'Shall I inform the Justice's captain, sir?' Leach was trying to ease away the tension. 'He is a difficult man and shows little liking for the Navy.'
'I will tell him.' Bolitho walked to the windows. 'It is a duty I could well do without.'
Leach said suddenly, 'I understand that you are in need of a senior lieutenant, sir? My own is a good officer and well due for advancement.'
Bolitho was staring at the distant convict ship, seeing it as if for the first time. 'Thank you, Leach, that is considerate of you. Both to me and to an officer you are probably unwilling to lose.' He shook his head. 'But it will have to wait a while. The wind is backing all the time and mounting too, I believe. We must make a move soon or ride out the gale in harbour.'
Leach nodded. 'It has been coming in from the Atlantic for several days.' He stood up and reached for his hat. 'I agree we must sail without too much delay.'
Bolitho followed the two officers on deck and watched them depart for their ships. Then he said shortly, 'My barge, if you please! I am going across to the Justice.' He saw the officers exchange quick glances and guessed that they knew almost to a word what was to happen. News travelled faster between ships than any signals system yet devised.
Rooke asked, 'Any orders, sir?'
'Get as much fresh fruit as the boats can carry aboard while I'm away. But this ship will sail by eight bells, understood?'
Then he climbed down to the boat and pulled his cloak around his body as if to hide his thoughts from the watching seamen.
Allday growled, 'Shove off! Give way together!'
Over Bolitho's shoulder he said quietly, 'An odd name for a convict ship, Captain. There were some folk transported from Bodmin just for stealing bread. I don't call that justice!'
Bolitho bowed his head as spray whipped across his lips like hail. It was strange that Aiday and men like him who had once been forcibly pressed into Service should speak with such compassion, yet showed no pity for others taken from their homes to serve at sea in a King's ship. But like Allday he knew there was a difference, and although he would have to stifle it in his mind, it would always be there for him too.
'Boat ahoy?' A gruff voice yelled down from the ship's weathered side.
Allday replied loudly, 'Captain of his Majesty's Ship Hyperion coming aboard!'
Beneath his cloak Bolitho shivered. The Justice even smelt of human decay.
8
THE PASSENGER
Captain Hoggan of the transport Justice stood arms folded in the centre of his littered cabin and watched Bolitho with obvious amusement. He was a muscular man with thick, unkempt hair, and his heavy coat, which would have been more suitable in the North Atlantic, looked as if it had been slept in.
'If you were expecting a protest from me, Bolitho, you can rest easy.' He gestured towards a bottle. 'Will you take a glass before you leave?'
Bolitho looked around the cabin. It was crammed with seachests and baggage of every kind, as well as a shining stand of muskets and pistols. What made a professional seaman take work of this sort? He wondered. A ship which plied its trade back and forth carrying one wretched cargo after another. He guessed that the boxes contained personal possessions of some of the convicts who died on passage, and the realisation made him answer coldly, 'No, Captain, I will not take a drink.'
'Suit yourself.' The cabin's close confines filled with the heady aroma of rum as Hoggan slopped a full measure into a glass for himself. Then he said, 'After all, you are ordering me to take this trash to Cozar. After that they're Pomfret's problem.' He winked. 'To me it just means a short trip and back home at the same price. Far better'n month after month at sea with Botany Bay at the end of it all!'
Bolitho shivered in spite of the trapped air. 'Very well. You will sail as soon as I make the signal. Obey all directions from my ship, and keep station at all times.'
Hoggan's face hardened slightly. 'This is no King's ship!'
'It is under my orders, Captain.' Bolitho tried to hide the contempt he felt for the other man. He glanced at his pocket watch. 'Now be so good as to assemble the convicts. I intend to tell them what is happening.'
Hoggan seemed about to protest. Then he grinned and muttered, 'This beats everything! Why bother with the like o' them?'
'Just do as I ask, if you please.' Bolitho looked away. 'They have that right surely.'
Hoggan clumped away, and within minutes could be heard bellowing orders from the poop. Then he reappeared in the doorway and made a mock bow.
