Enemy In Sight!

by Alexander Kent

  The island had vanished in the gloom, but so too had any sort of gun flashes. The enemy would have to wait for dawn now.

  Inch came after at the trot. "Anything else, sir?" He sounded breathless.

  "See that our people eat well. We may have to forgo breakfast tomorrow."

  Then he crossed to the weather side and watched the frigate's ghostly outline until she, too, was hidden from sight.

  7

  ACTION THIS DAY

  Bolitho closed the chartroom door and walked swiftly on to the quarterdeck, pausing only beside the dimly lit compass to see that the ship's head was still pointing almost due north. For most of the night the preparations for battle had gone on without a let up, until as satisfied as he could be Bolitho had called a halt, and the hands, tense but exhausted, had curled up beside their guns for a few hours' rest.

  As he crossed the quarterdeck Bolitho felt the light breeze cold and clammy through his open shirt, and wondered how long it would hold when the sun lifted above the horizon once more.

  Inch said, "Good morning, sir."

  Bolitho stared at his pale shape and nodded. "You may load and run out now, but pass the word for as little noise as possible."

  As Inch craned over the rail to pass his orders he looked up towards the sky. It was much lighter than when he had been on deck half an hour earlier. Now he could see the tightly spread nets which Tomlin and his men had hauled above the decks during the night to protect the gunners from falling spars, when before they had been merged with the sky. Towards the eastern horizon the last stars had vanished, and some small, isolated clouds had their bellies touched with the colour of salmon-pink.

  He took several deep breaths and tried to ignore the squeak of trucks and the dull thuds of guns being hauled up to the open ports. Unlike his men, he had not slept, and even during the last half hour he had filled in his time by making himself shave by the light of a small lantern. He had twice cut himself, so great was his inner tension, but he had known that if he did not occupy himself fully his nerves would be in an even worse state. It was always the same. The doubts and anxieties, the fear of failure and the dread of mutilation with its attendant horrors under the -surgeon's knife, all these things lurked at the back of his mind like spectres, so that as he shaved he had needed all his strength to hold the razor steady.

  Now the waiting was almost done. There, black across .the bows and stretching away on either hand was the island, and he no longer needed a glass to see the faint necklace of white feathers which marked the sea's breaking over the reefs.

  Hyperion was close hauled on the starboard tack with her topsails and topgallants braced hard round to take maximum advantage of the low wind. All the courses were clewed up, for these large sails were always a fire risk once the fighting started.

  Inch straightened his back as a voice called up from the main deck.

  "All run out, sir."

  Like Bolitho and the other officers he was stripped to shirt and trousers, and there was a slight tremor in his voice which could have been either excitement or because of the chill air.

  "Very well. Send a midshipman to inform the commodore."

  Several times while he had been shaving Bolitho had paused to listen through the partition. But for once he had heard no gentle snores. Pelham-Martin must have lying in his cot fretting and pondering, without even the ship's affairs to occupy his mind.

  Gossett blew his nose into a large red handkerchief, the noise shattering the silence like a musket shot. He muttered humbly, "Pardon, sir."

  Bolitho smiled. "We may need all your wind for the sails later on."

  Some of the marines at the nettings chuckled, and Bolitho was glad they could not yet see his face.

  Inch said, "What are the Frogs up to, I wonder?"

  "They are quiet enough at present." Bolitho watched the small, white-crested waves cruising slowly down on the ship's weather beam. He could see them stretching away much further now, and when he shifted his eyes forward he saw that the land had taken on a harder outline, so that it appeared to be right on top of the bows. It was a normal illusion at first light, but nevertheless they should sight something soon. Hyperion was driving as close to the reefs as she dare to give maximum advantage when the time came to turn and head either across or into the bay itself.

  A lot depended on the island's defences. No ship was a match for a well-sighted shore battery, but you could never be sure. Bolitho recalled how he and Tomlin had been the first men up the cliff when he had successfully overpowered the French battery at Cozar in the Mediterranean. It could be done with enough determination.

  Inch called, "Good morning, sir!"

