ALEXANDER KENT - TO GLORY WE STEER

The admiral interrupted, `And well off her allotted station incidentally!'

`Yes, Sir.' Bolitho hurried on. `Allowing for perhaps a day without wind, and a further two days to regain contact with their admiral, the two French frigates would have had ample time to examine the full extent of this Channel.' He stood back slightly as the other two captains craned over to look. `There is a whole cluster of small islands to the north of the Dominica Passage.' He paused. `The Isles des Saintes. If I were de Grasse, that is where I would make for. From that point he could swing west to Jamaica, or run for safety at Guadeloupe if Rodney's fleet is too close on his heels.' He swallowed and added, 'If our squadron moved south-east we might be in a better position to observe, and if necessary to report to Sir George Rodney what is happening!'

Sir Robert rubbed his chin. `What do you think, Cope?' sidered the matter most carefully, then de Grasse will have chosen the most unlikely route to slip past our blockade.' He

The flag captain shifted uncomfortably on his feet. `It's hard to say, sir. If Bolitho is right, and I am sure he has conadded unhelpfully, 'But of course, if he is wrong, then we will have left our allotted station without good cause!'

The admiral glared at him. `You do not have to remind me!' He turned his gaze on Fox, who was still leaning over the chart. `Well?'

Fox straightened his back. 'I think I agree with Bolitho.' He paused. `However, there is one point which he seems to have overlooked.' He jabbed at the pencilled lines with his finger. 'If Sir George Rodney flushes de Grasse away from the Dominica Passage the Frogs will certainly have the advantage. The wind is too poor to allow our fleet time to reengage before de Grasse dashes for open water.' He drew his finger slowly across the chart in a straight line. `But our squadron might be right across their line of escape!'

The admiral stirred in his chair. 'Do you think I had not considered this?' He glared at Bolitho. `Well, what do you say?'

Bolitho answered stubbornly, 'I will say we shall be in a better position to report and, if necessary, shadow the enemy, sir.'

The admiral stood up and began to pace with sudden agitation. 'If only I could get some real news! I sent the brig Witch of Looe away days ago to try and gain intelligence, but with this "damn climate what can you expect?' He stared through the open stem windows. `Sometimes we are becalmed for days on end. The war could be over for all I know!'

Bolitho said, 'I could take the Phalarope to the south'rd, sir.'

'No!' The admiral's voice was like a whipcrack. 'I will have no captain of mine taking what should be my responsibility!'

He gave a frosty smile. 'Or was it your intention to force me into this decision?' He did not wait for a reply. `Very well, gentlemen. We will make sail and proceed south-east immediately.' He stared at each of them in turn. `But I want nothing foolhardy! If we sight the enemy we will retire and report our findingss to Sir George Rodney.', Bolitho masked his disappointment. He must be content. He had not even expected Sir Robert Napier to agree to leaving the present area, let alone to commit himself to what might well be a pointless and time-wasting venture.

As: he turned to follow Fox the admiral added sharply, `And as to that other matter, Bolitho.' He rested his hand on the open envelope. 'I will deal with that in my own way. I do not wish the reputation of my ships to be tarnished by mutiny. I intend that it should stay within the squadron.' He was looking impatient again. 'As for Lieutenant Vibart, well, I suppose it cannot be helped now. A dead officer is no use to me, no matter how he died!'

Bolitho tried to think of a suitable reply. 'He died bravely, sir.'

The admiral grunted. 'So did the Christians in Rome! And damn little good it did anybody!'

Bolitho backed from the cabin and then hurried on deck to summon his boat. The sea was still speckled with small whitecaps, and the admiral's flag was streaming bravely in the freshening breeze. It was good sailing weather, he thought. And that was too rare to waste at any time.

With the ponderous two-decker between them, the frigates spread their sails and hauled off on either beam. By nightfall the wind had fallen slightly, but was still sufficient to make the sails boom with unaccustomed vigour as the yards were braced round to keep all three ships on a slow starboard tack.

Before the night fell completely to hide one vessel from another there was a final unhappy incident. Bolitho had been striding up and down the weather side of the quarterdeck when he heard Okes snap, 'Mr. Maynard! Lively there! Train your glass on the flagship. She seems to be hoisting a signal.' Bolitho had crossed the deck to watch the midshipman fumbling with his long telescope. It was strange for the admiral to be sending signals in such poor visibility. A flare would have been more effective.

Maynard had lowered his glass and looked round at the two officers. He had looked sick, as he had on the day he had discovered Evans' body. `It's no signal, sir!'

