morning ritual. One glass contained a raw egg. The other was half filled with brandy.
Bolitho looked away, sickened, as the admiral gulped down his strange mixture.
Moresby smacked his lips and said dourly, 'Sky's brightening at last.' He swung round so that the tassel of his cap bounced in the breeze like a pendant. 'Where are those damn Dons?'
'It'll take 'em hours to catch up, sir.' Bolitho tried to hide his eagerness. 'Perhaps we should close the shore still further? The bottom shelves very steeply hereabouts to over eighty fathoms.'
The admiral grunted. 'It seems quiet enough. Maybe Don Anduaga was right, after all.' He scowled. 'I hope he is!'
Bolitho persisted, 'I have detailed a full landing party, sir. Ninety marines and one hundred picked seamen. We could drop the boats within a cable of the entrance before the garrison knew what was happening.'
Moresby sighed. 'Hold your horses, damn you! I dislike this business as much as you do, but Lord Hood's orders were explicit. We let the Dons go in first.' He walked back to' the poop. 'Anyway, you'd look a damn fool if the Spaniards arrived a day late and there was trouble. You heard what that lieutenant said about the defences. They'd massacre your men before they got out of the boats!'
Bolitho dropped his voice. 'But not this early, sir. Surprise is the thing. As soon as the fortress garrison has seen us we'll never get another chance.'
'I'm going to get dressed.' Moresby sounded dangerously calm. 'My. God, you frigate captains are all the same. No sense of responsibility or riskl' He stalked away with Gimlett trotting in his wake.
Bolitho walked twice up and down the quarterdeck to settle his mind. Moresby was old for his rank and was probably over-cautious.
Gossett intoned, ' Island 's abeam, sir.' He was squinting at the tightly braced yards.
Bolitho nodded. He had allowed his taut nerves to distract him. He had not really expected Moresby to fly in the face of Hood's orders, but he had still hoped. He said wearily, 'Very well. Wear ship and lay her on the opposite tack, Mr. Gossett.'
The Hyperion nudged steeply into the offshore swell and swung dutifully across the wind, her sails drawing immediately as the cool breeze sent a gentle ripple across the water alongside.
'Lay her on the starboard tack, Mr. Gossett.' Bolitho pictured the chart in his mind. `There is a long ridge of rock jutting out from the eastern end of the harbour entrance. There may be a sentry there.'
He thought of the men by the guns, of his officers waiting and wondering throughout the ship. They would be smiling now, he thought bitterly. Thinking that their new captain was more nervous than vigilant. All the drills and preparations would be wasted if his inbuilt caution had proved him wrong.
He looked up at the masthead pendant and saw that it was touched with pale gold like spun silk. And when he peered across the bows he realised that the horizon had appeared, a dark line between sky and sea. How quickly the dawn came up here, he thought. The realisation only depressed him further. With it would come the blazing heat, the air of motionless and helpless inactivity while the ship wallowed above her mirrored twin barely making headway.
'Deck there! Two ships on the lee bow!'
Quarme muttered, 'The Dons did not sleep long, after all, sir.'
'Maybe they mistrusted our admiral.' Bolitho stared at the glassy, undulating swell alongside. 'My respects to Sir William. Inform him of their approach.'
Quarme waited. 'Shall I fall out the men from quarters, sir?'
'Just do as you are told!' Bolitho regretted his outburst immediately, but made himself stay by the rail as Quarme hurried away with his message.
The sun, blood-red and angry, lifted above the sharp horizon to paint a widening path across the empty expanse of water. Then Bolitho saw the topsails of the two Spanish ships. In the strange light they too looked fiery and unreal.
He turned as Moresby reappeared on deck. He was fully dressed in his gold-laced coat and hat, and was wearing his best presentation sword as if for a review.
The admiral breathed in deeply. 'A fine day, Bolitho.' He snapped his fingers and took a glass from the signal midshipman and then trained it on the other ships for several minutes.
