Enemy in Sight! Read Free Page B

in his trade. But it would take more than his store of tolerance to remain calm with his new collection of hands, he decided grimly.
    Pipes shrilled again and the docks came alive with stamped- ing feet as the men ran to their stations, urged on by kicks and curses from harassed petty officers who had not yet had time to memorise the names of their own divisions.
    Bolitho touched Inch’s arm and drew him aside. “The wind has backed a point.” He glanced meaningly at the masthead pen- dant. “Break out the anchor at once and send the hands aloft.” He saw his words causing havoc on Inch’s horseface and added quietly, “It will be better to get the new people aloft now and have them spaced on the yards before you pass your orders. We do not want to have half of them dropping to the deck with the port admiral’s glass on us, eh?” He smiled and saw Inch nod doubtfully.
    He turned his back as Inch hurried to the quarterdeck rail, his speaking trumpet at the ready. He wanted to help him, but knew that if Inch could not take the ship to sea from a wide and comfortable anchorage he might never have the confidence to move alone again.
    â€œStand by the capstan!”
    Gossett crossed to Bolitho’s side and said impassively, “We’ll have snow afore the week’s out, sir.” He winced as one of the men at the capstan bars skidded and fell in a welter of arms and legs. A petty officer lashed out with his rattan, and Bolitho saw the lieutenant in charge turn away with embarrassment.
    Bolitho cupped his hands. “Mr Beauclerk! Those men will work together if they have a shanty to bite on!”
    Gossett hid a grin. “Poor fellows, they must find it strange, sir.”
    Bolitho breathed out tightly. Inch should have seen to it ear- lier. With Hyperion’ s sixteen-hundred-odd tons tugging on the cable it needed more than brawn to turn the capstan. The fiddle’s plaintive notes were almost lost in the wind, but as the first pawl clinked home on the capstan Tomlin roared, “Now, me little sweethearts! Let’s give them soft-bellied buggers in Plymouth a sight and sound to remember, eh!”
    He threw back his head and opened his mouth, so that one of the watching midshipmen gasped with awe, and then broke into a well-tried shanty.
    Bolitho looked up to watch the men spreading out along the massive yards, black and puny against the sky like so many monkeys.
    Then he took a glass from Gascoigne, the signal midship- man, and trained it towards the shore. He felt a lump in his throat as he saw her green cloak framed in the distant window, a patch of white as she waved towards the ship. In his mind’s eye he could picture what she was seeing. The two-decker, swinging already on her shortening cable, the figures clinging to the yards, the activ- ity around the forecastle where already more men were standing by the headsails.
    â€œAnchor’s hove short, sir!”
    Bolitho met Inch’s eye and nodded. Inch lifted his trumpet. “Loose heads’ls!”
    A quick glance at Gossett, but there was no need to worry there. The master stood by the big double wheel, his eyes mov- ing between the helmsmen and the first strips of canvas which even now were flapping and cracking in the wind.
    â€œLay a course to weather the headland, Mr Gossett. We will lie as close to the wind as we can in case it backs again directly.”
    â€œUp an’ down, sir!” The cry almost lost in the wind.
    Inch was nodding and muttering to himself as he moved rest- lessly across the quarterdeck.
    He yelled, “Loose tops’ls!”
    The great sails billowed and thundered wildly as the cry came from forward, “ Anchor’s aweigh, sir!”
    Bolitho gripped a swivel gun for support as freed from the land the Hyperion swung dizzily into a deep trough. There were a few nervous cries from a lot, but nobody fell.
    â€œLee braces there!” That was