COLOURS ALOFT!

14. SPEAK WITH PRIDE

BOLITHO stood quite still beside Helicons wheel which had somehow remained intact. He had forcibly to examine the ship's upper deck, masts and gangways if only to convince himself that the fight had been two weeks ago. It looked as if it had been yesterday.

The wind which had brought the French down like thunder on this shattered vessel had died away completely; in fact the last few miles before Argonaute had made contact with the squadron had been an additional torment.

There was a deep, oily swell, above which a hard sun, more silver than gold, laid bare the scattered ships, their disorder seeming to symbolize their combined shock and defeat.

Figures bustled about the decks, sailors from other ships, for there were not so many from Inch's company who were fit to work. The clank of pumps was a reminder of the damage, if anyone needed reminding, and as a crude jury-rig began to emerge from the tangle of cordage and tackles Bolitho wondered how the ship had managed to survive.

Ripped deck planking, great patterns of dried blood, black in the harsh glare, upended guns and charred canvas; only the dead were missing, and the wounded were below, fighting their own private battles while the ships' surgeons did what they could for the ones who still refused to die.

Bolitho could feel Allday watching with him, sharing it, remembering all those other times.

It had not been a battle. More like a slaughter. But for the arrival of Barracouta, tearing down on the scene under full sail, Helicon would be on the bottom. If the wind rose again she might still make that final journey, he thought.

Barracouta had tossed caution aside, had even shredded her studding sails to the wind as she had endeavoured to turn aside the enemy's calculated assault.

Allday said, "Why not go back to the ship, sir. Good bath an' a shave, might do wonders."

Bolitho looked at him. "Not yet." He felt sick, stunned by the savagery of the destruction all around him. "If I ever forget this day, remind me." He added fiercely, "No matter what!"

He saw Tuson below the poop. Even that deck was mauled and knocked out of shape. As if a giant had crushed it and left great black scars, like burning clawmarks. So many had died here, and many more were paying for that day.

He asked, "How is he now?"

Tuson regarded him impassively. "The ship's surgeon took off his arm too low, sir. I am not satisfied with it. I would suggestBolitho seized his sleeve. "God damn you, man, that is my friend you are speaking of, not some bloody carcass!" He turned aside and said quietly, "Forgive me."

Tuson watched him and said, "I understand. But I would like to deal with it myself."

He did not say what Bolitho already knew, that Helicon's own surgeon had made a bad wound worse by his treatment. In fairness, he had been overwhelmed by the ferocity of the battle, the tide of broken, frightened men who had been dragged down to the orlop to face his knife and saw, while the ship had quaked to the roar of guns, the terrifying fire from the enemy.

"I must see him." Bolitho watched some seamen flinging broken timber and other fragments over the side. They had not been in this ship and yet they moved like survivors, the heart gone out of them.

Tuson said, "I cannot promise anything." He glanced at Bolitho's profile. "I am sorry."

Beneath the poop there was still the stench of burning and pain, death and anger. A few guns lay on their sides or at the full extent of their tackles where they had recoiled on a last broadside before their crews were scattered or cut down. The sunlight shone through distorted gunports, gouged into strange shapes by the intensity of the attack.

From the main deck the sounds of hammers and squeaking blocks became muted as Bolitho groped his way down the companion to all that was left of the wardroom. Inch's own quarters had been swept away completely, charred beyond recognition, and had taken those of the gun crews and after-guard who had stayed to the last. Bolitho saw men glancing at him, parting to let him through before returning to their work in saving the ship and preparing her for a passage to safety. The regular clank of pumps seemed to sneer at their efforts, and the cries from the wounded as they waited for relief or death added to a backcloth of hopelessness.

Helicons wardroom seemed almost cold after the upper deck, and even though the stern windows had been blasted away it could not free the place of its stench.

