risking everything to escape into open water. They were as much in danger from their own artillery ashore as they were from Neale’s guns. For it was almost dark now, apart from the flashing tongues of cannon fire, the flames of burning vessels having been quenched by the sea.
“Cease firing, Captain Neale.”
Bolitho tried to free his mind of the elation the taste of battle had created around him. Not one ball had hit Styx, and not a man had even been injured. The kind of sea-fight every sailor dreamed about.
“Sir?” Neale watched him eagerly.
“If you were the French commander here, what would you do? Recall the vessels and anchor them again while you set up a new battery to protect them, or send them packing to the north where they were intended?”
Neale grinned at two of his smoke-blackened seamen who were cheering and capering in a wild dance.
Then he became serious. “I’d not send them back to their original harbours. It would seem like incompetence, cowardice even, with such urgency demanded for their delivery.” He nodded slowly. “I’d send them on, sir, before we can summon heavier reinforcements.”
Bolitho smiled gravely. “I agree with you. So tell the master to lay a course to clear this channel and then beat back to the rendezvous. As soon as we sight Rapid I’ll send her to find the others. I’ll wager Rapid is still close at hand and wondering what the devil we have been doing. Apart from stealing her prize, that is!” He gripped Neale’s arm, unable to keep the excitement to himself. “We shall have the wind in our favour, think of it, man! We know that no support is coming from Lorient or Brest for these craft, otherwise Sparrowhawk or Phalarope would have sighted it. We have just created panic, but panic will not last. We must act at once. Phalarope, with her armament of carronades, can reap a rich harvest amongst these flimsy vessels.”
He looked up sharply as the sails flapped noisily above the deck. They were drawing under the lee of the island, but once in deeper water they could soon fight their way back to their friends.
Neale said doubtfully, “We shall be close inshore, sir.” He grinned. “But you are right, we can do it.” He shouted, “Mr Pickthorn! Hands to the braces! Stand by to come about!”
Bolitho made to leave and then said, “I shall not forget your support, Captain Neale. You could have lost your keel back there.”
Neale watched him go and remarked, “After that, I could sail this ship on a heavy dew!”
Bundy looked at his mates and grimaced. “Not with me, ’e bloody won’t!”
Bolitho opened his eyes and groaned. His body felt as if it had been kicked in several different places, and he realized he had fallen asleep in Neale’s chair.
His senses returned instantly as he saw Allday bending over him.
“What is it?”
Allday placed a mug of coffee carefully on the table.
“Wind’s freshening, sir, and it’ll be first light in half an hour.” He stood back, his head bowed between the deckhead beams, and eyed Bolitho critically. “Thought you’d want a shave before dawn.”
Bolitho stretched his legs and sipped the coffee. Allday never forgot anything.
Now, as the deck lifted and quivered beneath the chair, he found it hard to believe that in the hours since they had burst upon the anchorage they had made contact with the brig Rapid, which in turn had hurried away to complete the link in the chain of command with Phalarope.
The rest had been much easier than expected. Turning once more to take full advantage of the wind, the two frigates had steered south-east, while Rapid had continued her search for Duncan ’s Sparrowhawk.
It was not much of a flotilla, Bolitho conceded, but what it lacked in numbers it certainly made up for in agility and fire power. He had seen it in Styx, the wildness which was akin to some kind of insanity when the guns had roared out their challenge. If they could find and get amongst the enemy invasion craft just once again, the panic they had already created would spread like a forest fire.
Then he could make his report to the Admiralty: Beauchamp’s wishes had been carried out.
There was a tap at the door, but this time it was Neale, his round face flushed from the wind and spray.
“Phalarope’s in sight astern, sir. Sky’s brightening, but the wind’s backed to north by west. I’ve sent the people to breakfast early. I have a feeling we shall be busy today. If the Frogs have sailed, that is.”
Bolitho nodded. “If they have not, we shall repeat yesterday’s tactics, only this time we shall have Phalarope’s carronades.”
He sensed Allday’s sudden stiffness, the way the razor had stilled in mid-air.
Neale cocked his head as voices echoed along the upper deck. He did not see Allday’s apprehension as he hurried away to his duties.
Bolitho lay back in the chair and said quietly, “The sea is empty, Allday. We shall destroy those craft today, come what may. After that…”
Allday continued to shave him without comment.
It was strange to realize that Phalarope was sailing somewhere astern, in sight as yet only to the keen-eyed masthead lookouts. The ship which had changed everything for him, for Allday, and others who were so near to him. It was also unnerving to accept he was probably more excited about seeing Phalarope under full sail and awaiting his wishes than he was at the prospect of destroying helpless craft which could not hit back. But their menace was real enough, as Beauchamp had seen for many months. He sighed and thought instead of Belinda. What would she be doing at this moment? Lying in her bed, listening to the first birds, the early farm carts on the move down the lanes? Thinking of him perhaps, or the future? After today things might be different. Again, he could find himself ordered to the other side of the world. Belinda’s late husband had hated being a soldier and had resigned his commission to serve with the Honourable East India Company. Would she equally hate being married to a sailor?
Another tap at the door broke his thoughts and he was almost grateful. Almost.
It was Browne, all sickness gone, and as impeccable as if he was about to carry a despatch to Parliament itself.
“Is it time?”
Browne nodded. “Dawn’s coming up, sir.”
He glanced at Allday and saw him shrug. It was not like him to look so disconsolate.
Bolitho stood and felt the ship’s eager thrusting movement. The wind had backed again, Neale had said. They would have to watch out they did not run on a lee shore. He smiled grimly. So would the French.
He slipped into his coat. “I am ready.” He looked at Allday again. “Another dawn.”
Allday made a great effort. “Aye, sir. I hope when we greet the next one the taffrail will be pointing at France. I hate this bay, and all it means to a seaman.”
Bolitho let it lie there. When Allday was having a rare mood, it was best left well alone. There were other things at stake today.
After the sealed warmth of the cabin the quarterdeck felt almost icy. Bolitho returned Neale’s greeting and nodded to the other officers on watch. The ship was cleared for action, or would be once the last screen between Neale’s quarters and the gun-deck had been removed, but there was little hint of it yet.
The gun crews lounged in the shadows beneath the gangways, and the men in the tops were hidden by the black rigging and lively canvas.
Bolitho walked aft to the taffrail, aware of the marines resting by the nettings on either side, their muskets propped against the packed hammocks. How pale their crossbelts looked in the weird light, while their uniforms appeared to be black.
He tensed as for the first time he saw the old frigate following astern.
Her topgallant yards and masthead pendant held the first light on them, while the rest of the sails and the hull itself were lost in darkness. A ghost ship indeed.
He shook himself out of his doldrums and thought instead about the rest of his command. Rapid may have found Duncan by now. Other ships might be on their way to assist as Beauchamp had originally directed. Like Browne, he doubted it.
Neale joined him by the rail and together they watched the dawn spreading and spilling over from the land. A fiery red dawn. Bolitho smiled and remembered his mother. Red sky at morning, shepherds warning. He felt a sudden chill at his spine and turned to look for Allday. Allday had been a shepherd when the pressgang had seized him. Bolitho swung round again, furious with himself and with his fantasy.
He said, “As soon as you can, make contact with Phalarope. Signal her to maintain station to windward.”
