rough bandage. Then he saw his eyes open, imagined the other man shouting the news to him, his words as plain as if he could hear them himself.
He said, 'Pass the word to the bosun. I want that boat grappled alongside.' He gripped the midshipman's wrist. 'And tell him to be careful. There'll be no second chance.'
Allday had gone below for something. Now he was back, his eyes everywhere, until Bolitho said quietly, 'The first lieutenant is coming aboard. Go forrard and bid him welcome for me, eh?'
As the frigate slipped past another shelving hump of land the sun came down to greet them, to warm their aching limbs, to hold the shock of battle at arm's length a while longer. A deep explosion came from the main channel, and more smoke spouted high above the nearest land to show the wind which awaited them in open water, and to sound the other vessel's final destruction.
Muljadi may or may not have been aboard, and the real fight was still ahead.
Bolitho heard shouts from forward, and then a cheer as some seamen clambered into the sinking boat to pluck Herrick and his companion back on board.
But whatever was waiting beyond the green humps of land, no matter how hopeless their gesture might be, they would be together.
18. In the King's Name
'Alter course two points.'
Bolitho tried to pace along the littered deck, but was unable to overcome his anxiety. It was an hour since they had edged into the eastern channel, under minimum canvas and with two leadsmen in the chains they had felt their way towards the sea.
An hour of answering demands and listening to reports. Ten killed, fifteen wounded, half of them seriously. Considering what they had done, it was a small enough bill, but as he watched the familiar bundles awaiting burial, or heard occasional cries from the main hatch, he found little comfort in it.
If only Allday would come on deck and tell him about Herrick. He had already questioned the surviving seaman. It had been the little man called Lincoln, the one with the permanent grin made by a grotesque scar.
Bolitho had watched him reliving it as he had stammered out his description, oblivious to his captain and officers crowding around him, and seemingly only half aware he was actually alive.
It had been much as Bolitho had imagined. Herrick had decided to destroy the battery, drive his schooner aground regardless of risk and the inevitability of death. At the last moment, with the fuse lit and the vessel being fired on from a hillside, Herrick had been struck by a falling block from the mainmast. The little seaman had said in a whisper, 'Then up comes Mister Pigsliver, as cool as you please. Take to th' boat, he shouts. I've an old score to settle, though 'e didn't say wot 'e meant like. By then there was only three 'ands left. So me an' Jethro lowers Mr. 'Errick into the dory, but t'other bloke, the little sailmaker named Potter, 'e decides to stay with the Don.' He had given a great shudder. 'So off we goes. Then the schooner blows up like the gates of 'ell, an' poor Jethro was lost overboard. I just kept paddlin', and prayin' that Mr. 'Errick would stir to 'is senses an' tell me wot to do.' He had paused, sobbing soundlessly. 'Then I looks up, an' there she is, large as life, th' old Undine. I shakes Mr. 'Errick and calls to 'im, look alive, sir, the ship's a' comin' for us, an' 'e-well'e just looks at me an' says, an' wot did you expect?'
Bolitho had said quietly, 'Thank you, Lincoln, I shall see you do not go unrewarded.'
The little man had added, 'An' you'll not forget to mention a piece about Mister Pigsliver, sir? I-I mean, 'e may be a Don, sir, but, but…' Then he had broken down completely.
Now, as he moved restlessly past the six-pounders where the gun captains-knelt in the sunlight, checking their equipment, testing the tackles, their bodies stained with smoke and dried blood, Bolitho said to himself, 'No, I will not forget.'
'Deck there!'
He looked up, his eyes smarting in the glare.
'Open water ahead, sir!'
Shoes scrapedby the cabin hatch and he swung round.
'Allday, where the devil have you been?'
But it was not Allday.
Bolitho strode across the deck and held out both hands. 'Thomas 1' He gripped Herrick's hands in his, oblivious to the watching faces on every side. 'IT don't know what to sayl'
Herrick smiled sadly. 'I am the same, sir.'
'You should remain below until '
'Deck there! Ship to the east'rdt'
Herrick withdrew his hands and replied quietly, 'I am the first lieutenant, sir.' He looked slowly around the quarterdeck, at the protruding splinters and the flapping edges of torn hammocks where musket balls had ripped home. 'My place is here.'
Davy crossed the deck,and touched his hat. 'Beat to quarters again, sir?'
'Yes.'
Davy looked at Herrick and smiled. 'It seems you had no better luck in holding on to the schooner than I.' He added, 'I am relieved you are here, and that's the truth.'
Herrick touched the fresh bandage on his head and winced. 'If it had not been sworn otherwise, I would have said that Don Puigserver struck me down himself. He was that eager to finish what we had begun.'
He fell silent as the drums rattled out their tattoo and the lolling figures by guns and braces stirred themselves into life.
Bolitho was watching the last shoulder of land sliding away, the expanse of blue water and lively wavecrests growing and spreading to reveal an endless, dazzling horizon.
To larboard, her hull and spars black against the glare, lay the Argus. She appeared to be moving very slowly, her yards well braced to hold her on a converging tack.
Herrick muttered, 'Four miles, I'd say.'
'About that.'
Bolitho studied the. other ship, unable to look away. She reminded him of a wild cat, the way she edged across the busy, white-capped waves. Stealthy, purposeful. Lethal.
He imagined he could hear the squeak of trucks as her smooth sides became barbed by gun muzzles. Le Chaumareys was taking his time. Waiting for Bolitho to make the first move.
He looked away at last, feeling the tension returning, but heavier than before. Perhaps Le Chaumareys had planned it this way, distrusting his ally Muljadi, guessing that Bolitho might bring off a stalemate, if not a victory, if he chose his own method of attack.
The Undine's company had fought hard. He looked searchingly at the shot holes and punctured sails, heard the hammers as Pryke, the portly carpenter, and his mates got busy on repairs in the lower hull, and knew it was asking much of them to fight yet again, and to win against this great, black-hulled veteran of the French navy.
Then he glanced at those nearest him. He needed every bit of skill and experience they possessed, not least their courage.
'Well, Mr. Mudge, what of the wind now?'
'It'll get up, sir.' Mudge took out his handkerchief and blew his great nose violently. 'Might back a bit.' He gestured up at the masthead pendant. It was stiff, like a spear. 'I'd suggest, beggin' yer pardon, sir, that you fights under topsails only.'
Bolitho turned to Herrick. 'What do you say?'
Herrick was watching the other ship, his eyes like slits. 'Get to grips, sir. He'll pound us to pieces with those long guns otherwise.'
The deck lifted across the first true roller, and spray drifted high above the nettings.
'Let's be about it then.' Bolitho licked his parched lips. 'Get the forecourse off her.' He dropped his voice. 'And have those corpses buried directly. It does no good to see where some of us will end this morning.'
Herrick watched him calmly. 'I can think of better reasons for dying.' He glanced at the motionless seamen by