Bolitho stood beside the cot and looked down at Inch's pale features. He did not seem to be conscious and Bolitho felt his heart chill as he saw the bloody bandage where Inch's arm had been. The thing he had always feared most for himself had happened to his friend.

Tuson drew down a blanket and said, "He took a metal splinter here, sir." He replaced the blanket and added heavily. "Their surgeon says he removed it." He sounded doubtful.

It was then Bolitho realized that Inch had opened his eyes and was staring at him. His eyes did not move, as if he was concentrating all his strength to recognize and discover what was happening.

Bolitho leaned over him and took his hand. "I'm here, old friend."

Inch licked his lips. "I knew you'd come. Knew it." He shut his eyes and Bolitho felt his grip tighten as the agony tore through him. But the grip was feeble nonetheless.

Inch said, "Three ships of the line. But for Barracouta, I'm afraid-"

Tuson whispered, "Please, sir, he's terribly weak. He'll need all his will to survive what I must do."

Bolitho turned to him, their faces almost touching. "Must you?

Tuson shrugged. "Gangrene, sir." It needed no more words.

Bolitho leaned over the cot again. "Don't give in. You've a lot to live for." He wanted to ask Inch about the French ships, but how could he?

He saw Carcaud, the surgeon's mate, and two assistants waiting by an upended gun. Like ghouls. Bolitho felt his eyes smart. They would do it here and now, hold him down while Tuson did his bloody work.

Bolitho lowered his head, unable to look at him. Francis Inch, a man with all the courage and so much luck. Who would care? His pretty young wife and a few old comrades, but who would really spare a thought for the cost of unpreparedness, of ignorance?

Inch looked past him and saw Allday. A shadow of a smile creased his long face and he whispered, "You've still got that rascal, I see!"

Then he fainted and Tuson snapped, "Now!" He glanced only briefly at Bolitho. "I suggest you go elsewhere, sir."

Bolitho barely recognized this Tuson. Steady-eyed, coldly professional. To him it was not a wrecked wardroom but a place of work.

Bolitho walked up to the quarterdeck again and saw that a young lieutenant, one of Helicons, was supervising the hoisting and rigging of two staysails. It would give them steerage-way, but little else until they could replace some of the yards. Bolitho looked at the forecastle and decking again. Point-blank range, mostly grape by the look of it.

The lieutenant saw him and touched his hat. He said, "Addenbrook, sir, fifth lieutenant."

"Where were you?" Bolitho watched the strain and emotion on the lieutenant's grimy features. At a guess about eighteen and newly promoted like most of Keen's. Probably the first time in battle in his junior rank.

Addenbrook said, "Lower gun deck, sir. The French laid off and concentrated their fire on us. Heavy artillery, everything." He was reliving it, the roaring, sealed world of the lower gun deck. "We heard the masts shot away, but we kept firing, just like we'd been trained, what he expected of us."

"Yes. Captain Inch is a fine man."

The lieutenant barely heard him. "They kept coming for us, sir, until half our crews were laid low. They still closed the range and started to use grape." He pressed one hand to his forehead. "I kept thinking, in God's name, why don't they stop? My senior was killed, and some of my men were half mad. They were beyond reason, screaming and cheering, loading and firing, not like the men I knew at all."

Grape at close range. That explained the utter devastation. There could have been hardly a gun to return the fire by that time.

The lieutenant looked down at his stained uniform, scarcely able to believe it had happened, that he had survived without a scratch.

"We were alone, 'til Barracouta joined in, sir." He looked up, his face suddenly bitter. "We had no chance." For just a moment some pride cut through the hurt in his eyes. "But we didn't strike to the buggers, sir!"

There was a splash alongside and Bolitho saw Carcaud walk away from the gangway, wiping his hands on his apron. He did not have to guess what he had pitched into the sea. Was that all it took? He beckoned to the gangling surgeon's mate.

"How is he?"

Carcaud pursed his lips. "I don't think he knew what had been done, sir, but later on-"

Bolitho nodded and walked slowly towards the entry port, or what was left of it.

