surgeon had provided were doing some good, even if they had a sting like a nettle when first applied. Brightess, colour; even the sea’s face had displayed its individual crests and troughs.
Allday was waiting with the telescope. “Set bravely, Sir Richard?”
Bolitho said gently, “You worry too much.”
Allday laughed, relieved, satisfied.
“Over here, Mr Essex!”
Bolitho waited for the midshipman to reach him, and said, “Now we shall see!”
He rested the heavy glass on the youth’s shoulder and carefully trained it across the starboard bow. A fine clear morning had emerged from the cloud and chilling wind: winter would come early here. He felt the young midshipman’s shoulder shiver slightly. Cold; excitement; it was certainly not fear. Not yet. He was a lively, intelligent youth, and even he would be thinking of the day when he would be ready for examination and promotion. Another boy in an officer’s uniform.
Three ships at least, the rest not yet in sight. Almost bowson, their sails angled over as they tacked steeply across the wind. Far beyond them was a purple blur, like a fallen cloud. He pictured York ’s chart, his round handwriting in the log. Grand Manan Island, the guardian at the entrance to the Bay. The American would be doubly aware of the dangers here: being on a lee shore, with shallows as an extra menace once the tide was on the turn.
He stiffened and waited for the midshipman’s breathing to steady; or perhaps he was holding his breath, very aware of his special responsibility.
A fourth ship, a shaft of new sunlight separating her from the others, bringing her starkly to life in the powerful lens.
He knew Tyacke and York were watching, weighing the odds.
Bolitho said, “The fourth ship has the boats under tow. The flag lieutenant was not mistaken.”
He heard Avery laugh as Tyacke remarked, “That makes a fair change, sir!”
Bolitho closed the glass with a snap and looked down at the midshipman. He had freckles, as Bethune had once had. He thought of Herrick’s assessment. The upstart.
“Thank you, Mr Essex.” He walked to the rail again. “Bring her up closer to the wind, James. I intend to attack the towing ship before she can slip the boats. Filled or empty, it makes no difference now. We can stop them landing, and within the hour it will be too late.”
Tyacke beckoned to the first lieutenant. “Stand by to alter course.” A questioning glance at the sailing-master. “What say you, Isaac?”
York squinted his eyes to stare up at the driver and the mizzen topsail beyond it. “Nor’-east by east.” He shook his head as the driver’s peak with the great White Ensign streaming from it almost abeam flapped noisily. “No, sir. Nor’-east is all she’ll hold, I’m thinking.”
Bolitho listened, touched by the intimacy between these men. Tyacke’s command of small ships had left its mark, or maybe it had always been there.
He shaded his eyes with his hand to observe the ship’s slow response, the long jib-boom moving like a pointer until the enemy ships appeared to slide slightly from bow to bow.
“Steady she goes, sir! Course nor’-east!”
Bolitho watched the sails buck and shiver, uncomfortable this close to the wind. It was the only way. Only Indomitable had the firepower to do it in one attack. Chivalrous was too small, the rest too far away. Their chances would come soon enough.
Avery folded his arms close to his body, trying not to shiver. The air was still keen, making a lie of the strengthening sunlight that painted the broken wavelets a dirty gold.
He saw Allday staring around, his eyes searching: a man who had seen it many times before. He was studying the open quarterdeck, the scarlet-coated marines with their officer, David Merrick. The gun crews and the helmsmen, four of the latter now, with a master’s mate close beside them. Tyacke standing apart from the rest, his hands beneath his coat-tails, and the admiral, who was explaining something to the midshipman, Essex. Something he would remember, if he lived.
Avery swallowed hard, knowing what he had seen. Allday, probably more experienced than any other man aboard, was seeking out the weaknesses and the danger points. Past the tightly-packed hammock nettings and up to the maintop, where more scarlet coats showed above the barricade. Where an enemy’s fighting-top might be if they were close enough. Thinking of the sharpshooters, said to be backwoodsmen for the most part, who lived by their skills with a musket. Avery was chilled by the thought. Except that these marksmen would be armed with the new and more accurate rifles.
Was that the source of Allday’s worry, then? Because of Bolitho’s gesture, the hat with the bright gold lace, and all that it meant, and could mean, at the moment of truth. It was said that Nelson had refused to remove his decorations before his last battle, and had ordered that they should be covered before he was carried below, his backbone shot through, his life already slipping away. Another brave, sad gesture. So that his men should not know their admiral had fallen, had left them before the fight had been decided.
It was plain on Allday’s homely features, and when their eyes met across the spray-patterned deck, no words were needed by either man.
“Deck there! The boats is bein’ warped alongside!”
Bolitho clenched his fists, his face suddenly unable to conceal his anxiety.
Avery knew, had guessed even from the moment Bolitho had mentioned the primary importance of the boats. Despite the risks and the stark possibility of failure, he had been thinking of the alternative, that Indomitable would be forced to fire on boats packed with helpless men, unable to raise a finger to defend themselves. Was this part of the difference in this war? Or was it only one man’s humanity?
Tyacke shouted, “Something’s wrong, sir!”
York had a telescope. “The Yankee’s run aground, sir!” He sounded astonished, as if he were over there, sharing the disaster.
Bolitho watched the sunlight catch the reflected glare from falling sails and a complete section of the vessel’s mainmast. In the silence and intimacy of the strong lens, he almost imagined he could hear it. A big frigate, gun for gun a match for Indomitable, but helpless against the sea and this relentless destruction above and below. The boats were already filled or half-filled with blue uniforms, their weapons and equipment in total disarray as the truth became known to them.
Bolitho said, “Prepare to engage to starboard, Captain Tyacke.” He barely recognized his own voice. Flat, hard, and unemotional. Somebody else.
Daubeny shouted, “Starboard battery! Run out! ”
The long twenty-four-pounders rumbled up to and through their ports, their captains making hand signals only to avoid confusion. Like a drill, one of so many. A handspike here, or men straining on tackles to train a muzzle a few more inches.
The other ship had slewed around slightly, wreckage trailing alongside as the tide continued to drop, to beach her like a wounded whale.
The wheel went over again, while York turned to watch the land, the set of the current, feeling if not seeing the danger to this ship.
“Course nor’ by east, sir!”
Bolitho said, “One chance, Captain Tyacke. Two broadsides, three if you can manage it.” Their eyes met. Time and distance.
Midshipman Essex jerked round as if he had been hit, and then shouted, “Our ships are here, sir!” He waved his hat as distant gunfire rolled across the sea like muffled thunder. Then he realized that he had just shouted at his admiral, and dropped his eyes and flushed.
“On the uproll!”
Bolitho looked along the starboard side, the gun captains with their taut trigger-lines, the emergency slow- matches streaming to the wind like incense in a temple.
Daubeny by the mainmast, his sword across one shoulder, Philip Protheroe, the fourth lieutenant, up forward with the first division of guns. And here on the quarterdeck, the newest lieutenant, Blythe, staring at each crouching seaman as if he was expecting a mutiny. The stranded ship was drawing slowly abeam, the floundering boats suddenly stilled as the reluctant sunlight threw Indomitable’s sails across the water in patches of living
