Commodore Mathias Pelham-Martin lay quite still in his cot, his eyes fixed on some part of the deckhead as Bolitho outlined what he had discovered from Poulain's orders. If anything, the cabin was hotter than it had been some four hours earlier and Bolitho found time to wonder how the commodore could endure such added discomfort.
But as he spoke he was thinking more of the other captains and of his own disappointment when together they had read and re-read the Frenchman's curtly worded instructions. No wonder Lequiller had been chosen for this task. He was indeed as wily as a fox. There was no mention at all of the final destination, nor was any port named or described. Poulain and the captain of the other damaged ship were to complete minimum repairs and sail with all haste to rendezvous with Vice-Admiral Lequiller's squadron at a position one hundred miles to the northwest of Cape Ortegal, the very comer of the Spanish mainland. As he -had studied the written instructions Bolitho had found little consolation in his own early assessment and solution of Lequiller's secret plan.
If the French admiral intended to enter a Spanish port and uphold Perez in an immediate rebellion, then he must be very sure of which harbour was the most suitable, both for himself and to produce the necessary sympathetic reaction from the local population. But this rendezvous was far out in the Bay of Biscay, and there was a choice of many such ports, from La Corufia in the north-west to Santander which lay a mere hundred miles from the French frontier.
Pelham-Martin said suddenly, "So you were wrong after all, Bolitho. You still do not know where Lequiller is bound."
Bolitho studied him impassively. "There is a chance we can bring him to action if we can reach the rendezvous in time, sir. We know his intention, if not the final destination. I believe the former more important. By catching him prior to any contact with the land we will have destroyed his chances completely."
The commodore closed his eyes. "We do not have that time, but even supposing there was a chance of reaching the rendezvous as you suggest, Lequiller may have sailed on without waiting for the damaged ships to meet with him. I see no point in discussing it further."
"I think it is a chance we have to take, sir."
"I will not discuss it any more, Bolitho!" PelhamMartin's eyes flicked open as pipes shrilled along the main deck and feet padded across the poop overhead.
"What is that?"
Bolitho felt strangely relaxed and devoid of tension. "I have ordered all hands aft, sir. In view of what we have learned, and the need for haste, I must use my authority as senior captain."
Pelham-Martin stared at him in disbelief. "You what?"
"You have been wounded, sir, and as I have stated before, you should have the injury attended to without further delay." He watched the other man calmly. "Under the present circumstances, however, I see no alternative but to relieve you until such time as you are able to reassume overall command."
"Do you realise what you have said?" Pelham-Martin's breathing grew faster and faster. "If you take this step, you will place yourself open to arrest and trial." His eyes were watering with concentration. "And I will see to it that you suffer the exact penalty which you so richly deserve!"
Bolitho waited in silence. But Pelham-Martin seemed to have exhausted himself in the brief outburst and lay quite still but for the quick breathing beneath the sheet.
He turned on his heel and left the cabin. Framed against the stern windows the other captains were still waiting for him, their faces hidden in shadow.
Then Herrick asked quickly, "Is it done?"
"I have told the commodore of my intention." Bolitho picked up his hat and walked over to the bulkhead. "It is fair to tell you that he was entirely opposed to my plan." He saw Fitzmaurice turn away, his shoulders sagging with anxiety. Then he reached up and removed his sword from the rack and moved with it to the door. He paused and looked back at them.
"When you accepted my proposals this morning you were not then aware of the real difficulties which lay ahead. I intend to make sail within two hours. I would not blame any of you should you decide to remain at anchor." Then he left the cabin and walked out into the sunlight.
Inch touched his hat, his face set in a worried frown. "All hands laid aft sir!"
Bolitho nodded and crossed slowly to the quarterdeck rail. So many times he had made this short walk. To watch the seamen at drills or to supervise the making or furling of sails. To witness punishment or merely be alone with his thoughts.
He saw his officers lined against the opposite side, the paraded marines, the minute drummer boys, and Captain Dawson with Hicks beside him.