Helicons first lieutenant appeared on deck, his head in a bandage. He saw Bolitho and hurried towards him.

Bolitho said, "You have done well, Mr Savill. If you need any more men, signal the flag to that effect." He saw the man sway. "Are you fit to be here?"

The lieutenant tried to grin. "I'll manage, sir." He had a round Dorset accent-no wonder Inch liked him. "I shall lighten the ship as soon as I can rig some tackles." His eyes sharpened. "Not the guns though. We'll fight this old lady again once we can get her into dock."

Bolitho smiled sadly. A sailor's faith in his ship. And he was probably right.

"You saw the French flagship, the Leopard, I understand?"

"Aye, sir." His eyes were far away. "I took a bang on the skull an' was pressed against a nine-pounder. I reckon that saved me in the next broadside." He glanced aft. "They were all cut down, smashed like a bowl of eggs. But, oh yes, sir, I saw her right enough." He gave a rueful smile. "Pity I've not got that Frenchie's extra boom. I could use it to hoist up some of the shot an' stores!" A man called out and he touched his forehead. "If you'll pardon me, sir." He hesitated and turned. "Cap'n Inch just stood there an' damned th' lot of 'em, sir. He was a good cap'n, a real gentleman to the people."

Bolitho looked away. Was. "I know."

In the barge he twisted round in the sternsheets to look for his other ships, his mind trying to grapple with the mauled squadron as He/icon's lieutenants were fighting to restore life to their ship.

If Barracouta had not arrived the French would have gone for the other ships. He had already heard that Barracouta had been hurrying with the news that the enemy was moving out of Spanish waters when she had been chased by two French frigates. But for her speed, and the fact that the two enemy vessels had believed her to be a small two-decker, she would never have been able to help.

Once or twice he turned to look astern at He/icon. Scarred and burned, with only stumps for masts, she made a grim spectacle. How many had died? One more list of names to be considered. Jobert would not have wasted so much time if he had known the frigate was that near. But he had wanted to destroy He/icon, utterly. To pay him back for destroying his Calliope or because she was a prize-ship? Or was it a savage warning of the fate he intended for Argonaute if he could not retake her?

He pictured each of his remaining ships in turn. Without Inch, he was left with Houston and Montresor, who had yet to prove their ability in battle. Then there was Rapid, and with luck the cutter Supreme would rejoin them if the Maltese dockyard kept its promise. And one frigate. It was strange that Lapish, who had got off to such a bad start, had shown both skill and initiative. Bolitho wished in his heart that he was still captain of a frigate.

He sighed. "We must fetch Captain Inch aboard the flagship as soon as he may be moved, Allday."

Allday glanced down at Bolitho's squared shoulders, the stains on his arms and legs from his examination of the other ship.

"If you think he can." He flinched as Bolitho looked up at him. Those grey eyes were still the same. It was hard to accept that one was half blind.

He tried again. "You know how it is, sir."

"Yes." Bolitho stared at the Despatch, hove-to above her own reflection. But for her steering failing. He turned the thought aside. It would merely have delayed the inevitable.

Jobert must have imagined that Barracouta was one of Nelson's ships, the vanguard of his blockading squadron off Toulon.

He said, "But he'll not survive a passage to Malta."

Allday persisted, "He'll never leave 'is ship, sir!"

Bolitho shook his head. "I think otherwise. This time."

Keen was waiting for him, his face full of questions.

How different were Argonautes decks, Bolitho thought. Order, purpose. But despair was infectious; it would soon spread, with Helicons hull a constant reminder to them.

He said, "Captain's conference, Val, this afternoon if possible. If the wind gets up, it might be days before I can speak with them together."

Keen looked across at Helicon and said quietly, "There's the heart of a ship, sir."

Bolitho shaded his eyes and saw a thin fragment of sail being hoisted between the fore and mainmast stumps.

