When he had told the commodore of his fears he had received no satisfaction. Peiham-Martin was no longer living aboard, but had taken full advantage of de Block's offer to set up temporary headquarters in the governor's own residence by the waterfront.
He had merely said, "If you cannot trust your people on shore, Bolitho, then you must keep them from going there!"
On another occasion he had implied that he was awaiting news from Caracas which might give some fresh idea as to where Lequiller had gone.
And that was the strangest part of all. Lequiller's squadron had vanished as if it did not even exist.
When the frigate Spartan had returned from Caracas, Bolitho had managed to meet her captain before he had been ordered to his new patrol area. Captain Farquhar had been both resentful and impatient.
"The Spanish Captain-General was polite but little else. He gave me ten minutes' audience and no more, and seemed barely interested in our commodore's greeting." His lips had twisted into a scornful smile. "He gave me to understand that the English have claimed control of the Caribbean for so long it was our duty to prove it."
Bolitho could well imagine Farquhar's irritation. He had never been noted for his tolerance, and the humiliation of being thus dismissed would not be easy to accept. But if he had been angry, he had not been slow in making full use of his visit. There had been only one shipof-war at Caracas, and she was obviously being retained as a local escort, probably for one of the Spanish treasure ships. One thing was certain, however. Nobody knew or would say a word about Lequiller's squadron. And yet-Bolitho had considered it countless times-it had to be somewhere, repairing damage as he was, preparing and watching for the next move. But where?
Then, after another week of waiting and fretting, a small armed schooner slipped into the bay and anchored close inshore. She was the Fauna, de Block's link with the other Dutch islands, and almost as old as the sixty-gun Telamon.
Within an hour Bolitho received a summons to report to Pelham-Martin's headquarters, and as the barge pulled away from the Hyperion's side he saw with grim satisfaction that boats were already leaving the other ships and heading for the shore. It must be something urgent for the commodore to call his captains together before lunchtime, he thought. Since taking up residence in de Block's house Pelham-Martin had adopted a grand and remote way of life. If anything he had grown larger in his new surroundings, and when he entertained some of his officers to dinner, which was not often, his capacity for food and wine was a topic of conversation for days afterwards.
Bolitho found him in the low ceilinged room above the waterfront seated behind a gilt-edged table which was completely covered with charts and loose papers.
He looked up as Bolitho entered and waved one hand towards a chair. Then he said casually, "News at last, Bolitho." He seemed to be holding back his excitement with real effort. "De Block has informed me of Lequiller's whereabouts, so now we can act!"
Winstanley and Fitzmaurice came into the room together followed by Captain Mulder of the Telamon.
Pelham-Martin waited for them to arrange themselves in chairs and then said, "Lequiller's ships have been found, gentlemen." He watched their sudden interest and added grandly, "I know that there are some who might have wished to act prematurely," he let his eyes rest briefly on Bolitho before continuing, "but as I have always stressed, there is a correct method of bringing an enemy to action, a positive way of showing our strength." He was warming to his theme, and from the expressions of the other two British officers, Bolitho guessed it was a well-known one. Winstanley looked faintly amused, while Fitzmaurice appeared to be attentively bored.
"We are a safeguard of considerable affairs, gentlemen, and it is the deployment and use of our available resources which is far more valuable than any brief devil-may-care skirmish!"
At that moment de Block entered by a small side door, a chart under his arm. He nodded to the commodore and then unrolled the chart across the others on the table.
Pelham-Martin frowned slightly and dabbed his forehead with a silk handkerchief. "As I was saying, Lequiller has been found, is that not so?"
De Block was filling a long pipe with tobacco, his single hand doing all the functions like a wiry brown animal.
"It is so." He rapped the chart with the pipe stem. "My schooner spoke with a West Indiaman four days ago. She wished to land one of her officers who was suffering from fever and made to put into here," the pipe stem paused and the officers around the table craned forward as one, "the port of Las Mercedes on the Spanish Main. But they were refused entry."
Pelham-Martin said, "Only two hundred miles west of Caracas and yet the Captain-General knew nothing about them!"
