sudden hostility in Pelham-Martin's eyes.
'Inform him! After his damned insolence!' PelhamMartin was sweating badly. 'He's probably hand in glove with the governor of Las Mercedes. Inform him indeed!' He controlled his anger with effort. 'I shall be happy to do so when I can produce this traitorous Spaniard to him in person.'
Bolitho looked at the chart. He could hardly blame Pelham-Martin for wanting to keep all the credit as a final return of insults.
He said, 'From my experience, sir, it is not likely that the Captain-General knows about this. The Spanish governors of the various provinces usually keep their own council and are responsible only to the Court in Spain. It takes months to get decisions agreed upon, so many of them act alone and share nothing of their problems in case of recriminations at a later date.'
Winstanley cleared his throat. 'That is true, sir.'
'All the more reason for trusting no one, surely?' Pelham-Martin's good humour was returning. 'I am not waiting for Lequiller to call the tune this time. We will put to sea immediately.'
Bolitho stood back from the table. 'I will have the barge standing by, sir.'
Pelham-Martin looked away. 'Thank you, but it will not be necessary. I am shifting my broad pendant back to Indomitable.' He nodded curtly. 'Return to your ships, gentlemen. We will make sail in two hours.'
Later, as Bolitho stood at the Hyperion's quarterdeck rail he wondered what had decided Pelham-Martin to change flagships again. As the broad pendant had broken from the Indomitable's topmast he had seen several of the seamen on the gangways pointing towards it and calling to each other with something like indignation. Rightly or wrongly, they probably considered they had done more than any in the squadron to bring the enemy to close action, and the commodore's change of heart must seem like an unspoken rebuke which they could not understand.
Bolitho did not understand it either, although when he had gathered his officers together in the wardroom to explain briefly what the commodore intended to do, he had made every effort to show neither resentment nor bitterness. At any other time he would have been glad to be rid of Pelham-Martin's presence, but now, with a final and decisive action imminent he would have preferred otherwise. For whereas Pelham-Martin had in the past consulted his captains for even the most trivial despatches, he had added nothing at all to his brief orders prior to sailing.
Inch called, 'Anchor's hove short, sir!'
Bolitho pulled himself from his brooding thoughts and shaded his eyes to peer across at the Indomitable.
Winstanley was probably cursing Pelham-Martin for returning to his ship. He could see the men along the twodecker's yards, the crouching shapes of others plodding around her capstan. Beyond her, framed against the distant hills, the Hermes and the stately Telamon were also shortening their cables. Even without a glass he could see most of the island's population crowded along the waterfront and on the headland where Dawson's marines had repaired the battery and had helped to improve the defences in case of any future attack.
In spite of his apprehension at Pelham-Martin's failure to outline any proposed plan of battle, Bolitho could find some comfort at the sight. With the sun beating down across the glittering blue water of the bay, a steady northeasterly ruffling the shrubs and rushes below the headland, the four ships made a splendid picture. As he looked along his own command he could afford to feel satisfied and pleased with the work his men had achieved. As good as his word, de Block had supplied the ship with everything at his disposal, even to the extent of new canvas to replace that lost in battle.
And as Perks, the sailmaker, had remarked, 'It's none o' yer wartime rubbish, sir, 'tis the real stuff.'
Gascoigne yelled, 'General, sir! Up anchor!'
Bolitho nodded. 'Get the ship under way, Mr. Inch!'
He glanced at Gossett. 'We will take station astern of Hermes.'
That was something else. Hyperion would be the last in. the line in whatever action the commodore intended. With the prevailing wind from the north-east it was a sensible position, for Hyperion was the fastest ship in the squadron and could dash down on the van if Indomitable got into difficulty and needed support. But to her company, many of whom did not understand these matters, it must seem like a final insult. He would make it his business to set their minds at rest, he decided.
He heard Inch yelling, 'Get those laggards to the mizzen braces! Mr. Tomlin! Wake them up, for God's sake!'
Here and there a rattan swished across a tanned back as the seamen came alive to the business of getting under way. A month of comparative idleness had taken its toll, `and it took more than soft words to drive the men to the braces.
'Loose tops'ls!'
Gascoigne ran across the deck as wheeling ponderously to the wind the ship went about, her sails cracking and booming overhead and the capstan still turning to the accompaniment of a breathless shanty.
'Flag to Hyperion, sir!' His eyes were streaming as the sunlight lanced down his telescope. 'Make haste!'
Bolitho smiled. 'Acknowledge.' Pelham-Martin would not wish to see any slackness with a Dutch ship in company. The Telamon was-a splendid sight, and in the glare her gilded stern shone like some fantastic temple altar, while strung out along her yards the dark skins of her topmen glistened as if they, too, had been stained and polished to perfection.
But she would make little impression on Lequiller's ships, he thought. She was over fifty years old, and her guns were no match for the French artillery. And she had been out here for most of her lifetime, Mulder had said. So her timbers were probably rotten, in spite of the gilded carving and proud flags.
He shifted his eyes to the Hermes as she tacked round to take station astern of the Dutchman. She on the other hand looked every inch an experienced warrior. Stained and scarred, with more than one patch in her pale canvas.
Inch said, 'Indomitable's setting her t'gallants, sir.'
'Very well. Do likewise, Mr. Inch.' Bolitho staggered slightly as the deck lifted slowly beneath him. Like him, the ship seemed pleased to be rid of the land again.
He looked up to watch the canvas spread along the braced yards and the tiny silhouettes of the topmen as they raced each other to obey the orders from the deck far below. He saw Pascoe pause at the maintop, his body tilting to the roll of the ship, his head thrown back to watch the pigtailed seamen swarming past him as still more canvas ballooned and then hardened from the yards. His shirt was open to his waist, and Bolitho could see that his skin was already well tanned, his ribs less prominent than when he had come aboard. He was learning fast and well, but Bolitho knew from what he had seen and heard at St. Kruis that the boy still kept apart from the other midshipmen and was nursing his inner hurt like some latent disease.
Gossett intoned, 'Course is west by south, sir!'
'Very well.' Bolitho crossed to the weather side to watch as the headland. slipped past, tiny figures running along the lip of crumbling rocks where the French raiding party had stormed up to the battery under cover of darkness.
Far away on the larboard bow he could just make out a tiny white sliver on the sea's edge to mark one of the sloops which had already hurried ahead to contact the frigates and pass Pelham-Martin's instructions with minimum delay.
To Inch he said quietly, 'Set no more sail just yet. With our clean copper I'm afraid we might overreach the Hermes!'
Inch showed his teeth in a grin. 'Aye, aye, sir.'
It was then, and only then, that Bolitho realised Inch had got the ship under way without a single flaw, while he had been so immersed in his own thoughts he had barely noticed it.
He eyed the lieutenant gravely. 'We'll make make a commander of you yet, Mr. Inch!'
Leaving Inch with an even wider grin he walked aft to the cabin, where once more he could be alone with his thoughts.
9. RETREAT
