Plowman, the senior master's mate, was again selected to join the expedition, and Mr. Midshipman Arthur Breen, a carrot-headed sixteen-year-old whose face was a mass of freckles, completed the vessel's senior authority.
They had been so busy settling into their new ship that. the shadowy topsails of the three seventy-fours had vanished into the gathering darkness before anyone had found time to "comment.
Bolitho looked up as Veitch entered the cramped cabin. "Watch yourself!"
But it was too late. Veitch gave a gasp as his head cracked violently against a deck beam.
Bolitho pointed to a chest. 'sit down and save your skull." He pushed a wine bottle towards him. "Is everything se- cure?"
Aye, sir. "Veitch threw back his head and drained a metal goblet. "I’ve got "em standing watch and watch. It keeps "em busy, and makes sure we don’tget pounced on by some enemy patrol."
Bolitho listened to" the vessel's unfamiliar sounds, the rattle of rigging, the very near movements of the. rudder. Segura was roundly-built, probably Dutch originally, whenever originally had been. Her holds were spacious for her size, and packed to the seams with cargo and gunpowder. Her sail plan was austere, and manageable with the minimum amount of hands. Again, it made her almost certain to be Dutch-built. Profitable, both in space and size of crew, she had doubtless worked every coastline from the Baltic to the African shores. But she was old, and her Spanish masters had let her go badly. Plowman had already reported on the poor quality of her standing rigging and topping lifts, some of which he described as being "as thin as a sailor's wallet."
But Plowman was Grubb's right-hand man." Like the master" he was not content with unreliable workmanship.
Bolitho smiled to himself. If Plowman was bothered, the seamen selected for the prize crew appeared quite the opposite. Even aboard the Lysander, as he had spoken to them briefly before they had clambered into the boats, he had noticed their grins and nudges, the cheerful acceptance of their surprise role. Escape from boredom, something to do to break the daily routine, or maybe the fact that each was hand-picked helped to extend this carefree atmosphere. The notion they had been chosen mostly for their foreign tongues had not apparently arisen.
He could hear someone singing a strange, lilting song, and a regular chorus of voices as the watch below joined in. There was an unusual smell of cooking in the damp air between decks, too, further evidence of their new identity.
Veitch grinned. "They’ve settled in well, sir. That's Larssen singing, and the one detailed to cook is a Dane, so God knows what we’ll be eating tonight!"
Bolitho looked round as Plowman entered the cabin. He said, "I’ve left Mr. Breen with the watch, sir." He took the wine and regarded it gratefully. "Well, thankee, sir."
Bolitho glanced at them approvingly. Each, including himself, wore a plain blue coat, and a scruffier trio it would be hard to find. Typical, he hoped, of the countless hundreds of trading captains who sailed under every flag and carried any cargo they could find for a profit.
"Tomorrow we’ll run for Malta." Bolitho watched as Plowman tamped black tobacco in a long clay pipe. "I am Captain, " he smiled gravely, "Richard Pascoe. You can keep your own names. Mr. Veitch will be first mate. Mr. Plowman, second. My cox"n, Allday, will be filling the part of boatswain."
Plowman hesitated and then thrust a great pot of tobacco across the rickety table.
"If you"d care to try it, sir? It's, well, it's fair."
Bolitho took a pipe from a sandalwood box above the small chart table and handed another to Veitch.
"Anything once, Mr. Plowman!"
He became serious. "I will go ashore with Allday and a boat's crew. You will appear to be preparing to open hatches. But be ready to cut the cable and put to sea if anything goes wrong, If this should happen, you can stand inshore for a further two nights. Where I have marked on the chart. If there is still no signal from me, you must rejoin the squadron at Syracuse. Captain Farquhar will act accordingly. "
The air thickened visibly with smoke, and Bolitho said, "Fetch some more wine from the locker. Like our people up forrard, I feel strangely at peace; Tonight anyway."
Shoes clicked overhead and Veitch smiled. "Young Mr. Breen is alone up there. He is feeling like a post-captain, no doubt!"
Bolitho let the drowsiness move over him. He thought of Pascoe, his dark eyes eager and pleading as he had asked to be allowed to join him. He touched the old sword which lay against the table. Perhaps he should have left it in Lysander. If anything happened to him, the sword would probably disappear forever. And it was important in some strange way that Pascoe should have it. One day.
He did not see Veitch give a wink-to Plowman, who rose and said, "I’d better go an" relieve Mr. Breen, sir."
Veitch nodded. "And I must go forrard and see that all is well."
He stood up and cracked his head again.
"Damn these stingy shipbuilders, sir!" He grinned ruefull y. "A ship of the line maybe is crowded, but she keeps a man" s head on his shoulders!"
Alone once more, Bolitho leaned over his chart and studied it beneath a spiralling lantern. He removed his blue coat and loosened his neckcloth, feeling the sweat running freely down his spine. It was stiflingly hot, and the wine had not slaked his thirst.
Allday entered the cabin. "I’m bringing something to eat in a minute, sir." He wrinkled his nose. "This hull stinks like Exeter market!"
"The heat is no help to us." Bolitho threw down his dividers. "I will go on deck for a breath of air directly." "As you will, sir." Allday watched him pass. "I will send word when your meal is ready."
He looked round the untidy cabin and shrugged. Damp, dirty and smelly it certainly was". But after the oppressive heat of the day it felt almost cool. He saw the empty wine bottles and-chuckled. The commodore's heat was probably an inner one.
"Brail up the fores"l."
Bolitho shaded his eyes to examine the untidy sprawl of sand-coloured fortifications which protected every entrance to Valletta harbour. As they had made their slow approach, and had watched the sun rise behind Malta 's weather-worn defences, it had been hard for some of the seamen to see it for anything but a fortress.
'steady as you go." Plowman shifted his sturdy frame around the helmsmen, a pipe jutting from his jaw.
Bolitho knew that he, like most of the others, was finding it difficult to act in this casual and slack fashion after the rigid discipline of a King's ship. And at no other time was there anything more important about a ship's appearance than when entering harbour.
Bolitho ran his eye along the littered deck. Seamen lounged against either bulwark, pointing at landmarks, some with genuine interest, others with elaborate pretence.
Midshipman Breen said, "I’ve heard of this island many times, sir. I never thought I’d ever see it."
Plowman grinned. "Aye. Valletta was so named after the Grand Master of the Knights in honour of "is defence of it against the Turks."