Another flogging. It had been worse than usual, even after Ozzard had closed the cabin skylight. The wild chorus of the wind through stays and shrouds, the occasional boom of reefed topsails, and all the while the rattle of drums and the sickening crack of the lash across a man's naked back.
He saw blood on the gangway, already fading and paling in the flung spray. Three dozen lashes. A man driven too far in the middle of the storm, an officer unable to deal with it on the spot.
Haven was in his quarters writing his log, or re-reading the letters which had been brought in the courier bag.
Bolitho was glad he was not here. Only his influence remained. The men who hurried about the decks looked strained, resentful. Even Jenour, who had not served very much at sea, had remarked on it.
Bolitho beckoned to the signals midshipman. 'The glass, if you please, Mr Furnival.' He noticed the youth's hands, raw from working all night aloft, and then trying to assume the dress and bearing of a King's officer by day.
Bolitho raised the glass and saw the sloop-of-war swim sharply into focus, the creaming wash of sea as she tilted her gunports into a deep swell. He wondered what her commander, Dunstan, was thinking as he rode out the wind and waves to hold station on his admiral. It was a far cry from Euryalus's midshipman's berth.
He moved the glass still further and saw a green brush-stroke of land far away on the larboard bow. Another island, Barbuda. They should have left it to starboard on the first day. He thought of the schooner, of Catherine who had asked the master to take her around Antigua to St John's instead of using the road.
A small vessel like that would stand no chance against such a gale. Her master could either run with the wind, or try to find shelter. Better ships would have suffered in the storm; some might have perished. He clenched his fingers around the telescope until they ached. Why did she do it? She could be lying fathoms deep, or clinging to some wreckage. She might even have seen Hyperion's toplights, have known it was his ship.
He heard the master call to the officer-of-the-watch, 'I would approve if you could get the t'gallants on her, Mr Mansforth."
The lieutenant nodded, his face brick-red from the salt spray. 'I -1 shall inform the Captain.' He was very aware of the figure by the weather side, with the boat-cloak swirling around him. Hatless, his black hair plastered to his forehead, he looked more like a highwayman than a vice-admiral.
Jenour emerged from the poop and touched his hat. 'Any orders, Sir Richard?'
Bolitho returned the glass to the midshipman. 'The wind has eased. Please make a signal to the transports to keep closed up. We are not out of trouble yet.'
The four ships which were sharing most of the treasure were keeping downwind of the two seventy-fours. With a brig scouting well ahead, and the other trailing astern like a guard-dog, they should be warned in time should a suspicious sail show itself. Then Hyperion and Obdurate could gauge their moment before running down on the convoy, or beating up to windward to join Phaedra.
Flags soared up to the yards and stiffened to the wind like painted metal.
'Acknowledged, Sir Richard.' Then in a hushed voice Jenour added, The Captain is coming.'
Bolitho felt the bitterness rising within him. They were more like conspirators than of one company.
Haven walked slowly across the streaming planking, his eyes on the gun-breechings, flaked lines, coiled braces, everything.
He was apparently satisfied that he had nothing to fear from what he saw, and crossed the deck to Bolitho.
He touched his hat, his face expressionless while his eyes explored Bolitho's wet shirt and spray-dappled breeches.
'I intend to make more sail, Sir Richard. We should carry it well enough.'
Bolitho nodded. 'Signal Obdurate so that they conform. I don't want us to become separated.' Captain Thynne had lost two men overboard the previous day and had backed his mizzen topsail while he had attempted to send away the quarter boat. Neither of the luckless men was recovered. They had either fallen too far from aloft and been knocked senseless when they hit the sea, or like most sailors, were unable to swim. Bolitho had not intended to mention it.
But Haven snorted, 'I will make the signal at once, Sir Richard. Thynne wants to drill his people the better, and not dawdle about when some fool goes outboard through his own carelessness!'
He gestured to the lieutenant of the watch.
'Hands aloft and loose t'gan'sls, Mr Mansforth!' He looked at the midshipman. 'General signal. Make more sail.' His arm shot out across the quarterdeck rail. 'That man! Just what the bloody hell is he about?'
The seaman in question had been wringing out his checkered shirt in an effort to dry it.
He stood stockstill, his eyes on the quarterdeck, while others moved aside in case they too might draw Haven's wrath.
A boatswain's mate yelled, "Tis all right, sir! I told him to do it!'
Haven turned away, suddenly furious.
But Bolitho had seen the gratitude in the seaman's eyes and knew that the boatswain's mate had told him nothing of the kind. Were they all so sick of Haven that even the afterguard were against him?
'Captain Haven!' Bolitho saw him turn, the anger gone. It was unnerving how he could work up a sudden rage and disperse it to order. 'A word, if you please.'
The midshipman called, 'All acknowledged, sir.'
Bolitho said, 'This ship has never been in action under your command or beneath my flag. I'll trouble you to remember it when next you berate a man who has been running hither and thither for two days and nights.' He was finding it hard to keep his voice level and under control. 'When the time comes to beat to quarters in earnest, you will expect, nay, demand instant loyalty.'
Haven stammered, T know some of these troublemakers -'
'Well, hear me, Captain Haven. All these men, good and bad, saints and troublemakers, will be called on to fight, do I make myself clear? Loyalty has to be earned, and a captain of your experience should not need to be told! Just as you should not require me to remind you that I will not tolerate senseless brutality from anyone!'
Haven stared back at him, his eyes sparking with indignation.
'I am not supported, Sir Richard! Some of my wardroom are as green as grass, and my senior, Mr Parris, is more concerned with gaining favour for himself! By God, I could tell you things about that one!'
Bolitho snapped, 'That is enough. You are my flag captain, and you have my support.' He let the words sink in. 'I know not what ails you, but if you abuse my trust once again, I shall put you in the next ship for England!'
Parris had appeared on deck and as the calls trilled to muster the topmen once again for making more sail, he glanced at Bolitho, then at his captain.
Haven tugged his hat more firmly over his ginger hair and said, 'Carry on, Mr Parris.'
Bolitho knew Parris was surprised. There was no additional threat or warning.
As the seamen poured up the ratlines like monkeys, and the masthead pendant whipped sharply for the first time to prove that the wind was indeed easing, Haven said stiffly, 'I have standards too, Sir Richard.'
Bolitho dismissed him and turned again towards the far-off island. Allday stood a few paces away. He never seemed to trust him alone any more, Bolitho thought.
Allday said, 'Them island schooners is hardy craft, Sir Richard.'
Bolitho did not turn but touched his arm. 'Thank you, old friend. You always know what I'm thinking.' He watched two gulls rising above the wave crests, their wings spread and catching a brighter sunlight as it broke through the clouds. Like Catherine's fan.
He said desperately, 'I feel so helpless.' He looked at Allday's strong profile. 'Forgive me. I should not pass my burden to you.'