Bolitho had taken the glass from the youth's hands and trained it across the hammock netting. Coldly he had watched the small black dot rising toward the Cassius's mainyard. It had twisted as it made its slow journey. Twisted and kicked, so that in his imagination Bolitho had thought he could hear the drum's staccato roll and the steady tramp of bare feet as the selected men had hauled the choking mutineer slowly up to the yard.

Maynard was wrong about one thing. It was a signal to every man who saw it.

Bolitho had returned the glass and said, 'I am going below, Mr. Okes. See that you have the best lookouts aloft, and call me if you sight anything.' He had glanced quickly at Maynard and added quietly, 'That man, whoever he was, knew the price of his folly. Discipline demands that it be paid in full!'

He turned on his heel and walked below, despising himself for the cold unreality of his words. In his mind he seemed to hear Vibart's thick, accusing voice, still jeering at him for his weakness. What did one more death matter? Fever and unaccountable accident, the cannon's harvest or the end of a rope, it was all the same in the end.

He threw himself across his cot and stared at the deckhead. A captain had to be above such things, to be able to play God without thought for those who served him. Then he remembered Allday's words and the blind trust of men like Herrick and Stockdale. Such men deserved his attention, even his love, he thought vaguely. To use power as a tyrant was to be without honour. To be without honour was to be less than a man.

With that thought uppermost in his mind he fell into a deep sleep.

`Captain, Sir!' Midshipman Neale rested his hand anxiously on Bolitho's arm and then jumped back in alarm as the cot swayed violently to one side.

Bolitho swung his legs to the deck and stared for a long moment while his mind sought to recover from the nightmare. He had been surrounded by screaming, faceless men, and his arms had been pinioned while he felt a noose being tightened around his neck. Neale's hand had only added to the nightmare's reality, and he could still feel the sweat running across his spine.

He said harshly, `What is it?' The cabin was still in darkness, and it took him several more seconds to recover his composure.

Neale said, 'Mr. Herrick's respects, sir. He thinks you should know we've heard something.' He fell back another pace as Bolitho lurched to his feet. 'It sounded like gunfire, sir!'

Bolitho did not pause to find his coat but ran quickly to the quarterdeck. It was almost dawn, and already the sky was painted in a pale blue strip beyond the gently corkscrewing bows.

`What is it, Mr. Herrick?' He moved to the rail and cupped his hands to his ears.

Herrick stared at him uncertainly. 'I could be mistaken, sir. It might have been thunder:'

'Most unlikely.' Bolitho shivered slightly in the cool dawn breeze. `Can you seethe Cassius yet?

'No, Sir.' Herrick pointed vaguely. `There's a mist coming up. It'll be another hot day, I'm thinking.'

Bolitho stiffened as a low rumble echoed sullenly across the open water. `Maybe hotter than you think, Mr. Herrick.' He glanced up at the jerking canvas. `The wind seems to be holding.' He was suddenly aware that there were several figures already standing on the maindeck. Everyone faced forward, listening and wondering.

Bolitho said, `Call the hands.' He peered upwards again. In the dim light he could just see the masthead pendant whipping out like a pointing finger. `Take out the second reef, Mr. Herrick. And set the fores'l and spanker.'

Herrick called for a boatswain's mate, and seconds later the ship came alive to the call of pipes and the stamp of running feet.

Then Herrick said, 'I still can't see the flagship, sir.'

'We won't wait for her!' Bolitho watched the men swarming aloft and listened to the harsh bark of commands. 'That is gunfire ahead. Make no mistake about it!'

Proby came on deck buttoning his heavy coat. He seemed half asleep, but as the big spanker filled with wind and the deck canted obediently to the wind's eager thrust he contained any comment he might have felt and crossed to the wheel.

Bolitho said calmly, 'Alter course. two points to larboard, Mr. Proby.' The ship's sudden response to wind and sail had swept away the strain and sleep from his mind. He had been right. The waiting was almost over.

He looked sideways at Herrick and saw that his face was clearer in the growing light. He looked worried and not a little startled by the swift chain of events.

Bolitho said quietly, 'We will investigate, Mr. Herrick.' He pointed at the men swarming back along the yards. 'I want chain slings fitted on every yard. If we are called to action our people have enough to contend with at the guns. I don't want them crushed by falling spars.' He halted the lieutenant in his tracks. 'And have nets spread above the maindeck, too.' He made himself stand quite still by the rail, his hands resting on the worn and polished wood. He could feel the ship trembling beneath his palms, as if his thoughts were being transformed into new life, and the life was flowing through the Phalarope even as he watched.