He removed his hat and placed it beneath his arm, and then looked along the length of his command. The gangways and main deck were covered with men and upturned faces, while others clung to the shrouds or stood on hatch covers so that they should see him.
In the silence, and as his eyes passed over the waiting men below him, individual faces stood out for the merest seconds before they merged once more into the mass. Some of those who had been pressed and had come aboard lost and terrified, and now stood shoulder to shoulder with the seasoned men, and were as tanned and confident as any. The grizzled tin miner who with nearly forty other Cornishmen had walked half across the county to volunteer for service in the Hyperion. Not because they had ever met Bolitho, but because of his name, one which was known and trusted, and as familiar to many of them as the port of Falmouth itself.
He saw his brother standing beside Tomlin, his greying hair moving lightly in the breeze, and wondered what he must be thinking and feeling at this moment of their lives.
Of his own future when once the ship returned to England and the constant threat of the, gibbet becoming stark reality? Or of his son, who now stood so grave-faced beside the other midshipmen, the living reminder of what might have been? Perhaps after all he was merely watching Bolitho with nothing but pity or indifference? Seeing him as the younger brother and reawakening the old contest between them?
Gossett cleared his throat uncomfortably and Bolitho realised he must have been standing in silence for over a minute.
He said, "When we came out here to seek the enemy and destroy him we had little but uncertainty, and more than enough to discourage any man. But not all the time has been wasted. Now you all know me, and I many of you." He paused, feeling the hopelessness crowding across his thoughts. "We are leaving this island today and giving chase once again." He saw several men exchanging glances. "Not westward this time, but to the east'rd, and to Spain! We will bring Lequiller to grips, fight him on open water in the manner which English seamen understand!" Someone raised a cheer but fell silent again as he added harshly, "It took six weeks to reach here from the Bay of Biscay. Six weeks, because we were groping and searching along the way. But we will drive east'rd and reach Spain in thirty days!" He heard some of the seamen gasp with astonishment. "Thirty days, if we have to tear the sticks out of her to do it!"
He gripped his hands behind him, feeling the sweat across his wrists.
"Our commodore is still too ill to manage our affairs..So, by the authority invested in me, I am assuming command." He ignored the flurry of excitement which ran across the main deck like wind over a cornfield. "Carry on, Mr. Tomlin!"
As the bosun loosened the halyards and the marines stamped to attention Bolitho heard feet moving across the deck at his back. When he turned he saw Herrick and the other captains forming into line and removing their hats as very slowly the big broad pendant was hauled down once more.
In the quick glance it was impossible to tell which captain had made the first move to join him on deck. But they were here, and in front of the ship's company as well as those of the nearest vessels. And by doing so had openly allied themselves to him, and had deprived themselves also of any defence should he be proved guilty for his actions.
Tomlin came aft, the pendant rolled beneath one massive arm. He handed it to Carlyon, who received it with equal gravity.
Bolitho leaned on the rail and added slowly, "When we run Lequiller to earth it will be a hard fight, but that you know. I cannot ask you, to give of your best, for you will know I am depending on it." He straightened his back and said, "You must not falter. England will be waiting to reward you…"
He broke off, unable to find any more words. To see them watching him, listening to his empty hopes and promises, visualising honour and glory when they should be thinking of the odds against such reward, pared away his determination like the blade of a knife.
A voice shattered the silence and made him turn, startled and off guard.
"A cheer for the cap'n, ladsl An' another for the old Hyperionl"
Bolitho could not hear what else the unknown man said, for at that moment the air seemed to quake from the force of the wild cheering which echoed across the dancing whitecaps to be held and taken up from the other ships close by…
He swung away from the rail and saw Herrick grinning at him, and even Fitzmaurice looked confident and strangely excited. It was all the madness of a moment, but as the cheers swept over him from every side and Herrick stepped from the assembled officers to pump his hand, he could not control his own emotion, even gratitude, to all of them. For their simple trust, and so many other things which he could feel but not explain.
