Inch replied, "I told him, sir."
There was something else. He asked more gently, "Was he asleep?"
"No, sir." He sounded puzzled. "He is just sitting there on the bench seat, the most uncomfortable place in a quarter sea in my opinion. He is fully dressed, sir. Just sitting there." His voice trailed away.
Bolitho clapped him on the shoulder. "The privilege of rank, my lad!" Then he strode to the weather side before inch could see his expression.
So it was worse than he had thought. Pelham Martin was unable to lie down let alone sleep. Figures ran across the main deck and once he heard a man laugh, the sound strangely sad in the chorus of wind and straining rigging. He wanted to pace to quieten his troubled mind, but knew the motion was too savage for that. Here, on this very. quarterdeck, two admirals had died within feet of him. One had been brave but stupid, while the other had died uncomplaining of his wound. He had been as courageous as he had been misguided, but never at any time had he faltered from what he thought to be his set duty. And before them perhaps other flag officers had fallen here. The lucky ones to be buried at sea or carried home to weeping relatives in casks of spirits to be laid to rest in some family vault. The unlucky had lingered on to die at a surgeon's hands.
He banged his fist on the rail, his eyes staring into the leaping patterns of spray. But none so far had died of fear, yet that was the greatest threat in any battle.
He was still by the rail when two hours later the first grey tentacles of light showed above the horizon far abeam and played across the faces of the men around him.
Allday appeared with a fresh jug. "Coffee, Captain?" He held out the cup, his stocky body swaying at an angle with the deck.
Bolitho sipped it slowly, feeling its rich heat burning into his stomach.
To Gascoigne he said, "See that all our people get a hot drink before they douse the galley fires." To Inch he added, "We shall go to quarters in half an hour. It will help wake them up and drive the weariness from their bones."
"Deck there! Land on th' lee bow!"
He threw the cup to Aliday. "Aloft with you, Mr. Canyon! Report what you see, and lively with it!"
Gossett ambled across the deck, his hands deep in the pockets of his misshapen watchcoat. "A fair landfall, sir."
He sounded vaguely satisfied. "'Bout five mile distant, I would think."
Canyon slithered down a backstay and blurted, "Islands, sir. Sou'west of us!"
He realised that Bolitho had remained silent and added, "All overlapping, but there's a great hill on the nearest one." He rubbed his nose and added doubtfully, "Like a slab of cheese, sir."
Gossett whispered, "Gawd Almighty!"
Bolitho smiled grimly. "Never mind, Mr. Gossett. That was as close a description as fits the chart. A slab of cheese suits it exactly."
He saw Inch stiffen and turned to see the commodore's bulky figure emerging beneath the poop ladder.
He touched his hat. "We have sighted the islands, sir. I am about to send the hands to quarters." He paused, seeing the deep shadows around Pelham-Martin's eyes. "Have you had some coffee, sir?"
Pelham-Martin walked unsteadily to the rail and gripped it firmly. "I do not want any." He turned his head, squinting at the low clouds. "Where is the Hermes?"
"On station, sir." Bolitho stepped beside him to shield his face from the others. "She will be able to see your signals directly."
"And the Dutchman?"
"Not sighted her yet, sir."
The small head seemed to twist in either direction quite independently of the massive frame beneath it.
"What?" Pelham-Martin peered across the tilting main deck below him. "Where is she?" He was shouting. "She must be here!"
Bolitho said, "We had to change tack twice during the middle watch, sir. Telamon's spars may be too old for such violent treatment in this wind. She probably retained her original course at a more favourable pace." He was speaking quietly, aware of the watching eyes nearby. "But Captain Farquhar will be safe enough. He will have had the lee of the land to protect his approach."
Pelham-Martin did not seem to hear. He was staring at the sea as the growing light opened it up and displayed the hardening line of the horizon and the dark untidy cluster of land which seemed to rail from the plunging jib boom like weed.
"Empty!" He groped inside his heavy coat as if to
produce his silk handkerchief. "Nothing!"
There was a click as a boy turned over the half-hour
glass beside the compass.
Bolitho nodded to Inch. "Send the hands to quarters and clear for action."
The commodore stared at him, his eyes bare and desperate. "Just two ships!" He fell silent as the drums started to rattle and the seamen and-marines poured on deck and scampered to their stations.
Bolitho said, "They will suffice, sir."
He could almost feel the man's anxiety. It was just as if the sight of this vast expanse of tossing sea and the huddle of islands had finally brought home the reality of his responsibility. In a moment he might lose his last shred of control. Just as young Gascoigne had described his own fear of his first watch on deck unaided, when everything appeared to be running away with him, beyond human control.
He said harshly, "It is a fine day for it, sir. And if the French are here they'll be asleep most likely when Spartan pays them a call."
Bolitho realised the thumps and bangs below decks had stopped, and when he looked down over the rail he saw the men at their stations, the only movement being made by the ship's boys as they scurried from gun to gun, sanding the decks as they ran… The gunners would need plenty of grip for their feet if the wind rose further.
Pelham-Martin said tonelessly, "Would you send someone for my sword?" He fumbled awkwardly with the heavy coat and then removed it.
Bolitho saw he was wearing the same gleaming dress coat in which he had come aboard. In which he had sat out the night.
One of the seamen on the larboard battery had been about to tie his neckerchief around his ears. Seeing the 258
commodore he waved it over his head and yelled, "A cheer, lads! Hurrah."
Bolitho said quietly, "You see, sir? They look to you today!"
Then he turned away, unable to watch as Allday
buckled the sword around the commodore's huge waist. His face seemed to have crumpled at the sound of that solitary cheer, and his expression was that of a man within the shadow of a gibbet.
15. THE MESSAGE
Bolitho straddled his legs and waited until the deck had completed another steep roll and then raised the telescope to his eye. In the fast-growing light he could see the nearest island, its ragged crest grey against the low clouds, and beyond it, overlapping like the prow of some ancient galley, a smaller islet, below which the sea lifted and boiled in continuous movement. Reefs most likely, he thought. Or parts of the cliff worn away by the years to fall as one more natural barrier against would-be intruders.
He lowered the glass, wiping his eye with the back of his sleeve. Around and below him the seamen waited by their guns, watching his face, or merely staring at the sealed ports in readiness for the next order.
Pelham-Martin said suddenly, "Surely to God something will happen! Maybe the Spartan is aground!" He turned his small head and peered at Bolitho with something like shock.
"We'll know soon, sir." He walked a few paces clear, unwilling to listen in case his own reserve of confidence should fade also.
"Sirl" Canyon had his hands cupped over his ears. "Gunfire, sir!"
Bolitho looked at him doubtfully. But there was no mistaking the expression on the boy's face. He was young and untroubled beyond his own duties, and his ears must have caught the far off sounds before anyone else, in spite of the wind.
"Mr. Inch! Pass the order to load! But do not run out 'til I give the word!"
To Gossett he called, "Mark our course well. The reefs sweep right out from that far headland."