He said, "Inch's heart."

He pictured Jobert's squadron in his mind. It was not formed for a diversion or merely to seek revenge. If the latter offered itself, then so much the better, but there was far more to it. Was it to draw Nelson's blockade from Toulon so that Admiral Villeneuve's main fleet could break out in force? With Gibraltar under siege from another fever, it was unlikely that any English ships would stay there to act as a deterrent. Jobert might well try for the Strait. Bolitho dismissed the idea at once. Jobert could have done that already, could be in Brest by now if he had managed to slip past the blockade there.

Bolitho made his way aft as Keen called out to the signals midshipman to pipe his assistants on deck. Allday watched him and noticed that he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he did not even falter or hesitate when the deck tilted in the swell.

Bolitho walked through the screens and made his way right aft to stare through the stern windows. He should have been exhausted, worn down by shock and a sense that he had failed. Instead his mind seemed to have taken on a new edge, sharpened still further whenever he thought of Inch, lying over there in his stricken ship.

Keen entered and said, "The signal is bent on, sir." He sounded strained.

Knowing Keen, he was probably blaming himself for what had happened. If he had not been recalled to MaltaBolitho faced him. "Dismiss any doubts from your mind, Val. At least by going to Malta I discovered something I might never have known otherwise."

"Sir?" Keen was astounded by Bolitho's demeanour.

"Hoist the signal, and call our gallant captains." He waited until Keen was almost at the door. "And, Val, when you next hold her in your arms you will know that Fate left you no choice."

Bolitho walked to the windows and out onto the gallery with its two smiling mermaids.

He heard a shout and guessed that the signal had broken aloft. He would speak with his captains. Repair the damage.

Restore their confidence. He saw Helicon drift slowly into view. But not you, dear old friend, you have done your share.

During the day the wind rose only slightly, but there were more clouds and perhaps a hint of rain.

Bolitho stood aft by the windows again and watched his captains as they sat in their various attitudes in the great cabin. Not the wardroom this time. He wanted no retreat. There was none. He had gone through the details of Jobert's squadron, its strength, and its possible purpose.

"There is nothing to gain from remaining in the gulf, gentlemen. I intend to sweep to the south-east'rd. If Jobert has headed west to pass through the Strait then we have already lost him. If not-" He looked at their intent faces, "then we must find him and call him to action."

There were muffled shouts from the main deck and the cabin quivered as two of Helicon's thirty-two-pounders were lowered on board.

Bolitho said, "Those guns will be conveyed to Rapid tomorrow." He saw her young commander start up in his chair as if he had been only half listening.

Quarrell stammered, "Too heavy, sir, I mean-"

Bolitho eyed him bleakly. "You have shipwrights and a carpenter, I believe? I want you to mount two guns forward as bow-chasers. By shifting ballast and stores and shoring up the deck you should manage it easily enough. I once commanded a sloop-of-war-she was not much bigger and had a very heavy bow armament. So do it."

Captain Montresor said, "My steering is repaired, sir. I had no way of knowing." He looked bitterly at Houston. "I wanted to fight. I didn't expect Helicon to stand alone."

Captain Houston sat with his arms folded, unrepentant.

He said, "My ship had fallen too far astern because of the wind and that damned mist. I saw Despatch was in trouble." His thin mouth opened and shut, each word rationed. "I would have been a target and nothing more had I gone to assist Helicon. Anyway, I knew the Frogs would do for the lot of us piecemeal, so I decided to take Montresor in tow."

Bolitho nodded. So typical of the man, he thought. Hard, uncompromising, but in this case right. His choice had been straightforward, in his view at least. Save a ship or lose the squadron.

He said, "Jobert has a purpose for everything he does. So far he has been one step ahead of us." He saw Keen watching him grimly. He knew that by quitting their station he was taking a huge responsibility, a greater risk to himself. It was odd, but it no longer mattered. After the court of inquiry at Malta he was a marked man anyway. He felt lightheaded. It was beyond personal risk and reputation now.

