FORM LINE OF BATTLE!

When the clamour and noise died away Herrick hurried once more to the quarterdeck and reported, 'Cleared for action, sir!'

Bolitho was still looking at the masthead, his eyes thoughtful. Then he said, 'Hyperion has been on the fringe of things for too long, Thomas. That flag will ensure our proper place in affairs this morning!' He met Herrick's anxious stare and added, 'So you see, I could not transfer Sir Edmund to Tenacious even if I wanted tol'

Piper had climbed up to the maintop to get a better view. 'Deck there! The leading ship is wearing our colours, sir!'

Bolitho banged his palms together. 'Did I not say so, Thomas?' He was trembling inwardly with excitement. 'Have chain slings rigged to the yards immediately, and lower all boats for towing astern! We want no additional woodwork about our ears this day, Thomas!'

Herrick passed his order and stood aside as Tomlin's spare hands dashed aft to secure. the towing lines. A ball striking a boat while it lay inboard could fill the air with murderous splinters. But, nevertheless, he felt vaguely uneasy as first one and then the rest of the boats were swung outboard and dropped alongside. It was like casting off the last chance of safety, he thought.

Bolitho said distantly, 'Signal Chanticleer to take station to lee'rd. I do not want her to follow Snipe's fate.' He too was watching the boats being passed aft until they bobbed astern at the full extent of their lines. 'The sloop can watch the battle and give us some encouragement!'

Herrick stared at him. How could he do it? To be so calm, so utterly indifferent to the approaching danger.

Bolitho did not see Herrick's expression. He was looking along the full length and breadth of his command. Each detail must be checked. Soon there would be no more time.

Every gun was manned, and each captain was busily looking over his crew and equipment, while back and forth to the magazine hatch the little powder monkeys ran with their shot carriers and charges, their faces engrossed and concentrated on their tasks, their only purpose in life to keep those muzzles supplied when the moment came.

The marines lined the nettings, bayonets fixed and muskets at the ready. And forward by the carronades he could see Lieutenant Shanks with his own, detachment, his back to the enemy as he stared aft to the quarterdeck.

Rooke and young Gordon were pacing together between their lines of guns, and Bolitho wondered momentarily what they were finding to discuss.

He glanced round the quarterdeck. The nerve centre which could decide the fate of every single life aboard. Caswell was by the nine-pounders, but his eyes were on Piper and Seton at the 'signal halyards. He was remembering his own past, Bolitho decided. It would be better if he thought of his future.

Bolitho could not bear the waiting. He said, 'I am going below, Mr. Herrick. Then I will see the admiral.' He glanced up at the masthead pendant. 'It will be an hour before we close with them.' He listened to the intermittent boom of gunfire. It was indeed like thunder.

Then he turned and climbed down the larboard ladder. The overall picture of preparation seemed to break up as he approached and individual faces stood out to bring back some past event or memory.

A grizzled gun-captain touched his forehead and said, 'Us'll show 'em today, sir!' He laid a horny hand on the breech of his twelve-pounder. 'Old Maggie 'ere is just bidin' 'er time!' The men around him grinned and nodded.

Bolitho paused and looked at them gravely. 'Do your best, lads.' He shook himself to drive away the realisation that before many hours some of these faces would be dead, and others praying for death to receive them. He said abruptly, 'Make sure they have their scarves around their ears. When we reach England I want them to hear the welcome they'll get!' It was terrible the way they laughed and cheered as he passed.

Almost blindly he ran down another ladder and stood for a few moments to allow his eyes to recover. On the lower gundeck it seemed like night after the grey light above. But soon now those ports would fly open and the guns would make this low-beamed place shudder with the hammers of hell.

Inch was now at his station with the big twenty-fourpounders, and was actually grinning as he strode to meet his captain.

Bolitho said, 'Do not lose contact with the upper battery. And try to prevent your gunners from getting too excited. We are depending on you today!'

Inch nodded. 'Midshipman Lory is with me, sir. He can keep me informed.'

Bolitho saw the double line of guns, the eyes of their crews glittering in the gloom as they peered towards him.

He called briefly, 'Good luck, lads!'

He glanced at the red-painted sides and decks. They might help to hide the blood, but the sights would be bad enough. He saw the midshipman watching him and recalled his own terrible experience in his first ship. Almost thirteen years old, and he had been serving on the lower gundeck of a similar ship to Hyperion. Perhaps the very horror had been too unreal to unhinge him, he thought vaguely. There could be no other reason.

Bolitho was grateful to return to the daylight and the damp air. But as he walked aft into his cabin he wondered what he should do with Pomfret. What might it do to his mind if he was shut below in the orlop?

Rowlstone stood by the windows, staring listlessly at the Tenacious. He asked, 'Shall I go to my station, sir?'

Bolitho did not answer immediately. He walked to the open door of his sleeping cabin and stared past Fanshawe's drooping figure beside the cot. Pomfret was propped almost to a sitting position, his chest bared in the stuffy air, his eyes moving back and forth in time with a deckhead lantern.

Bolitho spoke very quietly, 'We are about to engage the enemy, sir. Do you have any orders at present?'

The pale eyes stopped and settled on his face.

Fanshawe said helplessly, 'I don't think he understands, sir.'

Bolitho said slowly, 'Sir Edmund, the French are out!' But Pomfret's eyes did not even blink.

From behind him he heard Rowlstone say, 'I'll have him carried to the sickbay, sir. I can keep an eye on him there.'

Bolitho caught his arm. 'A moment!' He was watching Pomfret's hands. Like two claws they had fastened to the sides of the cot, the knuckles bone-white with strain. Then his mouth opened very slightly, but no words came from it.

Bolitho looked straight into Pomfret's eyes, holding them, willing him to speak. For just an instant he saw a small understanding, a kind of defiance, like that of a trapped animal facing an enemy.

He said quietly, 'You stay with him here, Mr. Fsnshawe.' Pomfret's fingers relaxed slightly, and he added, 'I will keep the admiral informed whenever I can.' Then he turned on his heel and walked back to the quarterdeck.'

The distant firing had stopped, and as he levelled his glass he saw that the ships were clearly visible now. The one being pursued was a seventy-four, like Hyperion, and as she tacked slightly to windward he saw that her outline was marred by the loss of her mizzen. But she had managed to rig a crude jurymast, and her ensign was streaming bravely above the pockmarked sails as more flags broke from her yards.

Piper shrilled, 'She's the Zenith, seventy-four, Cap'n Stewart, sir!'

Bolitho nodded, but kept his glass trained beyond the battle-scarred ship towards the jumbled mass of white topsails. He counted six enemy vessels before he had to lower the glass to rest his eye. They were in a ragged line, and were already tacking slowly to windward, their hulls leaning over in the pressure.

Herrick lowered his glass and said, 'They have the windgage, sir. There's no doubt about it.'

Bolitho looked round the quarterdeck. 'General signal. "Form line of battle ahead and astern of the admiral!" '

He ignored the burst of feverish activity at the halyards. He knew Stewart vaguely. He was a good captain, and was already tacking his ship to face the enemy. Astern, Dash was acknowledging the signal, and in minutes Bolitho saw the yards begin to swing as the Tenacious manoeuvred comfortably astern of the flagship.