'The gentlemen are ready, Captain!' He was grinning broadly. 'I must apologise for their rough appearance, but they wasn't expecting a King's officer to pay 'em a visit!'
Bolitho eyed him coldly and then walked out on to the windswept deck. Overhead the sky was crossed by narrow clouds, and as they scudded above the spiralling masts Bolitho knew that the wind was still mounting.
Then he looked down at the maindeck and saw the great press of upturned faces. The Justice was not much bigger than a large frigate, although he knew that her hull was deep and built more for carrying cargo than for making speed. It seemed incredible that all these unkempt, cowed-looking men could live and survive the rigours of the long voyage to New Holland, for the ship carried a full crew and all the additional stores as well which were required for such a journey. His eye moved along the gangways on either side of the upper deck. Unlike a ship of war they were protected as much from inboard as from a possible attacker, and the business-like swivel guns were pointing not to seaward but straight down on to the assembled convicts.
He noted the mixture of dress, too. Ranging from soiled broadcloth to stinking prison rags, while here and there a man stood out in some colourful garb to add to the unreality of their alien presence. Uprooted from their homes through greed or misfortune, they now stood swaying in total silence, their eyes on his face, their expressions ranging from fear to complete despair.
Some of the watchful guards on the gangways carried whips, and Bolitho's mind rebelled as he saw the expert ease with which they flicked them against their shoes as they waited idly for him to speak and then get about his proper business.
Was it possible that men never learned from past events? Senseless brutality had no place in the proper maintenance of order and discipline. It was less than a year since some of the ill-fated Bounty mutineers had choked out their lives before the eyes of the fleet at Portsmouth, yet some men still found more satisfaction from administering the punishment rather than finding the cure.
'I will not keep you long.' Bolitho's voice carried easily above the creak of spars and rigging. 'I am not here to judge or condemn you. That has been done already. I have to tell you that your journey to New Holland has been postponed, for how' long I cannot at present say.' He had every man's attention now. 'This ship will sail in convoy to the island of Cozar, a distance of some six hundred miles. There you will be put to work in order that you can make a real contribution in the fight against our country's enemies!'
Something like a great groan rose from the packed figures, and when Bolitho looked at Hoggan he said bluntly, 'Some o' them has womenfolk and children with 'em.' He gestured vaguely over the weather rail. 'They've sailed on with the main convoy.'
Bolitho stared down at the prisoners, both stunned by Hoggan's indifference and appalled by what his words really implied. He should have remembered that it was customary to carry men and women in separate ships, and it was a wise precaution. But he had never before visualised these people as being families, but more as faceless individuals.
A voice called suddenly, 'Me wife, sirl Fer pity's sake, what will she do without me?'
Hoggan yelled, 'Keep silent, you snivelling pig!'
Bolitho held up his hand. 'Let me try and answer that, Captain.' To the deck at large he added evenly, `War leaves little choice in these matters. My own people have not set foot ashore for many months, in some cases for several years. Yet they too have families . .
He broke off as the voice called out
again. 'But she's gone out there, out to ...' It trailed away as if the speaker was suddenly confronted with the true horror of deportation.
Bolitho said, 'I will do what I can for all of you. If you work well and obey orders, I am sure that such behaviour will weigh heavily in your favour. Remission of sentence is not unknown.' He wanted to get away from this wretched ship, but could not find it in his heart to merely turn his back and leave them to their despair. 'Just remember that whatever else you may or may not be, you are all Englishmen and faced with a common enemy.'
He broke off as Allday said quietly, 'Hyperion's boats are returning, Captain. Mr. Rooke must be worried about the wind.'
Bolitho nodded and turned to Hoggan. 'You may prepare to weigh. I will sail directly.' He watched the upturned faces slowly breaking apart into small, aimless groups. 'Try not to make their lives any harder, Captain.'
Hoggan eyed him with obvious hostility. 'Are you choosing to give me orders, sir?'
'Since you put it that way, Captain Hoggan, yes, I am!' Bolitho's eyes were cold and hard. 'I am also holding you personally responsible!' Then he strode after Allday without another word.
