He looked over.Grubb's vast untidy shape and decided it was probably true. He was an odd mixture. His features were like the rest of him. Wrecked by countless winds and storms, the damage well aided by heavy drinking. There was something rather fearsome about him, too. And from now on he would be one of the most valuable men in the squadron.
Grubb took a watch the size of an apple from one pocket and examined it before saying. "Bout now, I’d suggest, sir. "Bolitho nodded and turned towards Herrick. He saw Pascoe and one of the midshipmen ready and waiting with the signal party, a petty officer writing on his slate.
"Very well, Captain. We will get the squadron underway, if you please. "
He made himself walk slowly across the littered deck, trying not to look down at the various blocks and tackles which the quarterdeck division had been preparing since dawn. It would be a splendid sight for the Lysander's people to see him catch his toe and pitch headlong amongst them. Strangely enough, the dreadful picture helped to steady him, and he was able to concentrate on the other ships as one by one the flags soared up to the yards to acknowledge Herrick's signal "Up anchor".
He heard a midshipman call, "All acknowledged, sir!" Then Pascoe's voice, quivering slightly to betray his own excitement. 'stand by on the quarterdeck!"
Gilchrist's feet thudded across the planking, and even through his speaking trumpet his tone was disapproving. "Mr. Yeo, have more hands put to the capstan bars! I want no delays!"
Bolitho did not turn. Yeo was the boatswain. He would meet him in due course. He saw the little Harebell rolling drunkenly, her yards alive with busy seamen. Her cable was up and down, and he thought he saw Inch's scarecrow figure by the quarterdeck rail, one arm pointing across the countless white cat's-paws which moved down with the wind and turned the anchorage into a miniature sea.
Bolitho took a telescope from the midshipman of the watch. As he trained it towards the other two-deckers he asked, "And what is your name?"
The midshipman was staring at him, almost transfixed. 'saxby, sir."
Bolitho watched the seamen dashing aft along Nicator's gangways. Saxby was about thirteen. Round-faced and innocent looking. His otherwise pleasant appearance was spoiled when he opened his mouth as both his front teeth were missing.
He steadied the glass and shut Gilchrist's metallic voice from his mind. It was all taking far too long. Caution was one thing. This amounted to a nervous crawl.
He snapped, "There is some delay, Captain Herrick."
“Sir?" Herrick sounded off guard.
"Execute the signal, if you please." He hated doing it, but there was more at stake than personal feelings.
He heard the bark of orders, the muffled shouts of the topmen as they clawed along the vibrating yards.
Then, as the signal was hauled down at the rush, the cry echoed aft from the forecastle, "Anchor's aweigh!"
Lysander's broad hull dipped heavily to one side, as with her anchor swinging free and the wind already banging and thundering in her released topsails she started to swing down across the choppy wavelets.
"Man the braces there!"
Feet skidded on damp planking, arid more men ran wildly from the capstan to lend a hand.
One by one, the three ships of the line went about like. ponderous beasts, while further to seaward the frigate Buzzard and Inch's sloop were already spreading more sail to stand clear of their big consorts.
Somebody cried out sharply, and Bolitho heard the crack of a starter across a man's naked back.
High above the deck the topmen were racing each other in their efforts to beat the rest of the squadron as Herrick shouted, "Get the forecourse on her, Mr. Gilchrist!" He added sternly, "And tell that bosun's mate to be less free with his rope's-end, or I will know the reason!"
Bolitho walked to the opposite side and watched as Osiris tacked heavily astern of the Nicator. She made a fine sight. Her topsails set and hard-bellied to the wind, she was heeling so steeply that her bow wave was almost up to the lower gun ports. Her forecourse and then mainsail flapped and then filled as one, so that in the hard sunlight they looked like white metal.
He said, "Nicator is falling astern. Signal her to make more sail."
It might be that Captain Probyn was too busy to notice that his ship was already badly out of line with the other seventy- fours. Equally, he could be testing his commodore's mettle and powers of observation.
The signal midshipman called, "Nicator's acknowledged, sir. "
Probyn's topmen were already setting the fore topgallant sail. It was just a bit too quick, Bolitho decided. Probyn was testing him.
Grubb was peering at the sails overhead, the compass and his helmsmen, and all without apparently shifting a muscle. Only his eyes moved, swivelling up and down, forward and abeam, like lanterns in a rough scarlet cliff.
Within an hour the squadron was free of the approaches, the three ships of the line making a proud sight under reduced canvas as they stood clear of the land. To leeward, their pyramids of pale canvas already blurred in haze, Buzzard and Harebell tacked busily under all possible sail to take station well ahead of their commodore.
Herrick called, "Very well, Mr. Grubb. Steer east-sou"-east."
Then he crossed to the nettings where Bolitho stood with one foot on the truck of a quarterdeck nine-pounder.
Bolitho looked at him and gave a quiet-smile. "Well, Thomas, how does it feel now?"
Herrick's face lost some of its lines. It was like seeing a cloud moving away, Bolitho thought.
Herrick replied, "Better, sir." He let out a deep breath. "A whole span better!"
Bolitho shaded his eyes to look towards the land. There were probably couriers already galloping along a coast road even at this very minute. But there was no point in slipping like poachers through the GibraltarStrait under cover of darkness. He had his orders, but the Earl of St. Vincent had
. made it very clear it was up to him how he interpreted and executed them. It would do no harm for the enemy to know a British force was once more abroad in the Mediterranean.
He let his gaze move up to the masthead, to the big dovetailed flag which was now as stiff as a plank in the steady wind. His flag.
He looked along the crowded decks at the scurrying seamen, the great coils of rope and lashings which to any landsman would seem like a hopeless tangle. And still further to the beakhead, beneath which he could just see one of the Spartan general's massive shoulders. Inch's sloop was a mere sliver of white against the horizon haze, leading the squadron. He smiled to himself. As he had once done in his own first command at the Chesapeake. Another ship. Another war.
Herrick asked; "Do you have any instructions, sir?"
He looked at him, seeing Pascoe watching from the lee rail, one hand on his hip
"The ship is yours, Thomas." He made to turn away and added, "What did you have in mind?"
"I should like to exercise the gun crews." Herrick tried to relax. "I am satisfied with the sail drill at present."
Bolitho smiled. 'so be it."
He realised that Gilchrist was hovering close by and added, "I will be in my cabin."