Honour This Day by Alexander Kent Page A

maindeck, his jaw still working on a piece of biscuit while he, too, stared with astonishment. Bolitho swung himself up and around the shrouds and felt the ratlines quiver with each step while the big signals telescope bounced against his hip like a quiver of arrows.
    It was easier than he would have believed, but as he clambered into the top he decided it was far enough.
    The marines stood back, grinning and nudging each other. Bolitho was able to recall the corporal’s name—he was a fierce-looking man who’d been a Norfolk poacher before he signed on with the Corps. Not before time, Major Adams had hinted darkly.
    â€œWhere is she, Corporal Rogate?”
    The marine pointed. “Yonder, sir! Larboard bow!”
    Bolitho steadied the long telescope and watched as the brig’s narrow poop and braced yards leapt into view. Figures moved about Upholder ’s quarterdeck, steeply angled as the ship heeled over to show her bright copper to the early sunshine.
    Bolitho waited for Hyperion to sway upright and for the mizzen topmast to restrain its shivering, and beyond Upholder he saw a tan-coloured pyramid of sails. Thor was ready and waiting.
    He lowered the glass as if to bring his thoughts into equal focus. Had he decided from the very beginning that he would lead the attack? If it failed, he would be taken prisoner, or . . . He gave a grim smile. The or did not bear thinking about.
    Corporal Rogate saw the secret smile and wondered how he would describe it to the others during the next watch below. How the admiral had spoken to him, just like another Royal. One of us.
    Bolitho knew that if he sent another officer and the plan misfired, the blame would be laid at his door anyway.
    They had to trust him. In his heart Bolitho knew that the next months were crucial for England, and for the fleet in particular. Leadership and trust went hand in hand. To most of his command he was a stranger and their trust had to be earned.
    He considered his argument with sudden contempt. Death-wish. Was that a part of it too?
    He concentrated on the brig’s sturdy shape as she ducked and rose across steep waves. In his mind’s eye he could already see the land as it would appear when they drew nearer. The anchorage at La Guaira consisted mainly of an open roadstead across the front of the town. It was known to be heavily defended by several fortresses, some of which were quite newly constructed because of the comings and goings of treasure-ships. Although La Guaira was just six miles or so from the capital, Caracas, the latter could only be reached by a twisting, mountainous road some four times that distance.
    As soon as Hyperion and her consorts were sighted the Spanish authorities would send word to the capital with all the haste they could manage. Because of the time it would take on that precarious road, La Guaira might just as well be an island, he thought. All the intelligence they had been able to gather from traders and blockade-runners alike pointed to the captured frigate Consort being at Puerto Cabello, eighty miles further westward along the coast of the Main.
    But suppose the enemy did not fall for the ruse, would not believe that the British men-of-war were intending to cut out the new addition to their fleet?
    So much depended on Price’s maps and observations, and above all, luck.
    He looked down at the deck far below and bit his lip. He knew he would never have sent a subordinate to carry out such a mission even nine years back when he had commanded the old Hyperion. He glanced at the marines. “There’s work for all of you soon, my lads.”
    He swung himself down on to the futtock shrouds, more conscious of their faces split into huge grins than of the wind which flapped around his coat as if to fling him to the deck. It was so easy. A word, a smile, and they would die for you. It made him feel bitter and humble at the same time.
    By the time he had reached the quarterdeck his mind