attack, nor frighten him from his attempt to rescue the landing party.
A gun crashed out from the battery, and he gritted his teeth as a tall waterspout erupted violently alongside the ship's hull. Too close.
He snapped, 'Hurry your men, Major! Tell them that the sea is their only way out!'
6. Attack at Dawn
'COURSE nor'-east, sir!' The helmsman's voice was hushed. 'Very well.' Herrick moved restlessly to the weather side of the quarterdeck and peered towards the land.
As he turned to look along the upper gun deck he realised he could see some of the crews quite clearly, although at first glance it seemed as dark as before.
He walked aft to where Grubb stood near the wheel with Plowman, his best master's mate.
'There should have been a signal by now, Mr. Grubb.' He ought to have held his silence and kept his anxiety to himself. But it seemed endless. Lysander's slow and careful approach towards the hidden land, the nerve-stretching tension as the men stood to their guns on each deck, while others waited at braces and halliards in case he should order a sudden change of tack.
Occasionally from right forward in the chains he heard the leadsman's cry, the splash beneath the bows as he made another cast.
There was no chance of a mistake. With the wind holding steady across the larboard quarter, the sea depth checking with that shown on the chart, plus Grubb's vast local knowledge, there was no room for doubt.
The sailing master looked even more shapeless with his arms thrust deep into the folds of his heavy coat.
'Mr. Plowman repeats 'e saw the landin' party safe away, sir. No challenge, nor even a sight of a whisker from the Dons.' He shook his head and added gloomily, 'I agrees with you, sir. There ought to 'ave bin a signal long since.'
Herrick made himself walk forward again to the foot of the great main mast, where Fitz-Clarence was surveying the gun deck below the rail.
Herrick said, 'It's damn quiet.'
He tried to imagine what Bolitho and the marines were doing. Hiding, captured, perhaps already dead.
Fitz-Clarence turned and looked at him. 'It's lighter, sir. Much.' He raised one arm to point towards the land.
Herrick could see without being told that the nearest wedge of darkness had mellowed, and it was possible to see a crescent of sand, the lively movement of spray across some scattered rocks, Lysander was standing very close inshore, but the depth was safe. At any other time it would have been the perfect approach, the ideal conditions which were usually missing when most needed.
'By th' mark ten!'
Grubb confirmed it by muttering, 'The 'ead land must be fine on the larboard bow, sir.' He coughed throatily, 'We’ll be able to spit on it within 'alf an hour!'
Below the quarterdeck rail he heard someone give a short laugh, the immediate bark from a gun captain to silence him.
The hands had been at their quarters since last night when they had dropped the boats and he had watched them pull towards the land. Down there; and deeper still on the lower gun deck, the waiting seamen were probably whispering their doubts, making jokes about their captain's caution. What would they say if he lost the ship, and them with her?
Fitz-Clarence remarked, 'Pity we are out of contact with Harebell, sir,'
Herrick snapped, 'Attend to your duties, Mr. Fitz-Clarence!'
It was perhaps only a casual comment. Or did the lieutenant mean that if he was too nervous to make a decision one way or the other, he should signal for the little sloop to make the first move?
He walked a few paces up the tilting deck, feeling the crews of the nine-pounders watching him as he went past. Every gun was loaded and ready behind its closed port. The cutlasses and boarding axes had been honed on a grindstone on the main deck. It seemed hours ago.
He saw Lieutenant Veitch, who was in charge of the upper deck battery of eighteen-pounders, lounging by the hatch-way, chatting with his two midshipmen. Perhaps they did not even care. They were like he had once been. Content to leave it to others. When the events moved too swiftly for thought it was always too late anyway. He shifted his feet and watched the dawn light growing above the land. He had been in many sea fights. Had seen so much, and had known the mercy of survival. But this sort of work was beyond him.
High above the deeply-shadowed decks he heard the topsails and forecourse flapping and then filling hungrily to a sudden thrust of wind. Higher still the topgallant sails were set and drawing well, and he thought he saw one of the masthead lookouts kicking his legs to hold back the chill of the damp air.
He moved across to the opposite side of the deck, strangely spacious without the marines. He tried to picture each one of the officers throughout his command, from Fitz-Clarence, with his elaborate guise of complete self - confidence, to those like Lieutenant Kipling on the lower gun deck, and Veitch who was apparently so relaxed with his crews below the bulging canvas. With Gilchrist ashore, and Lieutenant Steere with him, he' was short-handed enough. But those who remained were barely moulded into a team as yet, and the progress of their gunnery under fire was still to be tested.
'By th' mark seventeen!'
He heard himself say, 'Bring her up a point, Mr. Grubb.'
'Aye, aye, sir!'
Herrick ignored the sudden scuffle of bare feet as men hurried to trim the yards. He had made a small decision.
