'In addition,' the buzz of voices stilled, 'I think one of the master's mates could stand watches until Mr. Fowler is well again.'
Inch looked up. 'May I suggest Bunce, sir? He is a very reliable man.'
'You may, Mr. Inch. You can attend to it directly.' He saw Inch nod and take- another sip at his glass. What a difference in the man. Perhaps him most of all. From the fifth and junior lieutenant he had risen to fouth, but more important he had gained the self-confidence to go with it.
They all looked up at the skylight as a muffled voice yelled, 'Avast there! What the devil do you think you're about?' There was a sound of running feet, and then the same voice bellowed, 'Deck there! Man overboard!'
As the officers rushed to the door Gossett could be heard shouting, 'Back the mizzen tops'!! Call away the quarter boat!'
The quarterdeck was very dark and not a star was visible beyond the unmoving clouds. Figures were rushing down gangways, and from right aft Bolitho heard the crew of the quarter boat falling over each other in desperation, urged on by the voice which had called the alarm.
Bolitho snapped, 'What is it, Mr. Gossett? How did the man fall overboard?'
Bunce, the thickset master's mate whom Inch had just mentioned, pushed through the running men and touched his forehead. 'I saw 'im, sir. I was by the wheel as one of my lads was changin' the binnacle lamp.' He shuddered. 'I looks up, sir, an' there's this face starin' at me! Gawd, it was awful, an' I pray to my Maker I never sees the like again!'
The ship was swaying drunkenly as the flapping canvas volleyed and thundered against the yards and masts, and from somewhere beyond the high poop Bolitho heard the thrash of oars, the shouted' instructions from the boat's coxswain.
Bunce added, 'It was Mr. Fowler, sir. 'E'd took off all his dressin' and was carryin' a mirror in 'is 'and. 'E was cryin' like a baby, sir, and all the time we was lookin' at 'is face.'
An anonymous voice spoke up from the darkness. 'That's roight, sir! Cut from eye to chin it were, an' no nose at all!'
Bolitho walked slowly to the nettings. Poor Fowler. He had been a good-looking lieutenant before the French officer's sword had felled him at his side.
He heard Bunce say to Herrick, 'I tried to stop 'im, sir, but 'e just went mad! 'E was nearly naked, an' I couldn't 'old 'im.' He shuddered again. "E just kept runnin', and dived clear afore we could reach 'im!'
Bolitho watched the boat dipping and rising on the ebony water, the oars striking bright patterns of phosphorescence which seemed to cling to the blades like ghostly weed.
`Can't see nuthin', sir!' The coxswain was standing upright in his boat.
Bolitho said shortly, 'Recall the boat, Mr. Herrick, and put the ship back on course.'
He walked past the silent, watching figures and saw inch trying to console Midshipman Lory, who had been a great friend of Fowler's. He said, 'Mr. Inch, you are now third lieutenant, it seems. I hope that is the last promotion for some time by these means.'
Then he strode into his cabin and stared round at the discarded wineglasses. He tried to pull the ~ stopper from a decanter but it was stuck fast, and because of his disabled arm he was unable to get any purchase on it, 'Gimlettl' He banged the decanter down savagely as the servant ran anxiously into the cabin. 'Get me a glass of wine, and quickly!'
When he lifted it to his lips he saw that his hand was shaking badly and he could do nothing about it. But it was not fever this time. He could feel the anger and despair rising inside him like a flood, and it was all he could do to prevent himself from hurling the glass at the bulkhead. He was not blaming himself for Fowler's death, but for letting him stay alive. He should have left him to die in the blazing Fairfax. At least he' would have been spared the agony and the terror, the dragging hours while he fingered his bandages and his shocked mind lingered on what lay beneath.
Fowler would have been remembered as ,a brave man. Not as a poor, crazed wreck. Why did the dead lack dignity? How could it be that a man you knew, someone whose habits were as familiar as your own, could change in seconds to nothing? An empty shell.
He banged down the glass. 'Another!'
And he had just finished telling the others of such events which could prey on the minds of men. Fowler was no longer a man, it seemed, but an event!
He thought of Pomfret and what he was doing to him, to his whole ship. 'Damn you! Damn you to hell!' His voice shook with anger, so that Gimlett recoiled like some beaten dog.