As the barge butted manfully into the growing pattern of dancing whitecaps Bolitho stared across at the Hyperion and found time to wonder at the change she had seemingly undergone during his short visit to the Justice. He knew that the comparison was an illusion, but after the convict ship's air of decay and hopelessness the Hyperion seemed to shine like part of another world. Her tall, spray-covered side and the purposeful movements of figures above and around her upper deck helped to steady him and ease the turmoil in his thoughts.
He climbed swiftly through the entry port and touched his hat briefly to the assembled side party. To Lieutenant Inch he said, 'Secure the boats at once and report when you have done so.' Then it dawned on him that something was wrong. At any other time he would have sensed it immediately, but he had been too busy thinking about the convicts. He saw Inch staring aft, and as he followed his gaze he realised what had caused his expression of apprehension.
Allday had just climbed up through the port and was unable to restrain himself. 'Bless me! A woman on the quarterdeck!'
Bolitho asked quietly,, `Would you be so good as to explain the meaning of this, Mr. Inch?' His voice was dangerously calm.
Inch swallowed unhappily. 'She came aboard in one of the
boats, sir. F'rom the Rock, and she -had this letter ... Bolitho pushed him aside. 'I will deal with it myself, since
you seem to have taken leave of your senses!' He strode aft and up the quarterdeck ladder, his sudden anger beating time with his heart.
He got a swift impression of Lieutenant Rooke, his face frowning and apprehensive, and Midshipman Seton, who was surprisingly smiling in spite of Bolitho's bleak expression.
Then he saw the girl. She was dressed in dark green velvet, and by contrast had a wide Spanish sun hat tied round beneath her chin by a length of bright red ribbon. She was endeavoring to hold the hat still in the whipping wind and at the same time trying to keep her long hair from blowing free across her face.
'May I have some sort of explanation?' Bolitho looked from one to the other.
Rooke made to speak, but the girl said calmly, 'I am Cheney Seton, Captain. I have a letter from you from Sir Edmund Pomfret.' She dropped one hand to her dress and withdrew an envelope, all the time keeping her eyes on Bolitho's frowning face. Her eyes, were large and blue-green like the sea, and very grave, and like her voice gave nothing away.
Bolitho took the letter and stared at it, his mind grappling with her words. 'Seton did you say?'
'S-Sir, she's m -m-my s-sister.' Midshipman Seton fell silent under Bolitho's flat stare.
The girl said evenly, 'I am sorry to have caused so much distress, Captain.' She gestured towards a small pile of luggage. 'But, as you can see, it is no mistake!'
Bolitho glared. 'Did you know about this, Mr. Seton?'
'He did not.' She spoke almost sharply, and had Bolitho been less angry he might have seen past her pretence of easy self-control. 'I was with the convoy from New Holland.' She shrugged as if it was of little importance. 'Now I am to sail with you to this island of yours:
'Kindly do not interrupt me when I am addressing one of my officers, Miss, er, Seton!' Bolitho was already out of his depth, and from the comer of his eye saw a growing group of watching seamen below the quarterdeck.
She replied just as crisply. 'Then kindly do not discuss me as if I was a piece, of furniture on your boat, Captain!'
Dalby, the third lieutenant, who had been hovering nearby said helpfully, 'Not boat, miss! We call her a ship in the Navy!'
Bolitho shouted, 'And who asked you, Mr. Dalby?' He swung round angrily. 'Mr. Rooke, be so good as to call all hands for getting under way, and make a signal accordingly to the convoy!'
Then he turned back to the girl. Her arms were hanging at her sides now and her hair, which he noticed was of a deep chestnut colour, blew in the wind as if she no longer cared.
'If you will come aft, Miss Seton, I will hear this matter more fully.'
With Allday and Gimlett hurrying ahead Bolitho followed the girl below the poop, conscious of her slim figure and the defiant tilt of her head. Damn Pomfret to hell, he thought savagely. Why couldn't he have told him about the girl? The thought of Hyperion being despatched to Gibraltar at a time when the chance of real action was no longer a remote supposition was bad enough. To find Seton's sister waiting to be collected like one more piece of personal luggage was almost more than his mind could accept.
She stepped into the cabin and stared round with the same expression of grave interest.
