'Deck there! Two ships on the lee bow!'
Quarme muttered, 'The Dons did not sleep long, after all, sir.'
'Maybe they mistrusted our admiral.' Bolitho stared at the glassy, undulating swell alongside. 'My respects to Sir William. Inform him of their approach.'
Quarme waited. 'Shall I fall out the men from quarters, sir?'
'Just do as you are told!' Bolitho regretted his outburst immediately, but made himself stay by the rail as Quarme hurried away with his message.
The sun, blood-red and angry, lifted above the sharp horizon to paint a widening path across the empty expanse of water. Then Bolitho saw the topsails of the two Spanish ships. In the strange light they too looked fiery and unreal.
He turned as Moresby reappeared on deck. He was fully dressed in his gold-laced coat and hat, and was wearing his best presentation sword as if for a review.
The admiral breathed in deeply. 'A fine day, Bolitho.' He snapped his fingers and took a glass from the signal midshipman and then trained it on the other ships for several minutes.
He sighed. `Make a signal to the Marte. Tell her to take station astern.' He blinked in the sunlight and added, `You will then wear ship and lead the line back across the southern approaches. If nothing happens we will enter harbour.' He tossed the glass to the midshipman. 'Don Anduaga can have this damn island with pleasure.' Then he walked aft and stood in silence watching the flags soaring up the Hyperion's yards.
As the sun climbed steadily above a glittering horizon the dawn opened up the sea in every direction, like a curtain being ripped from a window. Here there was no drowsy period of half-light, no chance to adjust. One minute it was night. And the next… Bolitho pulled his mind away from such meaningless comparisons and walked aft to watch the two Spanish ships. With the sunlight astern of them they made a splendid sight. Both had shortened sail, but their masts and yards were so decked with gay flags and resplendent banners it was impossible to determine whether they were making signals or merely preparing to celebrate a bloodless victory.
Anduaga's flagship, the Marte, was like something from a child's picture book. From tier garish figurehead to her tall, sloping poopdeck she was alive with colour and movement, and crammed in cheerful confusion on her upper deck Bolitho could see her cargo of Spanish soldiers who were to make up the largest proportion of the landing force.
He deliberately turned his back and moved his glass across to the island. In the bright sunlight it did not appear half so threatening. The hills which he had thought to be grey were covered with tiny, stunted bushes and sundried scrub, and only the wide round tower of the fortress remained to add a touch of uncertainty. There was no sign of life but for the line of writhing surf at the foot of the cliffs, and the natural harbour was still hidden in deep shadow so that not even the keen-eyed masthead lookouts could see any sort of activity within.
Moresby said flatly, 'Very well, Bolithb. Fire a gun. This is close enough.' His voice seemed loud in the tense silence. Bolitho waved one hand towards the maindeck and saw Pearse, the gunner, move aside as the forward twelve-pounder lurched back with a loud bang, the sound of the single detonation echoing and booming around the high cliff and sending the gulls screaming skyward in violent protest.
Bolitho kept his glass trained on the hairline above the fortress, and as he held his breath he saw a flag jerking hastily upward to the truck, and after a second's hesitation it broke out gaily in the offshore breeze. He lowered his glass and looked at the admiral. Moresby was smiling grimly. Even without a glass it was easy to see the flag. The bright red and yellow of Spain.
Moresby made up his mind. 'Signal the Marte. His ships will tack in succession and enter harbour.' He eyed Bolitho coldly. 'You will continue on this course and then tack to follow suit.'
Bolitho saw Midshipman Caswell scribbling hastily on his slate and then said, 'I think we should send a boat in first, sir. One of the cutters perhaps?'
Moresby watched the flags rise from the deck and then beckoned him across to the rail. 'I've wasted enough time, Bolitho! Do you think I want the Dons telling everyone that we are too frightened to believe our own eyes?' He stuck out his jaw. 'Remember that this is supposed to inspire confidence!'
Caswell bleated. 'Marte has acknowledged, I think, sir!'
The Spanish flagship was spreading out more sail, and as they watched they could see her shape lengthening as she heeled round towards the island.
The Princesa, a smaller vessel of sixty-four guns, dropped out of formation, her sails flapping in confusion as she endeavoured to tack round after her consort.
Gossett growled. 'Didn't see the signal, most like!' He watched the ships with obvious contempt. 'They'll all be drunk by nightfall!'
Moresby said, 'May I suggest you release your men from quarters, Bolitho. Secure guns and ports before you tack.' He seemed suddenly angry. 'There has been enough foolishness• for one day!'
Bolitho clenched his fists and crossed to the weather side. 'Did you hear that, Mr. Quarme?' He saw the first lieutenant nod, his face as immobile as before. 'Carry on then!'
'Deck there! I can see the topmasts of a ship well up th' harbour!'
Several people looked up at the lookout's tiny silhouette, but most were still staring glumly at the glittering Spanish ships astern.
Bolitho snatched the speaking trumpet from Quarme. `What is she, man?
'Nothin' much, sir!' The man seemed to realise he was speaking with his captain and added firmly, 'She be a sloop, sir!'
Bolitho walked to the rail and shouted at the men by the guns who were already replacing the extra lashing on the twelve-pounders and bolting the ports. 'Belay that order!'
He looked at Moresby and said, 'That sloop, sir. It might be the Fairfax which Lord Hood sent out for news from here.' He waited, gripping his hands behind him as he watched the uncertainty growing on the admiral's features. He added stubbornly, 'If it is our ship then…'
Moresby looked away. 'God, man! If you're right!' He made an effort to control his voice as he snapped, 'Make a signal to the Marie! Tell her to withdraw and take station astern. Then make the same signal to the Princesal"
But the Spanish flagship had completed her turn, and with the fresh morning breeze across her larboard bow was heading straight for the smooth waters of the harbour entrance.
Moresby said, 'Fire a gun, dammit! Make him see our signal!'
But the gun crews were still caught in the confusion of countermanded orders and it was a full three minutes before the forward gun boomed another blank charge.
Caswell said breathlessly, 'No acknowledgement, sir!'
Lieutenant Inch, who had taken no part in the general discussion said suddenly, 'I can see smoke, sir!'
Bilitho lifted his glass, seeing the rough grey- stone of the fortress suddenly stark in the harsh sunlight. As he steadied the telescope he saw the growing haze beyond the lower walls and heard Inch add doubtfully, 'Well, it wasn't gunfire.'
Bolitho looked at Moresby and saw the dismay on his face. The admiral said thickly, 'Furnace smokel They're heating shot, by God!'
Another cry from the masthead brought every glass round once more. In the twinkling of an eye the flag above the fortress had vanished. It was replaced instantly by a new one, and as it broke out to the sunlight Bolitho heard the admiral give a low murmur of disbelief, as if he had still been hanging on to some small hope, when there was none.
Bolitho closed his glass with a snap. The white flag with its new tricolour in one corner swept away all past uncertainty.
He looked at Gossett. `Wear ship, if you please. Steer east by north.' To Moresby he added quietly, `Well, sir?'