  The commodore walked stiffly to the rail and sniffed the air. Bolitho studied him in the strange half-light. He was wearing a long blue watch coat which came almost to his ankles, and was without a hat or mark of rank of any sort.

  He would be sweating hard when the sun reached him, he thought. He felt a touch of compassion when he considered the reason for this strange garb. PeihamMartin was a very large man, a big enough target for some French marksmen without drawing attention to himself by showing his proper uniform.

  He said quietly, "Soon now, sir. The wind is steady from the nor'-east, and until we close right inshore we shall have enough power in our sails."

  Pelham-Martin sank his small head firmly into' his collar. "Maybe. I don't know, I'm sure." He moved slightly to one side and lapsed once more into silence.

  Bolitho was about to speak to Inch when he saw the lieutenant's eyes light up like twin furnaces. Even as he swung round he heard a violent explosion rumble across the open water and saw a tall column of flames leaping skyward, the sparks breaking away and rising hundreds of feet in the air.

  Inch gasped, "A ship! She's afire!"

  Bolitho narrowed his eyes, picturing for the hundredth time the bay as he had expected it would look. The ship which was now burning so fiercely above her fiery reflection was a small one, and somewhere on the Hyperion's starboard bow.

  There were shots, too, puny and sporadic, and he guessed the enemy were using boats to slip closer inshore under cover of the remaining darkness. Maybe the ship had been fired by accident, or perhaps the raiders just wanted to inflict as much damage as they could before hauling off again.

  Another explosion roared dully over the water, but this time there was no flash, nor any indication of bearing or distance.

  "Ah, 'ere she comes!" Gossett lifted his arm as the sun raised itself slowly above the sea's edge, thrusting shadows aside and painting the endless patterns of wave crests with pale gold.

  "Deck therel Two ships on th' lee bow!" A startled cry and then, "Belay that! Thar's another close inshore, sirl"

  But Bolitho could see them well enough now. In the Carribbean there was little break between night and day, and already the sunlight had changed the island's rough outline into purple and green, with a sliver of gold to mark the crest of the nearest hilltop at the far side of the bay.

  The first two were ships of the line, sailing slowly on the opposite tack, almost at right angles to his own course and barely two miles clear. The third looked like a frigate, and a quick glance at her sails told him she was anchored close under the western headland.

  Anchored? His mind brushed away doubts and apprehension as the realisation came to him. The enemy must have fired the anchored ship inside the bay as a diversion.

  On the opposite side of the protected anchorage where the main shore battery was said to be sited the attackers had launched a full-scale assault, the defenders momentarily distracted and off guard. In the early hours it would not be too difficult, he thought grimly. It was human enough for men to find comfort from others' misfortunes, even their own comrades', if it meant being spared from attack.

  And while the awakened gunners watched from their battery walls, the raiders would have landed stealthily from boats and scaled the headland from the other side.

  Pelham-Martin said in a tight vo
ice, "They have sighted us!"

  The leading French ship was already signalling her consort but as the frail sunlight lifted over the sheltered water of the bay and across the white painted houses at the far end, neither vessel showed any sign of altering direction or purpose. The first shock of seeing the Hyperion's topsails emerging from the half light must have been eased when the enemy realised she was accompanied by a solitary frigate.

  Bolitho felt the sun's weak rays touching his cheek. He could continue across the enemy's bows and into the bay, but if the French seized the battery their own ships could sail after him with impunity. Yet if he stayed clear, they would withdraw into the bay anyway and prevent even a large force from following.

  He glanced at the commodore, but he was still staring at the French ships, his face a mask of indecision.

  Inch murmured, "Two seventy-fours, sir." He, too, glanced at Pelham-Martin before adding, "If they reach the other side of the bay they'll have the advantage, sir."

  Bolitho saw some of the seamen by the braces craning to stare at the French ships. They looked perfect and unmarked by the island's gunners, and seemed all the more menacing because of their slow approach. Sunlight glanced on levelled telescopes from the leading ship's poop, and here and there a figure moved or a pendant whipped out from a masthead as if lifted by some force of its own.

