and courageous officer, and of all those present he probably understood his enemy's navy best. His intelligence and cunning were well known and respected. But would Bonaparte be willing to listen to advice now, with Egypt almost in sight and nothing but three ships in his way?
He said, 'Tell your marines to strike up a tune of some kind, Major. This waiting burrs the edge off a man's strength. I know it does off mine!'
Moments later the drums and fifes led off with The Old East Indiaman, the youthful marines marching up and down the quarterdeck, stumbling only occasionally over a gun tackle or a seaman's out-thrust leg.
After some hesitation, and the knowing grins from his mates, Grubb delved into his pocket and joined the fifes with his tin whistle, the one which had become something of a legend.
'Deck there! Enemy frigate steerin' due south, sir!'
'she's after Harebell, sir!'
Bolitho gripped his hands behind him, as with a growing pyramid of sails a powerful frigate tacked away from the unending line of ships and headed towards the sloop.
Inch had the edge on her. With this slow south-westerly it would be hard for the French captain to overreach him now, and unless he crippled Harebell with a long shot from a bow chaser, he should be safely clear.'
A gun echoed dully across the glittering water, and a thin white fin spurted in the sunlight. It was well short, and brought a ripple of cheers from the watchers in the tops.
The deck tilted heavily, and one of the marching drummer boys almost pitched headlong.
Grubb thrust his whistle into his coat and growled, 'Wind's gettin' up, sir!' To his helmsmen he added, 'Watch it, my beauties!'
Bolitho looked at Herrick. 'You may load and run out when you are ready.'
He felt the ship lifting and then dipping into a low swell, the spray darting through the beakhead like broken glass.'
Herrick cupped his hands. 'Mr. Veitch! Pass the word! Load and run out!'
Leroux said to his lieutenant, 'Bless my soul, Peter, I do believe that the French are keeping their formations!'
Nepean peered at him vacantly. 'But that will surely take us right amongst the second group, sir? Those supply ships seem to be heavily protected also.' He swallowed hard and blinked the sweat from his eyes.' 'Pan my word, sir, I think you're right!'
The major looked up at the poop. 'sar'nt Gritton! Spread your sharpshooters to either side! At this rate I think we will be into the enemy's centre before he knows it!'
Bolitho heard all of it. The busy clatter of rammers and handspikes, the shrill of whistles as the guns were run out, one side gleaming like teeth, the other still in a purple shadow.
Bolitho thought of Pascoe and his great charges, three decks beneath his feet. He wanted him here with him, and yet knew that the lower deck was probably safer.
'Run out, sir!'
Bolitho took a glass from Midshipman Saxby and it almost dropped to the deck. The boy was shaking badly and trying not to, show it. Bolitho ran up a poop ladder and trained the glass astern.
He said sharply, 'signal to Nicator, Mr. Glasson: Make more sail.'
He returned to the quarterdeck and said, 'We want no great gap between us.'
The remark reminded him of Saxby and he said quietly, 'Take this glass, my lad, and go aft with the marines. Keep levelled on Nicator for me, until I say otherwise.'
Herrick dabbed his face with a handkerchief. 'Worried about young Saxby, sir?'
'No, Thomas.' He lowered his voice. 'About Probyn.' 'Nicator s acknowledged, sir. ' Glasson sounded very alert now.
Bolitho nodded and climbed on to a nine-pounder, one hand resting on a seaman's bare shoulder. Heading on a diagonal tack towards Lysander's larboard bow he saw the French men-of-war reforming to protect their scattered convoy of supply ships.
He counted them carefully. Four ships of the line. Odds against his own strength, but not too much so. Beyond the overlapping straggle of supply vessels he saw the squared sails of a frigate, snapping at the heels of those vital ships like a Cornish sheepdog when a fox was after the lambs.
He looked past Veitch without seeing him. An hour more at the most. The French admiral would know by then that there were no more British ships close by. What then? Revenge and destruction of the little squadron? Or on to Alexandria in case there was one more trick to play?
Bolitho saw the gleam of red amongst the enemy's formation and knew it was the supply ship from Corfu. Veitch would remember. He'd had plenty of opportunity to watch her and her scattering consorts while he had set fire to the hillside to protect Osiris from the guns. And she would be carrying more of those great guns. Without the last of them, de Brueys would never dare to anchor inside Alexandria's narrow entrance. He would need their protection for his ships and the landing of so many soldiers and stores. Denied them, he would do it as Herrick had described, in AboukirBay.
And with any kind of luck, Nelson would find them there. After that, it would be up to him.
He looked along Lysander's decks, his heart heavy. And what of us? We did our best.
He heard several bangs, and saw smoke drifting downwind from the leading French two-decker. Some of the balls whipped across the low waves like flying fish, but were well clear of Lysander.
It was a show of anger. A sign that the French were ready and eager for battle after so long preparing behind their booms and harbour batteries.