He sighed. `Make a signal to the Marte. Tell her to take station astern.' He blinked in the sunlight and added, `You will then wear ship and lead the line back across the southern approaches. If nothing happens we will enter harbour.' He tossed the glass to the midshipman. 'Don Anduaga can have this damn island with pleasure.' Then he walked aft and stood in silence watching the flags soaring up the Hyperion's yards.
As the sun climbed steadily above a glittering horizon the dawn opened up the sea in every direction, like a curtain being ripped from a window. Here there was no drowsy period of half-light, no chance to adjust. One minute it was night. And the next… Bolitho pulled his mind away from such meaningless comparisons and walked aft to watch the two Spanish ships. With the sunlight astern of them they made a splendid sight. Both had shortened sail, but their masts and yards were so decked with gay flags and resplendent banners it was impossible to determine whether they were making signals or merely preparing to celebrate a bloodless victory.
Anduaga's flagship, the Marte, was like something from a child's picture book. From tier garish figurehead to her tall, sloping poopdeck she was alive with colour and movement, and crammed in cheerful confusion on her upper deck Bolitho could see her cargo of Spanish soldiers who were to make up the largest proportion of the landing force.
He deliberately turned his back and moved his glass across to the island. In the bright sunlight it did not appear half so threatening. The hills which he had thought to be grey were covered with tiny, stunted bushes and sundried scrub, and only the wide round tower of the fortress remained to add a touch of uncertainty. There was no sign of life but for the line of writhing surf at the foot of the cliffs, and the natural harbour was still hidden in deep shadow so that not even the keen-eyed masthead lookouts could see any sort of activity within.
Moresby said flatly, 'Very well, Bolithb. Fire a gun. This is close enough.' His voice seemed loud in the tense silence. Bolitho waved one hand towards the maindeck and saw Pearse, the gunner, move aside as the forward twelve-pounder lurched back with a loud bang, the sound of the single detonation echoing and booming around the high cliff and sending the gulls screaming skyward in violent protest.
Bolitho kept his glass trained on the hairline above the fortress, and as he held his breath he saw a flag jerking hastily upward to the truck, and after a second's hesitation it broke out gaily in the offshore breeze. He lowered his glass and looked at the admiral. Moresby was smiling grimly. Even without a glass it was easy to see the flag. The bright red and yellow of Spain.
Moresby made up his mind. 'Signal the Marte. His ships will tack in succession and enter harbour.' He eyed Bolitho coldly. 'You will continue on this course and then tack to follow suit.'
Bolitho saw Midshipman Caswell scribbling hastily on his slate and then said, 'I think we should send a boat in first, sir. One of the cutters perhaps?'
Moresby watched the flags rise from the deck and then beckoned him across to the rail. 'I've wasted enough time, Bolitho! Do you think I want the Dons telling everyone that we are too frightened to believe our own eyes?' He stuck out his jaw. 'Remember that this is supposed to inspire confidence!'
Caswell bleated. 'Marte has acknowledged, I think, sir!'
The Spanish flagship was spreading out more sail, and as they watched they could see her shape lengthening as she heeled round towards the island.
The Princesa, a smaller vessel of sixty-four guns, dropped out of formation, her sails flapping in confusion as she endeavoured to tack round after her consort.
Gossett growled. 'Didn't see the signal, most like!' He watched the ships with obvious contempt. 'They'll all be drunk by nightfall!'
Moresby said, 'May I suggest you release your men from quarters, Bolitho. Secure guns and ports before you tack.' He seemed suddenly angry. 'There has been enough foolishness• for one day!'
Bolitho clenched his fists and crossed to the weather side. 'Did you hear that, Mr. Quarme?' He saw the first lieutenant nod, his face as immobile as before. 'Carry on then!'
'Deck there! I can see the topmasts of a ship well up th' harbour!'
Several people looked up at the lookout's tiny silhouette, but most were still staring glumly at the glittering Spanish ships astern.
Bolitho snatched the speaking trumpet from Quarme. `What is she, man?