  But otherwise the ships glided across the small whitecapped waves slowly and unhurriedly, until it seemed as if Hyperion's jib boom would lock into the leading Frenchman's like two mammoths offering their tusks for combat.

  On the main deck the tension was almost a physical thing. At every open port the men crouched at the guns, their naked backs shining with sweat while they waited for the first hardening line as a target crossed their sights. Each hatch was guarded by a marine, and aloft in the tops the marksmen and swivel gunners licked their lips and screwed up their eyes as they sought out their opposite numbers across the shortening range.

  Pelham-Martin cleared his throat. "What do you intend?"

  Bolitho relaxed slightly. He could feel the sweat running down his chest and the heart's steady beat against his ribs. The question was like the opening of a dam. The removal of a great weight. For one moment he had feared Pelham-Martin's nerve had failed and that he would order an immediate withdrawal. Or worse, that he would drive at full speed into the bay, where the ship could be pounded to fragments at the enemy's leisure.

  "We will cross the enemy's bows, sir." He kept his eye on the leading ship. The first sign of extra sail and the Hyperion would never be in time. It would mean either a collision or he would have to wear ship and present an unprotected stern to a full French broadside.

  Pelham-Martin nodded. "And into the bay?"

  "No, sir." He swung round sharply. "Starboard a point Mr. Gossett!" In a quieter tone he continued, "We will wear ship once we pass her and engage her larboard side." He watched his words playing havoc on the commodore's face. "With luck we can then cross her stem and pass between both ships. It will mean losing the wind-gage, but we can give both of them a good raking as we come through." He grinned, and could feel his lips drying with the effort. But Pelham-Martin had to understand. If he tried to change the manoeuvre halfway through it would be disastrous.

  He looked again at the French ships. Half a mile at the most now separated the leading one from his guns. It would be disastrous anyway if the enemy dismasted him at the first encounter.

  The French frigate was still anchored, and by using a glass Bolitho could see her boats plying backand forth to the headland, and when he saw the smoke rising from the top of the slope he knew that the loud explosion must have been some sort of bomb to breach_ the battery wall or ignite a magazine.

  He felt Pelham-Martin's hand on his arm. "Sir?"

  The commodore said, "Signal Abdiel to engage the frigate!" He wriggled his shoulder beneath the heavy coat. "Well?"

  "I suggest she stays to windward, sir. Until we start our attack. If they suspect for one moment we are not trying to seek the protection of the harbour, I fear we may be out-manoeuvred."

  "Yes." Pelham-Martin stared fixedly at some point above the headland. "Quite so."

  Bolitho tore his eyes away and hurried to the opposite side to watch the leading ship. He thought suddenly of something Winstanley had said when he had first gone aboard Indomitable to meet the commodore. He'll need you before we're done. As his senior captain Winstanley must have known Pelham-Martin's weaknesses better than anyone. The commodore surely owed his rank to influence, or perhaps he had just been unfortunate at being available for the appointment when he had not the experience to back up his authority.

  A dull bang echoed across the water and Bolitho looked up as around hole appeared suddenly in the fore topsail. The Frenchman had used a bowchaser for a ranging shot. He turned to watch as a thin feather of spray lifted above the sea far out on the weather beam.

  He said, "Pass the word to the lower gundeck of my intention, Mr. Inch." As a midshipman darted to the ladder he snapped, "Walk, Mr. Penrose!" The boy turned and blushed. "There may be a French telescope watching your feet, so take your timel"

  There was another bang, and this time the ball slammed hard alongside the larboard bow, throwing spray high above the nettings and making some of the men at the headsail sheets duck down with alarm.

  Bolitho called, "Keep those hands out of sight on the main deck, Mr. Stepkyne! We will wear ship in a moment, but I don't want a single man to lay his hand on anything until I give the order!"

  He saw Stepkyne nod and turn back to watch the enemy. He wondered what Pascoe was doing at his station on the lower gundeck, and was torn between wanting him within reach and leaving him below behind the additional thickness of the hull.

