It felt different, he decided. No sentries on each gangway to watch for a sneak attack or a mass attempt at desertion. No nets to delay a sudden rush of enemy boarders. He touched a quarterdeck six-pounder with one hand. It felt like wet ice. But for how long, he wondered?
The master's mate of the watch prowled past, and then sheered away as he saw his captain by the rail.
'All's well, zur!' he called.
'Thank you.'
Bolitho did not know the man's name. Not yet. In the next hundred days he would know more than their names, he thought. As they would about him.
With a sigh he returned to his cabin, his hair plastered to his head, his cheeks tingling from the cold. There was no sign of Noddall, but the cot was ready for him, and there was something hot in a mug nearby.
A minute after his head was or. the pillow he was fast asleep.
The next day dawned as grey as the one before, but overnight the rain had stopped, and the wind held firm from the southeast.
All forenoon the work went on without relaxation, the petty officers checking and re-checking their lists of names, putting them to faces, making sure seasoned hands were spaced among the untried and untrained.
Bolitho dictated a final report to his clerk, a dried-up man named Pope, and then signed it in readiness for the last boat. He found time to speak with his officers, and seek out Mr. Tapril, the gunner, in his magazine to discuss moving some of the spare gun parts and tackle further aft and help adjust the vessel's trim until she had consumed some of her own stores to compensate for it.
He was changing into his seagoing coat, with its faded lace and dull buttons, when Herrick entered the cabin and reported he had brought fifteen new man from the hulks.
'What was it like?'
Herrick sighed. 'It was a sort of hell, sir. I could have got treble the number, a whole company of 'em, if I'd been able to bring their women and wives, too.'
Bolitho paused as he tied his neckcloth. 'Women? In the hulks?'
'Aye, sir.' I-Ierrick shuddered. 'I hope I never see the like again.'
'Very well. Sign them on, but don't give them anything to do just yet. I doubt they've the strength to lift a marlin spike after being penned up like that.'
A midshipman appeared in the open door.
'Mr. Davy's respect, sir.' His eyes darted around the cabin, missing nothing. 'And the anchor's hove short.'
'Thank you.' Bolitho smiled. 'Next time stay awhile, Mr. Penn, and have a better look.'
The boy vanished, and Bolitho looked steadily at Herrick. 'Well, Thomas?'
Herrick nodded firmly. 'Aye, sir. I'm ready. It's been a long wait.'
They climbed up to the quarterdeck together, and while Herrick moved to the forward rail with his speaking trumpet, Bolitho stood aft, a little apart from the others who were gathered restlessly at their stations.
Clink, clink, clink, the capstan was turning more slowly now, the men's backs bent almost double as the hull pulled heavilyy on the anchor.
Bolitho looked at the master's untidy shape beside the double wheel. He had four helmsmen. He was taking no chances, it seemed. With the helm, or his new captain's skill.
'Get the ship under way, if you please.' He saw Herrick's trumpet moving. 'Once clear of this local shipping we will lay her on the larboard tack and steer sou'-west by west.'
Old Mudge nodded heavily, one eye hidden beyond the headland of a nose.
'Aye, aye, sir.'
Herrick yelled, 'Stand by on the capstan!' He shaded his eyes to peer up at the masthead pendant. 'Loose heads'ls!'
The answering flap and clatter of released canvas made several new men peer round, confused and startled. A petty officer thrust a line into a man's hand and bellowed, ''Old it, you bugger! Don't stand there like a bloody woman!'
Bolitho saw a bosun's mate right forward astride the bowsprit, one arm circling above his head as the cable grew stiffer and more vertical beneath the gilded water-nymph.
'Hands aloft! Loose tops'ls!'
Bolitho relaxed slightly as the nimble-footed topmen swarmed up the ratlines on either beam. No sense in rushing it this first time. The watching eyes ashore could think what they liked. He'd get no thanks for letting her drive ashore.
'Man the braces!'
Herrick was hanging over the rail, his trumpet moving from side to side like a coachman's blunderbuss.
'Lively there! Mr. Shellabeer, get those damned idlers aft on the double, I say!'
Shellabeer was the boatswain, a swarthy, taciturn man who looked more like a Spaniard than a Devonian.
Bolitho leaned back, his hands on his hips, watching the swift figures dashing out on the vibrating yards like monkeys. It made him feel sick to watch their indifference to such heights.
First one, then the next great topsail billowed and banged loosely in confusion, while the seamen on the yards clung on, calling to each other, or jeering at their opposite numbers on the other masts.
'Anchor's aweigh, sir!'
Like a thing released from chains the frigate swung dizzily across the steep troughs, men falling and slithering at the braces as they fought to haul the great yards round, to cup the wind and master it.
'Lee braces there! Heave away!' Herrick was hoarse.
Bolitho gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain quite still as she plunged further and further astride the wind. Here and there a bosun's mate struck out with his rope starter or pushed a man bodily to brace or halliard.
Then with a booming roar like thunder the sails filled and hardened to the wind's steady thrust, the deck canting over and holding steady as the helmsmen threw themselves on their spokes. -
He made himself take a glass from Midshipman Keen and trained it across the starboard quarter, keeping his face impassive, even though he was almost shaking with excitement and relief.
The sail drill was very bad, the placing of trained men too sketchy for comfort, but they were away! Free of the land.
He saw a few people on the Point watching them heel over on the larboard tack, the top of a shining carriage just below the wall. Perhaps it was Armitage's mother, weeping as she watched her offspring being taken from her.
The master shouted gruffly, 'Sou'-west by west, sir! Full an' bye!'
When Bolitho turned to answer him he saw that the master was nodding with something like approval.
'Thank you, Mr. Mudge. We will get the courses on her directly.'
He walked forward to join Herrick at the rail, his body angled steeply to the deck. Some of the confusion was being cleared, with men picking their way amidst loose coils of rope like survivors from a battle.
Herrick looked at him sadly. 'It was terrible, sir.'
'I agree, Mr. Herrick.' He could not restrain a smile. 'But it will improve, eh?'
By late afternoon Undine had beaten clear of the Isle of Wight and was standing well out in the Channel.
By evening only her reefed topsails were visible, and soon even they had disappeared.
3. A Mixed Gathering
On the morning of the fourteenth day after weighing anchor at Spithead Bolitho was in his cabin sipping a mug of coffee and pondering for the countless time on what he had achieved.
The previous evening they had sighted the dull hump of Teneriffe sprawled like a cloud across the horizon, and he had decided to heave-to and avoid the hazards of a night approach. Fourteen days. It felt an eternity. They had been plagued by foul weather for much of that time. Flicking over the pages of his personal log he could see the countless, frustrating entries. Headwinds, occasional but fierce gales, and the constant need to shorten sail, to reef down and ride it out as best they could. The dreaded Bay of Biscay had been kind to them, that at least was a mercy. Otherwise, with almost half the ship's company too seasick to venture aloft, or too terrified to scramble out along the dizzily pitching yards without physical violence being used on them, it was likely Undine might have reached no further.