Houston said in his harsh voice, "We shall have to consider where and when we will replenish water supplies, sir."

Bolitho looked at him, suddenly aware of the shadow across his left eye. It taunted him but for once he was able to ignore it.

"There will be no watering, Captain Houston." He glanced at the others. "For any of us. Cut the ration, halve it if need be, but we stay together until this is finished." He did not add one way or the other but the thought was obvious on their faces.

"I need all the information we can gather. Coastal craft must be stopped and searched thoroughly. If they are neutral, do it just the same. If not, sink them." He felt the hardness creep into his tone, like that other time. It made him think of Herrick, the pain in his blue eyes when he had left Benbow. In his heart Bolitho knew Herrick had acted only as he saw fit. Bolitho hated any sort of favouritism and despised those who used it for advancement or personal gain in the Navy. Yet he had done exactly that for Keen, and because Herrick was his friend. What would he have done had he been in Herrick's position and another had asked a favour of him? But the thought of what it had cost in lives made him shy away from an answer. Inch was a broken man. If he lived it was unlikely he would ever tread his own deck again. He saw some of them glance at him as he unwittingly touched his left eye. That thought was always there. Suppose I lost the sight of my right eye? Blind, as he had been in Supreme, but forever.

Captain Lapish asked, "Will Jobert have any more ships at his command, sir?" He even sounded more confident than before.

Bolitho gave a grave smile. "Are there not enough already?"

Houston muttered, "Two frigates, y'say? And we've but one."

Commander Quarrell exclaimed, "My brig is worthy enough!"

Bolitho said, "Save your steel for the enemy, all of you. Drill your people until they can point and fire in their sleep. Make each one aware that the enemy is human, not a god. We can and will beat him, for I believe we are the only bulwark 'twixt Jobert and his objective."

The deck tilted heavily and a book slithered from the table.

Bolitho said, "Return to your ships. If there is rain, gather it as part of the rations. Whenever you need to search or seek out small craft, use your boats to full advantage. I want our people to be ready to fight and to expect trouble in advance."

Houston commented, "Leopard is a second-rate, I believe, sir?"

Bolitho saw the blunt reminder move round the others like a chill wind through corn.

He glanced at Keen. "My flag-captain took on this ship and two frigates at once, Captain Houston. Battered we may be, but you will see that we are both still here!"

Quarrell laughed outright and grinned at his friend Lapish. They had both learned a lot in a short while. And they were still too young to nurse fear for long.

After the captains had been seen over the side Keen returned to the cabin and asked, "Do you already know what Jobert is about, sir?"

"When I am certain I shall tell you, Val. Until then we must make sure that our ships do not grow slack or careless. A lack of vigilance now can mean only defeat."

The sentry called, "Surgeon, sir!"

Tuson entered and eyed them curiously. "You sent for me, sir?"

Bolitho said, "Make arrangements to ferry Captain Inch aboard. I fear the weather may change."

Tuson nodded. "He was speaking with me when I was aboard Helicon earlier, sir. He is in great pain, but I would prefer him here in my care."

Bolitho said, "I know that." He watched the surgeon leave and said, "If Helicon gets into difficulties en route for Malta, it were better that Inch be with us. He'd be on deck, taking charge, otherwise."

Keen smiled, "Like you, sir." He moved to the chart. "A needle in a haystack. Damn Jobert! He might be anywhere."

Bolitho walked to the table and caught his foot in a ringbolt and almost lost his balance. He felt the touch of fear once more. He thought of Inch returning home. What would his pretty Hannah think? What might Belinda think, for that matter? Even if Adam had not told her of the full extent of his injury, his handwriting in that last letter would make her realize something was wrong. The letter. He thought of the way his words had poured out; it had been as if he had been listening to his own voice. It was so unlike him; he was almost sorry he had written to her of his innermost hopes and fears, of the love which had burned with such passion and which he had imagined was gone forever.

