Through the open skylight he heard the shrill of a call, the slap of bare feet as the watch on deck responded to the order to man the braces yet again, and retrim the great yards to hold this cupful of wind. He heard Parris, too, and was reminded of a strange incident when one of the infrequent Levantine gales had swept down on them from the east, throwing the ship into confusion.
A man had gone overboard, probably like Keen's sister's husband, and while the ship forged away with the gale, the sailor had floundered astern, waiting to perish. For no ship could be brought about in such a blow without the real risk of dismasting her. Some captains would not even have considered it.
Keen had been on deck and had yelled for the quarter-boat to be cast adrift. The man overboard could obviously swim; there was a chance he might be able to reach the boat. There were also some captains who would have denied even that, saying that any boat was worth far more than a common seaman who might die anyway.
But Parris had shinned down to the boat with a handful of volunteers. The next morning the wind had backed and dropped, its amusement at their efforts postponed. They had recovered the boat, and the half-drowned seaman.
Parris had been sick with pain from his wounded shoulder, and Blachford had examined it afresh, and had done all he could. Bolitho had seen respect on Keen's face, just as he had recorded Parris's fanatical determination to prove himself. Because of him, there was one family in Portsmouth who would not grieve just yet. Blachford must also have been thinking of it, as well as all the other small incidents which when moulded into one hull made a fighting ship.
He remarked, 'That was a brave thing your lieutenant did. Not many would even attempt it. It can be no help to see your own ship being carried further and further away until you are quite alone.'
Bolitho called for Ozzard. 'Some wine?' He smiled. 'You are only unpopular aboard this ship if you ask for water!'
The joke hid the truth. They had to divide the squadron soon. If they did not water the ships… He shut it from his mind as Ozzard entered the cabin.
And all the time he felt Blachford watching him. He had only once touched on the subject of his eye, but had dropped the matter when Bolitho had made light of it.
Blachford said abruptly, 'You must do something about your eye. I have a fine colleague who will be pleased to examine it if I ask him.'
Bolitho watched Ozzard as he poured the wine. There was nothing on the little man's face to show he was listening to every word.
Bolitho spread his hands. 'What can I do? Leave the squadron when at any moment the enemy may break out?'
Blachford was unmoved. 'You have a second-in-command. Are you afraid to delegate? I did hear that you took the treasure galleon because you would not risk another in your place.'
Bolitho smiled. 'Perhaps I did not care about the risk.'
Blachford sipped his wine but his eyes remained on Bolitho. Bolitho was reminded of a watchful heron in the reeds at Falmouth. Waiting to strike.
'But that has changed?' The heron blinked at him.
'You are playing games with me.'
'Not really. To cure the sick is one thing. To understand the leaders who decide if a man shall live or die is another essential part of my studies.'
Bolitho stood up and moved restlessly about the cabin. 'I am the cat on the wrong side of every door. When I am at home I fret about my ships and my sailors. Once here and I yearn for just a sight of England, the feel of grass underfoot, the smell of the land.'
Blachford said quietly, 'Think about it. A raging gale like the one I shared with you, the sting of salt spray and the constant demands of duty are no place for what you need.' He made up his mind. 'I tell you this. If you do not heed my warning you will lose all sight in that eye.'
Bolitho looked down at him and smiled sadly. 'And if I hand over my flag? Can you be sure the eye will be saved?'
Blachford shrugged. 'I am certain of nothing, but -'
Bolitho touched his shoulder. 'Aye, the but; it is always there. No, I cannot leave. Call me what you will, but I am needed here.' He waved his hand towards the water. 'Hundreds of men are depending on me, just as their sons will probably depend on your eventual findings, eh?'
Blachford sighed. 'I call you stubborn.'
Bolitho said. 'lam not ready for the surgeon's wings-and-limbs tub just yet, and I do not yearn for glory as some will proclaim.'
'At least think about it.' Blachford waited and added gently, 'You have another to consider now.'
Bolitho looked up as a far-off voice cried out, 'Deck there! Sail on the lee bow!'
Bolitho laughed. 'With luck that will be your passage to England. I fear I am no match for your devious ways.'
Blachford stood up and ducked his head between the massive beams. 'I never thought it, but I'll be sorry to go.' He looked at Bolitho curiously. 'How can you know that from a masthead's call?'
Bolitho grinned. 'No other ship would dare come near us!'
Later, as the newcomer drew closer, the officer-of-the-watch reported to Keen that she was the brig Firefly. The vessel which, like the old Superb in Nelson's famous squadron, sailed when others slept.
Bolitho watched as Blachford's much-used chests and folios were carried on deck and said, 'You will meet my nephew. He is good company.'
But Firefly was no longer captained by Adam Bolitho; it was another young commander who hurried aboard the flagship to make his report.
Bolitho met him aft and asked, 'What of my nephew?'
The commander, who looked like a midshipman aping his betters, explained that Adam had received his promotion. It was all he knew, and was almost tongue-tied at meeting a vice-admiral face to face. Especially one who was now well known for reasons other than the sea, Bolitho thought bleakly.
He was glad for Adam. But he would have liked more than anything to see him.
Keen stood beside him as Firefly spread more sails, and tacked around m an effort to catch the feeble wind.
Keen said, 'It seems wrong without him in command.'
Bolitho looked up at Hyperion's braced yards, the masthead pendant lifting and curling in the glare.
'Aye, Val, I wish him all the luck -' he faltered and remembered Hernck's Lady Luck. 'With men like Sir Piers Blachford taking an interest at long last, maybe Adam's navy will be a safer one for those who serve the fleet.'
He watched the brig until she was stern-on and spreading more canvas, and her upper yards were touched with gold. In two weeks' time Firefly would be in England.
Keen moved away as Bolitho began to pace up and down the weather side of the quarterdeck.
In his loose, white shirt, his lock of hair blowing in the breeze, he did not look much like an admiral.
Keen smiled. He was a man.
A week later the schooner Lady Jane, sailing under Admiralty warrant, was sighted by the frigate Tybalt, whose captain immediately signalled his flagship.
The wind was fair but had veered considerably, so that the smart schooner had to beat back and forth for several hours before more signals could be exchanged.
On Hyperion's quarterdeck, Bolitho stood with Keen and watched the schooner's white sails fill to the opposite tack, while Jenour's signals party ran up another acknowledgement.
Jenour said excitedly, 'She is from Gibraltar with despatches, Sir Richard.'
Keen remarked, They must be urgent. The schooner is making heavy weather of it.' He gestured to Parns. 'Prepare to heave-to, if you please.'
Calls trilled between decks and men swarmed through hatchways and along the upperdeck to be mustered by their petty officers.
Bolitho touched his eyelid and pressed it gently. It had barely troubled him since Sir Piers Blachford had left the ship. Was it possible that it might improve, despite what he had said?