Enemy In Sight!

by Alexander Kent

  But in Bolitho's mind any resentment was bad, and he had done his best to ease, if not dispel their apprehension. That he had failed left him feeling both weary and ill at ease, although he knew in his heart that but for his personal problems he might have found some last reserve to draw upon.

  He turned his head to watch the midshipmen assembled on the lee side of the quarterdeck, their faces squinting with concentration as Gossett rumbled through the daily routine of instruction and explained still further the mysteries and rewards of using a sextant.

  "Step lively, Mr. Pascoe!" The master sounded hoarse and a little irritable, and was no doubt thinking of the midday meal within the cool shadow of his own mess, and a richly deserved glass to wash it down. "Show us 'ow you can 'andle it!"

  Pascoe took the glittering sextant and stared at it thoughtfully.

  Gossett groaned. "Time's awastin'!" He beckoned with one huge fist. "Mr. Selby, lay aft and show the young gennleman, I'm all but wore out!"

  Bolitho found he was gripping the ladder's teak rail with all his strength as he watched his brother cross the deck and take the sextant from the boy's hands. He was too far away to hear what was said, but he could tell from the boy's intent expression, the occasional nods, that Hugh's quiet words were reaching their mark.

  Lieutenant Stepkyne was officer of the watch and had been studying the instruction with obvious impatience. "Don't take so much time over it, Mr. Selby!" His harsh voice made the boy glance at him with something like hatred. "A lesson is a lesson aboard this ship. We don't expect individual tuition!"

  "Aye, aye, sir." Hugh kept his eyes down. "I'm sorry, sir."

  Bolitho looked for the master but Gossett had already vanished to his quarters.

  Stepkyne walked casually towards the watching midshipmen. "Just so long as you understand." He rocked back on his heels, his eyes examining the master's mate like a farmer looking over a beast at market.

  Pascoe said quickly, "He was explaining it to me, sir. How an officer should always show...."

  Stepkyne turned and glared at him. "Was he indeed?" He swung back again. "An officer? What in God's name would you know about that, Mr. Selby?"

  Bolitho saw the midshipmen exchanging quick glances. They were too young to understand Stepkyne's malice. They were ashamed of him, which was worse.

  But Bolitho was concerned only for his brother. For just one brief moment he saw a flash of anger in his eyes, a defiant lift to his chin. Then he replied quietly, "You're quite right, sir. I know nothing of such things."

  Stepkyne still stood by the rail his anger giving way to heavy sarcasm. "Then I am relieved to know it. We cannot have our people getting ideas above their station, can we?"

  Bolitho strode out of the shadow, his limbs carrying him forward before he knew what he was doing.

  "Mr. Stepkyne, I would be equally relieved if you would attend to your duties! The hour for instruction is over!"

  Stepkyne swallowed hard. "I was making sure they were not wasting their time, sir."

  Bolitho eyed him coldly. "It .seemed to me you were using their time to amuse yourself. In future, if you have nothing better to do, I will be pleased to know. I am quite sure I shall be able to supply your talent with more worthwhile and rewarding tasks."

  He turned and walked back to the poop ladder, his heart throbbing painfully with each step. In all his years at sea he could not recall ever having reprimanded an officer in front of his subordinates. He despised those who did it as a matter of course, just as he mistrusted them.

  But Stepkyne was a bully, and like others of his type only seemed to understand similar treatment. And yet Bolitho could find no comfort in what he had done, and like the midshipmen was more shamed than satisfied.

  He began to pace back and forth along the weather side, ignoring the sun's heat across his shoulders.and the eyes of the watchkeepers. In trying to help with his brother's deception he might have achieved just the opposite. When Stepkyne recovered from his surprise and discomfort he might pause to consider his captain's behaviour, and when that occurred....

  Bolitho stopped dead and looked up as a lookout yelled, "Deck there! Sail on th' weather bow!"

  Snatching a telescope from its rack he climbed into the mizzen shrouds, feeling the salt wind across his lips like blown sand. For a moment he thought the lookout had mistaken the little sloop Dasher for a newcomer, but a quick glance told him otherwise. Far out on the larboard beam, her topgallants barely visible on the haze-shrouded horizon, he could see the sloop on her correct station as before.

