Bolitho said, 'It's time. '
They walked through the screen door, where instead of a dining table and polished chairs there was only open deck, the dark shapes of the waiting guns and their crews stretching away beneath the poop and towards the strengthening day- light.
He strode past the mizzen mast's great trunk and tried not to recall the broadside which had ripped through Osiris's' stem like a bloody avalanche.
Some of the gun crews turned to watch him, their eyes glittering white in the gloom behind the sealed ports.
One man called, 'Yew'm a fair zight today, zur!' He was finding courage in the darkness and ignored the harsh threats of a petty officer. 'Bet there's no better lookin' sailor in the 'ole fleet!'
Bolitho smiled. He knew the accent well. A Cornishman like himself. Perhaps even a face he had seen as a youth, now brought close for this encounter.
He walked past the double wheel and the imperturbable helmsmen. The master and his mates, the midshipman of the watch, little Saxby. And further, to the centre of the quarter deck.
He saw Pascoe, his head and shoulders soaked in spray, speaking in a fierce whisper to Glasson, who had taken charge of the ship's signals.
Pascoe touched his hat to Bolitho and said, 'I will go below, sir.'
Bolitho nodded, knowing that some of the seamen nearby were watching them curiously. Pascoe's new station was down on the lower gun deck with the great thirty-two- pounders. He had Lieutenant Steere as his superior, and a midshipman to fetch and carry messages. Youth indeed for Lysander's main batteries.
'God be with you, Adam.'
'And you,' he hesitated, 'Uncle.' He shot a smile towards Herrick and then hurried down the companion.
'Deck there! Sails in sight on the larboard bow!' Bolitho snapped, 'Aloft with you, Mr. Veitch. I’d like a firm opinion this morning.'
He stared at the sky, now pale blue and devoid of cloud.
The red blobs of the marine marksmen and swivel gunners in the tops, the great yards and black tarred rigging. A living, vital weapon of war. The most complex and harshly demanding creation of man. Yet in the weak sunlight Lysander had a true beauty, which even her bulk and tonnage could not spoil.
He crossed to the larboard side and clung to the neatly stacked hammock nettings. Harebell was already fighting round in a steep tack, her topsails flapping, her topgallants and maincourse being set even as he watched.
Astern he could see the black lines of Nicator's weather shrouds and tumblehome, but her outline, and Immortalite's, too, were hidden beyond the sloping poop.
Major Leroux ran lightly down a ladder and raised his drawn sword to his hat with a flourish.
'I have arranged my men as you ordered, sir. The best marksmen where they will be unhampered by those less accurate.' He smiled, his eyes far-away. 'Maybe the French will expect to meet with Nelson?'
Herrick heard him and laughed. 'Our gallant admiral must take his turn!'
Veitch returned to the deck by way of a backstay with as much ease as a twelve-year-old midshipman.
He wiped his hands on his coat and said, 'It is the enemy fleet, sir. They seem to be steering south-east, and the bulk of it lies well to windward. ' He hesitated and then said, 'There is a second squadron directly across our bows on a converging Jack, sir. I had a good look at it, and I am certain that one or more of the ships were at Corfu. One of 'em was painted in red and black. I saw her just now, as plain as day.' Bolitho looked at Herrick and drove one fist into his palm. 'De Brueys is holding his main squadron to the west of us, Thomas! He must still expect a chance to meet with our fleet!'
Herrick nodded and said bitterly, 'If he only knew that they had already gone from here!'
Bolitho seized his arm. 'Mr. Veitch is not mistaken!' He looked at both of them, willing them to understand. 'De Brueys has kept his other supply ships to the east'rd, protected by his lines of battle!'
'Then I’ll warrant our appearance is causing some cackling!' Herrick climbed into the weather shrouds with a telescope. 'I can just make out some sails on the horizon. But you may well be right, Mr. Veitch! Our Frenchmen are protecting their charges from the wrong direction!' He said in a duller voice, 'But the French have plenty of time to re-arrange their defences. '
Bolitho toyed with the idea of going up to the topgallant yard to see for himself.
'There are but three of us, Thomas. The French will have sighted Harebell and may assume she is about to relay our signals to the main fleet.'
Leroux said quietly, 'Then I’d not be in Commander Inch's boots.'
Some of the gun crews had left their weapons and stood on the gangways to watch the enemy's slow approach. Like plumed cavalry topping a hard blue rise, the masts and sails began to show themselves even to the men on the gun deck. More and still more, until the horizon seemed engulfed by their sails.
'A fleet indeed, Thomas.'
Bolitho tilted his hat to keep the light from his eyes. He could feel the sun on his right cheek, the clinging weight of his coat. It would be hotter than this soon. In more ways than one.
Hour ran into hour, and as the sunlight grew stronger and harsher, the enemy ships took on style and personality. The
measured lines of French seventy-fours, and the. whole dominated by one great first-rate, the largest ship Bolitho had ever seen. That would be de Brueys's flagship. He wondered what the French admiral was thinking, how the small line of British ships would look to him and his officers. He wondered, too, if Bonaparte was there with him, watching and despising their brave gesture. Bonaparte was their one real hope. De Brueys was a very experienced