From newly awakened chaos the ship had already settled down into a purposeful rhythm. All the weeks of training, the hours of persistent instruction were giving their rewards. Stockdale joined him by the rail. 'I'll get your coat, sir.' 'Not yet, Stockdale. That can keep for a moment longer.'

He turned as Okes appeared at the ladder, his face still crumpled from sleep. 'I want the hands to eat well this morning, Mr. Okes. I have a feeling that the gallery fire will be out for some time to come.' He saw the understanding spreading across the officer's face. `This time we will be ready!'

Like a living creature the Phalarope lifted her bows and smashed jubilantly into each succeeding rank of low waves, the spray bursting back over her forecastle in long white streamers.

Herrick reported, 'Chain slings rigged, sir.'

'Very well.' It was an effort to speak calmly. `Have the boats swung out for towing astern. If we fight today there will be enough splinters flying without the boats adding to them!'

Okes managed to ask, 'The gunfire, sir? What do you make of it?'

Bolitho saw several men pausing to listen to his reply. He said slowly, 'Two ships. One much smaller than the other by the sound of the firing. We can be sure of one thing, Mr. Okes. They cannot both be enemies!'

Herrick was back again. 'What now, sir?

'I am going down to shave and wash. When I return I will expect to hear that the men have been fed.' He smiled. 'After that, we shall have to see!'

But once back in his cabin it was almost more than he could bear to take this time to shave and change his clothes. The breakfast which Stockdale hurriedly laid on the cabin table he could not even face. By tonight, or perhaps within the next few hours, he might be dead. Or even worse, screaming for mercy under the surgeon's knife. He shuddered. It was pointless even to think of it. More, it was harmful.

Stockdale said, 'I have laid out a fresh shirt, sir.' He looked searchingly at Bolitho. 'I think you should wear your best uniform, too.'

'For heaven's sake why, man?' He stared at the coxswain's battered face in surprise.

Stockdale replied, gravely, 'This is the day, sir. I have the same feeling I had with you once before.' He added stubbornly, 'And the men will be looking to you, sir. They'll want to see you.' He nodded as if to settle the matter. 'After all that's happened they'll need to know you're with them.'

Bolitho stared at him, suddenly moved by the man's halting, broken voice. 'If you say, so, Stockdale.'

Ten minutes later a voice echoed faintly above the sounds of sea and canvas. 'Deck there! Sail on the starboard bowl'

Bolitho made himself wait just a few more seconds as Stockdale buckled on his sword, and then walked to the cabin ladder. The quarterdeck seemed -crammed with figures, all pointing and speaking at once. Every voice fell silent as Bolitho walked to the rail to take a telescope from Maynard.

Through the frigate's criss-cross of rigging he could see the distorted patterns of tossing whitecaps beyond her bows. The sky was already clear, but the water seemed to writhe in the grip of a slow-moving sea mist, and for once the new day felt drained of warmth.

Then he saw them. Two ships close together, their hulls hidden in a dense cloud of smoke and mist, their tattered sails hanging disembodied above the hidden battle below.

But the flags were easily visible. One blood red, like that which flew above him. The other clear and white. The flag of France.

He closed the telescope with a snap. `Very well, Mr. Okes. Beat to quarters and clear for action!'

His eyes held there a moment longer. `We must give well of ourselves today, gentlemen. If our people see us doing our best, they will be willing enough to do their duty!'

He half listened to the distant thunder of gunfire. `Carry on, Mr. Okes!'

They all touched their hats and then looked at one another, as if each man realised that for some, maybe for all of them, it would be the last time.

Then the drum began to rattle, and the small moment was past.

17. FORM LINE OF BATTLE!

Within ten minutes of the drum's urgent tattoo the Phalarope was cleared for action. Decks were sanded and buckets of water stood within reach of every gun. Over the whole ship there had fallen a strange, gripping stillness, broken only by the uneasy slap of canvas and the steady sluice of water around the stem.

Bolitho shaded his eyes and watched the sun's unearthly orange glow as it tried to filter through the unending wall of sea mist. The bang and clatter of gunfire had become more uneven and sporadic with each dragging minute, and now as the distance fell away between the Phalarope and the other ships there came new sounds, more vicious,, and somehow more personal. Bolitho could hear the sharp cracks of muskets and pistols, the jarring scrape of steel against steel, and above all the mingling cries of men fighting for their lives.

Okes wiped his face with the back of his hand and said quickly, `This damn mist! I can't see what's happening!'

Bolitho glanced at him briefly. `It is a godsend, Mr. Okes. They are too busy to see us!' He lifted his hand to the quartermaster. `Starboard a point!' Then he walked to the rail and looked down at Herrick's upturned face.