Some of the seamen on the quarterdeck had heard the commodore's last remarks and were grinning as Abdiel's flags broke from her yards.
An old gun captain with a pigtail down to his waist growled, 'Serve 'em roight, I says! Let 'em bide their time an' give us a chance with they coloured lassies!'
'Abdiel to Hyperion. Gunfire bearing west by north.'
Gascoigne's voice reached many of the men on the gangways and a great murmur of excitement and surprise made the commodore pause at the top of the poop ladder as if he was suffering a seizure.
Bolitho snapped, 'Acknowledge!' To Pelham-Martin he called, 'It must be an attack on the harbour, sir!'
'Abdiel requests permission to make more sail, sir!' Gascoigne's eyes flitted between his captain and the commodore's portly figure framed against the darkening sky.
Pelham-Martin shook his head. 'Denied!' He almost fell down the last two steps in his haste to reach Bolitho's side. 'Denied!' He was shouting, and seemed more angry than anything else.
Bolitho said, 'I agree, sir. Ships powerful enough to attack a defended harbour would make short work of her frail timbers.' He held back at what he was really thinking. That if Spartan was still in company things might have been very different. Two fast frigates swooping in from the open sea could cause some havoc before taking advantage, of the growing darkness. But alone it was asking too much of Abdiel's captain, and it would take Hyperion hours to reach a position of any advantage. By which time it would be dark and too hazardous to close the land.
Pelham-Martin spoke rapidly. 'Signal Abdiel to take station to windward.' He watched the flags dashing aloft. 'I must think.' He rubbed one hand across his face. 'I must think!'
'Abdiel's acknowledged, sir!'
Bolitho saw the frigate's yards bracing round as she started to swing back towards the Hyperion's quarter. He could imagine her captain's disappointment. He said, 'We can work to the sou'-west, sir. By first light we will be in a better position to surprise the attackers.'
Pelham-Martin seemed to realise that countless eyes were staring up at him from the crowded main deck. 'Get those bloody people to work! I'll not be gaped at by a lot of damned idlers!'
Bolitho heard the sudden air of activity and bellow of orders. Pelham-Martin was just filling in time. The emotions which flooded across his face were proof enough of his inner confusion.
He said in a more controlled tone, 'Indomitable and Hermes might be here within days. With their support I can give a better account, eh?'
Bolitho eyed him gravely. 'They could just as easily be delayed for weeks, sir. We cannot take the chance, or the risk.'
'Chance? Risk?' Pelham-Martin was speaking in a fierce whisper. 'It is my head on the block! If I close and give battle and we are overwhelmed, what then, eh?'
Bolitho hardened his voice. 'If we do not, sir, then we could lose the island. Our ships would not have to be beaten in battle. They could be starved and parched into submission!'
Pelham-Martin searched his face, his expression both desperate and pleading. 'We can sail for Caracas. The Spanish might have ships to assist us.'
'It would take too long, sir, even if the Dons have ships there and are willing to help us. By that time Lequiller will have taken St. Kruis, and it would need a fleet to drive him out, and at a great cost.'
The commodore swung away angrily. 'Lequiller! That's all you think about! It might not even be him!'
Bolitho said coldly, 'I don't think there is much doubt about that, sir.'
'Well, if you hadn't let him slip through your fingers, if you'd held fast instead of weighing anchor, all this might never have happened.'
'And let those prisoners hang, sir?' Bolitho watched the massive shoulders tense. 'Is that what I should have done?'
Peiham-Martin faced him again. 'I am sorry. I was overwrought.' He spread his hands. 'But what can I do with only one ship of any size?'
'You have no choice, sir.' He kept his voice quiet, but could not hide his anger. 'You can fight, or you can remain a spectator. But if you decide the latter, the enemy will know that he can do as he likes. And our friends here will also know it.'
Pelham-Martin looked at him, his face in shadow as the sun's dying rays disappeared beyond the horizon like the tails of a comet. 'Very well.' He still waited, as if listening to his own words. 'I will do as you suggest. But if we fail, Bolitho, I will not suffer the consequences alone.' He turned and walked aft to the cabin.
Bolitho stared after him, his face set in a frown. If we fail there will be nobody left to argue the rights or wrongs of it, he thought bitterly.
Then he sought out Inch's lanky shape by the rail. 'Mr. Inch, show a shaded stern lantern for Abdiel's benefit. Then you may take in the courses and reef down for the night.' He listenerA to Tnch nncsino hic nrrler, and raisad his glass to peer beyond the dark mass of rigging and shrouds.
The island had vanished in the gloom, but so too had any sort of gun flashes. The enemy would have to wait for dawn now.
Inch came after at the trot. 'Anything else, sir?' He sounded breathless.
'See that our people eat well. We may have to forgo breakfast tomorrow.'
Then he crossed to the weather side and watched the frigate's ghostly outline until she, too, was hidden from sight.
7. ACTION THIS DAY
Bolitho closed the chartroom door and walked swiftly on to the quarterdeck, pausing only beside the dimly lit compass to see that the ship's head was still pointing almost due north. For most of the night the preparations for battle had gone on without a let up, until as satisfied as he could be Bolitho had called a halt, and the hands, tense but exhausted, had curled up beside their guns for a few hours' rest.
As he crossed the quarterdeck Bolitho felt the light breeze cold and clammy through his open shirt, and wondered how long it would hold when the sun lifted above the horizon once more.
Inch said, 'Good morning, sir.'
Bolitho stared at his pale shape and nodded. 'You may load and run out now, but pass the word for as little noise as possible.'
As Inch craned over the rail to pass his orders he looked up towards the sky. It was much lighter than when he had been on deck half an hour earlier. Now he could see the tightly spread nets which Tomlin and his men had hauled above the decks during the night to protect the gunners from falling spars, when before they had been merged with the sky. Towards the eastern horizon the last stars had vanished, and some small, isolated clouds had their bellies touched with the colour of salmon-pink.
He took several deep breaths and tried to ignore the squeak of trucks and the dull thuds of guns being hauled up to the open ports. Unlike his men, he had not slept, and even during the last half hour he had filled in his time by making himself shave by the light of a small lantern. He had twice cut himself, so great was his inner tension, but he had known that if he did not occupy himself fully his nerves would be in an even worse state. It was always the same. The doubts and anxieties, the fear of failure and the dread of mutilation with its attendant horrors under the -surgeon's knife, all these things lurked at the back of his mind like spectres, so that as he shaved he had needed all his strength to hold the razor steady.
Now the waiting was almost done. There, black across.the bows and stretching away on either hand was the island, and he no longer needed a glass to see the faint necklace of white feathers which marked the sea's breaking over the reefs.
Hyperion was close hauled on the starboard tack with her topsails and topgallants braced hard round to take maximum advantage of the low wind. All the courses were clewed up, for these large sails were always a fire risk once the fighting started.
Inch straightened his back as a voice called up from the main deck.
'All run out, sir.'
