To Glory We Steer

16

A SPECIAL SORT OF MAN

Midshipman Maynard tapped on the door of Bolitho's cabin and reported breathlessly, `Mr. Herrick's respects, sir, and we have just sighted two sail on the starboard bow.' He darted a quick glance at the other officers who were standing beside Bolitho's desk. `It's the flagship, and the frigate Volcano.'

Bolitho nodded, his face thoughtful. `Thank you. My compliments to Mr. Herrick. Tell him to tack the ship to intercept.' He paused. `And have the prisoners ready to be sent across to Cassius.'

He listened to Maynard's feet scurrying up the cabin ladder and then turned back to the other officers. `Well, gentlemen, at last we have found the flagship.'

It had been two days since the Phalarope had crept away from the small islets. Two long days in which to think back on mutiny and murder. Bolitho had broken his normal practice of appearing regularly on the quarterdeck, and had spent long, brooding hours in his cabin, reliving each moment, torturing himself with regrets and recriminations.

He looked down at the chart and said slowly, `From what Allday described, I would say that the French are out in force. The two frigates were probably feelers from de Grasse's main fleet. If so, they have changed their plans.' He tapped the chart with one finger. `De Grasse would never waste frigates at a time like this. It looks to me as if he intends to avoid all the main channels and will use the Dominica Passage. That way he might well bypass our patrols.' He stopped thinking aloud, and with sudden briskness rolled up the chart and laid it to one side.

He said, `I shall go over to the Cassius and speak to the admiral.' He glanced at the neat pile of reports on the desk. `There is much that Sir Robert will wish to know.' How trite it sounded, he thought bitterly. Like items in the ship's log, bald of feeling or humanity. How could he describe the atmosphere on the maindeck when he had spoken a prayer before the shrouded corpses had slid over the side?

Lieutenant Vibart's body, alongside those of the dead mutineers. The rest of the crew had gathered round in silence.

Not just a silence of respect or sadness, but something much deeper. It was like an air of shanle, a combined feeling of guilt.

He stared at the watching officers beside him. Okes and Rennie. Farquhar and Proby.

Bolitho continued in the same curt tone, `You all showed great resource and courage. I have made a full report and I trust it will receive proper attention.' He did not add that without such a report from the ship's captain the story of the brief, savage mutiny would overshadow all else with the admiral and his superiors. As it was it might still be insufficient to save the ship's name from further harm.

He looked hard at Okes. `You will take over as first lieutenant of course, and Mr. Herrick will assume your duties forthwith.' He switched his gaze to Farquhar. `I do not have to add to what I have put in my report about you. You are appointed acting lieutenant immediately. I have no doubt whatever that it will be confirmed with equal speed.'

Farquhar said, `Thank you, sir.' He looked round as if expecting to see an immediate change in his surroundings. `I am very grateful.'

Okes said nervously, `I still can't believe that Mr. Vibart is dead.'

Bolitho eyed him impassively. `Death is the only thing which is inevitable, Mr. Okes. Yet it is the one thing we can never take for granted!'

There was a tap at the door and Stockdale peered in. `Flagship is signalling, Captain. For you to report on board as soon as possible.'

`Very well, Stockdale. Call away my boat's crew.' He added to the others, `Remember this, gentlemen. The Phalarope was nearly lost by mutiny.' He allowed his tongue to linger on the word. `What we have to decide now is. whether we have gained anything by a reprieve.' He saw their quick exchange of glances and continued, `The ship is either cleansed of evil or smeared by shame. The choice is ours. Yours and mine!' He looked around their grave faces. `That is all. You may go.'

Stockdale reappeared as the officers filed out, and busied himself getting Bolitho's hat and sword. He said, `Allday is waiting to see you, Captain.' He sounded disapproving.

`Yes, I sent for him.' He listened to the squeal of blocks as the gig was hoisted out, and remembered Stockdale's stricken face as he had returned with the rest of the shore party. He had stared round the stained deck at the corpses and then at his captain. He had said brokenly, `I should never have left you, Captain! Not for an instant!' It was as if he believed he had failed Bolitho. He seemed to think that if he had stayed aboard the mutiny could never have happened.

Bolitho said quietly, 'Send him in. He is a good seaman, Stockdale. I wronged him, not the other way about!'

Stockdale shook his head, but shambled away to fetch the man who had broken the mutiny.

And what a risk he had taken, Bolitho thought. He had walked back towards the searching marines, knowing full well that they were unaware of his innocence, and that any man might shoot him down without waiting for an explanation. Allday had found Okess and Farquhar, and together it seemed they had decided it best for Allday to try to reach the ship unsupported by anyone but Ferguson. It was a right decision, and a brave one. If Onslow had seen a boatload of men approaching the ship the balance would have tipped in his favour.