Then he took told of himself with one savage effort. 'It is all right, Gimlett. Have no fear.' He held up his glass against a lantern and waited for the wine to settle and stay motionless in the beam like blood. 'I was not shouting at you. You can leave now.'
Alone once more Bolitho sat down heavily, and after a few moments drew the girl's folded letter from his coat and began to read.
15
THE PEOPLE COME FIRST
If Bolitho had been prepared and ready to bolster his ship's morale in the face of Pomfret's imposed isolation the reality was far worse than even he had expected. As one week followed another the Hyperion maintained her seemingly endless patrol, a great, empty rectangle of open sea, broken only occasionally by the distant coast of France or the brooding shadow of Cozar Island.
Twice they met with the sloop Chanticleer, but Bolitho learned little to ease his mounting apprehension. The sloop's role was almost as wretched as his own, for the unpredictable Mediterranean weather with its sudden squalls and maddening calms played havoc with so small a vessel. Bellamy, her commander, was as perplexed as he was by the complete lack of news from Pomfret's headquarters. There was more rumour than fact. It was said the French were bombarding St. Clar with siege guns, that the fighting had moved so close to the town it was hardly safe to walk in the streets.
But aboard Hyperion the vague speculation was as unimportant as it was remote, for on her crowded decks the reality was only today, and the day after that. And Bolitho knew that his men had tried hard not to show their disappointment and resentment. They had fallen in with his wishes, and for a full month the ship had been live with contests and friendly rivalry of every shape and form. Prizes had been given for the ,best scrimshaw work and carved models, for hornpipes and jigs, even for the countless small objects made with loving care by the older hands. Tiny, delicate snuff-boxes, cut and polished from hardened nuggets of salt beef, combs and brooches, constructed from little more than bones and pieces of glass.
But it could not last. Small arguments flared into fights, complaints grew and fanned through the ship's tight community, and once a petty officer was struck in the face by an enraged seaman. The latter, of course, resulted in a flogging. It was soon followed by others.
And the officers were not immune from the spreading disease of dissatisfaction and- unrest. There had been a card game in the wardroom when Rooke had accused the purser of cheating. But for Herrick's firm intervention they might have drawn blood. But even his watchful eye could not see everything.
Bolitho's one ally was the weather. As the weeks dragged by it worsened considerably, and often the seamen were too weary from setting sails and then reefing again within the hour, to have the energy even for eating. Not that there was anything worth eating now. What fresh food Bolitho had obtained from St. Clar had soon vanished, and the whole ship was down to basic rations of salted beef or pork, to weevily biscuit and little else.
On the eleventh week, as the Hyperion plunged closehauled on the southerly leg of her patrol, the sharp gale which had been with them for several days eased and backed, and with the change came the rain.
Bolitho stood at the weather side of the quarterdeck and watched the rain advancing towards and over his ship like a steel curtain. He was wearing neither coat nor hat, and allowed the rain to soak hard across his face and chest until he was completely drenched. After the ship's rancid water the rain felt and tasted like pure wine, and as he stood squinting into the wind he noticed that some of his men working along the upper deck were also standi
ng in the downpour like himself, as if to cleanse themselves of their despair.
Tomlin, the boatswain, stood by the forecastle supervising the hastily spread canvas scoops, while Crane, the cooper, was shouting at his assistants to prepare the empty casks for filling before the rain ceased. So now there would not even be the excuse of gathering fresh water to allow him to return to port, Bolitho thought wryly. How quickly an ally could become an enemy.
Herrick crossed the deck, his hair streaming and plastered across his forehead. 'When this clears we should sight Cozar off the larboard bow, sir.' He grimaced. 'It seems as if I am always saying that.'
He was right. Sighting the island meant nothing more than the end of the leg. Then Hyperion wheeled round towards the mainland for the next slow haul.
Bolitho leaned out over the rail as the ship heeled heavily to the wind, heedless of the rain and spray across his spine and legs. When the old ship tilted he saw without effort the great streamers of dragging weed floating up from her bilges. It was like a small submarine jungle, he thought bitterly. No Wonder Hyperion was so slow. There were years of sea growth. Each weed meant a mile or so of ocean under that pitted keel, every barnacle and gnawing fungus a hundred turns of the wheel. He tasted salt between his teeth, and when he looked up he saw that the rain had passed on, ruffling the sharp wave crests as it drove on and away to the east.