De Block eyed him wryly. "Two hundred miles in distance maybe, but in that country it is like ten times that amount." He sighed. "But no matter, the West Indiaman's master reported seeing several ships-of-war at anchor."
Captain Mulder said, "This Lequiller has chosen well. It is a . . ." he groped for the word, "... a barren place."
Bolitho was on his feet and leaning over the chart. "I have heard of it. Once the haunt of pirates. A good anchorage, and easy to defend by sea or overland." He circled the craggy coastline with his finger. "It has a bay very like we have here, but according to the chart there is a wide river which protects it from any inland assault."
De Block smiled. "Not a river. Once maybe, but now it is little more than a swamp. Nobody really knows how far it goes inland, and few have wanted to discover its secrets. It is full of fever and death. No wonder pirates thought themselves safe there."
Pelham-Martin glared at him. "When you have all finished, gentlemen!" He eased his heavy body to the edge of the chair. "I am not interested in what the pirates did or did not do, nor do I care much for the swamp. The fact is that Lequiller has found shelter and sustenance in Las Mercedes, and Spanish Main or not, I intend to seek him outl"
Captain Fitzmaurice shifted uneasily. "But surely an attack on any Spanish territory would be seen as a hostile act against Spain, sir?"
Winstanley nodded. "We might be doing what Lequiller wishes. It would drive Spain into the French camp quicker than anything."
Pelham-Martin dabbed his brow with quick, savage thrusts.
"I was coming to that!"
"Perhaps if I could explain?" De Block stepped forward, his pipe still unlit. "The captain of my schooner also said it is rumoured there are English sailors in the prison at Las Mercedes." He shrugged. "Maybe they are mutineers, or perhaps deserters from some passing ship, it is of no account." His eyes flashed in the shaded sunlight. "But their presence at Las Mercedes might be used as an excuse for a closer study, eh?"
The commodore eyed him stonily. "I was about to say that, de Block." He sniffed. "However, as you have put it so well, I think I can state I am in total agreement."
Bolitho rubbed his chin. In his mind's eye he was seeing the natural harbour, three hundred miles distant from St. Kruis. It was an ideal hiding place, and for a man like Lequiller who knew the area well it would have been a careful choice. It was a formidable place, but had Lequiller been able to take St. Kruis as well, the situation would have been even worse.
He said slowly, "You could send a sloop to inform the Captain-General at Caracas, sir. He might wish to withhold any treasure ship until we have found and defeated the French squadron." He looked up, seeing the sudden hostility in Pelham-Martin's eyes.
"Inform him! After his damned insolence!" PelhamMartin was sweating badly. "He's probably hand in glove with the governor of Las Mercedes. Inform him indeed!" He controlled his anger with effort. "I shall be happy to do so when I can produce this traitorous Spaniard to him in person."
Bolitho looked at the chart. He could hardly blame Pelham-Martin for wanting to keep all the credit as a final return of insults.
He said, "From my experience, sir, it is not likely that the Captain-General knows about this. The Spanish governors of the various provinces usually keep their own council and
are responsible only to the Court in Spain. It takes months to get decisions agreed upon, so many of them act alone and share nothing of their problems in case of recriminations at a later date."
Winstanley cleared his throat. "That is true, sir."
"All the more reason for trusting no one, surely?" Pelham-Martin's good humour was returning. "I am not waiting for Lequiller to call the tune this time. We will put to sea immediately."
Bolitho stood back from the table. "I will have the barge standing by, sir."
Pelham-Martin looked away. "Thank you, but it will not be necessary. I am shifting my broad pendant back to Indomitable." He nodded curtly. "Return to your ships, gentlemen. We will make sail in two hours."
Later, as Bolitho stood at the Hyperion's quarterdeck rail he wondered what had decided Pelham-Martin to change flagships again. As the broad pendant had broken from the Indomitable's topmast he had seen several of the seamen on the gangways pointing towards it and calling to each other with something like indignation. Rightly or wrongly, they probably considered they had done more than any in the squadron to bring the enemy to close action, and the commodore's change of heart must seem like an unspoken rebuke which they could not understand.