There was a tap at the door and Allday stepped into the cabin. Dressed in white trousers and checked shirt, his long hair tied back with a length of codline, he looked every inch the landsman's idea of a sailor. On his cheek and neck there were two diagnonal scars where Brock had struck with his cane.

Bolitho faced him for several seconds. Then he said, 'I called you here to thank you properly for what you did, Allday. I wish I could say something which would help clean away the wrong which was done you.' He shrugged. 'But I know of no such reward.'

Allday relaxed slightly. 'I understand, sir. As it was, it all turned out for the best.' He grinned self-consciously. 'I was a bit scared, I can tell you, sir.' His eyes hardened. 'But when I saw Onslow, that was enough! I'm glad I was able to kill him!'

Bolitho studied Allday with new interest. He had a cleancut, intelligent face, and but for his total lack of education might have gone far and done well by himself.

'Onslow should be a lesson to all of us, Allday.' Bolitho walked to the stern windows, his mind going back over the thought which had nagged him most since the mutiny. 'He was doomed by his life and circumstances. It is up to us not to make any' more Onslows through cruelty or. lack of understanding.' He swung round. 'No, Allday, I faied with Onslow. He was just a man like the rest of us. He never stood a real chance from the day he was born!'

Allday stared at him with surprise. 'There was nothing you could have done for him, if you'll excuse me saying so.' He spread his hands. 'He was a bad one, and I've seen a few in my time!'

Maynard peered in the door. 'Closing the flagship now, sir. Ready to lower the gig.'

'Very good.' Bolitho looked at Allday. 'Is there anything I can do for you?'

Allday shifted uncomfortably. 'There is one thing, sir.' Then he lifted his chin, his eyes suddenly clear and determined. 'It's about Ferguson, your clerk, sir. Are you sending him over with the other mutineers?'

Bolitho spread his arms to allow Stockdale to buckle on his sword. 'That was the intention, Allday.' He frowned. 'I know he came back with you, and did much to repair the damage he had done by his complicity with Onslow. But,' he shrugged, 'there are several charges against him. He aided the mutineers with confidential information, without which any sort of uprising might have been impossible. He attacked a sentry and released a prisoner, the guilt or innocence of whom had not been decided.' He picked up his hat and stared at it. 'Do you think he should warrant complete pardon?'

Allday said quietly, 'Remember what you said about Onslow, sir? Ferguson's no real sailor, and never will be.' He smiled sadly: 'I've looked after him since we were pressed together. If you do this to him I shall feel I've let him down.

I shall feel as you do now over Onslow!'

Bolitho nodded. 'I will have to think about it.' He walked to the ladder, ducking below the beams. Then he said, 'Thank you, Allday. You put a forceful argument.'

He ran up into the sunlight and looked quickly across at the Cassius. She looked big and reliable against the blue water, and he could see the other frigate hove to beyond her.

Herrick touched his hat. 'Gig ready, sir.' He glanced ques tioningly at the silent group of manacled men by the entry port. 'Shall I send 'em over while you're with the admiral?'

'If you please, Mr. Herrick.' Bolitho caught sight of Allday's tall figure beside the cabin hatch and added sharply, 'But have Ferguson kept aboard. I will deal with him myself.'

Herrick looked mystified. 'Ferguson, sir?'

Bolitho eyed him coldly. 'He is my clerk, Mr. Herrick! Have you forgotten so soon that you chose him for me?' He gave a brief smile and saw the relief flooding across the other man's face.

'Aye, aye, sir!' Herrick strode to the rail. 'Man the side there! Stand by for the captain!'

The pipes trilled and Bolitho vanished down into the boat.

Herrick looked round as old Proby mumbled, `How old is he? Twenty-five or six?' He gave a deep sigh. `I'm twice his age and more beside, and there others like me aboard the Phalarope.' He watched the little gig skimming through the whitecaps towards the swaying ship of the line. `Yet he's like a father to all of us!' He shook his head. `Have you seen the way the crew look at him now, Mr. Herrick? Like children caught out doing wrong. They know how he feels what has happened, how their shame is more'n doubled for him!'

Herrick stared at him. It was rare for the master to say so much all at once. `I never realised that you admired him, too!'

Proby pouted his pendulous lower lip. 'I'm too old for admiration, Mr. Herrick. It's deeper'n that. Our captain is a special sort of man.' He frowned and then added, 'I'd die for him, and willingly. I can't say more'n that!' He turned with sudden anger. `Blast me, Mr. Herrick! How can you let' me go on like that?' He shuffled noisily across the quarterdeck like an untidy spider.

