with such deft familiarity that they needed no shouts or curses to hasten them. The sky was growing brighter by the minute, and Bolitho felt his stomach muscles tighten when he considered what he must do. He could sense Allday gazing at him while he stood ready to assist the helmsmen if needed.
It had not just been stockings which had marked Bolitho's change of fortune. Once he had gained promotion to lieutenant at the tender age of eighteen, he had been freed from the one duty he had feared and hated most. As a lieutenant, no longer did he have to scramble up the treacherous ratlines to his particular station aloft whenever the pipe was shrilled between decks, or while he stood his watch with the others.
He had never gotten used to it. In all weathers, with the ship hidden below by a drifting mist of spray and spindrift, he had clung to his precarious perch, watching his men, some of whom had been sent aloft for the first time in their lives. He had seen sailors fall to an agonising death on the deck, hurled from rigging and yard by the force of a gale, or by billowing canvas which had refused all efforts to quell it.
Others had dropped into the sea, to surface perhaps in time to see their ship vanishing into a squall. It was no wonder that young men fled when the press gangs were on the prowl.
'Stand by aft! ' Tyacke wiped the spray from his scarred face with the back of his hand, his eyes everywhere while he studied his men and the set of each sail.
'Let go an' haul! Roundly there! Tom, another hand on th' forebrace! '
The shadows of the main and staysail seemed to pass right over the busy figures as the long tiller bar went down, the canvas and rigging clattering in protest.
Bolitho could feel his shoes slipping, and saw the sea creaming under the lee rail as Tyacke brought her round. He saw too the uneven barrier of land stagger across the bowsprit while the schooner continued to swing.
Allday muttered, 'By God, she can turn on a sovereign! ' But everyone was too busy, and the noise too overwhelming, to hear what might be admiration instead of scorn.
'Meet her! Steady as you go! Now, let her fall off a point! '
The senior helmsman croaked, 'Steady she goes, sir! East by north! '
'Secure! ' Tyacke peered up into the glare. 'Hands aloft to reef tops'l, Mr Simcox! ' A quick grin flashed between them. 'With the wind abeam it'll not do the work intended, and we might lose it.'
The twin masts swayed almost vertical and then leaned over once more to the wind's thrust.
Bolitho said, 'A glass, if you please.' He tried not to swallow. 'I am going to the foremast to take a look.' He ignored Allday's unspoken protest. 'I imagine that there will not be too many watching eyes this early! '
Without giving himself time to change his mind he strode forward, and after a quick glance at the surging water leaping up from the stem, he swung himself on to the weather bulwark and dug his hands and feet into the ratlines. Up and up, his steps mounting the shivering and protesting shrouds. Never look down. He had never forgotten that. He heard rather than saw the topmen descending the opposite side, their work done as quickly as thought. What must they think, he wondered? A viceadmiral making an exhibition of himself, for some reason known only to himself. The masthead lookout had watched him all the way, and as he clambered, gasping, to the lower yard he said cheerfully, 'Foine day, Zur Richard! '
Bolitho clung to a stay and waited for his heart to return to normal. Damn the others who had raced him up the shrouds when they had all been reckless midshipmen.
He turned and stared at the lookout. 'You're a Cornishman.'
The sailor grinned and bobbed his head. He did not appear to be holding on to anything. 'That be roight, zur. From Penzance.'
Bolitho unslung the telescope from around his shoulders. Two Cornishmen. So strange a meeting-place.
It took several attempts to train the glass in time with the schooner's lunges into the offshore breakers. He saw the sharp beak of the headland creeping out towards the weather bow, a telltale spurt of spray from the reefs Tyacke had mentioned.
It was already much warmer; his shirt clung to him like another skin. He could see the crisscross of currents as the sea contested the jutting land before surging, confused and beaten, around it. As it had since time began. From this point and beyond, two great oceans, the Atlantic and the Indian Ocean, met. It was like a giant hinge, a gateway which gave access to India, Ceylon and all the territories of New South Wales. No wonder Cape Town was so valuable, so cherished. It was like Gibraltar at the gates of the Mediterranean: whoever held the Rock also held the key.
'Ships, zur! Larboard, yonder! '
Bolitho did not need to ask how he could already see them without the advantage of a telescope. Good lookouts were born, not trained, and he had always respected such sailors. The ones who were first to sight the dreaded breakers ahead when every chart claimed otherwise. Often in time for the captain to bring his ship about and save the lives of all aboard.
He waited for the glass to steady again and felt his face stiffen.
Two large ships at anchor; or were they moored fore-and-aft? It would seem so, he thought, to offer greater protection, a defence against a cutting-out attempt, and also to provide a fixed battery of guns to fend off attack.
The lookout said, 'Beggin' yer pardon, zur. I reckon they be Dutch Indiamen.'
Bolitho nodded. Like the Honourable East India Company, such vessels were usually well-manned and armed and had proved more than a match for privateers, even men-of-war on occasions.
He turned to watch the sea breaking over some rocks. It was far enough. Further, and Tyacke would be hard put to claw away into open water.
Whatever the ships were doing, they represented a real threat. They had probably brought stores and men for the Dutch garrison, and might well be expecting others to join them.
Bolitho stared down at the deck and almost lost his grip. The mast was so steeply angled to the wind that the topmast leaned right over the blue water. He could even see his own shadow reflected on the crests.
'You may come about, Mr Tyacke! ' For a moment he thought he had not heard, then saw the men running to their stations again.
A tall waterspout lifted suddenly abeam and seconds later Bolitho heard the echoing boom of a gun. He had no idea where it came from, but it was too close to ignore.
He made to lower himself to the ratlines again when the lookout said hoarsely, 'There be a third 'un, zur! '
Bolitho stared at him, then raised the glass again. He must be quick. Already the jib was flapping wildly, spilling wind and cracking like musket-fire as the helm went over.
Then, for just a few seconds, he saw the masts and furled sails of the other vessel, her hull lower and almost hidden by the two bigger ships. Dutch or French, it did not really matter. Bolitho had been a frigate captain and had commanded three of them in his time; there was no mistaking that familiar rig.
Waiting, maybe, for the letter which Tyacke's men had found aboard the Albacora. Bolitho pushed the hair from his eyes as the mast bucked and swayed over again and the spar felt as if it would splinter itself apart. This was a very large bay according to Tyacke's chart some twenty miles across, far bigger than Table Bay, which they had passed before dawn.
Whatever the Dutch commander's motives might be, he obviously considered the bay and the moored ships well worth protecting. A frontal attack by the English squadron would be costly and probably end in disaster.
He touched the man's shoulder. 'Take care of those eyes! ' Even as he spoke the words they seemed to come back at him like a mocking threat. He did not hear the lookout's reply; he had begun the difficult climb down to the deck.
Tyacke listened to what he had seen before saying, 'They could divide us until-'
'Until they are reinforced? I agree.' Bolitho made up his mind. 'You will close with the squadron as fast as you wish.' He found that he could look at the lieutenant's terrible scars without steeling himself. 'Then I will need to speak with the general.' He touched Tyacke's arm. 'Sir David will not be too pleased.'
Tyacke strode away, calling commands, watching the compass and rudder while Simcox scrawled his calculations on a slate.
A voice seemed to whisper inside Bolitho's mind. Why interfere? Why not let others take responsibility-or are you allowing yourself to be taken in a trap like some wild animal?
He shook his head, as if he was replying to someone else. How could he request Commodore Popham to detach some of his ships, when they might be needed to evacuate the soldiers and marines if the worst happened? And
