The third day after leaving St. Kruis dawned bright and clear, with the sky empty of cloud and the colour of blue ice. The sea, whipped up by an impatient north-easterly, was broken as far as the horizon in an endless pattern of small wave crests, yellow in the sunlight.
During the night, and in spite of Pelham-Martin's urgent signals, the four ships had scattered, and it took more maddening hours to re-form the line to his satisfaction. Now, close hauled on the larboard tack and leaning heavily to the stiffening wind the ships drove south-east, with the shadowed coastline stretching away on either bow and only the towering hills further inland bathed in sunlight. The bay of Las Mercedes was still hidden and shrouded in drifting haze which swirled above the sea's face like low cloud.
Bolitho stood on the quarterdeck with one hand resting against the hammock nettings, his body chilled in spite of the early warmth, his eyes aching from studying the land as it grew out of the shadows to take on shape and personality for the new day. Since they, had weighed and put to sea with such haste he had thought of little else but this moment. While the ships drove westward, and then under cover of night turned to head more directly towards the land, he had considered what Pelham-Martin might do if the French had already quit the bay and were many miles away, as elusive as before. Or worse, that de. Block's schooner had been misinformed, and Lequiller had never been in the vicinity at all.
If either was true it would be hard to know where to pick up the scent again. To draw two forces of ships together in combat was more guess than planning, and Lequiller might have decided to return to France or carry some scheme of his own to the other ends of the earth.
Around and below him he could feel the hull trembling and creaking as under shortened sail she followed the other ships towards the bank of.pale mist. As soon as it was light enough to read his signals Pelham-Martin had ordered them to prepare for battle, and now, as in the other ships, the Hyperion's company waited in almost complete silence, by their guns or high above the deck, or like Trudgeon, the surgeon, deep in the hull itself, hidden from the sunlight and dependent on others for their own survival.
Several telescopes lifted as if to some silent command, ahd Bolitho saw a pale rectangle of sail detaching itself from the mist far away on the larboard bow. It was the frigate Abdiel which Pelham-Martin had ordered to approach the bay from the opposite side and report any signs of life within its protective headlands.
Lieutenant Roth standing by his quarterdeck ninepounders said loudly, 'We'll soon know now, eh?' But fell silent again as Bolitho glared at him.
Midshipman Gascoigne was already in the weather shrouds with his telescope, biting his lower lip with fierce concentration, knowing perhaps the vital importance of that first signal.
Steel scraped on steel with the sound -of a gunshot, and when Bolitho turned his head he saw Allday striding below the poop carrying the old sword in front of him like a talisman.
In spite of his anxiety Bolitho managed to smile as Allday buckled the sword around his waist. He at least seemed to have no doubts as to what the day would bring.
'Abdiel's signalling, sir!' Gascoigne's voice cracked with excitement. 'To Indomitable. Four enemy sail anchored inside bay.' His lips moved soundlessly as he continued reading. Then he shouted, 'Four sail of the line, sir!'
Inch let out a great sigh. 'By God, we've found 'em!'
Bolitho pressed his lips together and made himself walk twice from one side of the deck to the other. Four ships. That was only half of Lequiller's force, so where were the rest?
Behind him Gossett muttered, 'This mist'll go shortly. Then maybe we'll see the buggers!'
As usual he was right, and when the mist began to roll clear Bolitho raised his glass to study the anchored ships as first one and then the rest hardened into shape. With the sun only just above the hills the four ships looked black and solid, as if they had never, could never break free from their moorings, and as light filtered down above the departing sea mist he saw the reason. They were anchored fore and aft directly across the narrowest part of the bay's entrance, and he could tell from the way in which the water lifted and surged between the nearest ones that there were more hidden cables linking them together into one formidable barrier. Each ship had her ports closed and sails neatly furled, but when more sunlight played across the yards and shrouds he saw tiny figures on every poop and the curling Tricolour – at each gaff. There was no longer any doubt. Whether the French had beaten the Spanish garrison into submission, or had merely frightened them to impotent silence, the facts were the same. They were ready to fight, and what was more to the point, must have known Pelham-Martin's squadron was on its way. It would have taken a good deal of labour and planning to get the heavy two-deckers moored like that, and the French commander would not have wasted either on pure chance.