Herrick crossed to the rail, his mind still dwelling on Proby's words. Below, watched by armed marines, the remnants of Onslow's conspirators stood awaiting passage to the Cassius. Herrick did not share Bolitho's shame on their behalf. He would willingly have hanged each one of them singlehanded, if only to lift the despair from Bolitho's shoulders.

He remembered his own exultation when Okes and Rennie had boarded the frigate and he had realised that the mutiny's sudden fire had been quenched. It was then that he had seen through Bolitho's careful mask and had penetrated to the man within. Yes, Proby was right. He was a very special sort of man.

Midshipman Neale crossed to his side and trained his glass on the flagship. Herrick glanced down at the small midshipman and remembered his frantic struggles as they thrust his greased body through the vent hole. Neale's sudden appearance had made quite a sensation when he had flung open the doors of the cable tier. As Ellice, the surgeon, had said later, `There we all was, Mr. 'Errick, thinkin' of death or worse, an' suddenly the doors come flyin' open like the gates of 'eaven itself!' The surgeon's crimson face had crinkled into a grin. `When I saw this little naked cherub with the sun behind 'im I thought I was already dead without knowin' it 'ad 'appened!'

Herrick smiled to himself. Neale seemed to have grown in stature since that dreadful day. He said, `In a few years you'll be getting promoted like Mr. Farquhar if you go on like this,' Neale considered the suggestion and then replied, `I never doubted it, sir.' He flushed and added quickly, `Well, not often!'

Sir Robert Napier walked stiffly to a small gilt chair and sat down. For several seconds he stared at Bolitho's tense features and then said dryly, `You are a very erratic and unpredictable young man, Bolitho.' He tapped his fingertips together. `But there is one thing to be said in your favour. You are never dull!'

Bolitho did not trust himself to smile. It was still far too early to know exactly how his ideas had been received. With fretting impatience he had waited in an adjoining cabin while the admiral read his reports, and after what seemed like an hour he was ushered into the great man's presence. There were two other captains already present. Cope of the Cassius, and a thickset, unsmiling man Bolitho recognised as Fox of the frigate Volcano.

The admiral said, 'It seems to me that you are getting unnecessarily excited about the French frigates which one of your men sighted.' He waved one hand across his big coloured chart. `Look for yourself, Bolitho. The Leeward and Windward Islands are like a broken chain running from north to south. If the French fleet is out in force, and I say if, Sir George Rodney's frigates will have reported the fact, and both sides will have engaged already. That being so, what further can I do in the matter?' He leaned back, his eyes fixed on Bolitho's face.

Bolitho glanced quickly at the other officers. Cope, being Sir Robert's flag captain, would naturally stay non-committal until he knew his- master's intentions. Fox was the man to convince. He was said to be a hard man, and as he was somewhat old for his rank, inclined to be over-cautious.

Bolitho took his own chart and laid it carefully across the admiral's. He started quietly. `The whole plan to contain and engage the French fleet is based on one main theme, sir. We know that de Grasse has his strongest force at Martinique to the south. To meet with his Spanish ally and to reach Jamaica, his first necessity is to avoid any damaging action with us.'

The admiral said irritably, 'I know that, dammit!'

Bolitho continued, `I believe that the two frigates were part of a scouting force, ahead of the main fleet.' He ran his finger along the chart. 'I le could sail north from Martinique, and if necessary deploy his ships amongst the scattered islands en route. Then, at his most suitable moment he could swing west to Jamaica as planned.' He looked at Fox who met his eyes without expression. He added urgently, `Sir George Rodney is depending on a quick engagment, sir. But suppose de Grasse avoids that first contact, or, even worse, he makes a feint attack on our ships and then heads north?' He waited, watching the admiral's pale eyes moving across the chart.

Sir Robert said grudgingly, 'It could happen, I suppose. De Grasse could skirt any hostile land and then keep close inshore of more friendly territory, Guadeloupe for instance.' He puckered his lower lip. 'He would thereby avoid a running battle in open water, like the Martinique Passage.' He nodded, his face suddenly grave. `Yours is a dangerous supposition, Bolitho.'

Captain Cope said uneasily, 'If the French can get ahead of Rodney we're done for!'

Bolitho asked, `Could I suggest something, sir?' He tried to gauge the extent of his own forcefulness. 'If I am wrong, there can be no real harm in my idea.'

The admiral shrugged. 'I cannot find it in my heart to dampen such rare enthusiasm, Bolitho.' He wagged one finger. `But I do not promise to abide by it!'

Bolitho leaned across the chart. 'My ship was down here in search of fresh water ...'

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.