Bolitho shivered, hardly daring to hope for anything just yet. 'Stand by to heave to, Mr. Herrick! We will let Captain Leach do all the work for us!'
Almost before the Hyperion had completed her manoeuvre, her wet sails cracking like guns in the face of the wind, the graceful frigate was near enough for them to see the great streaks of salt on her hull, the patches of bared wood where the relentless sea had pared away her paint as if with a knife.
Bolitho watched as the frigate's yards swung dizzily in the wind, her sleek deck canting towards him as Leach flung his ship round to ride unsteadily under Hyperion's lee.
Herrick said, 'That's odd,, sir. He could have drifted the despatches over on a line. It'll be a hard pull for any boat in this wind.'
But Harvester was already lowering a boat, and when it eventually managed to clear the frigate's side Bolitho saw that it was no mere midshipman in the sternsheets, but Captain
Leach himself,
'It must be important.' Bolitho bit his lip as a savage white-backed wave threw the boat almost beam-on to the sea. 'Tell Mr. Tomlin to have his men ready to take her alongside!'
When Leach finally appeared up the Hyperion's side he hardly paused to regain his breath before hurrying aft to the quarterdeck, his dripping hat awry, his eyes red-rimmed with fatigue.
Bolitho strode to meet him. 'Welcome aboard! It is some time since I have witnessed such a fine piece of shiphandling!'
Leach stared at Bolitho's soiled shirt and unruly hair as if he had only just recognised him. But he did not smile. He said, 'Can I see you alone, sir?'
Bolitho turned towards the poop, aware of his watching officers, the sudden wave of commotion the frigate's appearance had caused.
In the swaying cabin he made Leach drink a full glass of brandy and then asked, 'What is it which brings you out here?
Leach sat down on one of the green leather chairs and swallowed hard. 'I have come to request that you return to St Clar, sir.' He touched his salt-cracked lips as the neat spirit bit deeply into the flesh.
Bolitho said, 'The despatches. Are they from the admiral?'
Leach looked at the desk, his face lined with worry. 'There are no despatches, sir. But I had to give some reason. There is enough trouble as it is without worrying our own people.'
Bolitho sat down. 'Take your time, Leach. Have you come from St. Clar?'
Leach shook his head. 'From Cozar. I have just taken off the last handful of soldiers.' He looked up, his eyes desperate. 'After doing that I was ordered to find you, sir. I have been searching for two days.' He watched Bolitho pouring him another glass. 'I don't know if I am doing rightly, or committing an act of mutiny! It is getting so that I don't even trust my own judgement!'
Bolitho breathed out very slowly, willing his taut muscles to relax. 'St. Clar is in trouble, I take it?'
Leach nodded. The French have been hammering the port for weeks. I have been on patrol to the south'rd, but each time I put into harbour it was getting worse. The enemy made a feint attack from the south-west, and somehow managed to lure the Spanish troops from their positions.' He sighed. 'The enemy cavalry cut them to pieces! It was a massacre! Nobody even seemed to realise that the French had any cavalry there. And these were crack troops, dragoons from Toulouse!'
'What does the admiral intend to do, Leach?' Bolitho's voice was calm, but inwardly he was seething as he pictured the scattered infantry running and dying under the pitiless sabres.
Leach stood up suddenly, his face wooden. `That is just it,. sir. Sir Edmund has said nothing! There are no orders, no arrangements for a counter-attack or evacuation!' He was watching Bolitho with something like despair. 'Captain Dash seems to be in charge. He asked me to find you and bring you back.'
'Have you seen Sir Edmund?'
'No, sir.' Leach spread his hands helplessly. 'I believe he is ill, but Dash told me very little.' He leaned forward. 'The situation is desperate, sir! There is panic everywhere, and unless something is done soon the whole force will fall to the enemy!'
Bolitho stood up and crossed to the table. 'You say you have the people from Cozar aboard?'
Leach sounded weary. 'There was only some young ensign, and a few foot soldiers, sir.'
'What about the convicts?'
Bolitho turned as Leach replied emptily, 'I had no orders about them. So I left without them.'
Bolitho pressed his lips into a tight line. It was easy enough to condemn Leach as a heartless fool. It was even easier to see the difficulties and anxieties with which he was faced. Dash was the flag captain, but without signed orders from Pomfret he-had already laid himself open to court martial and perhaps worse.
He said quietly, 'Thank you for being honest with me. I will return to St. Clar immediately.' He listened to his own words without emotion. By agreeing with Leach's suggestion he was no longer an onlooker but a conspirator. He sharpened his voice. 'But before joining me you will return to Cozar and take off every single convict, do you understand?'
Leach nodded. 'If that is your wish, sir.'
'It is an order! I gave my word to them. They had no part in all this. I'll not make them suffer any more!'
There was a tap on the door and Herrick said, 'Your pardon, sir, but the wind is getting up again. It will soon be too rough for a boat to return to the Harvester.'
Bolitho nodded. 'Captain Leach is leaving now.' He met Herrick's enquiring eyes and added, 'As soon as he is gone you will wear ship and lay a course for St. Clar. I want every stitch of canvas she can carry, understand?'
Herrick darted away and Leach said tonelessly, `Thank you, sir. Whatever happens now I'll not regret my action in coming for you.'
Bolitho grasped his hand. 'I hope neither of us doesl'
As the frigate's boat pulled clear from the side the Hyperion's massive yards swung round, and while she laid over to the force of the wind the topmen swarmed aloft to fight the whipping canvas, their bodies bowed against the pressure, and hands like. claws as they struggled to keep from falling to the deck or into the creaming water alongside.
Herrick dashed the spray from his eyes and yelled, 'Is there more misfortune in St. Clar, sir?'
Bolitho felt the deck buck beneath his straddled legs. The old ship was taking it hard. He could hear the spars and stays squealing from the imposed strain, but as more and more canvas billowed and filled above the hull he shut their protests from his mind.
'I fear so, Thomas. It seems that the enemy are tightening their hold around the port.'
He walked to the weather rail before Herrick could ask him more. There was no point in telling him that -it now looked as if much of St. Clan's agony came from within. Herrick might resent being held at a distance, but if it came to a court martial he at least would be spared from involvement.
Gossett said, 'You'll not be wantin' the royals set, Mr. Herrick?'
Bolitho swung round. 'Well, I do, Mr. Gossett! You've boasted enough in the past about what this ship can do! Well, let me see you prove it'
Gossett opened his mouth as if to protest and then saw the set of Bolitho's shoulders and decided against it.
Herrick said, 'Pipe all hands again. And have the sailmaker standing by to replace any tom canvas.' He turned to watch Bolitho's figure striding back and forth across the tilting deck. He was soaked to the skin and his wounded arm, only recently freed from sutures and dressing, brushed against the nettings as he moved, yet he did not appear to notice it.
He carries us all, he thought. Worries for us at every turn, yet will let none of us help him.
He gripped the rail as a long roller lifted beneath the ship's quarter and roared hissing along either beam like breakers around a reef. The pumps were clanking louder than ever, and when he wiped his smarting eyes he saw that the yards were bending with the pressure and the belly of each straining sail looked as hard as beaten steel. But she was answering. God knows how, he wondered, but the old ship seems to understand Bolitho's urgency, when we do not.
It took another two frustrating days to reach St. Clar, with the ship clawing her way almost into the teeth of the wind, and no rest for anyone aboard. When the hands were not turned to trimming sails or working at the pumps they were faced by a mounting list of repairs to canvas and cordage, patching, and splicing as if their lives
