He saw some Royal Marines on the mizzen-top, their scarlet coats very bright while they leaned over the barricade to watch for the brig Upholder. Bolitho would have dearly liked to climb up past them without caring, as Jenour had done. He touched his left eyelid, then blinked at the reflected sunlight. Deceptively clear, but the worry was always there.
He looked along the upper deck, the gun crews standing down to go about their normal tasks as the first tension disappeared with the night.
So many miles. Too many memories. During the night when he had lain awake in his cot listening to the sluice and creak of the sea around the rudder he had recalled another time when Hyperion had sailed this far, while he had been her captain. They had slipped past the Isles of Pascua in the darkness and Bolitho could remember exactly that dawn attack on the French ships anchored there. And it was nine years ago. The same ship. But was he still the same man?
He glanced up at the mizzen top and was suddenly angry with himself.
'Hand me that glass, if you please.' He took it from a startled midshipman and walked purposefully to the weather shrouds. He could feel Haven watching him, saw Parris trying not to stare from the larboard gangway where he was in discussion with Sam Lintott, the boatswain. Probably telling him when to rig the gratings so that punishment could be carried out as ordered.
Then he saw Allday squinting up from the maindeck, his jaw still working on a piece of biscuit while he, too, stared with astonishment. Bolitho swung himself up and around the shrouds and felt the ratlines quiver with each step while the big signals telescope bounced against his hip like a quiver of arrows.
It was easier than he would have believed, but as he clambered into the top he decided it was far enough.
The marines stood back, nudging and grinning to each other. Bolitho was able to recall the name of the corporal, a fierce-looking man who had been a Norfolk poacher before he signed on with the Corps. Not before time, Major Adams had hinted darkly.
'Where is she, Corporal Rogate?'
The marine pointed. 'Yonder, sir! Larboard bow!'
Bolitho steadied the long telescope and watched as the brig's narrow poop and braced yards leapt into view. Figures moved about Upholder's quarterdeck, steeply angled as the ship heeled over to show her bright copper to the early sunshine.
Bolitho waited for Hyperion to sway upright and for the mizzen topmast to restrain its shivering, and beyond Upholderhe saw a tan-coloured pyramid of sails. Thor was ready and waiting.
He lowered the glass as if to bring his thoughts into equal focus. Had he decided from the very beginning that he would lead the attack? If it failed, he would be taken prisoner, or… He gave a grim smile. The or did not bear thinking about.
Corporal Rogate saw the secret smile and wondered how he would describe it to the others during the next watch below. How the admiral had spoken to him, just like another Royal. One of us.
Bolitho knew that if he sent another officer and the plan misfired, the blame would be laid at his door anyway.
They had to trust him. In his heart Bolitho knew that the next months were crucial for England, and for the fleet in particular. Leadership and trust went hand in hand. To most of his command he was a stranger and their trust had to be earned.
He considered his argument with sudden contempt. Death-wish. Was that a part of it too?
He concentrated on the brig's sturdy shape as she ducked and rose across steep waves. In his mind's eye he could already see the land as it would appear when they drew nearer. The anchorage at La Guaira consisted mainly of an open roadstead across the front of the town. It was known to be heavily defended by several fortresses, some of which were quite newly constructed because of the comings and goings of treasure-ships. Although La Guaira was just six miles or so from the capital, Caracas, the latter could only be reached by a twisting, mountainous road some four times that distance.
As soon as Hyperion and her consorts were sighted the Spanish authorities would send word to the capital with all the haste they could manage. Because of the time it would take on that precarious road, La Guaira might just as well be an island, he thought. All the intelligence they had been able to gather from traders and blockade-runners alike pointed to the captured frigate Consort being at Puerto Cabello, eighty miles further westward along the coast of the Main.
But suppose the enemy did not fall for the ruse, would not believe that the British men-of-war were intending to cut out the new addition to their fleet?
So much depended on Price's maps and observations, and above all, luck,
He looked down at the deck far below and bit his lip. He knew he would never have sent a subordinate to carry out such a mission even nine years back when he had commanded the old Hyperion. He glanced at the marines. 'There's work for all of you soon, my lads.'
He swung himself down on to the futtock shrouds, more conscious of their faces split into huge grins than of the wind which flapped around his coat as if to fling him to the deck. It was so easy. A word, a smile, and they would die for you. It made him feel bitter and humble at the same time.
By the time he had reached the quarterdeck his mind had cleared. 'Very well. In one hour we shall alter course to the sou' west.' He saw the others nod. 'Have Upholder and Tetrarch tack closer to the land. I don't want the Dons to get near enough to see our strength.' He saw Penhaligon the sailing master give a wry smile and added, 'Or our lack of it. Thor will hold to windward of us in company with Vesta. Let me know when it is light enough to make signals.' He turned towards the poop and then paused. 'Captain Haven, a moment if you please.'
In the great cabin the strengthening sunlight made strange patterns on the caked salt which had spattered the stern windows. Most of the ship had been cleared for action before dawn. Bolitho's quarters were like a reminder of better times, until these screens were taken down, and the cabin furniture with all traces of his occupation here were taken to the security of the hold. He glanced at the black-barrelled nine-pounders which faced their closed ports on either side of the cabin. Then these two beauties would have the place to themselves.
Haven waited for Ozzard to close the screen door and withdraw, then stood with his feet apart, his hat balanced in both hands.
Bolitho looked at the sea beyond the smeared glass. 'I intend to shift to Thor at dusk. You will take Hyperion with Vesta and Tetrarch in company. By first light tomorrow you should be in sight of Puerto Cabello and the enemy will be convinced that you intend to attack. They will not know your full strength – we have been lucky in reaching this far undetected.' He turned in time to see the captain gripping his hat so fiercely that it buckled in his fingers. He had expected an outburst or perhaps the outline of an alternative strategy. Haven said nothing, but stared at him as if he had misheard.
Bolitho continued quietly, 'There is no other way. If we are to capture or destroy a treasure-ship it must be done at anchor. We have too few ships for an extended search if she slips past us.'
Haven swallowed hard. 'But to go yourself, sir? In my experience I have never known such a thing.'
'With God's help and a little luck, Captain Haven, I should be in position in the shallows to the west of La Guaira at the very moment you are making your mock attack.' He faced him steadily. 'Do not risk your ships. If a large enemy force arrives you will discontinue the action and stand away. The wind is still steady at north-by-west. Mr Penhaligon believes it may back directly which would be in our favour.'