As the boat hooked on to the chains he saw Draffen standing alone in the centre of the tiny quarterdeck shading his eyes to watch him climb aboard.
Bolitho raised his hat as the small side party shrilled a salute, and nodded to a young lieutenant who was watching him with a kind of fascination.
Draffen called, “Come up here, Bolitho. You’ll get a better view.”
Bolitho took Draffen’s proffered hand. Like the man, it was tough and hard. He said, “That lieutenant. Is he the captain?”
“No. I sent him below just before you came aboard.” He shrugged. “Sorry if I disturbed your traditional ceremonial, but I wanted my chart from his cabin.” He grinned. “Cabin indeed. My watchdog has better quarters.”
He gestured forward. “No wonder they build these bombs the way they do. Every timber is twice as thick as that in any other
vessel. The recoil and downward shock of those beauties would tear the guts out of a lesser hull.”
Bolitho followed his hand and saw the two massive mortars mounted in the centre of the foredeck. Short, black and incredibly ugly, they nevertheless had a muzzle diameter of over a foot each. He could imagine without effort the great strain they would put on the timbers, to say nothing of those at the receiving end of their bombardment.
The other vessel anchored close abeam was very similar, and aptly named Devastation.
Draffen added half to himself, “The bombs will sail at night. No sense in letting those jackals at Algeciras know too much too early, eh?”
Bolitho nodded. It made good sense. He looked sideways at the other man as Draffen turned to watch some seamen flaking down a rope with the ease of spiders constructing a web.
Draffen was older than he had imagined. Nearer sixty than fifty, his grey hair contrasting sharply with his tanned features and brisk, muscular figure.
He said, “The news from England was bad, sir. I heard it from Sir Lucius.”
Draffen sounded indifferent. “Some people never learn.” He did not explain what he meant but instead turned and said, “About your brother. I met him when he commanded that privateer. I understand you destroyed his ship eventually.” His eyes softened slightly. “I have been learning quite a lot about you lately, and that piece of information makes me especially envious. I hope I could do what you did if called.” The mood changed again as he added, “Of course. I cannot possibly believe all I’ve heard about you. No man can be that good.” He grinned at Bolitho’s uncertainty and pointed over his shoulder. “Now take what the Hekla’s commander has told me, for instance. Never heard the like!”
Bolitho swung round and then stared with astonishment. The
man facing him, his long, horse-face changing from confusion to something like wild delight, was Francis Inch, no longer a mere lieutenant, but wearing the single epaulette on his left shoulder. Commander Inch, Hyperion’s first lieutenant at that final, bloody embrace with Lequiller’s ships in the Bay of Biscay.
Inch stepped forward, bobbing awkwardly. “It’s me, sir! Inch!”
Bolitho took his hands in his, not realising until now just how much he had missed him, and the past he represented.
“I always told you that I should see you get a command of your own.” He did not know what to say, and was very conscious of Draffen’s grinning face, and Inch peering at him that familiar, eager way which had once nearly driven him mad with exasperation.
Inch beamed. “It was either a bomb or first lieutenant of a seventy-four again, sir.” He looked suddenly sad. “After the old Hyperion I didn’t want another…” He allowed his grin to break through. “Now I have this.” He looked around his small command. “And this.” He touched the epaulette.
“And you have a wife now?” Bolitho guessed that Inch would have refrained from mentioning her. He would not wish to remind him of his own loss.
Inch nodded. “Aye, sir. With some of the prize money you got for us I have purchased a modest house at Weymouth. I hope you will do us the honour…” He became his old self again, unsure and bumbling. “But then, I am sure you will be too busy for that, sir…”
Bolitho gripped his arm. “I will be delighted, Inch. It is good to see you again.”
Draffen remarked dryly, “So there is warm blood in a sea officer after all.”
Inch shuffled his feet. “I shall write to Hannah tonight. She will be pleased to hear about our meeting.”
Bolitho eyed Draffen thoughtfully. “You certainly kept this as a surprise, sir.”
“The Navy has its ways of doing things.” He looked at the towering Rock. “And I have mine.”
He turned to Inch. “Now, Commander, if you will leave us alone, I have some matters to discuss.”
Bolitho said, “Dine with me tonight, Inch, aboard the flagship.” He grinned to cover the sudden emotion brought on by Inch’s appearance. “Your next promotion may be speeded that way.”
He saw Inch’s pleasure as he scurried over to his lieutenant, and guessed he would soon be retelling some of the old stories for his benefit.
Draffen remarked, “Not much of an officer, I suspect, ’til you got your hands on him.”
Bolitho replied quietly, “He had to learn the hard way. I never met a man more loyal nor one so lucky in many ways. If we meet the enemy, I suggest you stay close by Commander Inch, sir. He has the knack of remaining alive when all about him are falling and the ship herself is in pieces.”
Draffen nodded. “I will bear it in mind.” He changed to a brisker tone. “All being well, your squadron is sailing tomorrow evening. The bombs will follow later, but your admiral can give you fuller details than I.” He seemed to come to a decision. “I have made it my business to study your record, Bolitho. This venture we are undertaking will call for much resource and initiative. You may have to twist the Admiralty rules to suit the occasion. I happen to know that such methods are not unknown to you.” He smiled dryly. “In my experience I have found that war needs special men with their own ideas. Hard and fast rules are not for this game.”
Bolitho had a sudden mental picture of Broughton’s face when he had requested him to give Zeus permission to chase the Frenchman. Of his plan of battle, his apparent mistrust of anything untried or smelling of unorthodox methods.
He said, “I only hope we are not too late and that the French have not enlarged the defences at Djafou.”
Draffen looked round quickly and then said, “I have certain influence, connections if you like, and I do not intend you should have to rely entirely on luck and personal bravery. I know the Algerian coast well, and its people, who for the most part are both murderous and completely untrustworthy.” The smile returned. “But we will use what we can, and make the best of it. As John Paul Jones said under very similar circumstances, ‘If we cannot have what we like, we must learn to like what we have!’”
He thrust out his hand. “I must go and see some people ashore now. No doubt we will be meeting again very shortly.”
Bolitho watched him climb down into his boat and then joined Inch by the bulwark.
Inch said, “A strange man, sir. Very deep.”
“I believe so. He wields a good deal of power, nevertheless.”
Inch sighed. “He was telling me earlier about the place where we are going. He seems well versed in details.” He shook his head. “Yet I can find hardly anything about it.”
Bolitho nodded thoughtfully. Trade, but what sort of trade would anyone find in a place like Djafou? And where was the connection with the Caribbean and his meeting with Hugh?
He said, “I must return to my ship. We will talk more at dinner, although there are no familiar faces for you to see, I am afraid.”
Inch grinned, “Except Allday, sir. I cannot imagine you without him!”
Bolitho clapped his bony shoulder. “And neither can I!”
Later, as he stood alone in his cabin, Bolitho opened his shirt and toyed with the small locket, his eyes unseeing, as he stared through the stern windows. Inch would never guess how much his arrival had meant to him. Like the locket, something to hold on to, something familiar. One of his old Hyperions.