“Will I fetch Hugoe, Captain?”
Allday poured some more coffee. He had been out of his hammock and down to the galley for Bolitho’s shaving water much earlier, but showed little sign of fatigue.
“No.” Bolitho rubbed his hands vigorously up and down his arms. He felt cold, and yet his mind was crystal- clear, as if he had enjoyed a full night’s sleep in his bed at Falmouth. “He’ll be sorely needed in the wardroom.”
Allday showed his teeth, knowing that was not the reason at all. “Very well then. I’ll get some breakfast for you.”
Bolitho stood up and walked to the windows. “I couldn’t eat. Not today.”
“You must, sir.” Herrick gestured to Allday and he left the cabin. “It may be a while before we get another chance.”
“True.”
Bolitho peered down at the water below the counter. But there was only the merest glint to show the pull of the current. It still surprised him at the speed with which the dawn broke. Many throughout the ship would be wishing it might never come.
He said quietly, “If we fail today, Thomas.” He stopped, uncertain how to continue. He did not wish Herrick to accept a possibility of defeat, but he needed him to know how much his friendship meant, how it sustained him.
Herrick protested, “Bless you, sir, you mustn’t talk like that!”
Bolitho turned and faced him. “There is a letter in the strongbox. For you.” He held up his hand. “If I fall, I want you to know that I have arranged some benefits for you.”
Herrick strode to him and exclaimed, “I’ll hear no more, sir! I-I’ll not have it!”
Bolitho smiled. “So be it.” He walked up and down the cabin. “I would it were as cold as this for a whole day. A sea-fight is blistering enough without the sun’s distractions!”
Herrick dropped his gaze. Bolitho was shivering badly. Lack of sleep, total exhaustion from the open boat, it was all starting to show.
He said, “I’ll be off, sir.”
“Yes. We will go to quarters as soon as they have eaten.”
He saw Herrick’s apparent satisfaction and waited for him to leave. Then he sat down and started to go over his plans again, searching for flaws, or improvements.
He poured another mug of coffee, picturing his ship as she lay in darkness. Two guard boats pulled around her at all times, while on shore Prideaux had mounted pickets to patrol the beach and headland. They would have to be withdrawn when it was light. Tempest was so shorthanded, whereas the enemy… he shivered and drained the last of the coffee. Enemy. How easily the word came. He recalled the French he had seen when he had visited Narval. With such cruel treatment they would probably have mutinied anyway, revolted against de Barras and his sadism. The uprising in France gave them even wider scope for vengeance. A battle would seem a small price to pay for their release.
Bolitho tried to form an image of Tuke, but the memory of the livid brand on Viola’s shoulder made him close his mind to him. Instead he thought of her, hanging on to each detail, afraid something might be lost in his memory.
Allday brought his breakfast, but said nothing as Bolitho pushed it aside. In silence he shaved him, and brought a clean shirt from the chest as he had seen Noddall do so many times.
The ship felt very quiet, with just the sluggish motion and the creak of timbers to break the stillness.
Light filtered through the windows and across the chequered canvas of the deck.
Bolitho slipped into his coat and grimaced at himself in the bulkhead mirror. In the weak light he looked pale, so that his coat and breeches and the gold lace stood out in sharp contrast.
Allday said quietly, “We’ve stood like this a few times,
Captain.” He glanced up at the skylight as feet moved restlessly overhead. “I never get used to it.”
Bolitho felt his coat, glad of it for once to hold the chill at bay until the sun rose above the islands once again.
“Nor I.”
The door opened slightly and Midshipman Fitzmaurice poked his pug-face around it.
“The first lieutenant’s respects, sir, and he wishes to clear for action if it is convenient?”
Bolitho nodded, conscious of the youth’s formality. “My compliments to Mr Herrick. Tell him I am ready.”
Moments later the stillness was broken by the twitter of calls, the stamp of running feet and all the preparation for battle which to a landsman would appear no better than chaos.
The staccato beat of the two drums on the quarterdeck echoed around the bay, reaching the settlement and further still to the village. To the tired sentries on the headland, and to the wounded marine called Billy-boy who had been given his own special task ashore.
And also to a wild-eyed girl who lay alone in her hut, her mind destroyed, but her memory hanging on to the one person who had helped and protected her.
As the sun found the Tempest’s main topgallant masthead, and made the whipping pendant change from white to copper, Herrick touched his hat and reported, “Cleared for action, sir.” He said it proudly, for despite his shortages, the operation had been completed in less than fifteen minutes.
Bolitho walked to the quarterdeck rail and looked down at the silent figures. He recalled Allday’s remark. We’ve stood like this a few times. And his own response.
The shadowy figures below him, and crouched around the quarterdeck, would they understand when the call came? He wondered if de Barras was still alive, how it must have been for him when the latent hatred had exploded into mutiny.
“Deck there! Ship to the east’rd! At anchor, sir!”
Bolitho walked to the nettings, his hands behind his back. Still just the one. Bait perhaps to draw him into another trap. A watchdog, while others prepared a different form of attack. It was too early even to guess.
He saw Fitzmaurice speaking to the signals party, and considered the change which had affected all of them. Swift now walked the gundeck with Borlase, and Keen stood aft, watching over the quarterdeck six-pounders. He saw Pyper too, doubled up with pain from his burns and salt sores, standing with the carronade crews on the forecastle.
He heard the American, Jenner, say something to another seaman, and half expected to see Orlando with him. He shivered. Boys into men. Men into oblivion.
The masthead again. “’Tis a schooner, sir!” He would have a perfect view. The strengthening glow directly behind the other vessel, while Tempest still lay in deep shadow.
Bolitho said, “We will know soon what to expect.”
“Aye, sir.” Herrick was on the opposite side of the deck, and raised his voice so that it would carry more easily. “Not really worth our while, is she, sir?”
It brought a few laughs, as both of them knew it would.
Bolitho turned and saw Ross watching him closely. “Get aloft with a glass, Mr Ross. I want you to take your time. Examine the schooner as you have never done before.”
He watched him thrust through the boarding nets and climb nimbly up the main shrouds, the telescope bobbing on his shoulder like a poacher’s gun.
Then he looked at the masthead pendant. The wind had backed during the night, but was steady enough from the northwest. It was well sheltered in the bay, but the schooner would not venture inside the reef and risk being grounded, for she would be anchored right in the wind’s path.
Everything must happen here. Hardacre had added his knowledge to Lakey’s, and it was quite impossible for an attack to be launched overland from the other side of the island. There was no safe landing place, and the threat of attack from hostile natives, no matter what Tinah had promised, would need treble the force which Tuke and his men possessed.
Sunlight slipped gently across the upper yards and sails, and the hill above the settlement stood out from shadow as if detached from all else.
Ross, one-time master’s mate, now acting-lieutenant, called sharply from his high perch, “They’re lowering a boat, sir.”
