Bolitho half-smiled. Maybe it was better to be like Poland. Caring only for the immediate and the things he knew best.
He tugged out his watch and studied it. Tyacke should be standing into his proper position by now, Miranda too. It was still stark in his mind, the way Tyacke had changed places with his friend. But it was more than a gesture to save his friend, to cast himself away It was the act of a leader; what he had seen others do without a thought for the cost of it.
It did not occur to Bolitho that it was exactly what he would have done in Tyacke's position.
Jenour, who had been moving restlessly by the stern windows, straightened up and exclaimed, "Gunfire, Sir Richard! "
Bolitho gave a last lingering glance over the chart. "So it was, Stephen." He looked around the cabin which had been his hiding-place on the passage from England. From Catherine. After Miranda it was like a ship of the line. He faced Poland as feet clattered along the passageway towards the screen door.
"While others dare, we must wait, Captain." His own words depressed him, and he added shortly, "You may beat to quarters when convenient." He touched his hip as if to find his sword. "Tell Allday-"
Allday padded across the cabin. "I'm here, Sir Richard." He grinned as Bolitho raised his arm for him to fix the scabbard in place. "Like always! "
Another far-off shot brought Allday's words into sharp focus and Bolitho said quietly, "I am depending on it."
Lieutenant Tyacke reluctantly lowered his glass. It would not be sensible to be seen watching the anchored ships rather than the pursuing Miranda. But in those last brief seconds he had seen the two large ships, and they certainly had all the appearances of Dutch Indiamen. The most important factor was that they were not moving with the wind and current. So Bolitho's first impression had been right. They were anchored fore-and-aft to provide two fixed batteries of guns against any attacker, which would be in trouble enough beating against the northerly wind.
Dwyer exclaimed admiringly, "God, look at 'er go, Mr Segrave! " He was staring across the quarter at Miranda's bulging sails as she came up into the wind yet again, cutting away the distance still further so that Segrave imagined he could see Simcox aft by the tiller, his unruly hair waving in the wind.
Another puff of smoke from her bowchaser and this time the ball slammed down just a boat's length clear. Some of the spray pattered across the deck and Sperry cursed violently. "Damn you, Elias Archer. Lay another ball like that an' I'll not forgive 'ee."
Segrave licked his dry lips. Like Dwyer, the boatswain seemed to have forgotten for the moment what they were attempting to do; that it was unlikely he would get a chance to argue with Miranda's gunner ever again.
A lookout clinging in the foremast shrouds yelled, "Guardboat, sir! "
Tyacke was watching the sails and the masthead pendant. "Stand by to wear ship, Mr Sperry! " He wiped his face again, gauging the distance and the power of the wind. It had taken over an hour to get this far and penetrate the bay without any apparent opposition, although there must be many glasses trained on the one ship fleeing from another. It seemed likely that the Dutch commander might already know the Albacora, while Miranda's streaming ensign left little else to doubt.
Tyacke raised his glass again and peered at the boat just reported by the lookout. A small cutter, under a scrap of sail but with oars already angled from her rowlocks for extra power, was rounding the stern of the nearest merchantman. Metal gleamed in the sunshine, and he saw the gilt buttons of an officer in the sternsheets.
The guardboat would challenge their presence. Tyacke frowned. There was only one chance.
He called, "You! Private Buller! " The marine turned away from his place by the halliards as Tyacke added harshly, "You're supposed to be a bit of a marksman, I'm told?"
Buller met his tone with equal insolence. "Best shot in the company, sir! "
Tyacke grinned. "Right. Fetch your piece and prepare to mark down the officer in charge of the guardboat. They've got a swivel mounted in the bows, so you must not miss! "
He turned away as Buller stooped down to where his weapons were rolled up inside his telltale scarlet coat.
"All ready, sir! "
Tyacke looked steadily at Segrave. "Ready aft?"
Segrave nodded jerkily, his face pale despite the sun's glare, but strangely determined.
Tyacke walked to the taffrail and made certain that the longboat was towing clumsily astern. Once again he stared hard at the land, then across the larboard quarter where the moored storeships appeared to be falling away into the distance. Even the guardboat seemed in no hurry to close with them, especially with Miranda charging in full pursuit.
"Ready about! Helm a-lee! Let go and haul, lads! " Tyacke's voice harried them until they were sweating and gasping to perform the work normally done by twice the number of hands.
Segrave's shoes slipped, then gripped on the tarred deckseams while he threw his weight on the tiller, his eyes blind to everything but the great swinging sails and the shriek of blocks, while the schooner continued to tack into and then across the eye of the wind.
Dwyer gasped, "Come round, you bloody bitch! " But he was grinning as the sails banged out on the opposite tack to thrust the deck over even more steeply. Where there had been empty land suddenly lay the anchorage, the ships clear and real in the sunlight, even their Dutch ensigns visible against the land mass beyond.
Tyacke was holding on for support but even he gave a quick smile. This was no Miranda, but she had been used to fast handling in her rotten trade. He studied the guardboat: her sails were flapping and losing wind, and as he watched he saw the oars begin to move ahead and astern, pulling the hull around until the bow-gun was pointing, not at them but at Miranda.
Sperry gasped, "Miranda'll blow 'er clean out of the water. Wot's their game?"
The lookout shouted, "Deck there! Th' frigate's under way! "
Tyacke swung round, his heart sickened as he saw the frigate's topsails shaking out and hardening to the wind while she glided away from her inshore anchorage.
Sperry said hoarsely, "We'll not stand a chance, sir." He rubbed his eyes as if he could not believe what he saw. "She's got th' wind, God damn her! "
Tyacke said, "Let her fall off a point, Mr Segrave." He raised his glass and felt a sudden pain, as if the breath had been knocked out of him. "It's not us. It's Miranda she's going for! " Tyacke waved his arms and yelled at the top of his voice. "Run for it, Ben! In the name of Christ-come about! " Their very helplessness, and the fact that nobody aboard Miranda could possibly hear him, made his voice crack with emotion.
"Get out of it, Ben! "
Segrave asked in a whisper, "What's happening?"
Dwyer flung at him, "Th' frigate's runnin' for open sea, that's what! "
Segrave watched. Miranda's length began to shorten as she saw her danger and started to come about.
Tyacke trained his glass on the frigate. She was smaller than Truculent, but showed all the grace of her class as she changed tack, and her huge fore and main courses filled to the wind, pushing her over until he could plainly see the French Tricolour rippling from her peak. Getting away from the bay before she might be caught defending her ally's supply ships, and be held as much a prisoner as they were.
Sickened, Tyacke saw the frigate's ports open, could almost imagine the orders to aim their broadside. It was over a mile's range, but with a controlled assault it was impossible to miss.
He saw the smoke belch along the frigate's low hull, and even before he could swing his glass across the glistening water he heard the staccato crash of gunfire. The sea around and beyond the little Miranda seemed to boil, while spray burst skyward, standing in the sunlight like waterspouts-as if they were suddenly frozen and might never fall.
For one more second Tyacke clung to a spark of hope. At that range Miranda had somehow managed to escape the enemy's iron.