Farguhar shouted above the noise, "Whatever the end to all this, it has been a fair beginning!"
But Herrick was more definite. "We'll show 'em, by God!" He was grinning so widely his eyes had almost disappeared. "With you in the van we'll give 'em a lesson to remember!"
Bolitho looked at each of them in turn. "Thank you, gentlemen." He tried again. "It will be a hard chase and little rest for any of us. I doubt that we will have time to meet again before we close with the enemy." He paused, very conscious of his last words. Some of them would never meet again if by achieving his demands they eventually met with Lequiller's powerful squadron. "But we know each other's ways now, and there is little else needed in a sea fight but to drive alongside an enemy and keep him there. Our people will do the rest. I only hope we are not too late."
Fitzmaurice said quietly, "I'd rather face the French than a court martial." He shrugged. "But slow or not, the Hermes will give you every support when the time comes."
Bolitho shook hands with each one in turn. "Go back to your people and tell them what we are about. We will weigh at four bells." He followed them down the ladder to the entry port and raised his hat as one by one they climbed into their waiting boats.
As Herrick made to leave he said quietly, "I cannot thank you enough, Thomas. This morning I was near to madness. Tomorrow, who can tell?" He smiled and then stood aside to allow Herrick to leave. "But at this moment I am grateful to you."
Herrick nodded slowly. "Take care. You obtained me my first command." He grinned. "Now I'll be content only with a knighthood!"
The pipes twittered again and he was gone.
Inch said, "I've not had a chance to say how I feel about your loss, sir."
Bolitho looked at him gravely. "Then say nothing, Mr. Inch. For both our sakes."
Inch watched him walk aft to the poop and wondered.
"Thirty days, eh?" Gossett ambled across to him. "There'll be precious little sleep for you, I'm think-in'."
Inch shook himself from his thoughts. "And I'll not stir on deck without calling the master, Mr. Gossett!"
Halfway through the afternoon watch Bolitho returned to the quarterdeck and stood watching the land, his mind exploring the past weeks, the hopes and frustrations which had been constant companions. Around him he could feel the ship coming alive again, and from forward the steady clank of the capstan with an accompaniment from the shantyman's fiddle. And Tomlin's powerful voice raised above the tune as he mustered his men at their stations. It was a very old shanty which had found its beginning in the West Country, where most of the Hyperion's company had originally started life. As they moved busily about the decks and along the yards high overhead some of them were probably thinking of it now, Bolitho thought. Spain was a long, long way from Devon or Cornwall, but it was still better than the other side of the Atlantic.
He turned as Inch crossed the quarterdeck and touched his hat.
"Anchor's hove short, sir."
"Very well." Bolitho glanced over towards the Impulsive and at the activity on her yards. Beyond her the hulk of the Telamon lay as a reminder of what had gone before, and a grim warning to all of them. Along the waterfront he could see the silent watchers, and wondered if de Block was there also. He had come aboard an hour earlier to pay his respects and to offer his thanks. for the captured frigate. Neither had mentioned the fact that if Holland was drawn into the war as an enemy again the ship might be called to action against the donors. That too was part of what had gone before and had no place between them.
De Block had handed him a small and finely carved model of a Dutch man-of-war. "To remind you, Captain. To give your son perhaps?"
Bolitho had seen him over the side and had watched him rowed back to his lonely existence where he would end his days. It was to be hoped he at least would live the rest of that life in peace.
He straightened his shoulders and said curtly, "Carry on, Mr. Inch! Get the ship under way, if you please."
With the signal to up anchor streaming at her yards the Hyperion broke free of her moorings and swung heavily from the thrust of the steady wind. Bolitho gripped the nettings as the ship canted over and lifted his head to watch the topmen strung out above the deck, their arms working in fierce unison as more and more canvas bellied out from the yards. The men at the braces needed no urging, and with her anchor swinging clear of the water the ship went about and gathered way towards the last headland and the dark blue lines of the horizon beyond.
