nervous twisting of heads of the others, turning as if they expected to see the enemy right here on board. 'For most of you this is the first time. While you serve your country it will not be the last. A few days ago you did well. A prize taken, another ship sunk by these eighteen-pounders.'
He pictured two similar lines of men on the deck below, waiting in almost complete darkness for the ports to open and run out the massive thirty-two pounders. They would be trying to hear what he was saying, the word being carried by ship's boys and midshipmen, and probably distorted along the way.
'But this is no brig, lads. Nor a newly-built shore battery.' He saw the words reaching them. 'Two ships of the line, and fine vessels they are.'
He heard Grubb whisper, 'Anytime now, sir.'
Bolitho looked along the crowded deck, well sanded to save the men from slipping in battle. 'But they have a fault, nonetheless. They are crewed by Frenchmen, not Englishmen!'
He turned aft, seeing the men waving and cheering, the grins on the faces of the midshipmen, as if they were going on a Royal cruise. He felt sickened with himself. Angry that he could make it sound so simple.
He said sharply, 'Pass the order to load, if you please.
Then run out the larboard guns. 'He saw a flash of doubt and added, 'Yes, the larboard ones. They must be made to think w
'I’m here, sir.'
He raised his arms and allowed Allday to buckle on his sword. Allday was no better. He was doing this deliberately. Letting the seamen and marines see how calm they were.
He looked at him and said softly, 'We are a fine pair.' Allday gave a secret smile. 'At least we are a pair again, sir.' He stared towards the enemy, his eyes calm. 'It’ll not be easy.' He watched the ship with professional interest. 'still, I don’tsuppose they're looking forward to it either!'
'Run out!'
The pipe was repeated to the deck below, and hesitantly at first, as if testing the quality of the air, the Lysander's larboard guns trundled into the sunlight like black teeth. 'Frenchies are running out, too, sir.'
'Good.'
Bolitho pulled out his watch and flicked open the guard. It was warm from resting against his thigh. He snapped it shut. Within a short time it could be as cold as its owner.
A dull bang echoed across the choppy strip of water, and seconds later a thin spout of spray burst up alongside. It brought a baying growl of anger from Lysander's gun crews, but Bolitho heard Veitch yell, 'Be ready! Starboard guns prepare to run out.' He squinted at the quarterdeck and saw Herrick nod. 'Both sides will engage independently!'
A youth at one of the nine-pounders whispered something, and Mariot, the old gun captain, replied, 'E means separate, see?' He saw Bolitho's brief smile and added, 'Wern ready for th' buggers, sir.' He moved inboard from his gun, paying out the trigger line as he went. 'Just like we done in th' old Scylla!'
Pascoe called, 'The enemy are shortening sail'
Bolitho nodded, watching the leading Frenchman' s topgallant sails vanishing as if by magic. Preparing to meet Lysander's challenge. If they continued on this converging course either of the French captains would be well placed for the first broadsides.
He looked at Herrick. Beyond him, Gilchrist was poised by the rail, his speaking trumpet already raised.
Bolitho said, 'Very well. This is the time, Captain Herrick.' He held his gaze. 'Put up your helm, and let's be amongst them!'
Gilchrist yelled, 'Braces there!' He was weaving from side to side, his voice like metal as he urged the seamen to greater efforts. 'Heave! Heave!'
Bolitho gripped the poop ladder and felt the ship shuddering, every stay and shroud humming with strain as the great yards started to creak -round. He heard the helmsmen panting with exertion as they threw their weight on the spokes, hauling the wheel over and further still.
Veitch was shouting above the thunder of billowing canvas, 'starboard battery! Run out!'
Bolitho looked aloft at his pendant, willing it to hold direction, while-all around him seamen and marines were rushing to obey the demands from their officers and bosun's mates.
He lowered his head and watched the leading French ship. Was it imagination? He held his breath, and then as the deck under his shoes began to heave over the opposite way he saw the French ship gathering speed, swinging past Lysander's bowsprit and flapping jib as if caught in a tide-race.
'Old'er steady!' Grubb sounded fierce. ' 'Nother man on th' wheel, 'ere!'
The yards ceased, their creaking and steadied on the larboard tack, the topsails hard-bellied again, thrusting the ship over until spray sluiced above the lower line of port lids where the gun captains were already shouting their readiness to fire.
Herrick tugged at his hat as the wind blew more spindrift over the hammock nettings and across the smooth planks between the guns. It dried almost as soon as it had fallen, like summer rain, Bolitho thought.
'Course nor'-east, sir!'
'steady as you go.'
Bolitho raised his glass, feeling the wind whipping at his coat as he trained it on the enemy. His sudden alteration of course had caught the two French captains by surprise. He saw the leading ship's ornate stem slipping past Lysander's starboard bow, the gap widening more and more until he could see the second seventy-four's jib boom pushing through the left side of his lens.
A ripple of orange tongues darted from the leading Frenchman's hull, and he heard some of the balls hissing overhead, the sharp crack of a stay parting somewhere in their path.
