Allday stood and removed his hat as the officers scrambled into the barge.
"I shall want you to return and collect the commodore as soon as I'm aboard."
Allday nodded. "Aye, aye, Captain." He gestured to the bowman. "Cast off! Out oars there!" He watched the back of Bolitho's head, sensing his mood. "Give way all! Together!"
Bolitho sat rigidly in the sternsheets, his eyes fixed on the black silhouette of the Hyperion's upper yards. He had seen the quick exchange of glances between the bargemen, like privileged persons hearing some secret information. How did men such as these really see their commanders? he wondered. A stern fate at a flogging or pronouncing punishment, or a man who strode his quarterdeck, aloof and untroubled by the crowded world beneath his feet? And during battle, did they seek out that same, shadowy figure with any sort of real understanding or warmth?
He recalled how these same men had reacted when Pelham-Martin had hauled down his broad pendant, their resentment and hurt, as if their ship and therefore they themselves had been slighted. Now they knew the pendant was returning and seemed genuinely pleased by it. He wondered what they would think of the man beneath the command flag. One so beset with inner worries and personal doubt that faced with another reverse he might well break under the strain.
He looked up and saw the hull high above him, the scarlet-coated marines at the entry port, the gleam of harsh sunlight across upraised bosun's pipes.
As Allday guided the barge beneath the ship's lee he thought suddenly of what Hugh had said. They'd follow you anywhere. But men who followed must have the right leadership. It was no use feeling sorry for Pelham-Martin merely because he was out of his depth. These men needed leadership. He frowned. No, they should have it as
a right.
He climbed up the side, still thinking of Peiham-Martin even as he returned the salutes and made his way aft to the poop.
"Captain, sir?"
Bolitho opened his eyes and stared dully at the chart beneath his forearm. In the enclosed cabin the deckhead lantern was gyrating wildly, throwing shadows back and forth like spirits in torment, and he was immediately conscious of the increased motion around him.
Allday stood beside the table, a giant pot of coffee tightly grasped against his body.
"What time is it?"
"Seven bells, Captain." Allday took a cup from the rack and poured some black coffee between the ship's uneven plunges.
Seven bells. Bolitho leaned back in the chair and rubbed his eyes. He had been on deck almost continuously since the ships had quit the bay and butted out into a rising wind. Then for perhaps two hours he had tried to rest. To restore his tired mind before first light. He groaned. The middle watch still had half an hour to run.
Allday stood back to watch him drink. Then he said, "Mr. Inch's respects, and the wind's freshening."
"From the nor'-east?"
"Aye." He slopped more coffee into the cup.
"Well, that's something to give thanks for." If it veered now they would have to beat further away from the hidden islands. Without searoom they might still be caught off guard when the enemy made a dash for it. But if the wind got up or shifted they would be seen the moment the sun rose, and the way would be open either for Lequiller to escape or give battle on his own, overwhelming terms.
He slammed down the cup. I f… when… He was beginning to think like the commodore.
Allday helped him into his coat. "Will I call the commodore, Captain?"
"No." He walked out of the chartroom and almost tumbled over the cabin servant who was curled up and asleep in the passageway.
He. said, "Leave the rest of the coffee with him." He glanced at the sealed door of the stem cabin, the marine sentry swaying in the lantern light like a toy soldier. "He can give it to the commodore in a moment." He's not even asleep, he thought. Probably lying there staring at the deckhead, listening to every sound.
The quarterdeck was in total darkness, and the sudden noise of wind and sea told him instantly of the increasing force behind them.
Inch groped towards him. "We'll have to shorten sail again, sir."
Bolitho walked up the tilting deck and cupped his hand over the compass bowl. South by west. He could picture the desperate, struggling course they had taken since leaving St. Kruis. Up and round in a great circle, mostly into the teeth of the wind, with all hands on deck for much of the time. Now they were sailing south again, on what was to have been the easiest part. The islands were somewhere across the starboard bow, and with the wind pushing down on the opposite quarter they would have all the advantage if an enemy came out of shelter. It would spoil everything now if they overreached their proper station.
"Very well, Mr. Inch. Take in another reef."
He wondered if the Spartan was near those treacherous approaches yet. Whether his brother could remember so I long back… he broke off as Inch said, "Hermes is still on station, sir. We saw her close astern at six bells." He was yelling above the wind, his face shining with spray in the dim compass light.
"And the Telamon?"
"No sign, sir." Inch broke off to yell at some men nearby who had not heeded or heard the demanding call of the bosun's pipe.
Overhead the sails cracked and thundered remorselessly as the hands fought to contain them in pitch darkness. Bolitho could well imagine the terror of being up there. Yet it was excellent sailing weather. If only they could free themselves from these wretched islands. Sail and fight had been intended, instead of taking the power out of the old ship's sails when she had such strength to offer.
Inch shouted, "How do you think Mr. Selby is managing, sir`s"
It was an innocent question and he was obviously trying to make amends for what he still imagined was his own lapse whilst waiting for the barge.
"Well enough."
Inch nodded vaguely. "He has a way with him. Like Captain Farquhar, I thought him familiar at first."
Bolitho stiffened. Inch couldn't possibly have remembered him also. In St. Clar his brother had passed Inch in the darkness before the final evacuation, had handed him a ring, his mother's ring, to give to him as an only sign of recognition, and to say that he was not dead after all.
Inch said, "It must be something about the man, sir." He showed his teeth in an uncertain grin. "Young Mr. Pascoe's quite taken with him and seemed quite worried when he left the ship. Strange how these things happen."
Stranger than you know. Aloud he replied, "Now, if you have quite finished, Mr. Inch, perhaps you would be good enough to rouse the commodore and inform him of the weather. If the wind mounts further we will wear ship and gain more searoom."
Inch paused as Bolitho added coldly, "Just tell the commodore the barest details, if you please. I am sure he will be in no mood for light conversation at this time of morning."
He saw a shadow move by the lee rail and called, "Mr. Gascoigne! How do you enjoy your first watch as acting lieutenant?"
Gascoigne staggered up the slanting deck, paused and then almost fell as the ship wallowed sickeningly into a steep trough.
"Quite well, sir." He swallowed hard and added lamely, "Although only when Mr. Inch is on deck too, sir. Once when I was left alone I had a great dread that the ship was carrying me and every soul aboard into something solid yet invisible." He shuddered. "All this fabric and spars, the men below and the great weight of guns, yet I could find no word, even had there been danger."
"That is naturaL" Bolitho gripped the rail, feeling it wet and cold under his hand. "Once you are over that sensation you start to learn how to master the ship yourself, without waiting for others to say and do things for you. You get the feel of her. You discover her moods, good or bad, and learn to give her her head when the moment offers itself."
Gascoigne grinned. "I never thought of it like that." He walked away as Inch reappeared.
"Well?"