As she pushed steadily abeam of the hill battery Bolitho saw the Dutch flag dipping in salute, and then turned to watch the other ships spreading their topsails and edging clear of the anchorage in obedience to his signal.
Hermes, Impulsive and the lithe Spartan. The last to clear the headland was the little sloop, her hull almost awash as she fought clear of the reefs before tacking busily to windward of the depleted squadron.
It was not much of a squadron, he thought. But at that particular moment he knew he would not have changed it for a fleet.
The second morning at sea dawned as fine and clear as those which had preceded it, but when Bolitho came on deck after a hasty breakfast he could feel the difference around him like a physical thing. Close-hauled on the larboard tack the ship was leaning steeply from the wind, but the short whitecaps had overnight been replaced by longer, serried ranks of crested rollers which made the motion awkward and more violent.
For during the night they had slipped past Trinidad and were now standing out into the Atlantic itself, with no sight of land to break the horizon in any direction. He glanced at the swinging compass and then at the trim of the sails. They were still heading due east, and when he leaned across the rail he saw the Impulsive plunging over and down through a lively roller, her hull shining in spray as she followed some three cables in Hyperion's wake. The Hermes -was almost hidden by the little two-decker's topsails, but he could judge her to be more than two miles astern and already lagging badly.
Inch was waiting for him to complete his morning inspection.
"Dasher's on station to wind'rd, sir."
Bolitho grunted and walked slowly up the slanting deck. The Spartan was already out of sight, probing far ahead of the other ships. As usual he felt slightly envious of Farquhar and his complete freedom from the heavier and slower vessels.
"We will alter course in fifteen minutes, Mr. Inch. Call all hands!"
He did not feel like talking just now, and his mind was still busy with calculations and the mental picture of his chart.
Gossett touched his battered hat. "Three 'undred an' fifty mile logged already, sir. That's a fair showin'."
Bolitho looked at him. "We shall see what she can do next." -
"Where do you think the French are now, sir?" Inch was back at his side, his eyes screwed up against the wind as he watched the men hurrying to their stations.
"It is my guess that Lequiller sailed back to Las Mercedes to collect Perez and his mercenaries. I expect the latter will be embarked in the treasure ship as a double security," He looked up at the masthead pendant. "He will be on his way now, but at slower pace because of the San Leandro, I imagine."
He turned impatiently and gestured to Gossett. "We will alter course seven points and lay her on the opposite tack." He felt the spray dash across his face and tasted the salt on his tongue.
The master nodded, "Aye, aye, sir."
To Inch Bolitho added, "When we are on our new course I want the royals on her." He paused, seeing his words working on Inch's long face. "And then you can set the stuns'ls for good measure!"
Inch swallowed. "With all that canvas, sir, the Hermes'll never be able to keep up with us."
"Just do as I say, Mr. Inch." Bolitho eyed him impassively. "We do not have the trade winds blowing beneath our coat tails this time, so we must drive to the north'rd before we can run for Spain with the westerlies." He relented slightly. "But the trade winds are still friendly to us, Mr. Inch. So be patient."
He turned away and snapped, "Put the helm down!"
As the two seamen at the double wheel threw their bodies against the spokes Bolitho watched the rush of figures by the forecastle letting go the headsail sheets, while others tensed at the braces in readiness to haul round the straining yards on to the new tack.
"Helm a-lee, sir!?'
Labouring and plunging the ship began to swing clumsily across the wind, the sails flapping and cracking with the sounds of gunshots.
Bolitho gripped the rail, letting his body ride with his ship as she continued to turn across and then past the eye of the wind.
"Mainsail haul!"
Men scampered in orderly confusion, their tanned bodies shining with blown spray as the sea broke above the starboard bulwark and cascaded over the deck.
Bolitho slapped his palm on the rail, "Now, Mr. Inch!"
"Let go and haul!" Inch's hat had been knocked awry, but he was managing to make himself heard above the thunder of canvas and whining rigging.
