Honour This Day

the fifers had stopped playing. Bolitho raised his glass yet again and saw a seaman turn from a maindeck eighteen-pounder to watch him.

The enemy flagship was much nearer. He could see the glint of sunlight on swords and fixed bayonets, men swarming up the ratlines of her foremast, others rising from their guns to watch the approaching squadron.

The Spanish admiral might expect his opposite number to fight ship-to-ship. His ninety guns against this old third-rate. Bolitho smiled grimly. It would even be unwise to cross San Mateo's ornate stern in the first stage of the engagement. To be crippled breaking the line would throw the following ships into disorder, and Hernck would be left to attack on his own with just three ships.

Bolitho said, 'Signal Tybalt to take station astern of Olympus. It might add some weight to Herrick's line.' He heard the flags rushing aloft but continued to watch the big Spanish flagship.

Keen must have read his thoughts. 'May I suggest we break the line astern of the third or fourth ship, as it may present itself?'

Bolitho smiled. 'The further away from that beauty the better. Until we have lessened the odds anyway.'

Jenour was standing near the signals party and heard Bolitho's casual comment. Was it all a bluff, or did he really believe he could win against so many? Jenour tried to concentrate on his parents, how he would word his next letter. His mmd reeled when he realised that the concept eluded him. Perhaps there would be no more letters. He felt a sudden terror and stared up at the wispy clouds directly above Bolitho's flag at the foremast truck. He was going to be killed.

Midshipman Spnngett, who was the youngest in the ship, appeared on deck. His station was on the lower gundeck, to relay messages back and forth to the poop. In the bright sunlight he had to blink several times after the gloom of the sealed gundeck.

Bolitho saw the boy turn, watched his expression as he gazed at the enemy ships, seeing them probably for the first time.

For those few moments his uniform and the proud, glinting dirk at his belt meant nothing. He drove his knuckles into his mouth as if to hold back a cry of fear. He was a child again.

Jenour must have seen him, and strode across. 'Mr Spnngett, isn't it? I could do with you assisting me today.' He gestured to the two signals midshipmen, Furmval, the senior, and Mirrielees, who had red hair and a face covered with freckles. 'These old men are getting past it, I fear!' The two m question grinned and nudged one another as if it were all a huge joke.

The boy stared at them. Mesmerised. He whispered, 'Thank you, sir.' He held out a paper. 'Mr Mansforth's respects, sir.' He turned and trotted back to the ladder without once looking at the imposing ranks of sails.

Keen said quietly, 'Your flag lieutenant just about saved that lad from bursting into tears.'

Bolitho watched more flags rising and dipping above the San Mateo. To himself he said, 'And it saved Stephen Jenour, I suspect.'

Even across the expanse of glistening swell you could hear the slow rumble of gun trucks, while something like a sigh came from the waiting sailors as shadows painted the San Mateo 's tall side. All her larboard battery had been run out. It was like looking into the mouth of every one of them.

Bolitho heard the blare of a trumpet, and pictured the enemy gun crews at their quarters. Eyes peering over the muzzles, the next shots and charges already to hand.

'Hoist Benbow's number.' Bolitho took Keen aside as the flags were swiftly bent on to the halliards. 'I dare not wait too much longer, Val.' They both stared at the converging lines of ships, like one great arrowhead which must soon meet at some invisible westerly point.

There was a dull bang and Bolitho saw a puff of smoke drifting away from San Mateo's side. The ball hit the sea, rebounded and smacked down, flinging a ragged waterspout half a cable clear. A ranging shot? Or was it merely to raise the spirits of the Spanish seamen who had been sharing the same agony of suspense as Hyperion's?

'Benbow's acknowledged, sir!'

Make the signals as few as possible. Bolitho had always believed it a good idea in principle. It was not difficult for an enemy to guess or determine the next move from another's signals. It was likely too that the prize, Intrepido, had been captured with some secret signals still intact.

When poor Captain Price had run his ship aground he could never have visualised any of this.

Bolitho looked at Keen and his first lieutenant. 'We will alter course in succession. Hyperion and Benbow will lead the two divisions.' He saw them nod; Parris was watching his lips as if to read what he had not said.

'It will be as close to the wind as she can lie, so it will reduce our progress.' He saw their understanding. It might also mean that it would give the enemy more time to traverse his guns. Bolitho walked to the starboard side and stood on the truck of a quarterdeck nine-pounder, his hand gripping the bare shoulder of one of its crew.

He could see Benbow's masts beyond the others astern, Her-rick's flag rippling out from the mizzen. Benbow was still flying her acknowledgement, just as Hyperion had kept her number hoisted close-up. Like a trumpet signalling a cavalry charge into the jaws of hell. A charge which cannot be halted once it has been urged to attack. Bolitho feit the man's shoulder tense as he turned to stare up at him. Bolitho looked at him. About eighteen. The sort of face you saw around the farms and lanes of Cornwall. But not in times of war.

He said, 'Naylor, am I right?'

The youth grinned while his mates winked at each other. 'Aye, Sir Richard!'

Bolitho kept his eyes on him, thinking of the terrified midshipman, and Jenour, who was more frightened of showing fear than of fear itself.

'Well, Naylor, there is our enemy. What say you?'

Naylor stared at the nearest ships with their trailing banners and curling pendants, some of which almost touched the water. 'I reckon we can take 'em.' He nodded, satisfied. 'We can clear the way for t'others, Sir Richard!'

Some of the gun crews cheered and Bolitho climbed down, afraid that his eye might choose this moment to betray him.

Just an ordinary sailor, who if he survived today, would likely end in another battle before he was a year older.

He thought suddenly of the grand London house, and Belinda's scathing words to him.

He nodded to the bare-backed seaman called Naylor. 'So we shall!' He turned quickly. 'Captain Keen!' Again, time seemed to stop for both of them. Then Bolitho said in a more level tone, 'Alter course three points to starboard, steer nor'-by-west!' He waved to Jenour. 'Now! Execute!'

Every man in Herrick's flagship must have been poised for the moment. For as the flags were hauled down Eenbow appeared to swing immediately out of the line, as if she, and she alone, was mounting a solitary attack on the enemy.

Keen watched closely, as pursued by Parris's speaking trumpet the scrambling seamen hauled on the braces, while others freed the big maincourse even as the yards creaked round.

Penhaligon spread his legs while the deck leaned to larboard, as the wind explored the braced sails and thrust the ship over.

Then Keen was at the compass, although Bolitho had not seen him move.

'Meet her! Steady as you go!'

The sails boomed and thundered in protest, and the driver rippled from peak to foot as if it was about to tear apart. She could stand no closer to the wind, and from the Spanish line it must appear as if all her sails were overlapping fore-and-aft.

Bolirho clutched the rail and stared at the enemy. Someone was firing, but the nets rigged above the maindeck gunners, and the huge billowing maincourse hid the flashes.

Bolitho saw Benbow drawing level abeam, barely three cables away. The others astern of her were already following round, with Tybalt tacking wildly to take station as the last of the line.

Keen exclaimed, The Dons are taken aback, by God!'