The master nodded. "I've noted 'em, sir. We've a good four mile as yet."
"Deck there!" The masthead lookout's voice seemed puny in the din of wind and thrashing canvas. "There's a ship break-in' from the channel!"
Bolitho gripped his hands behind him to control the rising excitement. "Mr. Inch! Alter course two points to lee'rd! Pipe the hands to the braces!"
Then he snatched a telescope from Canyon's hands and peered at the clump of islands. They seemed to be pitching like flotsam across the spray-dappled glass, but even as his eye began to water from strain he saw the edge of the slabsided island harden and darken, and where there had been a sliver of broken sea something was moving. A ship.
He heard Gossett call, "Course sou'-west by south!"
Inch stared at him. "It's a frigate!" A muscle jumped in his cheek as a sullen rumble of cannon fire echoed across the water. "By God, the Frogs are there!'
Bolitho pushed past him. "Shake out those reefsl And set the forecourse and t'gallants!"
He walked to Pelham-Martin's side as Inch dashed to the rail with his speaking trumpet. "Well, sir, there are some in the bag today."
He watched the men dashing out along the yards, the immediate response from every stay and shroud as first one then another of the topgallant sails filled to the wind, the thrust making itself felt to the very keel. With the wind almost dead astern the ship seemed to be leaning forward and down, and when the great spread of canvas bellied out from the forecourse Bolitho thought he could hear the sea parting across the bows like water in a millrace.
"You may run out, Mr. Inch!" He watched narrowly as Pelham-Martin craned over the rail to watch the long twelve-pounders squeaking towards the open ports, their crews yelling to each other as if it was another contest.
Inch shouted, "The frigate's cleared the channel, sir!"
Bolitho watched the distant ship, her shape shortening as she turned slowly from the nearest spur of land. With the wind driving down from the north-east she had little room to tack, and being so close inshore she might be in irons and driven back into the channel if she mistimed it. He saw her yards swinging wildly, the spray leaping above her raked stem as he settled once more, this time on converging course with Hyperion.
A hasty glance astern told him that Fitzmaurice needed no instruction as to what was needed. The Hermes was already spreading her topgallants, and he could see her leaning sickeningly to the press of canvas as she swung purposefully across the Hyperion's wake. Like the jaws in a trap. When the other French ships broke from the channel they would have to pass between two prepared and eager captains.
He snapped, "Alter course another point! Steer south west!"
He saw Stepkyne glance up at him from the main deck and then turn his head to speak with a gunner's mate. And there was Tomlin, already pushing his men to the braces again, his voice carrying like a trumpet above the bedlam of sea and canvas.
Now there was more gunfire, louder than before, and Bolitho twisted his head to watch as several columns of water burst close to the frigate's counter.
"Deck there! 'Nother ship comin' out!"
Pelham-Martin was clinging to the rail, his eyes half closed with concentration.
Bolitho said, "Now we shall see!" He ran to the lee side to study the first ship while she clawed away from the treacherous line of reefs and then tilted steeply on the larboard tack. It was a dangerous manoeuvre. At any second she could be all aback and at the mercy of the reefs, but her captain had no choice but to fight clear and give himself searoom.
Bolitho lifted his hand. "Steady as you go!" His eyes watered in the spray and wind but he kept them fixed on the other ship. Two miles only separated them. He heard the grate of handspikes as the gun captains increased their elevation, and wondered momentarily if Fox was remembering the hill battery as he managed his own section on the lower deck.
Inch shouted wildly, "Sir, sir! The second ship is the
Spartan!" He sounded stunned. "She's signalling!"
Bolitho turned away and looked at Pelham-Martin. If Spartan was close astern of the enemy it meant one thing only. There were no other ships to attack.
Carlyon yelled, "From Spartan, sir! One enemy ship to the south-west!"
He swung round, his mind grappling with the signal as a lookout shouted, "'Nother ship on th' laboard bow, sir!"
Inch squinted up at the masthead. "What the hell is he talking about?"
But Bolitho pointed with the telescope, his voice bitter. "She must have found her way through another channel! Look, man, you can-see her topmasts!"
He felt fingers locked into his sleeve and swung round to stare into the commodore's wind-reddened face.
"Do you see what you've done? She's escaping, and you cannot catch her now!" He was almost screaming. "I'll see you hung for this, damn you! Damn you!"
Bolitho tore his arm free. "Alter course three points to larboard! Steer south by west!"
The men threw themselves on the braces again, as with her sails booming and wrenching at the yards the Hyperion swung heavily towards the second islet, against which the Frenchman's topsails seemed to shine as if in one final mockery.
The enemy frigate seeing the Hyperion swing back on her original course turned towards the open sea. Her attempted escape could have been a ruse to allow her consort to gain the other channel, or her captain might still have believed he had a chance for his own ship. But as the Spartan tacked dangerously around the reefs the Hermes began to wear ship. For those with time to watch she was an impressive sight, her sails very white against the dull clouds and her tall side shining with spray as she presented her double line of guns to the French frigate. Then she fired. It was at an extreme range, and when Bolitho turned his eyes from the other ship to look he guessed that Fitzmaurice had fired across more than a mile of tossing water. But it was enough. The frigate's foremast and bowsprit crumpled in the barrage, and as the wind took charge he saw the ripped canvas and broken rigging whipping about like things gone mad, while the ship, moments before a picture of grace and beauty, ploughed drunkenly into a deep trough between the waves and began to broach to.
He turned back to look for the other vessel, and felt the anger and despair tugging at his throat as he saw her grow into sharp silhouette beyond the jutting prow of land.
She was a two-decker, probably one of those damaged by Hyperion's blind broadside during the first fruitless attack on Las Mercedes. Now she was clearing the land, and if she got away, as well she might, Lequiller would soon know the failure of this attack and the weakness of Pelham-Martin's squadron.
Gossett said harshly, "We can still catch 'im, sir!" But he sounded wretched.
"Deck there!" Every eye went aloft. Surely nothing worse could happen? "Sail weatherin' the 'eadland!" A brief pause. "It's the Dutchman, sir!"
Bolitho ran to the nettings and jammed his telescope tightly against his eye.
The French ship was well away from the reefs now, but beyond her, her sails yellow in the strange light, he saw the other vessel. It was the Telamon. There was no mistaking that high poop and the shining splendour of her figurehead. She was close hauled and standing almost into the teeth of the wind, and in the jerking glass appeared to be touching the land itself.
Inch muttered fiercely, "For God's sake, Mulder'll be aground if he's not careful!"
Pelham-Martin seized Inch's glass. "What's happening? Is the Telamon going to engage?"
Bolitho closed his telescope with a snap. He could feel the ship straining every spar and timber, and when he looked up he saw the hard-bellied sails gleaming like steel as the ship threw herself in pursuit.
Mulder's ancient command stood no chance at all against the powerful two-decker, and he must know it. Just as he must have seen that if the French ship maintained her present course she could slip around the headland and make for one of a hundred hiding places until further help arrived.