him several times. Was it fear? Everyone was afraid in a fight, but he thought of Allday and tried to shut it from his mind, like something foul and unclean.
Okes rambled on, unperturbed by his murderous attack with the swivel. 'With the Cap'n's permission, I'll send the boat for t'other one. We could warp Supreme clear. I think the wind 'as backed, not greatly, but this beauty don't need that much.'
Hallowes said, 'See to it, Mr Okes. And thank you.'
Okes strode off and Bolitho pictured his thick legs in their white stockings when he had shot down the running Frenchman.
He said, 'That man is worth a pot of gold.'
Stayt said, 'The others have gone, sir.'
Bolitho laid back and tried to ignore the pain, to think of something which might distract him. But it was hopeless. If anything it was getting worse and Stayt knew it.
The flag-lieutenant said quietly, 'We could parley with the French, sir. Their surgeon might be able to help.'
Bolitho shook his head vehemently until Stayt said, 'I felt I should speak out, sir. I'll not mention it again.'
He stood up and leaned over the bulwark to stare at the blacker mass of land.
It was spoiled now. The smell of blood and gunpowder was too strong.
He considered Bolitho's driving, almost fanatical determination. If only he could sleep and escape from his pain.
A voice called, 'The two boats are comin', sir!'
Bolitho stirred and exclaimed, 'Your hand, get me up!'
Stayt sighed. Perhaps the strength which was holding Bolitho together was what they all clung to.
They would soon know.
There was something unreal about the way Supreme's weary company set to and prepared to weigh anchor.
Bolitho remained by the companion-way and tried to picture the cutter's deck as, with barely a word of command, the seamen went to their stations. Below the long bowsprit the two boats were already in position with extra hands to throw their weight on the oars if the cutter looked about to go aground.
Leadsmen whispered together on the forecastle, and behind his back Bolitho heard Okes rumbling to the helmsmen at the tiller bar while Hallowes attended to the shaken-out sails. Bolitho heard someone cursing that a French ball had ripped a hole through the topsail big enough for two men.
He tried to remain calm as he felt figures brush past him as if he barely existed.
A petty officer called in a hushed voice, 'Anchor's hove short, sir!'
Bolitho shivered as a warm breeze rattled the loose rigging and made the deck tilt, as if Supreme was eager to get away.
Hallowes had told him that the nearest beach was about half a cable away. The French were bound to have left men there. They would soon know what Hallowes was trying to do.
Okes said, 'Stand by!'
Hallowes called, 'Ready! Two more men on the larboard braces!'
'Anchor's aweigh, sir.'
Bolitho craned forward and tried to put a picture to every new sound. The anchor being winched home and made fast to its cathead, loose or severed lines being flung aside to leave the deck clear, almost the whole company was now employed either in the boats or in the business of making sail when required.
If they had to fight, they would be lucky if they could loose off a single gun in time.
Okes hissed, 'Helm down, boy!' The tiller creaked, and Bolitho heard a sail slap impatiently as the wind plucked at it.
A man cried out with shrill urgency, but his voice was muffled, far away, and Bolitho knew he was one of the badly wounded who had been carried below to die. The cry rose to a higher pitch, and Bolitho heard a seaman hauling on a halliard nearby utter a terrible curse, urging this unknown sailor to die and get it over with. The cry stopped, as if the man had heard the curse. For him at least it was over.
'Let 'er pay off!' Okes raised his voice as the cutter gathered way, and the oars of the two boats ahead of her thrashed the sea like wings. The lines would be lifting from the water as the gig and jolly-boat took the strain of the two. They had steerage way, not much, but Okes sounded breathless, confident, 'Good. Warmly done, lads!'
Hallowes said, 'We have to use whatever passage we can, sir.' Bolitho had not heard him approach.
Hallowes continued, 'I've a party by the anchor to let go if we get into trouble.' He seemed to chuckle. 'More trouble, that is.' Stayt asked, 'How long?'
Hallowes said, 'As long as it takes!' Bolitho pictured him looking everywhere as his command edged painfully ahead at a walking pace. The pumps thudded and creaked and Bolitho guessed that Supreme had been badly damaged and was taking a lot of water.
The leadsman called, 'By th' mark five!'
Bolitho recalled when he had been about twelve and in his first ship. Like little Duncannon, he thought. Too young to die. But he remembered watching the leadsmen sounding their way through a sea mist off Land's End, while the upper yards and wet sails of the big eighty-gun Manxman had been out of sight from the deck. Skilled seamen, like those who were sounding now, their hard fingers feeling the marks on their lines or guessing the depths in between.
'Deep six!'
That was plenty of water for the cutter even with her bilges filling from several shot holes.
The French would know now, Bolitho thought, not that they could do much about it. The clank of pumps and the occasional cry from the leadsman would mark their slow and precarious passage better than anything.
Stayt waited for Hallowes to go aft and said, 'She may be small, sir, but in these waters she feels like a leviathan.'
There was a splash alongside and Bolitho knew it was the dead seaman being dropped overboard. No prayer, no ceremony to mark his brief passing. But if they lived through this he would be remembered, even by the ones who had cursed his reluctance to die.
Bolitho cupped his bandaged eyes in his fingers and shook as more pain tested his resistance. It came in waves, slashing down his defences like a bear's paw.
How could he go on like this? What would he do?
'By th' mark seven!' The other leadsman called, 'Sandy bottom!'
They had primed their leads with tallow which would pick up tiny fragments from the seabed. Anything helped when you were feeling your way.
Bolitho dragged his hands down to his sides. Like a blind man.
Hallowes was speaking with Okes again. 'I think we might recover the boats and make sail, eh, Mr Okes?'
Okes answered but Bolitho could not hear. But he sounded doubtful. Thank God Hallowes was not stupid enough to ignore Okes' skill.
He said, 'Very well.' The deck leaned slightly and he added brightly, 'The wind is backing, by God! Luck is with us for a change!'
After an hour, which felt like an eternity, the gig fell back and there was a quick change of crew. The returning hands were utterly exhausted and fell to the deck like dead men. Even Okes's promise of rum did not move them.
Next it was the jolly-boat and Bolitho heard Sheaffe speaking to the Supremes only master's mate.
The midshipman came aft and said, 'I have reported back, sir.
It sounded so formal, so empty of what the youngster had done, that Bolitho forgot about his own pain and despair.
'That was a fine piece of work, Mr Sheaffe. But for you we would have been swamped by the enemy.' He heard Sheaffe dragging on his shirt, his teeth chattering. It was not the night air, it was the sudden realization, the shock of what he had carried out.
'Go and rest. You'll be needed again before long.'
