friend, one of their close-knit community. Was he dead, he wondered? It was unlikely he would have struck to the French.
He glanced at the sky, so clear yet so hostile. Perhaps by tomorrow the wind would have died down-any reduction would be a blessing.
Captain Dewar crossed the deck and said, 'Shall we lie-to tonight, sir?'
Herrick shook his head. He felt the ship lift under him and his sturdy legs bracing to take it. Unlike Bolitho, he had never got into the habit of pacing the deck. He liked to stand and feel his ship. He could think better that way, he had long decided.
'No. We need more sea room. Before dark, pass the word for lights to be hoisted on the merchantmen. We can hold station that way. Philomel will have to manage on her own.'
Dewar gauged the moment as a wildfowler tests the wind before firing a shot.
'D'you think Vice-Admiral Bolitho has met with this, this Jobert?'
'If not, I'm sure he'll stand between us and the enemy.' He thought suddenly of the eight hundred miles which still lay ahead before they could moor beneath the guns of the Rock. Fever or not, it would offer a breathing space, and perhaps he might obtain another escort. But he said, 'If anyone can do it, our Dick will.'
Dewar eyed him curiously but remained silent. They were on good terms again. He would try again later.
Herrick toyed with the idea of going aft, but the thought of Laforey, with his gout and his steady drinking, turned him against it.
The masthead lookout yelled, 'Gunfire! To the west'rd!' The sound must have carried more swiftly to his dizzy perch for even as Herrick made to speak he heard the distant bang of cannon fire and some intermittent shots from smaller weapons. Herrick's worried mind cleared as if he had ducked his head in ice water.
'Clear for action, Captain Dewar.' That was another thing which Herrick did not understand. He could never bring himself to use his captain's first name. Yet in other ways he had learned and used so much from Bolitho's example. 'Signal the convoy to close up.' He swore as the calls shrilled and Benbow s six hundred seamen and marines dropped what they were doing and rushed to obey the awakened drums.
Damn the light and the wind. Everything was against them. How many were there? He forced himself to show a confidence which had eluded him after the lookout's cry. Who were they firing at? More crashes and bangs rolled across the tossing white horses, but the lookout stayed silent. They were still a long way off and the sullen explosions were using the stiff wind to carry their message.
'Signal Philomel to investigate.' Herrick opened and closed his hands behind him. The little frigate could always turn and fly with the wind if she got into danger. It would have helped so much if he knew her captain. His name was Saunders, that was all he had discovered.
Herrick strode to the opposite side and saw the nearest merchantman setting her topgallants to bear up on her companion. God, they looked like fat beasts for the slaughter, Herrick thought glumly. He heard the first lieutenant's voice urging the hands to extra efforts as they cleared the ship for action, each man fully aware that they now had two admirals on board.
Herrick considered his choices. Turn back for Malta? Even with the wind in their favour it was still another four hundred miles. In daylight the French would soon find them. So hold the present course? There was always a chance that the enemy was being engaged by an unexpected friendly force or that they might manage to lose them during the night.
He said, 'We will stand-to throughout the night, Captain Dewar.'
He seemed to see dear Dulcie in his thoughts. She was always so proud of him. He turned towards the western horizon which was already painted in the deeper hues of sunset.
A nervous-looking lieutenant, one of Laforey's staff, hovered at his elbow and said timidly, 'My admiral has nowhere to go, sir, now that the ship is cleared for action.'
Herrick bit back a rude retort. There were too many ears around him.
He replied calmly, 'I am most sorry, but as you see, all our people are having the same inconvenience.' Under his breath he muttered, 'Bloody fool!'
A shrill voice pealed down from the mainmast crosstrees. Dewar had sent his signals midshipman aloft with a telescope.
'Deck there! Two sail of the line to west'rd, sir! They wear French colours!'
Herrick glanced quickly along the deck before him. Every gun manned, other half-naked figures waiting to trim or set more sails. Marines in their scarlet coats and crossbelts, ready to fight. Benbow could and would give good account of herself, as she had proved several times. Even her company was lucky to have so many trained and seasoned seamen. She had been too long out of England to have to rely on the press and the sweepings of the assizes. Two to one were acceptable odds. If Lady Luck had been less kind, the enemy might have been amongst them soon after dusk, and it would have been impossible to fight and protect the merchantmen at the same time.
He saw Philomel's masts strain hard over as she fought across the eye of the wind and then filled her sails on the opposite tack.
Herrick smiled grimly. Bolitho had always loved frigates; he on the other hand preferred something steadier and more powerful under his feet. Maybe his early experience of a tyrannical captain and a mutinous company had soured him against them in his later years.
The midshipman called down again, 'Small vessel is engaged with them, sir!' His shrill voice cracked in disbelief, 'A brig, sir!'
Herrick stared up at the topmast. Whoever commanded that brig was trying to warn him. How could he know? He rubbed his eyes and saw the second signals midshipman peering up at his friend. More like a lover than a would-be officer, Herrick thought.
He snapped, 'Alter course. Steer sou'-west by south.' He waited for the signal to be run up. 'What the devil is Captain Saunders about?' A few isolated bangs echoed across the water as Philomel gathered the wind and increased speed towards the enemy.
'Recall that madman! I shall require him right here very soon!'
Eventually the midshipman lowered his glass and called, 'Philomel does not acknowledge, sir.'
'God damn it, is everyone blind?' He thought of Bolitho as he said it and was ashamed. He added, 'Alter course anyway, Captain Dewar.'
The slight change of direction laid the two big merchantmen almost in line abeam under Benbow s lee. It might at least make them feel more confident when the enemy's full strength became apparent.
The nervous lieutenant returned and Herrick glared at him.
'Well?'
The lieutenant stared round at the gun crews, the sanded decks, the marines' bayoneted muskets.
'Sir Marcus sends his compliments, sir, and-'
Herrick had an idea. 'Tell my servant to give the admiral a bottle of my best port.' As the lieutenant hurried towards the poop he shouted, 'And another after that!' He looked at Dewar. 'That should keep him quiet, damn him!'
The darkness moved across from the opposite horizon like an endless cloak; even the wave crests seemed to diminish as men became shadows, and the sea lost its menace.
But the gunfire continued on and off, the quick, snapping bang of the brig's cannon, followed by the angry bellow of heavier artillery.
Captain Dewar took a glass of brandy from his coxswain and watched as his admiral did likewise.
'Whoever is doing that is a brave man, sir.'
Herrick felt the brandy sear his salt-cracked lips. There were a few other brigs reported in this area, but in his heart he knew which one had tossed caution aside to warn him.
He said slowly, 'At first light I intend to engage.'
Dewar nodded and wondered why Herrick had said it. He knew his admiral by now. He had never doubted that he would attack.
Bolitho lowered his head and stood between two deckhead beams. The orlop deck, a place of spiralling lanterns and prancing shadows. After the long, open gun decks overhead it seemed all but deserted. The surgeon's mate and his loblolly boys in their long aprons stood around the makeshift tables where Tuson would perform his grisly