Bolitho watched with grim satisfaction as the yards began to creak round, the men at the braces hauling like madmen, digging their toes into the slanting deck, their bodies almost parallel with it.
Overhead the sails boomed angrily and then filled taut and bulging as the ship heeled to the opposite tack, blocks screaming and shrouds vibrating like demons until she had settled on her new course.
Bolitho nodded. "Now get the royals on her!" A quick glance astern told him that Herrick had been ready and waiting. His ship was already plunging round in pursuit, her figurehead and bowsprit concealed in a great mass of bursting spray and spume.
Gossett shouted, "Nor' by east, sir! Full an' bye!"
"Very well." Bolitho felt the deck shiver as more canvas bellied out from the yards. Far above the deck the tiny figures seemed beyond reach and invulnerable, but he knew it was another illusion. One slip and it would mean instant death, if the man who fell was lucky. If not he would drop into the creaming sea alongside, to be left astern to drown in sight of his ship. For to try and stop the Hyperion under such a press of canvas would be to invite disaster. It was possible that such a manoeuvre might even dismast her completely.
On the main deck he saw the sailmaker and his mates hauling out the studding sails, extra canvas to lash on to the mainyards like great wings, which with luck, might give the ship another knot if the wind held.
The rigging and shrouds seemed black with figures scrambling back and forth, up and down as they hurried to obey the urgent calls from the warrant officers of their divisions.
Suddenly he saw Pascoe climbing up the futtock shrouds, his slim body lying back above the sea, and held his breath as his foot slipped and a shoe fell lazily down and into the leaping spray. Then the boy regained_ his hold and continued after the others, his black hair whipping out in the demanding wind.
When he dropped his gaze Bolitho noticed his brother by the foremast, shading his eyes as he too peered up at the midshipman. Then he saw Bolitho watching him and gave what might have been a small shrug. Or it could have been a sigh of relief.
Lieutenant Roth called, "Hermes has tacked!" He chuckled. "She's not keeping up at all well!"
Bolitho turned on him hotly. "Don't be so damned smug about it! If the Hermes cannot stay with us, you will be seventy-four guns short when you most need them!"
Roth flushed. "Sorry, sir."
Bolitho walked to the weather side and steadied his body against the nettings. He must get hold of himself. To show resentment at such an innocent remark was pointless and stupid. Roth was more intent on showing pride in his own ship than deriding the weed-encrusted Hermes. He thought suddenly of his own fretting impatience in the Mediterranean when like Hermes this ship had been dragging with sea-growth and barnacles, left behind the fleet and with little sympathy from his admiral. But it was useless to think along those lines.
He said, "Make a signal to Hermes, Mr. Carlyon!" He frowned, remembering too Fitzmaurice's brave gesture to support him. "Make more sail." He hesitated. "That is all." Fitzmaurice would not appreciate any sympathetic addition to the signal, any more than he would have done. He was as committed as any of them now, and must do more than his best to keep up with the squadron, if it meant knocking the wedges from the masts.
"She's acknowledged, sir." Canyon sounded surprised.
Shouts and curses came from the main deck as the larboard studding sail flapped and billowed like a snared sea monster. It was not filling too well, but was better than nothing. In any case it kept the men busy, and they had a long way to go yet.
Inch said, "I have never seen her sail like this, sir."
"We may find less favourable winds to the north'rd." Bolitho was thinking aloud. "We must push her all we can and take every advantage of the trades."
The topmen were already sliding back to the deck, their voices loud, even jubilant at the great display of power which they had released and mastered.
Bolitho said shortly, "I will be in the chartroom, Mr. Inch. You may dismiss the watch below."
In the small cabin he sat at the table and stared fixedly at the chart. Everything was ready, but there seemed nothing to add to his careful calculations. He flicked the pages of his worn log book, each one a small record of miles sailed, ships sighted. Men killed or injured. He closed it with a snap and stood up. He must stop thinking back. Stop remembering, when there was nothing left to hold on to.