Bolitho did not understand it either, although when he had gathered his officers together in the wardroom to explain briefly what the commodore intended to do, he had made every effort to show neither resentment nor bitterness. At any other time he would have been glad to be rid of Pelham-Martin's presence, but now, with a final and decisive action imminent he would have preferred otherwise. For whereas Pelham-Martin had in the past consulted his captains for even the most trivial despatches, he had added nothing at all to his brief orders prior to sailing.
Inch called, "Anchor's hove short, sir!"
Bolitho pulled himself from his brooding thoughts and shaded his eyes to peer across at the Indomitable.
Winstanley was probably cursing Pelham-Martin for returning to his ship. He could see the men along the twodecker's yards, the crouching shapes of others plodding around her capstan. Beyond her, framed against the distant hills, the Hermes and the stately Telamon were also shortening their cables. Even without a glass he could see most of the island's population crowded along the waterfront and on the headland where Dawson's marines had repaired the battery and had helped to improve the defences in case of any future attack.
In spite of his apprehension at Pelham-Martin's failure to outline any proposed plan of battle, Bolitho could find some comfort at the sight. With the sun beating down across the glittering blue water of the bay, a steady northeasterly ruffling the shrubs and rushes below the headland, the four ships made a splendid picture. As he looked along his own command he could afford to feel satisfied and pleased with the work his men had achieved. As good as his word, de Block had supplied the ship with everything at his disposal, even to the extent of new canvas to replace that lost in battle.
And as Perks, the sailmaker, had remarked, "It's none o' yer wartime rubbish, sir, 'tis the real stuff."
Gascoigne yelled, "General, sir! Up anchor!"
Bolitho nodded. "Get the ship under way, Mr. Inch!"
He glanced at Gossett. "We will take station astern of Hermes."
That was something else. Hyperion would be the last in. the line in whatever action the commodore intended. With the prevailing wind from the north-east it was a sensible position, for Hyperion was the fastest ship in the squadron and could dash down on the van if Indomitable got into difficulty and needed support. But to her company, many of whom did not understand these matters, it must seem like a final insult. He would make it his business to set their minds at rest, he decided.
He heard Inch yelling, "Get those laggards to the mizzen braces! Mr. Tomlin! Wake them up, for God's sake!"
Here and there a rattan swished across a tanned back as the seamen came alive to the business of getting under way. A month of comparative idleness had taken its toll, `and it took more than soft words to drive the men to the braces.
"Loose tops'ls!"
Gascoigne ran across the deck as wheeling ponderously to the wind the ship went about, her sails cracking and booming overhead and the capstan still turning to the accompaniment of a breathless shanty.
"Flag to Hyperion, sir!" His eyes were streaming as the sunlight lanced down his telescope. "Make haste!"
Bolitho smiled. "Acknowledge." Pelham-Martin would not wish to see any slackness with a Dutch ship in company. The Telamon was-a splendid sight, and in the glare her gilded stern shone like some fantastic temple altar, while strung out along her yards the dark skins of her topmen glistened as if they, too, had been stained and polished to perfection.
But she would make little impression on Lequiller's ships, he thought. She was over fifty years old, and her guns were no match for the French artillery. And she had been out here for most of her lifetime, Mulder had said. So her timbers were probably rotten, in spite of the gilded carving and proud flags.
He shifted his eyes to the Hermes as she tacked round to take station astern of the Dutchman. She on the other hand looked every inch an experienced warrior. Stained and scarred, with more than one patch in her pale canvas.
Inch said, "Indomitable's setting her t'gallants, sir."
"Very well. Do likewise, Mr. Inch." Bolitho staggered slightly as the deck lifted slowly beneath him. Like him, the ship seemed pleased to be rid of the land again.
