned face.
`Have the guns loaded, but do not run out until I tell you.'
He saw the gunners push the fresh charges down the gaping muzzles, followed by the round, gleaming shot. The more experienced gun captains took time to fondle each ball, weighing it almost lovingly to make sure that the first salvo would be a perfect one.
He heard Herrick shout, `Double-spotted and grape, lads! Let 'em feel it this time!'
A stronger breath of wind rolled aside the mist around the entangled ships, and Bolitho tightened his lips into a thin line. Almost stem on to the Phalarope's swift approach was a French frigate, and alongside, listing and battered almost beyond recognition, was the little brig, Witch o f Looe. One mast was already gone, and the other seemed to be held upright only by the remaining stays. He thought of her commander, the young Lieutenant Dancer he 'had met aboard the flagship, and marvelled at the man's pluck or wasted courage which had made him him match his ship against this powerful opponent. His little pop-guns against the still-smoking twelvepounders.
Okes said, `They've seen us, sir!' He swallowed hard as something like an animal growl floated across the water. `My God, look at them!'
The Witch of Looe's shattered deck seemed to be swamped in French sailors, and as the drifting gunsmoke parted momentarily to allow the sunlight to play across the carnage, Bolitho saw the small knot of defenders, still fighting back from the brig's small quarterdeck. In a few more minutes they would be swamped completely.
The gunports along the French frigate's disengaged side suddenly opened, and to the steady rumble of trucks the guns appeared like a line of bared teeth.
Bolitho shut his ears and mind to the victorious shouts from the French frigate and concentrated his thoughts