`Deck there!' The masthead lookout's voice carried above the wind. `Sail on the larboard bow!'
Bolitho looked at Herrick. Both had been expecting the man to sight Cozar. A ship was so uncommon as to be a major happening.
Bolitho said quickly, `Shake out the second reef, Mr. Herrick! We will run down on her and take a look!'
But there was no chance of missing the unexpected ship, for as her topsails lifted brightly in a sudden shaft of watery sunlight she went about and headed for the Hyperion.
Piper was already in the mizzen shrouds with his glass when the first flags broke from the other ship's yards. 'She's the Harvester, sir!' He spluttered as a burst of spray lifted over the weather bulwark and all but threw him from his perch. He gasped, 'Harvester to Hyperion. Have despatches on board!'
Bolitho shivered, hardly daring to hope for anything just yet. 'Stand by to heave to, Mr. Herrick! We will let Captain Leach do all the work for us!'
Almost before the Hyperion had completed her manoeuvre, her wet sails cracking like guns in the face of the wind, the graceful frigate was near enough for them to see the great streaks of salt on her hull, the patches of bared wood where the relentless sea had pared away her paint as if with a knife.
Bolitho watched as the frigate's yards swung dizzily in the wind, her sleek deck canting towards him as Leach flung his ship round to ride unsteadily under Hyperion's lee.
Herrick said, 'That's odd,, sir. He could have drifted the despatches over on a line. It'll be a hard pull for any boat in this wind.'
But Harvester was already lowering a boat, and when it eventually managed to clear the frigate's side Bolitho saw that it was no mere midshipman in the sternsheets, but Captain
Leach himself,
'It must be important.' Bolitho bit his lip as a savage white-backed wave threw the boat almost beam-on to the sea. 'Tell Mr. Tomlin to have his men ready to take her alongside!'
When Leach finally appeared up the Hyperion's side he hardly paused to regain his breath before hurrying aft to the quarterdeck, his dripping hat awry, his eyes red-rimmed with fatigue.
Bolitho strode to meet him. 'Welcome aboard! It is some time since I have witnessed such a fine piece of shiphandling!'
Leach stared at Bolitho's soiled shirt and unruly hair as if he had only just recognised him. But he did not smile. He said, 'Can I see you alone, sir?'
Bolitho turned towards the poop, aware of his watching officers, the sudden wave of commotion the frigate's appearance had caused.
In the swaying cabin he made Leach drink a full glass of brandy and then asked, 'What is it which brings you out here?
Leach sat down on one of the green leather chairs and swallowed hard. 'I have come to request that you return to St Clar, sir.' He touched his salt-cracked lips as the neat spirit bit deeply into the flesh.
Bolitho said, 'The despatches. Are they from the admiral?'
Leach looked at the desk, his face lined with worry. 'There are no despatches, sir. But I had to give some reason. There is enough trouble as it is without worrying our own people.'
Bolitho sat down. 'Take your time, Leach. Have you come from St. Clar?'
Leach shook his head. 'From Cozar. I have just taken off the last handful of soldiers.' He looked up, his eyes desperate. 'After doing that I was ordered to find you, sir. I have been searching for two days.' He watched Bolitho pouring him another glass. 'I don't know if I am doing rightly, or committing an act of mutiny! It is getting so that I don't even trust my own judgement!'
Bolitho breathed out very slowly, willing his taut muscles to relax. 'St. Clar is in trouble, I take it?'
Leach nodded. The French have been hammering the port for weeks. I have been on patrol to the south'rd, but each time I put into harbour it was getting worse. The enemy made a feint attack from the south-west, and somehow managed to lure the Spanish troops from their positions.' He sighed. 'The enemy cavalry cut them to pieces! It was a massacre! Nobody even seemed to realise that the French had any cavalry there. And these were crack troops, dragoons from Toulouse!'
'What does the admiral intend to do, Leach?' Bolitho's voice was calm, but inwardly he was seething as he pictured the scattered infantry running and dying under the pitiless sabres.
