"Do what you like." Pelham-Martin closed his eyes and sighed. "I am far from well."
"When we enter the bay I have told Trudgeon what he must do, sir."
The effect of his words was staggering. Pelham-Martin struggled on to his elbow, the sweat pouring down his face and neck in a small flood.
"I'll not have him touch me, do you hear? You'd like that, wouldn't you? To see me cut about by that blundering fool while you take over my command?" He sank back breathing hard. "We will return to St. Kruis. I have yet to decide what to do."
Bolitho studied him gravely. "We still do not know of Lequiller's whereabouts. He has the San Leandro and most of his squadron intact. I would think it likely he is ready to proceed with his plan." He hardened his voice. "We cannot wait any longer, sir."
But Pelham-Martin turned his face away and remained silent.
Bolitho walked to the door. "I will keep you informed, sir." As he stepped into the passageway he heard the clink of glass behind him.
On the quarterdeck Inch was waiting, his horseface anxious as Bolitho looked at the compass and then the set of the sails.
He said, "South by west, sir."
Bolitho nodded absently, his mind still grappling with Peiham-Martin's strange manner. He had expected him to show dismay at being wounded, at the very unfairness which had singled him out from all the rest of the ship's company. It was almost as if he had found his excuse at last. One which nobody could dispute or question. He had been wounded. In his own view, not badly enough to be relieved of his command, but sufficient to deprive him of any active part in the vital decisions which now confronted him.
Inch said, "I was wondering what we might be asked to do next, sir?"
Bolitho walked past him. "We tread warily, Mr. Inch."
"Sir?"
"Before, we had very little to use for information." He glanced towards the captured frigate as she yawned astern of the Spartan, a bright red ensign flying above her Tricolour. "Now we have some prisoners. We may yet learn something of Lequiller's intentions." He shifted his gaze upwards towards Pelham-Martin's broad pendant. "And when we do, Mr. Inch, we will have an edge on him for a change."
He walked to the lee side and peered across the starboard quarter. The sunlight was forcing steadily through the layers of cloud and he could feel the warmth returning to his tired body as he studied the small islands fading into a growing haze. There was much to do, and Farquhar would have more information which might be useful. But it was essential to get the crippled ships and their wounded back to St. Kruis first.
There would be many grieving hearts there when the Telaman returned, he thought sadly. It was to be hoped that their great sacrifice was not to be in vain.
By noon the following day there was little sign of the threatening sky and wind which had' hastened their departure. As the slow procession of ships entered the bay and dropped anchor the sun blazed down on the clear 'water as if eager that nothing should be left hidden from the silent watchers on the shore.
Bolith stood on the poop shading his eyes from the glare as the Telamon was warped, listing and with- her lower ports under water, to rest on a strip of sand at the foot of the headland. Every available boat had been lowered to take off her wounded, and Bolitho could see tiny figures, mostly women, wading through the shallows to peer into each incoming craft, their grief made no less terrible by distance.
Anchored below the hilltop battery the captured frigate was already seething with activity as Farquhar prepared to land the prisoners and make good the damage with whatever facilities were still available. Hugh would be returning soon. Bolitho bit his lip. It was strange how his own personal troubles had deserted him in the anxiety of the chase. And there was still the commodore to be roused from his unreachable torpor.
He swung round as a gun boomed dully from the hillside.
Inch clattered up the poop ladder. "They have sighted a ship, sir!"
Bolitho stared towards the open sea beyond the headland. She must be around the point and heading for the bay. A single ship could not be an enemy. He looked at Inch with sudden understanding. "One of our reinforcements." He walked quickly to the rail. "At last!"
It took another half hour for the incoming vessel to show herself, and as she tacked slowly towards the bay Bolitho could hardly contain the sensation of relief and hope which her flapping topsails seemed to offer. She was a two-decker, but smaller than Hyperion, and in the bright sunlight he could see the sheen of new paintwork on her spray-dashed side and her figurehead agleam with fresh gilt.
Flags appeared as if by magic on her yards, and he heard Carlyon shouting to the officer of the watch, "She's the Impulsive, sixty-four, sirl With despatches for the commodore!"
Inch said, "From England!" It sounded like a cry from the heart.
Bolitho did not speak. The Impulsive was here, and with her his friend Thomas Herrick. He could feel his limbs trembling, like the return of his old fever, but he did not care. At last he would have someone to confide in. The one and only man with whom he had ever really shared his hopes and fears. Once his first lieutenant, now as captain of a ship of the line he was here, and nothing could ever be so grim as it had seemed before the sound of the signal gun.
He hurried down the ladder, seeing his men crowding the gangways to stare at the new arrival, and like himself accepting her as more than a mere reinforcement. She had come from England. She represented something different to each man, a memory, a village, a green field, or the face of one particular and dear to him.
Lieutenant Roth was already at the entry port mustering the side party.
Bolitho watched as the anchor splashed down beneath the Impulsive's bow and noted the smartness with which the sails vanished along her yards. Herrick had always been worried by the prospect of command. Bolitho had told him often enough that he had no need to doubt his ability, and the excellent seamanship he had just displayed was surely proof enough.
He heard Inch telling Roth that the captain who was about to be received on board had been Hyperion's first lieutenant before him, and he wondered if Herrick would notice the change which authority and hard work had wrought upon Inch. It would probably seem like a small miracle. He found himself smiling at the prospect of the confrontation.
From the corner of his eye he saw Captain Dawson raise his sword and the paraded marines stiffen to attention as the Impulsive's barge hooked on to the chains.
As a cocked hat appeared in the entry port and the pipes shrilled their salute Bolitho stepped forward, his hands outstretched in welcome.
Captain Thomas Herrick climbed through the port and removed his hat. Then he seized Bolitho's hands and held then for several seconds, his eyes, as clear and bright blue as the first day they had met, studying him with obvious emotion.
Bolitho said warmly, "It is good to have you here, Thomas." He took his arm and led him towards the quarterdeck ladder. "The commodore is suffering from a wound, but I will take you to him directly." He paused and looked at him again. "How are things in England? Did you manage to visit Cheney before you sailed to join us?"
"I put into Plymouth for stores, then I went overland to visit her." Herrick swung round and seized his hands, his tone tight with sudden anguish. "In God's name, how can I tell you?"
Bolitho stared at him, chilled by Herrick's distress. "What is it? Has something happened?"
Herrick looked past him, his eyes blurred as he relived his own part of the nightmare.
"She had been visiting your sister. It was to have been her last journey before the child was born. Close to St. Budock something must have startled the horses, for the berlin went off the road and overturned." He paused, but when Bolitho said nothing continued, "The coachman was killed, and your steward, Ferguson, who was with her, knocked almost senseless. When he recovered he carried her two miles." He swallowed hard. "For a one-armed man it must have been like a hundred!" He gripped Bolitho's hands tightly. "But she was dead. I saw the doctor and a surgeon from the garrison who rode from Truro. There was nothing they could do for her." He dropped his eyes. "Or for the child."