'The wound has become poisoned, Sir.'
'You're lying!' The commodore tried to struggle up but fell back with a gasp of pain. 'You are just saying that to save yourself.'
Trudgeon pushed past Inch and stared at the discoloured skin in silence. Then he said tonelessly, 'It must come off, sir.' He looked at Bolitho, his eyes doubtful. 'Even then, I'm not sure…'
Pelham-Martin shouted wildly, 'You'll not touch me! I am ordering you to keep away!'
'It's no use, sir.' Bolitho studied him sadly. 'You may have thought such a small splinter could do you no real harm. It was probably some infection from the wood,' his eye rested on the empty decanter. 'Or your blood may have become affected.' He looked away, unable to watch the man's growing terror.
You fool. You poor, frightened fool. To avoid a decision, just one decision, he had allowed this terrible thing to happen to himself.
He thought suddenly of the ships and all the men who had been depending on him and added flatly, 'There is no other course, sir.' He nodded to Trudgeon. 'You have my consent.'
Pelham-Martin screamed, 'I am ordering you!' He writhed in the cot, the sweat pouring across his chest as he peered at Inch. 'I was dismissing Captain Bolitho from his command!'
There was a clatter of feet on the poop above and then a muffled wave of cheering. They looked at each other and then turned to the door as Midshipman Canyon burst into the cabin.
'Sir!' He controlled his voice as he saw the stricken commodore. 'Hermes is signalling!' He fumbled with his tattered book. 'Strange sail to the nor'west!'
Bolitho stared at him. 'Thank you, Mr. Canyon. Now back to your flags at the double!' To Inch he snapped, 'I will be on deck directly.' Then he smiled. 'And thank you for your loyalty.'
He turned and looked down at the commodore. 'It must be Lequiller's squadron, sir. I will keep you informed whenever I am able.' He moved to the door as Trudgeon beckoned his mates to enter.
On deck the air was bracing and clean with light drizzle, and the sun was again covered by cloud. But the wind was still steady from the south-west, and the masthead pendant almost rigid against the dull sky.
Gossett reported, 'Course west by north, sir. Full an' bye!'
Bolitho nodded and lifted a telescope to his eye. Far away across the larboard bow he could see the Hermes' topsails etched on the horizon, the balls soaring to her yards and breaking to the wind in stiff, bright patches of colour.
Canyon yelled, 'From Hermes, sirl Estimate five sail of the line!'
Bolitho lowered his glass and looked at Inch. All the weeks and days, the waiting and the planning had brought them to this point on the sea, this moment in time.
He said, 'Alter course – point to starboard. Steer westnor'-west!'
As Inch groped as speaking trumpet Bolitho beckoned to Midshipman Carlyon and saw Inch pausing to listen.
'Mr. Carlyon, make this general signal to the squadron. He hesitated, sensing the eyes around him, the men on the main deck and the ship around all of them.
'Enemy in sight!'
As the flags soared aloft and broke to the wind Bolitho wondered. briefly what the other captains would be thinking as they read the signal. At St. Kruis, while they had listened and mulled over his ideas and suggestions they must have had doubts, many doubts. Now, the sight of his signal would clear their minds of everything other than the need to fight. To fight for their very survival.
Astern, aboard Impulsive, the acknowledgement was already hoisted, and he could imagine Herrick looking around his ship, his first command, which might be lost to him in a matter of hours,
He pulled his watch from his breeches pocket and flicked open the cover. It was exactly two o'clock, and even as he returned it to his pocket four bells chimed out from the forecastle belfry.
When he raised the telescope again he saw the Hermes growing larger and more distinct, and found time to thank God for the keen eyes of her masthead lookout. Later or earlier, and the two squadrons might have slipped past each other, or been lost in a rain squall in the vital moment of contact.
Lequiller would most likely have sighted the Hermes, but he had no choice but to engage. There were many hours of daylight yet, and with the open sea behind him he must fight and destroy the flimsy force across his bows, unless he was to become hunted and not the hunter.
Bolitho said, 'Make to Hermes. Take station astern of me.' He thought of Herrick again. The signal would disappoint him certainly, but if his sixty-four was to survive the first clash then he must allow the heavier twodeckers the opening broadsides. He added, 'Then make a general signal, Mr. Canyon. Prepare for battle!'
'Deck there!' The masthead's call made every eye look up. 'Sail fine on the lee bow!' The merest pause. 'More'n one ship, sir!'
Bolitho nodded to Inch. 'Beat to quarters and clear for action.'
The two marine drummers hurried to the quarterdeck ladder and started their insistent tattoo. The rapid drumming seemed to act like the final confimation, and as more men swarmed up from below and ran to their stations those already on watch cheered and waved their neckerchiefs towards the Hermes as she started to tack steeply towards the centre of the line. Bolitho saw Fitzmaurice with his officers, and lifted his arm in response to the other captain's greeting.
Between decks he could hear the thuds and clatter of screens being torn down, the rush of feet as other men hurried aloft to rig the chain-slings to the yards and assist Tomlin's deck party with the protective net above the gunners.
He said to Inch, 'Pass the order to sway out the boats for towing astern.' He thought of the distance they were from land, the very hopelessness of survival should the worst happen.
Inch came back seconds later, his face pale with excitement. 'Cleared for action, sir!' He managed to grin. 'Six minutes exactly!'
'Very good.' Bolitho found himself smiling. 'Very good!'
He walked back to the rail and looked searchingly over the crowded main deck. Every gun was manned and ready, the captains facing aft, their bodies hung about with the tools of their trade. The decks were well sanded, and in the stiff breeze the men would need all the grip they could afford.
He said, 'Signal the squadron to shorten sail.' He looked up at the pendant and shivered. Soon now. Very soon. It was to be hoped the first sight of the enemy at full strength would not destroy this first determination.
'Deck there! Five sail o' the line an' one other, sir!'
G sett rumbled, 'That'll be the Dons' treasure ship.'
Bujitho made himself walk slowly aft, his hands behind him. As he passed the quarterdeck nine-pounders some of the gunners twisted round to watch him. As if by meeting his eye they could share his apparent calm and hold it like a talisman.
Captain Dawson clattered down from the poop. Above him and ranged around the nettings his marines were already swaying in neat lines, their muskets at their sides, their dressing faultless as usual.
Bolitho nodded to him. 'Go forrard and speak with your lieutenant. The carronades will have plenty of work directly, and I want your sharpshooters to give them all the cover they can.'
Dawson tugged at his collar. 'Yes, sir.' He glanced bleakly at the grey water. 'I'll not fancy a swim today.'
More seamen thudded down from the shrouds as the big mainsail was finally furled and the ship settled into a state of watchful tension. Apart from the hiss of spray and a steady thrumming tune from the rigging, all was silent once more.
Inch said, 'Will we take the weather-gage, sir?'
'It is too soon to say.' Bolitho reached out and snatched a glass from Canyon. As he steadied it against the nettings he saw the enemy ships for the first time. It was difficult to fix their formation at such a distance, and the overlapping topsails and streaming flags gave the impression of one huge nightmare creation, climbing up and over the horizon, intent on destruction and death.
He returned the glass. There had been no mistaking the ship at the van of the squadron. The big three-decker. Lequiller's own flagship, Tornade. She was a bare two years old, and mounted a hundred guns. It would be better to remember her at anchor with the wretched prisoners hanging from her mainyard then to contemplate the devastation of her massive artillery, he decided grimly.