  He waited until the Hyperion had completed another steep plunge and then trained the glass towards the bow, seeing the crisscross of rigging, the colourful splendour of the Telamon at the head of the line with Pelham-Martin's broad pendant at her masthead, and then, a mere shadow beneath the clear sky, he saw what must be the approaching ship.

  She was running before the wind, carrying every stitch of canvas, and seemed to be rising bodily from the haze as she headed straight for the sgaadron.

  "Deck there! She's a frigate, an' English by th' looks of 'er!"

  Bolitho climbed down to the quarterdeck and handed the telescope to the midshipman of the watch.

  Inch had arrived from the wardroom, his jaws still chewing on the remains of his meal.

  Bolitho said shortly, "Call all hands, Mr. Inch, and prepare to shorten sail. That frigate'll be up to us directly and she's in a great hurry to tell us something."

  He heard the shrill of pipes and the immediate rush of feet as the order was relayed along both decks, and blinking in the bright sunlight the seamen poured through the open hatchways and dashed to their stations.

  Midshipman Carlyon, very conscious of his new appointment in charge of signals, stood with his men by the halyards, while an experienced petty officer crouched in the mizzen shrouds with a telescope, his legs curled around the ratlines, balanced perfectly against the ship's heavy roll.

  Bolitho took the glass once more and studied the fast approaching frigate, as with the spray bursting over her forecastle, and her rakish hull tilting to the wind she started to go about, flags already breaking from her yards.

  He said quietly, "So Captain Fargnhar has returned to the squadron."

  Inch was about to speak when Canyon yelled, "Spartan - to Telamon. Have urgent despatch for commodore."

  He jumped as Inch barked, "Watch the flagship, damn you!"

  "S-Sorry, sir!" Canyon swung his glass round towards the Telamon as flags broke stiffly in the glare. He stuttered, "General signal. Heave to."

  Bolitho nodded curtly. "Carry on, Mr. Inch, or the Hermes will beat us to it."

  He walked between the scurrying seamen and marines to watch the Spartan completing her manoeuvre. Farquhar was wearing ship even before Telamon's acknowledgement had been lowered.

  As the Hyperion wallowed heavily into the wind, her sails vanishing from her topgallant yards to the accompaniment of threats and curses from the deck, Bolitho wondered what news Farquhar was bringing with him. It would certainly take more than a display of excellent seamanship to appease the commodore.

  The deck canted heavily in the wind, and every shroud and halyard cracked and vibrated as the topmen fought to secure the rebellious canvas while they clung to the dizzily swaying yards.

  Inch said breathlessly, "The Spartan'll get no thanks for missing the attack on Las Mercedes, sir."

  Bolitho wiped his watering eyes as more flags appeared above the Telamon's pitching hull. But for the sloop's inability to find him, Farquhar might now be lying with his ship beside the charred bones of the Abdiel.

  The signals petty officer called, "Boat shovin' off from Spartan, sir!"

  Bolitho clung to the nettings to watch the little jolly boat as it rose and dipped across the lively crests, the oars rising and failing like gulls' wings. He could see Farquhar's straight-backed figure in the sternsheets and his gold-laced cocked hat gleaming above the straining oarsmen as an additional encouragement to th
eir efforts.

  He heard Lieutenant Roth say, "It'll be bad news no doubt."

  Inch retorted, "Keep your opinions to yourself!"

  Bolitho saw the boat hooking on to the Dutchman's main chains, the small hull pitching and crashing against the steep tumblehome was the men fought to keep it from capsizing. He had noted the bitterness in Inch's voice. The same tone he had used to explain Pelaham-Martin's delay in attacking Las Mercedes. It seemed that the commodore had been unwilling to trust Bolitho's landing party to destroy the hidden battery, even to accept that they would finally cross the swamp. Bolitho could find some understanding for Pelham-Martin's qualms, but could equally well imagine the frustration and anger throughout the ships while they waited for the sloop Dasher to report the sounds of gunfire.

  But Bolitho was sure of one thing. If he had merely destroyed those guns without using them to fire on the anchored French ships, Pelham-Martin would never have made that last, vital assault, and he and his remaining men would have perished. And as Fitzmaurice had remarked before the raid, the responsibility would have rested on Bolitho's shoulders in. any report which eventually reached England.

