he added, 'Take good care that others do not spoil your efforts.'
The contact was broken as the calls trilled once more.
Bolitho paused in the entry port and removed his hat to the quarterdeck. After tomorrow this ship might never seem the same again.
He knew Herrick was watching him, his eyes filled with concern. In case he stumbled because of his distorted vision, or because he knew that not for the first time his own honesty had come between them.
Captain Francis Inch leaned across his chart and tugged repeatedly at his left ear as he often did when he was contemplating his next move. Around him the cabin heaved and shuddered as Helicon rolled uncomfortably in a rising wind.
It was almost noon, but because of a thickening mist, which even the wind was refusing to disperse, visibility was reduced to a few miles.
He could see the ships in his mind, Despatch directly astern, and Icarus a blurred outline at the tail-end of the line. Inch hated the uncertainty of the weather. The wind had veered greatly in the two days since Bolitho had left the squadron. It now blew almost directly from the west, from France.
He studied his chart more closely, very aware of the other two captains who remained silent as they sipped their wine.
Two hundred miles south-west of Toulon and already floundering in the rising wind. If it did not back soon or drop in force they might be driven far off their station or, worse, scatter so that they would lose contact altogether.
He pictured the little brig Rapid, far ahead of her companions. Inch was working her hard, but he envied her commander Quarrell more than he cared to admit. At least he had freedom of movement, while they blustered along, keeping station, ponderous and slow. He looked up and saw the broken white horses through the stern windows.
Captain Houston said, 'I must leave soon, or I'll never find my ship in this.'
Montresor of the Despatch said, 'Can't do anything unless the wind quietens down.'
Inch looked at them impatiently. Negative. Neither willing to search beyond the obvious. Montresor was proving to be a good captain but always seemed to take a lead from the sour-faced Houston.
The latter remarked, 'I still think it's madness to keep our one and only frigate on some wild deception when she could be with us.' Encouraged by Inch's silence he continued in his harsh voice, 'We can't possibly seek out local craft with only Rapid to do it.'
Inch glanced round his cabin. It looked French still in spite of the paintings he had hung around it. Pictures of country scenes, brooks and meadows, churches and farms. Like his own Dorset home. He thought momentarily of Hannah, his wife. She had already given him a little son, and another child was on the way. How could she imagine what he was doing, he wondered?
He said, 'Vice-Admiral Bolitho has explained about Barracouta. I accept his judgement.'
Houston said, 'Naturally.' He smiled wryly at Montresor, 'But then we have not known him as long as you.'
Inch showed his teeth in a dangerous grin. 'He made me acting-commodore until his return. That should be enough for you, I think.'
Houston's smile vanished at Inch's change of tone. 'I wasn't doubting the thinking behind this. It's just that-'
'Quite.' Inch listened to the groan of timbers, the distant crack of canvas as the ship leaned uncomfortably from the wind. It felt wrong and incomplete without Bolitho. He always seemed able to foretell what the enemy might do, and Inch had never known him to scoff at or underestimate what the French had up their sleeves.
Houston said, 'Maybe we should pass word to the squadron off Toulon. Nelson might have views on what we're about. I still think the French will head for Egypt again as they attempt to break out. We beat 'em once at the Nile, but they might favour a second attempt.' He stood up and swayed to the deck's slant. 'I must leave, with your permission.'
Inch nodded regretfully. There were many things he needed to discuss, but Houston was right: much worse and he would never fight his way back to his own ship.
He heard a voice on the wind, far away, lost.
Montresor said, 'They've sighted something.' He shuddered. 'Not a good day for it.'
There was a tap at the door, Inch's first lieutenant had come in person.
'Signal from Rapid, sir. Sail in sight to the nor'-west.' He glanced at the others. 'Wind's getting up, sir. Shall I order another reef?'
Inch tugged his ear. 'No. Prepare to see these gentlemen into their boats. After that I want to signal Rapid before we lose contact.'
He turned to the others as the lieutenant hurried away.
'Rapid is unlikely to report or even sight a fishing boat in this weather.' He watched his words going home. 'I must close on her immediately. So keep station on Helicon and be prepared to fight.'
Montresor stared at him. He had not been a captain long enough to learn how to hide his feelings.
'The French? You really think so?'
Inch thought of Bolitho, how he would have presented it.
'Yes, I do. The wind is right for them; equally it is unfavourable to us.' He shrugged his bony shoulders. 'However, we must do what we came to do. At least we are ready for them.'
The two captains left the ship with unseemly haste, Helicon heaving-to for the minimum of time before butting into the heavy rollers once again.
Inch stared up at the masthead, the pendant standing out and seemingly almost at right angles to the ship.
He glanced at the compass; north-east by east. Spray swept over the weather nettings and made the watchkeepers duck and swear.
Savill, his first lieutenant, shouted above the wind, 'Masthead reports that Rapid has her signal still hoisted, sir.' He looked excited, glad perhaps that they were doing something other than beating up and down.
Inch considered it. That probably meant that Quarrell had sighted or anticipated more than one strange sail.
'Signal from Despatch, sir. Her captain is safely on board.'
Inch grunted, fretting as he thought of Houston's boat smashing its way further astern to his own command.
The masthead lookout yelled, 'Signal from Rapid, sir! Two sail in sight to the nor'-west!'
Inch looked at his second-in-command. Two sails. It would not be any of Nelson's fleet so far south in the Golfe du Lion, and certainly no trader would attempt to break the blockade in this weather, especially in company with another.
He pondered Houston's words. He was right about one thing, Barracouta would make all the difference if she were here.
'I think the French mean business this time, Mr Savill. Make more sail, if you please. I intend to close on Rapid now.' He took a telescope and climbed to the poop to look for Icarus. He saw the wet mist far astern; even Despatch was shrouded in it. God, what a time for it to happen. He snapped to the midshipman-of-the-watch who had followed him like a terrier, 'General signal. Make more sail?
He saw the flags break out to the wind, very bright against the low cloud.
It was his chance. For once he was not looking to the flagship for instructions. He was in command today. Hannah would look at him with those adoring violet eyes when he told her. Nobody could have guessed or anticipated that Bolitho would be struck down by a stray ball, and not even in the midst of battle. Keen was in Malta, although to Inch it had seemed absurd that he should be taken away for some stupid inquiry. But no matter the whys and the wherefores, Francis Inch was in temporary charge of the squadron.
It was like having a weight suddenly lifted. He knew he had no doubts and could deal with this without anxiety.
He glanced around the deck, proud of his ship and her company. He watched the hands moving out along the yards, their white trousers flapping wildly as they fought into the wind. Canvas thundered out and bulged to the
