Allday clattered into the adjoining cabin, the hilt of his, cutlass glinting under his blue jacket.
"Party ready, sir." He was already reaching up for Bolitho's sword. "All fighting Jacks!" He grinned. "Picked "em myself."
Bolitho let him buckle his sword around his waist. He asked mildly, "Were they not volunteers?"
The big coxswain grinned all the broader. "Of course, sir. After I told "em my point of view, so to speak."
Bolitho shook his head and strode out of the cabin without looking back.
A cutter was pitching and creaking at the main chains, and the picked seamen were crowded amongst their weapons and the hands at the oars in an untidy mass.
Bolitho glanced around the quarterdeck and at the men who were already at the braces and along the yards overhead preparing to make more sail once the cutter had returned.
Herrick stood with the side party at the entry port, his features composed again.
Bolitho was about to reassure him, to tell him to take good care of the ship in his absence. But Lysander was Herrick's ship, not his.
Instead he said lightly, "Until we meet again, Captain Herrick."
Then he swung himself out of the port towards the waiting boat.
By the time he had reached the sternsheets and regained his breath the cutter was clear of the ship's side, the oars losing their confusion and falling into a slow rhythm across the choppy water.
It was then Bolitho realised that Pascoe was also in the boat, his dark eyes alight with excitement as he waved to someone on the two-decker's gangway.
Allday hissed angrily, "I knew you"d want him left on board, sir. No sense in putting all the eggs in one basket, so to speak." He hid his face from the oarsmen. "It was Mr. Gilchrist who gave the order."
Bolitho nodded. If he had harboured any doubts about Herrick's first lieutenant, they were gone now. By ordering Pascoe into the cutting-out party he had achieved two things. He could say that Bolitho was taking his nephew as an act of favouritism. He would share fully in any glory if the attack was successful. And if it was not? He looked at the youth, seeing his excitement as he "had once known it at eighteen years. If that happened, then Allday's comment would be only too true.
He stared across Pascoe's shoulder and watched the frigate's masts spiralling and swaying in the wind.
Pascoe said brightly, "By God, I’d like to command a ship like Buzzard!" He saw Bolitho's expression and added, "One day, sir."
Bolitho said, "We will deal with this business first, Mr. Pascoe." He smiled. "But I understand your feelings."
Allday fingered his cutlass and looked from one to the other. Now he had two to watch over. He frowned as the boat's coxswain failed in his first attempt to steer under the frigate's lee chains. And if anything happened to either of them he would settle Lieutenant bloody Gilchrist's hash for him no matter what.
The last seaman had barely scrambled aboard when Javal shouted, "Hands aloft and get the ship under way, Mr. Mears! We’ve a lot of distance to cover before nightfall!"
He looked at Bolitho and doffed his hat. "You are most welcome, sir. Though I fear you may find my quarters a mite cramped."
Bolitho returned his smile and replied evenly, "I have commanded three such vessels in my time, Captain Javal, but thank you for the reminder."
Allday glanced down as Pascoe nudged him in the ribs. Pascoe murmured quietly, "I think my uncle made his point very well, don’tyou?"
Allday grinned, suddenly reassured.
"And that's no error, Mr. Pascoe!"
3. Alone
UNDER topsails and jib the thirty-two gun frigate Buzzard stood close-hauled on the larboard tack, her yards braced round so tightly that from the deck they appeared almost fore and aft.
Bolitho gripped the hammock nettings and strained his eyes through the gloom. The light had gone suddenly, as was natural in these waters, and he was conscious of the muttering between Buzzard's master and her first lieutenant as they peered at the compass or inspected the set of each flapping sail.
Javal seemed confident enough and content to leave the navigation to his subordinates. Like him they were well used, a trained and self-reliant team. There was nothing false about Javal, and no trimmings in his quarters, which for a successful frigate captain were spartan. The cabin furniture consisted mostly of heavy chests, scattered about and within easy reach when required.
Javal joined him, his eyes screwed up against the spray which spattered above the nettings with each steep roll.
He said, "The coast is about a mile or so on the larboard bow sir. If I am to weather the headland I’ll have to stand clear very soon or come about for another approach. I wanted a wind, but this one blows too merrily for my liking." He pulled a stone bottle from his coat." A drink, sir? A warming swallow of Hollands will do you good. "
There was no offer of cup or goblet, so Bolitho held the fat bottle to his lips, feeling the gin running down his tongue like fire.
Javal remarked offhandedly, "Took quite a few bottles off a blockade-runner last August in the Channel. Better than nothing." He swung round, his voice harsh. "Watch your helm, damn your eyes! You’ll have us in irons before the next hour!" He became calm again. "I’d suggest we make our play soon now, sir." Bolitho smiled. That sudden spark of anxious rage had shown that Javal was mote human than he wished him to believe. It was never easy to close a little known shore in the dark. Harder still with a senior officer breathing down your neck.
He replied, "I agree."
Javal said, "I’m putting my first lieutenant in charge. The launch and the cutter should suffice, but in case there is a chance of a hue and cry being carried inshore to some Spanish garrison, I’d suggest a small landing party below the headland." He hesitated. "Your lieutenant perhaps?"
"Very well." Bolitho looked across the blurred procession of white-capped waves. "Mr. Pascoe is young, but has seen action enough."
Javal studied him curiously. "I will attend to it."
He hurried away barking out orders to the already assembled seamen. Blocks squeaked noisily and the boats began to move above the tier, the hands guiding them without effort, as if it was all in broad daylight.
Bolitho tried not to listen to the clatter of weapons, the occasional hesitation as a man failed to answer his name on a check list.
Allday loomed out of the darkness and said, "It’ll be a hard pull in this wind, sir." He seemed to sense something. "Can I help?"
Javal strode past. "We will heave-to, if you please!" In a louder tone he called, "Mr. Mears! Stand by to lower boats!"
Bolitho said swiftly, "Go with Mr. Pascoe. He will take the jolly boat. "
Allday understood but replied awkwardly, "But my place is with-" He grinned. "But you are right, sir."
Bolitho saw the gleam of white breeches against the opposite bulwark and heard Pascoe say, "I’m going now, sir." Bolitho moved to his side. 'see you take care, Adam." He tried to make light of it. "Your aunt would never forgive me if anything happened."