  He gritted his teeth with mounting impatience until Canyon shouted, "General signal. All captains repair on board forthwith."

  Bolitho jerked his hand. "Call away the barge." He looked round for Allday, but he was already carrying the goldlaced coat and hat.

  As he threw off his faded coat he saw some of the seamen staring at the activity aboard the Telamon, and wondered briefly what they were thinking. Only very few of those aboard really understood where the ship lay or the name of the nearest land. They had no say in affairs at all. They obeyed and did their duty, and some people said that was enough. Bolitho believed otherwise, and one day....

  He looked up as Inch reported, "Barge alongside, sir."

  He had not even noticed it being swung outboard. He was too tired, too strained, and it was beginning to tell.

  He nodded and ran down the ladder to the entry port. Below his legs he could see the lower gunports awash, and the next instant as the hull heeled violently away from the barge the copper on the ship's fat bilge rolled shining into sunlight.

  A quick breath. Count the seconds and then jump. Hands seized his arms and thigh, and as he staggered into the sternsheets he saw the Hyperion already sliding clear, the barge's oars hacking at the crested water while Allday brought the bows towards the Telamon.

  He had hardly regained his breath when it was time to ascend the Dutchman's side and into her ornate entry port.

  As he followed a swarthy lieutenant towards the poop he noticed more flags being hoisted under the supervision of an English petty officer, and guessed the ships were being ordered to resume course and station. So it was to be another conference.

  He heard a chorus of shouts and saw a bosun's chair being swayed out above the gangway. Captain Fitzrnaurice of the Hermes was not taking any chances it seemed, and preferred the indignity of being hoisted inboard like a piece of cargo to the real risk of drowning or being crushed against the ship's hull.

  In the stern cabin it was very dark after the sea's blinding reflections, and it took several seconds for him to distinguish Pelham-Martin's massive bulk squeezed into a chair, the legs of which were lashed firmly to two ringbolts to prevent it and its occupant from sliding to the opposite side of the ship. Farquhar was standing by the table, his slim figure relaxed to take the uncomfortable motion, while Mulder, the Telamon's captain, was framed against the stem windows, head cocked as if to listen to his men's efforts on the deck above.

  "Ah, Bolitho." Pelham Martin nodded curtly. "We will wait for Ftzmaurice before we begin."

  Bolitho had wondered how he would feel when he met him again. Disgust or anger? He was surprised to find he could feel nothing which he could easily recognise. He had expected the commodore to display some sort of pleasure after the destruction of two enemy ships. Quince had hinted that he was to carry more than wounded men in the crippled Indomitable to Antigua. A glowing report which would tell the admiral and the whole of England of his victory, and not of the ships which had escaped or the puzzle which was as unsolved as ever.

  Instead Pelham-Martin sat in the shadows, quite still, and in complete silence. As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom Bolitho saw Farquhar's face, strained and tired, his lips set in a thin hard line. Seeing Bolitho's glance he gave a small shrug.

  Then Fitzinaurice entered, and before he could apologise for his lateness Pelham-Martin said harshly, "Captain Farquhar has just brought grave news." He looked at the young captain and added heavily, "You had best repeat it in your own words."

  Farquhar was swaying with fatigue, but his voice was as crisp and as impersonal as ever. "Four nights ago I was patrolling to the nor'-west of Tortuga when gunfire was reported to the east'rd. At first light we sighted two frigates at each other's throats. One Spanish, and the other the Thetis, a French of forty guns." He knew they were hanging on his words, but showed neither emotion nor pride.. "I soon recognised the Spanish frigate as the one I saw in Caracas, an escort being retained for the annual treasure ship. She was in a poor way, and all but dismasted." He sighed suddenly, the sound strangely human from such a controlled throat. "I set my people to quarters and engaged the Thetis without delay. We fought for close on an hour, and although I lost ten killed, we must have slaughtered five times that number." His tone hardened slightly. "Then the Frenchman broke off the action and I set about trying to rescue the remnants of the other ship."

  Fitzmaurice asked, "You let him escape?"