Inch said, 'Just as if they've been wanting us to come, sir.'
Bolitho closed the glass with a snap. 'Just so. I wondered why that West Indiaaman was allowed to proceed after seeing what she did. Lequiller is no fool, Mr. Inch, and I hope the commodore accepts the fact.'
Inch nodded doubtfully. 'I wonder what he intends, sir?'
Bolitho studied the anchored ships for a full minute, aware of the hum of shrouds and,, rigging, the hissing sluice of water against the hull, yet hearing none of them. It was uncanny to see the ships lying like that, he thought vaguely. They were almost at right-angles to the squadron's line of approach, stretching away on the larboard bow, the furthest vessel still shrouded in mist below the distant headland. If Pelham-Martin maintained this course they would pass astern of the last ship, or he could tack and sail along the anchored line and engage them independently.
Gossett said, 'There's plenty o' water at this side of the entrance, sir.'
'Yes.' Bolitho had already noted that the anchored ships were closer to the other headland, whereas the nearest two-decker was some three cables from the overhanging cliffs which were already bathed in bright sunlight.
Gascoigne yelled, 'Indomitable's signalling Abdiel, sir!' He climbed frantically up three more ratlines and then said, 'I can't read the hoist, sir! Hermes is blocking my view!'
Inch said, 'Abdiel's acknowledged, sir, so we shall see.'
Bolitho looked at him gravely. It was the way men could discuss the business of tactics and signals, when by nightfall they could all be dead.
The Abdiel shortened and then lengthened again, as with sails flapping and billowing from her yards she went about and headed for the rear of the French line.
Some of the seamen below the quarterdeck started to cheer her, although it was more to relieve tension than with any hope of reaching the frail frigate.
Bolitho watched in silence. So Pelham-Martin was sending Abdiel in first.
Carried faintly on the wind he heard a trumpet, and as be shaded his eyes against the mounting glare he saw the French ships opening their ports. It was both unhurried and well timed, so that as the double lines of gun muzzles trundled into view it seemed as if one man's hand was in control. A puff of smoke drifted above the Abdiel's bows, followed seconds later by the jarring crash of the shot. A ranging ball, or just sheer high spirits, it was hard to tell. Maybe Abdiel's captain was just loosing off a shot to break the tension. It was a pity that for the second time the lot of closing the enemy was going to Captain Pring and not Farquhar. The Spartan had not been found by the searching sloops, or at least had not yet arrived. Maybe Farquhar had troubles of his own, but just now Bolitho would have wished him in the van rather than Pring. The latter was keen enough, but seemed to lack Farquhar's cold self-control.
More smoke, and this time a ragged broadside, the balls throwing up thin waterspouts abeam of the last French ship, which Bolitho could now recognise as the one he had crippled at St. Kruis. Without a glass he could clearly see the gaping holes in her-bulwark and the crude jury. rig replacing her severed mizzen.
Gaseoign called, 'General signal, sir! The commodore intends to pass astern the enemy's line to obtain the weathergage!'
'You may load and run out, Mr. Inch.' Bolitho stepped clear of the sudden activity around the quarterdeck guns as the order was passed, and strode to the poop ladder. By standing a few steps above the deck he could see the Indomitable's larboard tumblehome cutting across the rearmost Frenchman. In another two cables Pelham-Martin would cross her stem and then lead the line round and parallel with the anchored ships. The French gunners would not only have the sun in their eyes, but also be deluged with smoke once the firing began.
Overhead the topsails flapped loudly and then refilled to the wind. So close to land it was difficult to keep them drawing well, and Bolitho watched with satisfaction as Tomlin's men manned the braces in readiness for the next order.