There was a rap at the door. "Enter."
Fee looked round and saw his brother standing inside the chartroom, watching him with expressionless formality.
Bolitho said, "Shut the door." Then quietly, "You may speak your mind. There is no one to hear you."
"I wanted to talk with you about…" He faltered and then added flatly, "I heard about your wife. I am sorry. What more can I say?"
Bolitho sighed. "Yes. Thank you."
"When I was at Cozar with the other convicts I used to see her walking by the old fortress. I think I fell in love with her also." He smiled sadly. "Do you think you will find the French this time?"
Bolitho looked at him. "Yes."
"If you do, and the fates are kind, what will you do about me?"
"I have not decided." Bolitho sat down wearily and massaged his eyes. "If we succeed in finding and beating Lequiller…"
His brother lifted an eyebrow. "Beating him?"
"To cripple him will be sufficient." It was strange how Hugh could see what others had not even suspected. A sea fight, perhaps one hundred miles out in the Bay, could mean as much destruction for victor as for vanquished.
He continued abruptly, "I can hand you to the authorities with a plea for pardon. In view of your work in the Spartan I do not see how it could be refused." He held up his hand. "Hear me and then speak. But if you wish, I will have you sent ashore on some duty." He looked away. "Then you can desert and make your own way."
"Either course leaves you open to criticism and real danger, Dick. The latter more so, because you will have to live with the knowledge that you have at last been influenced from your plain duty by personal bias-"
Bolitho stared at him. "For God's sake, do you think I care about that any more?"
"I do. You are offering me the chance to desert, not only because in your heart you mistrust the leniency of any court martial, but also because you fear the effect on my son if he sees me tried and hanged for treason." He smiled gently. "I know you, Dick!"
"Well?" Bolitho stood up and walked to the chart rack.
"I will take your offer and run." Hugh sounded suddenly tired. "Not to Cornwall where I might be recognised." He paused. "But it will be England and not some poxy jail at the other end of the earth."
Bolitho faced him. "Perhaps we will speak again later."
"I think not." His brother eyed him calmly. "By the way, I think you are foolish to act as you are now. You should have let Pelham-Martin take the blame and stay at anchor in St. Kruis. Now, whichever way it goes, he may be the victor."
"Maybe."
Hugh nodded. "And perhaps I'd have done the same. All Cornishmen are said to be slightly mad, and it seems we are no, exception."
Feet clattered in the passageway and Midshipman Pascoe thrust his head around the door.
"Mr. Roth's respects, sir, and may he take in a reef? The wind has freshened slightly." His eyes moved from Bolitho to Hugh. "Sir?"
Bolitho said, "No, he may not take in a reef, Mr. Pascoe. Not now, not at any time, unless we are faced with a hurricane."
Pascoe nodded. "Aye, aye, sir, I'll tell him at once." Then he asked, "Would. it be all right for Mr. Selby to
continue with the sextant instruction, sir? I seem to be slower than the others."
Bolitho studied him gravely. "Not slower, Mr. Pascoe. Just younger."
Then he looked at his brother. "If you find that convenient with your other duties, Mr. Selby, you have my permission." He added quietly, "In view of our recent conversation, I imagine you can be trusted to make good use of the time?"
Hugh nodded, his eyes suddenly bright. "The time'll be well spent, sir. You have my word on it."
When they had gone Bolitho rested his head in his hands and stared blindly at the chart. Once he had felt sorry for his brother, and the pointlessness of his future. Now he felt only envy. For even though the boy remained ignorant of his instructor's identity, Hugh would have him to himself, and could cherish the memory and the knowledge that his son would be safe from shame and live to be the extension of the life he had thrown away.
While he had nothing. He found his fingers touching the locket again. Only memories, and over the years they too would be as elusive as the wind and offer no comfort.
With a jerk he stood up and reached for his hat. Here was a bad place to be alone. On deck he at least had the ship, and for this mission he would try and make that suffice.