"God be with you, Adam."
"And you," he hesitated, "Uncle." He shot a smile towards Herrick and then hurried down the companion.
"Deck there! Sails in sight on the larboard bow!" Bolitho snapped, "Aloft with you, Mr. Veitch. I’d like a firm opinion this morning."
He stared at the sky, now pale blue and devoid of cloud.
The red blobs of the marine marksmen and swivel gunners in the tops, the great yards and black tarred rigging. A living, vital weapon of war. The most complex and harshly demanding creation of man. Yet in the weak sunlight Lysander had a true beauty, which even her bulk and tonnage could not spoil.
He crossed to the larboard side and clung to the neatly stacked hammock nettings. Harebell was already fighting round in a steep tack, her topsails flapping, her topgallants and maincourse being set even as he watched.
Astern he could see the black lines of Nicator's weather shrouds and tumblehome, but her outline, and Immortalite's, too, were hidden beyond the sloping poop.
Major Leroux ran lightly down a ladder and raised his drawn sword to his hat with a flourish.
"I have arranged my men as you ordered, sir. The best marksmen where they will be unhampered by those less accurate." He smiled, his eyes far-away. "Maybe the French will expect to meet with Nelson?"
Herrick heard him and laughed. "Our gallant admiral must take his turn!"
Veitch returned to the deck by way of a backstay with as much ease as a twelve-year-old midshipman.
He wiped his hands on his coat and said, "It is the enemy fleet, sir. They seem to be steering south-east, and the bulk of it lies well to windward. " He hesitated and then said, "There is a second squadron directly across our bows on a converging Jack, sir. I had a good look at it, and I am certain that one or more of the ships were at Corfu. One of "em was painted in red and black. I saw her just now, as plain as day." Bolitho looked at Herrick and drove one fist into his palm. "De Brueys is holding his main squadron to the west of us, Thomas! He must still expect a chance to meet with our fleet!"
Herrick nodded and said bitterly, "If he only knew that they had already gone from here!"
Bolitho seized his arm. "Mr. Veitch is not mistaken!" He looked at both of them, willing them to understand. "De Brueys has kept his other supply ships to the east"rd, protected by his lines of battle!"
"Then I’ll warrant our appearance is causing some cackling!" Herrick climbed into the weather shrouds with a telescope. "I can just make out some sails on the horizon. But you may well be right, Mr. Veitch! Our Frenchmen are protecting their charges from the wrong direction!" He said in a duller voice, "But the French have plenty of time to re-arrange their defences. "
Bolitho toyed with the idea of going up to the topgallant yard to see for himself.
"There are but three of us, Thomas. The French will have sighted Harebell and may assume she is about to relay our signals to the main fleet."
Leroux said quietly, "Then I’d not be in Commander Inch's boots."
Some of the gun crews had left their weapons and stood on the gangways to watch the enemy's slow approach. Like plumed cavalry topping a hard blue rise, the masts and sails began to show themselves even to the men on the gun deck. More and still more, until the horizon seemed engulfed by their sails.
"A fleet indeed, Thomas."
Bolitho tilted his hat to keep the light from his eyes. He could feel the sun on his right cheek, the clinging weight of his coat. It would be hotter than this soon. In more ways than one.
Hour ran into hour, and as the sunlight grew stronger and harsher, the enemy ships took on style and personality. The
measured lines of French seventy-fours, and the. whole dominated by one great first-rate, the largest ship Bolitho had ever seen. That would be de Brueys's flagship. He wondered what the French admiral was thinking, how the small line of British ships would look to him and his officers. He wondered, too, if Bonaparte was there with him, watching and despising their brave gesture. Bonaparte was their one real hope. De Brueys was a very experienced and courageous officer, and of all those present he probably understood his enemy's navy best. His intelligence and cunning were well known and respected. But would Bonaparte be willing to listen to advice now, with Egypt almost in sight and nothing but three ships in his way?
He said, "Tell your marines to strike up a tune of some kind, Major. This waiting burrs the edge off a man's strength. I know it does off mine!"
Moments later the drums and fifes led off with The Old East Indiaman, the youthful marines marching up and down the quarterdeck, stumbling only occasionally over a gun tackle or a seaman's out-thrust leg.
After some hesitation, and the knowing grins from his mates, Grubb delved into his pocket and joined the fifes with his tin whistle, the one which had become something of a legend.
"Deck there! Enemy frigate steerin" due south, sir!"
'she's after Harebell, sir!"
Bolitho gripped his hands behind him, as with a growing pyramid of sails a powerful frigate tacked away from the unending line of ships and headed towards the sloop.
Inch had the edge on her. With this slow south-westerly it would be hard for the French captain to overreach him now, and unless he crippled Harebell with a long shot from a bow chaser, he should be safely clear."
A gun echoed dully across the glittering water, and a thin white fin spurted in the sunlight. It was well short, and brought a ripple of cheers from the watchers in the tops.
The deck tilted heavily, and one of the marching drummer boys almost pitched headlong.
Grubb thrust his whistle into his coat and growled, "Wind's gettin" up, sir!" To his helmsmen he added, "Watch it, my beauties!"
Bolitho looked at Herrick. "You may load and run out when you are ready."
He felt the ship lifting and then dipping into a low swell, the spray darting through the beakhead like broken glass."
Herrick cupped his hands. "Mr. Veitch! Pass the word! Load and run out!"
Leroux said to his lieutenant, "Bless my soul, Peter, I do believe that the French are keeping their formations!"
Nepean peered at him vacantly. "But that will surely take us right amongst the second group, sir? Those supply ships seem to be heavily protected also." He swallowed hard and blinked the sweat from his eyes." "Pan my word, sir, I think you"re right!"
The major looked up at the poop. 'sar"nt Gritton! Spread your sharpshooters to either side! At this rate I think we will be into the enemy's centre before he knows it!"
Bolitho heard all of it. The busy clatter of rammers and handspikes, the shrill of whistles as the guns were run out, one side gleaming like teeth, the other still in a purple shadow.
Bolitho thought of Pascoe and his great charges, three decks beneath his feet. He wanted him here with him, and yet knew that the lower deck was probably safer.
"Run out, sir!"
Bolitho took a glass from Midshipman Saxby and it almost dropped to the deck. The boy was shaking badly and trying not to, show it. Bolitho ran up a poop ladder and trained the glass astern.
He said sharply, 'signal to Nicator, Mr. Glasson: Make more sail."
He returned to the quarterdeck and said, "We want no great gap between us."
The remark reminded him of Saxby and he said quietly, "Take this glass, my lad, and go aft with the marines. Keep levelled on Nicator for me, until I say otherwise."