He pictured the French two-decker as he had seen her in the glass. She was slightly bigger than Hyperion, but more to the point would be much faster, having been snug in harbour and able to receive the full attention of dockyard and riggers.
He made up his mind. 'Alter course two points to larboard. We will lay the ship on the convoy's quarter. Signal Harvester to take up station to windward of the leading ship immediately.'
'And Snipe, sir?' Rooke sounded tense.
'She can retain her present position, I think.' He imagined the havoc and complete destruction which a frigate's broadside could make of the sloop's frail timbers. `The next move will be made by the enemy very soon now.'
With her yards braced round the Hyperion edged slowly across the wake of the other ships in the convoy, while the Harvester, her topgallants and royals ballooning with sudden eagerness, sped recklessly past the Justice's stem and then tacked with equal dash towards the leading transport Erebus.
Lieutenant Dalby called, 'The frigates have gone about, sir!'
Bolitho shaded his eyes and watched the two ships swinging round and heeling sharply to the wind. When they had completed their manoeuvre they would be running parallel with the convoy, some five miles clear. Even without his glass Bolitho could see that their gunports were still closed, each captain no doubt concentrating on laying himself in the most advantageous position.
The two-decker sailed majestically on her original course as if to pass astern of the convoy and ignore it completely. Bolitho bit his lip. Her captain was doing exactly as he would have done. The two frigates would swoop down on the convoy and attack either the Harvester or the leading ship, or both together. If Hyperion closed to support the Harvester it would take some time to beat back and protect the rear of the convoy, and by then the enemy two-decker would have pounced. It was the oldest lesson of war. Divide and conquer.
Gossett intoned, 'Course nor' by east, sir, full an' bye.'
'Very well.' He stared up at the masthead pendant. 'Signal the convoy to make all available sail.' To Rooke he added sharply, 'Get the royals on her again, I want to see what the two-decker intends to do then!'
With all sail set the Hyperion gathered way in time with the transports, and the effect on the French ships was instantaneous. The senior captain had no doubt expected Bolitho to close up his convoy and protect them as best he could from a two-pronged attack. Running away was as unlikely as it was impracticable. But with the ships already drawing away from his guns the Frenchman had no alternaive but to give chase.
Captain Ashby breathed out slowly. 'There he goes, by God!'
The tall two-decker was already tacking, her topsails flapping wildly as she swung across the wind. So quick was her response to Bolitho's tactics that she seemed to lean right down into the white-capped water until her mainyard appeared to slash at the wavecrests, her lower gunports completely hidden- beneath the cream and surge of her own efforts.
Her sail drill was less efficient than Hyperion's, and that was probably because she had spent more time at anchor than at sea, but within fifteen minutes she too had spread her royals and topgallants in one giant pyramid of gleaming canvas.
Rooke said flatly, `She's overhauling us, sir. She'll be up to us in thirty minutes.'
But Bolitho was staring ahead watching the Justice. She was less than a mile away now, and like the other transports was finding the pace too demanding. The two enemy frigates were standing in closer to the lead ships, and as he strained his eyes through the crisscross of rigging he saw a puff of smoke from the leading one and a ripple of bright flashes.
It seemed an age before the dull rumble of gunfire reached back to him, then he said, 'You may load now, Mr. Rooke. See that the first broadside is double-spotted with a measure of grape for good fortune!' The first aimed salvo was usually the last to be fired with time to spare. After that men fired more from familiarity than anything else. And down on the lower gundeck it would be even worse. With hardly enough room to stand upright, the crews would fight their guns in a crazed world of dense, choking smoke, or semi-darkness and horror which was better unseen.
'Harvester has returned fire, sirl'
Bolitho nodded, half-watching the gunners as they cradled
!, the gleaming balls from the racks and rammed them down the gaping muzzles. The more practised gun-captains checked each ball with something like loving care before loading. Some were better rounded than others. They would go with that first order to fire.
'Make a signal to Harvester. "You are at liberty to engage the enemy."' He almost smiled at the empty words. 'Not that he has any choice.'
Rooke asked, 'Shall we run out, sir?' He was staring across the larboard quarter watching the French ship cutting away the distance as she drove effortlessly towards the convoy. Her captain was level-headed enough to stay just that much upwind of the slower Hyperion. If Bolitho turned away he would present his ship's stern to the French broadside. At close range that would be enough to reduce the between-decks to a slaughterhouse, and probably dismast her into the bargain. If he held his present course it would be a gun-for-gun battle, with the Frenchman holding his advantage and Hyperion unable to tack in either directon without receiving crippling damage.
`Not yet, Mr. Rooke.' His voice was quite controlled, but as he watched the other ship's shadow rising and falling across the glittering water he guessed that Rooke probably imagined he was running away, either from fear or from a complete inability to think of a plan to avoid destruction.
He glanced quickly at the masthead again. He hardly dared to look for fear his eye had deceived him. But the pendant was at a different angle. Only very slight, but it was all he had.
To Gossett he said evenly, `The wind has veered a point, I believe?'
The master stared at him. 'Well, yes, sir. Just a mite.' He sounded surprised that it should matter.
Bolitho controlled the rising tension in his thoughts. He had to use all his will to shut out the distant crash of gunfire as the frigates engaged the solitary Harvester, even to crush the lurking fear that he had already misjudged the situation around him.
'Very well, Mr. Rooke. Shorten sail. Get the royals and 'gallants off her.' He gripped his hands behind him as the topmen swarmed along the yards. 'Now you may run out the larboard battery.'
The Hyperion seemed to sink forward into a trough as the power died in her extra sails. The weeds on her bottom acted as a brake, and Bolitho could see the mizzen topgallant shivering like a tree in a wind and felt the vibration transmitting itself through the planks under his shoes.
Then he walked to the larboard side of the quarterdeck and leaned out to watch as the double line of gunports swung upwards, and seconds later he heard the squeal of trucks as the sweating seamen threw themselves against the tackles and hauled their heavy weapons up the canting deck. A shaft of sunlight touched the black muzzles as they poked from the open ports and Rooke called, 'Run out, sir!'
He gave a slight shiver and turned to watch the Frenchman. She was barely a cable's length astern now, and even though she too was shortening sail, would be alongside in minutes. To the French captain it would look as if Bolitho had tried to drive his convoy to safety under full sail but had failed and was now falling back to accept full payment for his folly.
Bolitho licked his lips. They felt like dust. To Gossett he said slowly, `Stand by to wear ship, Mr. Gossett. In two minutes I intend to go about across his bows!' He did not see the stunned look on Gossett's face. He was looking at the other two-decker. She had run out her starboard battery, and on her gangways he could see clumps of figures and the gleam of sunlight on levelled muskets and cutlasses.
`Aye, aye, sir!' Gossett had recovered his voice again.