Bolitho said more calmly, 'And now perhaps you could explain?'
'Do you mind if I sit down, Captain?' She eyed him quietly, her mouth set firmly against compromise.
'Please do.' Bolitho tore open the letter and walked to the windows. It was all there right enough. He said at length, 'I still do not understand the purpose of your visit?'
'I am not really sure it concerns you, Captain.' She gripped the arms of the chair. 'But since it will soon be generally known, I am going to Cozar to marry Sir Edmund Pomfret.'
Bolitho stared at her. 'I see.'
She leaned back in the chair, the defiance gone out of her. Almost wearily she said, 'I think not. But if you will be kind enough to tell me where I can rest, I will try and keep Gut of your way.'
Bolitho looked round the cabin helplessly. 'You may keep these quarters. I will have a cot rigged for myself in the chartroom. You will be more than comfortable.'
For a brief instant her eyes filled with quiet amusement. 'If you are sure, Captain?'
Bolitho seized Allday's sudden reappearance like a drowning man grasping a straw. 'Take my gear to the chartroom, Allday! I will change into my seagoing clothes immediately.' Damn the girl, too. She was mocking him for making such a fool of himself. 'Then get Gimlett and instruct him on the new arrangements.'
Allday looked quickly at the seated girl. But his face was expressionless as he answered, 'Looks like a fair wind, Captain.' Then he vanished.
Minutes later, when Bolitho strode on to the quarterdeck, all conversation amongst the assembled officers stopped instantly, as if he had shouted some terrible obscenity at them.
Rooke said formally, 'The transports have their cables hove short, sir.' He was very tense, and Bolitho guessed that he was not enjoying the prospect- of handling the ship under the glass of every captain anchored in Gibraltar. It gave him a small sense of cruel pleasure.
He snapped, 'Very well, Mr. Rooke. Get the ship under way, if you please.' He saw Gossett watching him, his expression like that of a sad mastiff. 'Lay a course to weather the headland and put two good hands on the wheel.'
Controlling his irritation with real effort he walked to the rail and looked slowly along the length of his command. The men already poised at the capstan bars, the marines at the mizzen braces, the topmen waiting for the order
to move.
He said, 'Make to escorts "weigh when ready".' He took a telescope and studied the transports as they prepared to follow suit.
As the flags soared aloft Rooke lifted his speaking trumpet and shouted, 'Ready at the capstan!'
Tomlin, the bosun, showed his two fangs and waved his fist in acknowledgement.
Rooke moistened his lips. 'Loose the heads'ls! Hands aloft and loose tops'ls!'
Bolitho watched in silence as the topmen swarmed up the ratlines in a human tide, the rattans of the petty officers and master's mates urging on the laggards with more than their usual enthusiasm. It was as if they realised their captain's angry mood and were taking no chances.
'Man the braces!'
As the men strained and groaned at the capstan bars and the great anchor tore itself from the silt and sand of the harbour the Hyperion bowed heavily to the rising wind. Then as the full force struck her she tilted even further, the men on the yards fighting and kicking to control the great billowing folds of canvas beneath them. Further and further, and then with the wheel hard over and the yards creaking and bending like huge bows the Hyperion paid off to the wind and gathered way. As the anchor was seized and catted by the nimble forecastle hands she settled on a course towards the blown waste of broken wave crests, showing the watchers ashore that she at least was an experienced warrior, and as proud as her name.
Caswell called, 'All ships have weighed, sir!'
'Very well. Signal them to take station as ordered.' He tugged his hat firmly across his forehead and stared up at the masthead pendant. It was stiff and pointing like a spear. `Signal them to make all sail conformable with weather.' It would be as well to keep signals to a minimum, he thought grimly. There would be time enough later for chasing up the laggards.
He watched the tiny sloop Snipe spreading her topsails and overhauling the leading transport like a terrier past a bullock. Her station was ahead of the convoy. Hyperion and the frigate would stay to windward, in this case astern of the transports, so that they could dash down if required to defend them. He shifted his glass to the Harvester and saw her sleek bows lift and crash down, slicing into the first deep-sea roller with the grace of a wild thing.
Form Line Of Battle! Page 14