Leach stood up suddenly, his face wooden. `That is just it, . sir. Sir Edmund has said nothing! There are no orders, no arrangements for a counter-attack or evacuation!' He was watching Bolitho with something like despair. 'Captain Dash seems to be in charge. He asked me to find you and bring you back.'
'Have you seen Sir Edmund?'
'No, sir.' Leach spread his hands helplessly. 'I believe he is ill, but Dash told me very little.' He leaned forward. 'The situation is desperate, sir! There is panic everywhere, and unless something is done soon the whole force will fall to the enemy!'
Bolitho stood up and crossed to the table. 'You say you have the people from Cozar aboard?'
Leach sounded weary. 'There was only some young ensign, and a few foot soldiers, sir.'
'What about the convicts?'
Bolitho turned as Leach replied emptily, 'I had no orders about them. So I left without them.'
Bolitho pressed his lips into a tight line. It was easy enough to condemn Leach as a heartless fool. It was even easier to see the difficulties and anxieties with which he was faced. Dash was the flag captain, but without signed orders from Pomfret he-had already laid himself open to court martial and perhaps worse.
He said quietly, 'Thank you for being honest with me. I will return to St. Clar immediately.' He listened to his own words without emotion. By agreeing with Leach's suggestion he was no longer an onlooker but a conspirator. He sharpened his voice. 'But before joining me you will return to Cozar and take off every single convict, do you understand?'
Leach nodded. 'If that is your wish, sir.'
'It is an order! I gave my word to them. They had no part in all this. I'll not make them suffer any more!'
There was a tap on the door and Herrick said, 'Your pardon, sir, but the wind is getting up again. It will soon be too rough for a boat to return to the Harvester.'
Bolitho nodded. 'Captain Leach is leaving now.' He met Herrick's enquiring eyes and added, 'As soon as he is gone you will wear ship and lay a course for St. Clar. I want every stitch of canvas she can carry, understand?'
Herrick darted away and Leach said tonelessly, `Thank you, sir. Whatever happens now I'll not regret my action in coming for you.'
Bolitho grasped his hand. 'I hope neither of us doesl'
As the frigate's boat pulled clear from the side the Hyperion's massive yards swung round, an
d while she laid over to the force of the wind the topmen swarmed aloft to fight the whipping canvas, their bodies bowed against the pressure, and hands like. claws as they struggled to keep from falling to the deck or into the creaming water alongside.
Herrick dashed the spray from his eyes and yelled, 'Is there more misfortune in St. Clar, sir?'
Bolitho felt the deck buck beneath his straddled legs. The old ship was taking it hard. He could hear the spars and stays squealing from the imposed strain, but as more and more canvas billowed and filled above the hull he shut their protests from his mind.
'I fear so, Thomas. It seems that the enemy are tightening their hold around the port.'
He walked to the weather rail before Herrick could ask him more. There was no point in telling him that -it now looked as if much of St. Clan's agony came from within. Herrick might resent being held at a distance, but if it came to a court martial he at least would be spared from involvement.
Gossett said, 'You'll not be wantin' the royals set, Mr. Herrick?'
Bolitho swung round. 'Well, I do, Mr. Gossett! You've boasted enough in the past about what this ship can do! Well, let me see you prove it'
Gossett opened his mouth as if to protest and then saw the set of Bolitho's shoulders and decided against it.
Herrick said, 'Pipe all hands again. And have the sailmaker standing by to replace any tom canvas.' He turned to watch Bolitho's figure striding back and forth across the tilting deck. He was soaked to the skin and his wounded arm, only recently freed from sutures and dressing, brushed against the nettings as he moved, yet he did not appear to notice it.
He carries us all, he thought. Worries for us at every turn, yet will let none of us help him.
He gripped the rail as a long roller lifted beneath the ship's quarter and roared hissing along either beam like breakers around a reef. The pumps were clanking louder than ever, and when he wiped his smarting eyes he saw that the yards were bending with the pressure and the belly of each straining sail looked as hard as beaten steel. But she was answering. God knows how, he wondered, but the old ship seems to understand Bolitho's urgency, when we do not.
Form Line Of Battle! Page 27