Free H.M.S. Surprise by Patrick O’Brian Page B

on her larboard quarter. The island rose in the south, headland after headland stretching away, and he brought her up in a long sweet curve. She was not one of the regulation Toulon gunboats, or the heavy Spanish creatures that swept out from Algeciras every time there was a calm, creeping over the still water; she was not one of those port-bound floating carriages for a single heavy gun, or he would never have brought her away, but a half-decked barca-longa with a long slide that allowed her gun to be run in and stowed against her short thick forward-raking mast - a vessel perfectly capable of running down the Mediterranean, and of sweeping in and out of any port.
    She was no fairy, though. As he brought her up and up into the wind the tiller was hard under his hand, and he felt the weight of that gun forward. Yet once she was close up, right up, pointing even closer than five, she held her course, never offering to fall to or gripe, but shouldering the short seas bravely; and the spray came whistling aft.
    This was the sort of thing he understood. The immense lateen on its curving yard was not so familiar as a square rig nor a cutter, but the essence was the same, and he was like a good horseman riding a well-spirited horse from another stable. He put the gunboat through all her paces - unspectacular, but dogged, firm and sure - tracing great curves round the frigate, weaving to and fro until the sun sloped far westwards.
    He brought her under the Lively's lee, signalled for the launch, and went below. While the red-hatted crew came aboard he sat in the late captain's cabin, a low triangular cupboard aft, studying the charts and the signal-book: not that he had much need of either - the Minorcan waters were home to him, and the rows of flags and lights were sharp in his mind - but any contact with the ship at this point meant a waste of that particular strength he should need in a few hours' time. In a few hours, if only the dropping glass and the ugly look of the sky did not mean a full gale of wind.
    Bonden reported all hands present and sober, and he went on deck. he was completely withdrawn: he shook his head impatiently at the ragged, spontaneous cheer, put his helm astarboard and bore away for the eastern cape.he saw Killick lurking there against his orders, looking sullen, with a basket of food and some bottles, but he looked beyond him for the quartermaster, handing over the tiller and giving him the course to steer; and then he began his steady pace to and fro, gauging the progress of the wind, the speed of the gunboat, the changing lie of the land.
    The shore went by a mile to starboard, well-known headlands, beaches, creeks turning slowly; very like a dream; and the men were quiet. He had a momentary feeling that his pace and turn, pace and turn in this silence was taking him from reality, spoiling his concentration, and he went below, crouching into the cabin.
    'You are up to your God-damn-ye capers again, I see,' he said coldly.
    Killick dared not speak, but put cold mutton, bread and butter, and claret in front of him. 'I must eat,' he said to himself, and deliberately set to his meal: but his stomach was closed - even the wine seemed hard in his gullet. This had not happened to him before, in no action, emergency or crisis. 'It don't signify,' he said, pushing the things aside.
    When he came on deck again the sun was only a span from the high land to the west, and broad on the starboard bow lay Cape Mola. The wind had freshened, blowing gusty, and the men were baling: it would be touch and go to round the cape, and they might have to sweep in.
    But so far the timing was right,he wanted to pass the outer batteries in the light, with his French colours clearly seen, and to move up the long harbour as darkness fell. lie glanced up at the tricolour at the peak, at the hoists that Bonden had ready laid out at the signal-halliards, and he took the helm.
    Now there was no time for reflection: now the whole of his