The coxswain shook his head. "Not exactly, sir. He asked him if he could shoot a sword out of a man's hand, if necessary like."
Bolitho walked to the nettings. "I do not know about you, Allday."
He saw Leroux watching him, his features expressionless. For that brief moment he felt quite sorry for Gilchrist.
Bolitho leaned back to watch Lysander s towering spread of canvas. Ship of the line perhaps, but Farquhar was driving her with the fanatical demand of a frigate captain.
With the wind coming almost directly astern the ship was forging ahead well, her yards and shrouds creaking and vibrating under the tall pyramids of sails. Every so often her bow would dip and the forecastle would then be drenched in great showers of spray, like slivers of glass in the bright glare.
Bolitho stood halfway up a poop ladder, feeling his hair blowing wildly as he peered ahead of the lifting and plunging bowsprit. The gunfire had ceased, and he could see dark brown smoke drifting along the horizon, the uncertain silhouette of a large ship under reduced sails.
From the mainmast crosstrees he heard Luce yell, 'she's Nicator, sir!"
Farquhar, who had sent Luce aloft with his big signals telescope, paused in his restless pacing and snapped, "I. should damn well hope so!" He glared at Fitz-Clarence. "What the hell is she firing at?" Luce called again, his voice excited, and totally unaware of the tensions far below his dizzy perch. "Nother vessel on her lee side, sir! I think they"re grappling!"
Farquhar swung round. "Mr. Pascoe. If you think it not too undignified for a lieutenant to swarm up the ratlines like a damn monkey, I’d be obliged for a more rational report." Pascoe grinned and threw off his coat before hurrying to the main shrouds ",
Farquhar saw Bolitho watching and shrugged. "Luce comes of a good family, but I fear his powers of description would be better suited to poetry than to a man o"war."
Bolitho raised his eyes to see Pascoe hanging out and down as he pulled himself around the futtock shrouds and up beyond the maintop. How easy he made it look. He turned his attention to the distant ships, unable to torture himself with his hatred of heights.
"A glass, please."
He felt one handed to him and trained it through the angled rigging. Yes, it was easy to recognise Nicator" s bluff outline, the dull yellow paint of her figurehead. Beyond her hull he could see three masts, only one of which was square-rigged, as far as he could tell.
He heard Pascoe shout. "Barquentine, sir! I can see her flag!" A pause while Farquhar stared up at the swaying. masthead until his eyes watered. "A Yankee, sir!"
Farquhar turned and looked at Bolitho. He said sourly, "As if we, haven"t troubles enough!"
Bolitho tried to hide his disappointment from those who were watching his reactions. An American merchantman. Going about her affairs. There was nothing they could do about that, even if she was trading with the enemy. Blockade was one thing, but to provoke another war with the new United States would receive no praise from King and Parliament.
Bolitho said, 'signal the rest of our ships to remain in the patrol area." He watched an out-thrust spur of land, almost hidden mist and haze. "We have enough risk as it is, to be standing so close to the Isles of Hyeres, without leading the whole squadron ashore.
Farquhar nodded. "Bosun's mate! Call Mr. Luce to the deck!"
Minutes later, in response to Luce's signals, Osiris and the prize tacked heavily away from their leader to begin the long beat back to more open waters.
Bolitho said, "Make to Nicator that we are joining her directly."
What was Probyn doing? It was natural enough to feel resentment at the" sight of an American flag, especially to those, like Probyn, who had been taken prisoner during the revolution. But it was over and done with, and time for it to become a part of history. If a war was provoked by some act of stupidity, England would be worse off than ever. Fighting France and Spain, and an America which was now far more powerful than she had been those fifteen years back.
"Nicator has acknowledged, sir." Luce sounded breathless from his hasty descent down a backstay.
"Very well."
It took another half-hour to manoeuvre close enough to heave-to. By that time Nicator had ungrappled the American vessel, but as she had drifted downwind Bolitho had seen her poop spotted with the scarlet coats of Probyn" s marines.
He snapped, "Call away my barge." He looked at Farquhar. "It’ll save time, if nothing else."
The barge was swayed up and over the lee gangway, the crew tumbling into her almost before she had touched the water alongside. Allday's voice pursued the bargemen like a trumpet, and by the time Lysander was hove-to and Bolitho had reached the entry port, all was ready.
He said quietly, "Keep a weather-eye open for Buzzard. She should be beating round from the east"rd shortly." He looked grimly at Farquhar's handsome features. "I will send her to the admiral with my despatches." Farquhar shrugged. "I am sorry. I’d hoped for something of value."
But Bolitho was already climbing down the entry port stairs, trying not to lower his head to watch the sea sluicing along the rounded hull and lifting the barge towards his legs. He paused, counting seconds, and then as the barge swam up beneath him he jumped out and down, Allday's order to cast off coming before he had taken a proper breath.
He sat in the sternsheets with as much dignity as he could manage and said, "To Nicator, Allday."
He watched the other seventy-four's crossed yards towering above him, the slackness of some of her running-rigging. Like the man, he thought, untidy.
Allday steered the barge around the ship's great counter and towards her entry port. Bolitho was too busy watching the barquentine to care for Probyn's feelings or the inconvenience of a visit from his commodore
She was a lean, graceful vessel, and her name, Santa Paula, stood out in rich gold against a completely black hull. "Toss your oars!" Allday swung the tiller as the bowman hooked on to Nicator's main chains.
Bolitho said, "Return to the ship, Allday." He saw the sudden doubt. "It is all right this time. Nicator is still an English vessel, I trust!"
Allday touched his. forehead and grinned. "I’ll watch for your signal, sir."
Bolitho scrambled up to the entry port, noticing how scarred were the wooden stairs, while the chain plates of the main shrouds were badly dappled with red rust.
He found Probyn waiting with the side-party, his portly figure doused with spray.
He said, "I fear the reception is short-handed, sir, but my marines are aboard the Yankee."
'so I see." Bolitho began to walk aft, away from the curious faces by the port. "Now tell me. What happened?"
Probyn stared at him. "We ran down on the barquentine at noon, sir. I guessed she was a runner trying to pass through our patrol, so I signalled her to heave-to." He nodded, sensing Bolitho's mood. "I know we are not supposed to get involved with American neutrality, but-"
"There is no but about it. "
Bolitho glanced at the ship's two helmsmen. They looked as if they were dressed in the same clothes as when they had been caught by the press. All the captains knew his opinion about that. He had put it in his written orders to ensure that every man, pressed or volunteer, should begin life aboard ship in a proper issue of slop clothing. It was such a cheap but vital thing that he was amazed at the stupidity of some captains who were so miserly they issued nothing until their wretched seamen were almost in rags. Probyn knew it well enough, and had outwardly complied. But out of sight, out of mind apparently. He would deal with that later.