He looked up to watch the canvas spread along the braced yards and the tiny silhouettes of the topmen as they raced each other to obey the orders from the deck far below. He saw Pascoe pause at the maintop, his body tilting to the roll of the ship, his head thrown back to watch the pigtailed seamen swarming past him as still more canvas ballooned and then hardened from the yards. His shirt was open to his waist, and Bolitho could see that his skin was already well tanned, his ribs less prominent than when he had come aboard. He was learning fast and well, but Bolitho knew from what he had seen and heard at St. Kruis that the boy still kept apart from the other midshipmen and was nursing his inner hurt like some latent disease.
Gossett intoned, "Course is west by south, sir!"
"Very well." Bolitho crossed to the weather side to watch as the headland. slipped past, tiny figures running along the lip of crumbling rocks where the French raiding party had stormed up to the battery under cover of darkness.
Far away on the larboard bow he could just make out a tiny white sliver on the sea's edge to mark one of the sloops which had already hurried ahead to contact the frigates and pass Pelham-Martin's instructions with minimum delay.
To Inch he said quietly, "Set no more sail just yet. With our clean copper I'm afraid we might overreach the Hermes!"
Inch showed his teeth in a grin. "Aye, aye, sir."
It was then, and only then, that Bolitho realised Inch had got the ship under way without a single flaw, while he had been so immersed in his own thoughts he had barely noticed it.
He eyed the lieutenant gravely. "We'll make make a commander of you yet, Mr. Inch!"
Leaving Inch with an even wider grin he walked aft to the cabin, where once more he could be alone with his thoughts.
9
RETREAT
The third day after leaving St. Kruis dawned bright and clear, with the sky empty of cloud and the colour of blue ice. The sea, whipped up by an impatient north-easterly, was broken as far as the horizon in an endless pattern of small wave crests, yellow in the sunlight.
During the night, and in spite of Pelham-Martin's urgent signals, the four ships had scattered, and it took more maddening hours to re-form the line to his satisfaction. Now, close hauled on the larboard tack and leaning heavily to the stiffening wind the ships drove south-east, with the shadowed coastline stretching away on either bow and only the towering hills further inland bathed in sunlight. The bay of Las Mercedes was still hidden and shrouded in drifting haze which swirled above the sea's face like low cloud.
Bolitho stood on the quarter
deck with one hand resting against the hammock nettings, his body chilled in spite of the early warmth, his eyes aching from studying the land as it grew out of the shadows to take on shape and personality for the new day. Since they, had weighed and put to sea with such haste he had thought of little else but this moment. While the ships drove westward, and then under cover of night turned to head more directly towards the land, he had considered what Pelham-Martin might do if the French had already quit the bay and were many miles away, as elusive as before. Or worse, that de. Block's schooner had been misinformed, and Lequiller had never been in the vicinity at all.
If either was true it would be hard to know where to pick up the scent again. To draw two forces of ships together in combat was more guess than planning, and Lequiller might have decided to return to France or carry some scheme of his own to the other ends of the earth.
Around and below him he could feel the hull trembling and creaking as under shortened sail she followed the other ships towards the bank of .pale mist. As soon as it was light enough to read his signals Pelham-Martin had ordered them to prepare for battle, and now, as in the other ships, the Hyperion's company waited in almost complete silence, by their guns or high above the deck, or like Trudgeon, the surgeon, deep in the hull itself, hidden from the sunlight and dependent on others for their own survival.
Several telescopes lifted as if to some silent command, ahd Bolitho saw a pale rectangle of sail detaching itself from the mist far away on the larboard bow. It was the frigate Abdiel which Pelham-Martin had ordered to approach the bay from the opposite side and report any signs of life within its protective headlands.
Lieutenant Roth standing by his quarterdeck ninepounders said loudly, "We'll soon know now, eh?" But fell silent again as Bolitho glared at him.
Midshipman Gascoigne was already in the weather shrouds with his telescope, biting his lower lip with fierce concentration, knowing perhaps the vital importance of that first signal.
Steel scraped on steel with the sound -of a gunshot, and when Bolitho turned his head he saw Allday striding below the poop carrying the old sword in front of him like a talisman.
Enemy In Sight! Page 15