  Strangely, it was usually the older men who took the waiting badly, he thought. The youngsters and the untried were too awed or too frightened to think clearly about anything. Only when it was all over and the sounds and sights were branded into their memories did they start to think about the next action, and the one after- that.

  The next ball from the Frenchman's bowchaser smashed into the boat tier, lifting the launch bodily from its chocks and filling the air with wood splinters. Three men at the starboard bulwark fell kicking and whimpering, one almost transfixed by a jagged spear of planking.

  Bolitho called, "Send some more hands to the weather forebrace, Mr. Stepkyne!" He saw the lieutenant open his mouth as if to shout back at him and then turn away to pass the order, his face angry and resentful.

  As yet another shot crashed into the ship's side Bolitho

  found time to sympathise with Stepkyne's feelings. To keep taking these carefully aimed shots without firing back was almost more than anyone could stand. But if he allowed any sort of reprisal the French commander might immediately guess his true intention while there was still time to alter course.

  Gossett murmured, "The Frogs are sailin' as close to the wind as they can, sir.' He cursed as a ball shrieked over the nettings and ricocheted across the wave crests far abeam. "If he tries to tack 'e'll be in irons!"

  Bolitho saw the wounded seamen being dragged towards the main hatch, their blood marking every foot of the journey, while some of the gunners turned to stare, their faces stiff and unreal.

  Closer and closer, until the leading enemy ship was a mere cable's length off the larboard bow.

  Bolitho gripped his hands behind him until the pain steadied his racing thoughts. He could wait no longer. At any second now a well-aimed ball, or even a random one might bring down a vital spar or cripple his ship before he could make his tun.

  Without looking at Gossett he snapped, "Starboard your helml" As the spokes began to squeak over he cupped his hands and yelled, "Wear ship! Hands to the braces!"

  He saw the sails' long shadows sweeping above the crouching gunners, heard the whine of blocks and the frantic stamp of bare feet as the waiting men threw themselves back on the braces, and then, slowly at first, the ship began to swing
round towards the Frenchman.

  For a second or two longer he thought he had acted too soon, that both ships would meet head on, but as the yards steadied and the canvas bucked and filled overhead he saw the other two-decker drifting across the larboard bow, her mastss almost in line as she drove towards him on the opposite tack.

  As Gossett had observed, the enemy could not regain the advantage without turning directly upwind, nor could she swing away unless her captain was prepared to receive Hyperion's broadside through her stern.

  Bolitho shouted, "Full broadside, Mr. Stepkyne!"

  He saw the gun captains crouching back from their breeches, the trigger lines bar taut as they squinted through the open port and their crews waited with handspikes to traverse or elevate as required.

  A ball smashed through the larboard gangway and a man screamed like a tortured animal. But Bolitho did not even hear it. He was -watching the oncoming ship through narrowed eyes, the men around him and the commodore excluded from his thoughts as he saw the Hyperion's topgallants cast a distorted pattern of shadows across the Frenchman's bows.

  He raised his hand. "On the uproll!" He paused, feeling the dryness in his throat like sand. "Fire!"

  The crash of the Hyperion's broadside was like a hundred thunderstorms, and while the whole ship staggered as if driving ashore, the enemy's hull was completely blotted out in a billowing wall of smoke.

  Across some fifty yards of water the effect of the .broadside must have been like an avalanche, Bolitho thought wildly. He could see men's mouths opening and yelling, but as yet could hear nothing. The sharper, earprobing cracks of the quarterdeck nine-pounders had rendered thought and hearing almost too painful to bear. Then above the mounting bank of drifting smoke he saw ,the Frenchman's yards edging round and then halting as the topsails quivered and shook in the face of the wind.

  As his hearing returned he heard his gun captains shouting from every side, and saw Dawson's marines stepping up to the nettings, their muskets lifting to their shoulders as if on parade. Then as Dawson dropped his sword the muskets fired as one, the shots going somewhere beyond the smoke to add to the confusion.