  Farquhar eyed him bleakly. "I thought the Spaniard's intelligence more valuable than a prize." He added, "Or the prize money!" He swung round as Bolitho spoke for the first time, as if expecting someone else to question his actions.

  Bolitho said, "That was good work." It was also very fortunate for Farquhar that he had found and engaged the enemy, no matter what the end result. For it was obvious he was well clear of his proper station, and no wonder that neither of the searching sloops had discovered his whereabouts.

  He added slowly, "Did you find out anything worthwhile?"

  Farquhar relaxed again. "Only one officer was still alive. He told me that his frigate was escorting the treasure ship, San Leandro, which left Caracas six days ago bound for Tenerife. Off Tortuga they were pounced upon by four sail of the line and the frigate Thetis. To all accounts the Dons put up quite a fight but stood no chance at all. The San Leandro struck her colours and a prize crew went on board. The Spanish frigate was too far damaged to prevent it, or even to pursue, and while the squadron sailed off with their prize the Thetis hove to to await daylight and award the coup de grdce. The rest you know, gentlemen."

  The following silence in the great cabin was oppressive and strained, as each of those present considered this piece of news for himself.

  Then Farquhar said simply, "I could not save the Spaniard even when I took her in tow. A wind got up and she rolled under with most of those who survived the battle."

  Mulder crossed the cabin and leaned heavily on the table. "What more did you find from the Spanish lieutenant?"

  Farquhar shrugged. "My surgeon had to take off his right foot and he is in bad health at present. I think he feels the loss of the San Leandro far more than that of his foot. But he did say something more, though I know nothing of the value. Immediately after the treasure ship was seized he saw a flag being hoisted at her main. A yellow flag with a black eagle emblazoned upon it."

  Captain Fitzmaurice who had been staring glumly at the deck jerked upright. "But that was the flag which flew above the town at Las Mercedes! My landing party saw it as they freed the prisoners from the jail." He stared at Bolitho's grave features. "It is the standard of the governor there!"

  Pelham-Martin's small hands lifted slightly from the arms of the chair and then dropped again as if rendered lifeless. He said heavily, "What is the point of all this? Another deception, one more ruse to throw us off the scent.
It could mean anything, or nothing."

  Fitzmaurice looked past him, his eyes screwed tight with concentration. "If Lequiller captured the treasure ship, surely that must do harm to his cause? The Dons will feel less inclined to change sides as they have done in the past."

  Pelham-Martin's voice sounded strangled. "If it was Lequillerl"

  "There is no doubt of it, sir." Farquhar watched him without expression. "The Spanish lieutenant saw the leading ship very clearly. A three-decker with a viceadmiral's command flag at the fore."

  The commodore sank further into the chair. "Everything we have tried to do, each phase of our movements has been foreseen by this Lequiller."

  Farquhar looked surprised. "But at least we have now halved his squadron, sir."

  Fitzmaurice interrupted bluntly, "Two escaped at Las Mercedes."

  "If only I had more ships." Pelham-Martin did not appear to be listening. "Sir Manley Cavendish knew what I was against, yet gave me no more than a pitiful force to deal with it."

  Farquhar turned towards Bolitho. "What do you think, sir?"

  Bolitho did not reply directly. While the others had been speaking and Pelham-Martin had been searching his mind for reasons and excuses, he had been trying to find some link, any small indication which might at least solve what he had always thought of as a puz'le.

  He asked, "What do we know of the governor of Las Mercedes?"

  Mulder spread his hands vaguely. "Don Jose Perez. It is said he was sent to the Caribbean more as a punishment than reward. He is highborn and of wealthy family, but we are told he outraged the Court of Spain by misusing the taxes of his lands. Las Mercedes must be as a prison to such a man, and after twenty years I would think ..."

  Bolitho cut him short. "Twenty years?" He began to pace the cabin, the others watching him with amazement. "I am beginning to understand! Lequiller served here during the American Revolution and often used Las Mercedes as a temporary base, as well as many other places. He would have known all about Perez's background, might even have shared his confidences and discussed his hopes for the future." He halted in his stride and looked at each man in turn. "I believe I know what Lequiller intends, and what his orders were when he broke through our blockade!"