Allday heard the story and said nothing. He knew Bolitho better than any of them, and guessed that like himself he had probably been thinking of that other time, so many years ago, when a similar ruse had all but cost him his life, and his ship.
Allday examined his heavy cutlass in the dim light of a shaded lantern. If there was going to be a fight, the Hyperion's raw company would need more than confidence. A whole lot more!
4. A NAME TO REMEMBER
'Captain, sir!'
Bolitho opened his eyes and stared for several seconds at Inch's anxious face. He had been dreaming. There had been some sort of green field with an endless flowered hedgerow, and Cheney had been coming down the road to meet him. He had been running, and so had she, yet they never seemed to draw nearer to one another.
'Well?' He saw Inch pull back nervously and added, 'I'm sorry. Is it time?'
Inch nodded, the lantern above the bench seat throwing his face into half-shadow. 'There's a mist coming offshore, sir. It's not much, but Mr. Gossett says it could make the final approach more difficult.' He jumped aside as Bolitho swung his legs over the side and began to pull on his coat.
Bolitho's mind was quite clear now. 'What is our approximate position?'
Inch pouted. 'Ten miles nor' nor'-west of the headland,
Sir.'
'I'm ready.' Bolitho took a last glance around the cabin and then extinguished the lantern.
On the quarterdeck it was very dark, and only when Bolitho looked up did he realise the extent of the mist. It was moving quite fast, so that the sails were still drawing well, but above the mainyard he could see nothing at all, as if some giant hand had sheared away the remainder of sails and spars.
Stepkyne spoke from the darkness. 'Galley fire doused, sir.'
There was an air of nervous expectancy on every side, but Bolitho forced himself to ignore the others as he walked aft to the compass again.
'Alter course two points. Steer sou'-east!' He held up his hand. 'Make as little sound as possible!'
He crossed to the weather. side and peered at the nearest sails. It was a pity he could not reduce the spread of canvas, he thought. The Hyperion was creeping very slowly down the enemy coast, and at first light any vigilant sentry might be quick to see the ship's topgallants and sound an alarm before Bolitho could cross the last stretch of water and place himself in the best position to find the frigate. But if he was to have enough speed and manoeuvrability to catch the frigate before she could show him her stern, he had to be ready.
He made up his mind. 'Hands to quarters, Mr. Inch. No piping or any excitement. Just pass the word, and then clear for action.'
If anything it made the business of getting the darkened ship ready for, action all the more unnerving. Shadows flitted back and forth, while from below decks came muffled thuds and bangs as screens were removed, lashings cast off from guns, and officers spoke in fierce whispers as they sought out and checked their own men. And all the while the Hyperion was gliding through the long tentacles of mist like a phantom ship, her sails wet with spray and drizzle, her rigging and spars creaking as the hull countered the swift current and the lookouts strained their eyes into the unbroken darkness around them.
Bolitho gripped the nettings and watched the mist sifting through the mainshrouds, like pale liquid, before another clammy gust of wind across the ship's quarter drove it lifting and swirling towards the open sea. Behind him he could hear Captain Dawson speaking with his marines, the occasional click of steel or squeak of equipment as they swayed together in a close-ordered square across the quarterdeck. In the drifting mist their uniforms looked black and their white crossbelts stood out with startling clarity.
Inch appeared, puffing and sweating. 'Ship's cleared for action, sir.'
Bolitho grunted. What sort of a fool would he look if the Hyperion found the sea empty when daylight came? Any sort of confidence he had managed to build up amongst the barely trained seamen would soon be lost when the word went around that the captain was.frightened of his own shadow.
Any other time he might have waited. Experienced men could load and run out, reload and keep on firing while all around them was lost in a nightmare of deafening explosions and screaming men, and if necessary they could do it in total darkness. He thought of all these men now, crouched behind sealed ports, ears cocked to every sound, hearts pounding, and grateful of the darkness if only to hide the fear from their companions. It was not worth the risk. If it came to a choice he would rather his men should laugh behind his back than die because of his conceit.
'Very well, Mr. Inch. You may pass the order to load.'
As Inch beckoned urgently to a midshipman Bolitho recalled the other times when he had sailed into action. Every gun double shotted and loaded with grape for good measure for that first devastating salvo. But with halftrained men fumbling in the gloom of the tween decks it would be inviting disaster. It took experience to gauge those methods. One wrong charge and a gun would explode, killing its complete crew at the very least.
The wind eased slightly, and in the sudden stillness he heard the patter of feet across the sanded decks as the little powder monkeys scampered from gun to gun with the charges newly drawn from the magazine, where Johns, the gunner, in his sparkproof felt slippers would be standing in the one place from which there was no escape should the ship take fire in action. Thank God he was an old hand and unlikely to dwell too much on the skill of those he was supplying from his magazine.
Gossett called, 'By my reckonin' we are rennin' about three miles abeam the 'eadland, sir.' He coughed. '0' course, with this current an' the mist, it's a mite 'ard to be sure.'
'All guns loaded, sir!'
Bolitho held his watch against the compass lamp. It should be getting light now. He looked around quickly. Was it in fact brightening slightly, or were his eyes so used to the gloom that the nine-pounders on the lee side appeared black and stark against the bulwark?
He wished he could take one further look at the chart, but there was no more time left. He tried to picture it exactly as he had last seen it, to memorise and recall-the headland and the sheltered water beyond, the soundings and shoals, the deep water, and the swirling current which could turn any foolhardy approach into total ruin.
'Starboard a little!' He stood beside Inch at the quarterdeck rail, his telescope across the weather side as the wheel creaked over.
'Steady as you go!' He could hear Inch breathing noisily, and level with his waist saw one of the quarterdeck gunners kneeling at the breech of a ninepounder, naked to the waist in spite of the freezing air, a cutlass thrust carelessly through his belt, the hilt black against his bare spine. The length of the man's pigtail told Bolitho he was no novice, and he hoped that at every division of guns there would be a few-other than the petty officers in charge-who would bring stability and order when the time came.
Someone dropped a rammer on the main deck, and when he darted an angry glance forward he realised with a start that he could see the forecastle and the web of rigging around the bowspirt and jib boom beyond. But as the ship regained her personality from the fading darkness the mist appeared to grow thicker and whiter, until at length Hyperion seemed to be floating helplessly abeam, the illusion made more complete by the speed with which the wet mist passed through and around the shrouds.
Bolitho said suddenly, 'Get aloft, Mr. Gascoigne. You've a sharp pair of eyes.'
As the midshipman hurled himself up the ratlines, Inch said, 'We could miss the frigate, sir.'
Bolitho saw the main topsail shake in a down eddy, and in those brief seconds noticed a faint patch of blue. Above the mist the sky was already clearing. Bright and cold, which was just as well.
Blocks and halyards clattered nervously, and Gossett murmured, 'Wind's freshenin', sir.'
It was very slight, but enough. All at once the mist was breaking up and thinning into low lying vapour, and even as Gascoigne's shrill cry came down to the waiting men, Bolitho saw the other ship's outline.
'Frigate fine on the starboard bow!' Gascoigne was yelling with excitement. 'At anchor, sir!'
Inch stared from the other ship to Bolitho, as if unable to believe either.
Bolitho watched the frigate impassively as her outline hardened against the mist which was already passing her and drifting towards the open sea. There was the headland, blue-grey in the dawn light, and although it was still
