Free Enemy in Sight! by Alexander Kent

on towards the invisible land.
    Petch laid his breakfast on the desk and stood back to watch Bolitho’s reactions.
    A slice of fat pork, fried pale brown with biscuit crumbs. Two ship’s biscuits liberally spread with thick black treacle, and the coffee. It was a spartan enough dish for a captain of a King’s ship, but after Pelham-Martin’s rich table it was somehow welcome and reassuring.
    But it was all too good to last. Later as he walked slowly on the quarterdeck watching the hands busy with holystones and swabs and the marines going through their mysterious ceremonies of musket drill and inspection, Bolitho had the feeling that things had changed.
    Gossett called suddenly, “Wind’s veerin’, sir!”
    Bolitho squinted up at the masthead pendant. Perverse as ever the Bay’s weather was changing against him, and already the top- sails were shaking and banging with nervous disarray.
    He said, “We will alter course two points. Steer north-east by east.”
    Stepkyne was officer of the watch and looked as if he had been drinking heavily the day before.
    â€œMidshipman of the watch! Pipe the hands to the braces, and lively with it!”
    Even as the ship wallowed round on to her new course, Bolitho knew it was not going to be enough. The wind was still veering and losing some of its strength, and the masthead pen- dant, instead of standing out stiffly was cracking and curling like a coachman’s whip.
    Gossett plodded to his side and murmured, “We’ll ’ave to tack, sir.” His palm rasped across his jowl. “By my way o’ thinkin’ the wind’ll be blowin’ right offshore afore the watch changes.”
    Bolitho eyed him gravely. Gossett was rarely wrong about the elements.
    â€œVery well. Lay her on the larboard tack. We will have to beat well to the north’rd of the estuary if we are to find Ithuriel today.”
    He smiled at Gossett, but inwardly he was angry and disap- pointed. But as the wind went round still further he knew there was nothing else for it. By two bells of the forenoon watch the wind had steadied to the north-east, some ninety degrees from its original bearing. So instead of driving comfortably to some point where they could sight and signal the frigate, they must claw their way well north of the estuary in order to take what small advantage there was from the wind’s lessening power.
    Inch crossed the dock and said, “It’ll take hours before we can go about again, sir.” He, too, sounded disappointed.
    Bolitho watched the yards creaking round and felt the ship cant heavily as she swung across the wind, her sails flapping and billowing before filling again to lay her over still further to fol- low the endless ranks of small, leaping white horses.
    â€œWe will make up for it later.” He controlled his own irritation and added shortly, “This is an excellent chance to exercise the lower battery, Mr Inch.”
    He walked aft and peered at the compass. North, north-west. Well at least it would allow the lower gundeck to exercise with- out being swamped through the open ports. Some ventilation would not come amiss either to drive away the damp and the foul air from the ship’s deep hull.
    It took another six hours to make good the enforced alter- ation of course, and by the time the Hyperion was running south again, carrying every stitch of canvas to receive the indifferent off- shore wind, the daylight was already beginning to fade.
    Bolitho was walking back and forth at the weather side when the masthead lookout suddenly broke into his brooding thoughts.
    â€œDeck there! Sail fine on th’ larboard bow!”
    Bolitho glanced at the masthead pendant. There was no point in altering course. It would take more precious time, and there would be no light at all within an hour. They would pass the frigate some two miles abeam, and that would suffice to read her signals.
    He lifted his glass