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 quarterdeck 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.
In spite of his anxiety Bolitho managed to smile as Allday buckled the sword around his waist. He at least seemed to have no doubts as to what the day would bring.
"Abdiel's signalling, sir!" Gascoigne's voice cracked with excitement. "To Indomitable. Four enemy sail anchored inside bay." His lips moved soundlessly as he continued reading. Then he shouted, "Four sail of the line, sir!"
Inch let out a great sigh. "By God, we've found 'em!"
Bolitho pressed his lips together and made himself walk twice from one side of the deck to the other. Four ships. That was only half of Lequiller's force, so where were the rest?
Behind him Gossett muttered, "This mist'll go shortly. Then maybe we'll see the buggers!"
As usual he was right, and when the mist began to roll clear Bolitho raised his glass to study the anchored ships as first one and then the rest hardened into shape. With the sun only just above the hills the four ships looked black and solid, as if they had never, could never break free from their moorings, and as light filtered down above the departing sea mist he saw the reason. They were anchored fore and aft directly across the narrowest part of the bay's entrance, and he could tell from the way in which the water lifted and surged between the nearest ones that there were more hidden cables linking them together into one formidable barrier. Each ship had her ports closed and sails neatly furled, but when more sunlight played across the yards and shrouds he saw tiny figures on every poop and the curling Tricolour – at each gaff. There was no longer any doubt. Whether the French had beaten the Spanish garrison into submission, or had merely frightened them to impotent silence, the facts were the same. They were ready to fight, and what was more to the point, must have known Pelham-Martin's squadron was on its way. It would have taken a good deal of labour and planning to get the heavy two-deckers moored like that, and the French commander would not have wasted either on pure chance.
Inch said, "Just as if they've been wanting us to come, sir."
Bolitho closed the glass with a snap. "Just so. I wondered why that West Indiaaman was allowed to proceed after seeing what she did. Lequiller is no fool, Mr. Inch, and I hope the commodore accepts the fact."
Inch nodded doubtfully. "I wonder what he intends, sir?"
Bolitho studied the anchored ships for a full minute, aware of the hum of shrouds and,, rigging, the hissing sluice of water against the hull, yet hearing none of them. It was uncanny to see the ships lying like that, he thought vaguely. They were almost at right-angles to the squadron's line of approach, stretching away on the larboard bow, the furthest vessel still shrouded in mist below the distant headland. If Pelham-Martin maintained this course they would pass astern of the last ship, or he could tack and sail along the anchored line and engage them independently.