Keen said suddenly, "It breaks a confidence, sir, but, like you, I cannot bear to see Allday in the doldrums."

"You know something, Val?"

Keen sat on a chair. Half of him needed to be on deck, but Paget could deal with most things now. The other half wanted to be here, with this one man who had risked so much for his happiness and had shown no regrets for it.

"My cox'n told me, sir. Old Hogg is a solid fellow and cares for little in this world but himself and, I believe, for me. Also Allday confides in him occasionally." Water laced the stern windows and Bolitho tried not to think of Inch being swayed down into a lively boat for the crossing. A sudden shock could kill a man in his condition.

Keen said, "It seems that young Bankart believed Allday would soon quit the sea after being wounded so badly at San Felipe. He had learned of his life in Falmouth with you, sir, of his security there. He wanted to share it. He had had enough of farm work, and a life at sea didn't appear to satisfy him even though he is a volunteer." He watched Bolitho's profile and asked, "Can we be certain that Bankart is his son, sir?"

Bolitho smiled. "If you had known Allday when he first came aboard my ship, Phalarope, that was twenty years ago, remember, you'd not need to ask. He is exactly like him, in looks anyway."

Keen stood up as the bell chimed out from the forecastle. "As his captain I shall deal with it, sir. It might be better if he is discharged when we reach England."

They stared at each other, startled by the word. England.

Bolitho looked away. It seemed likely they might never see green fields again.

"I shall speak to Allday myself, Val. A troubled man is often the first to fall in battle."

Keen raised his head to listen to the sounds on deck.

He said, "You brought the squadron together today, sir. I watched the others and saw the pride coming back to them."

Bolitho shrugged. "I should have been with them, with Inch. But recriminations will not give him back an arm."

He heard a sudden wave of cheering and said, "We'll go on deck. This will be an ordeal for Inch."

Keen hurried beside him. "I'll tell Mr Paget to stop the hands from doing it!"

Bolitho shook his head. "No. Let them."

On the quarterdeck Bolitho saw Big Harry Rooke, the boatswain, supervising the tackle on a chair to sway Inch's cot over the side. Across the water the listing Helicon was pitching heavily in the swell, her gangway lined with tiny faces as they watched the slow-moving boat which approached the flagship with such care. Bolitho adjusted his swordbelt and tugged his hat down over his forehead.

Another familiar face, broken with pain. Another of the Happy Few, who even if he defied death would never be the same again.

Paget looked at his superiors. "Ready, sir."

Bolitho stepped forward, "Man the side, if you please." He walked to the entry port and leaned out to watch the approaching boat. He did not hold on, and knew the risk he took for such a small gesture.

He heard the Royal Marines guard picking up their dressing from Sergeant Blackburn, the hiss of steel as Captain Bouteiller drew his spadroon.

He saw the boatswain's mates moistening their silver calls on their tongues while the tackle took the strain and all cheering stopped dead.

Keen looked at Bolitho, framed against the heavy swell. He knew what this moment was costing him. But Keen's voice was steady as he called, "Stand by on deck!" He saw Bolitho turn to look at him, their eyes understanding as they had in the cabin. "Prepare to receive Helicons captain!"

After the din of calls and commands, as the cot was manhandled towards the poop, Bolitho took Inch's hand and said quietly, "Welcome aboard, Captain Inch."

Inch tried to grin but looked very pale and suddenly older. He said in a hoarse whisper, "Please let me see my ship."

They carried him to the gangway and Tuson himself cradled Inch's shoulders so that he could look at the distant seventy-four with her pathetic scraps of sail.

Inch said slowly, "I'll not see that old lady again."

Tuson wanted to look away, surprised that he could still be moved by such men and such moments.

Bolitho watched as the little procession was swallowed up in the poop and then said, "And we'll not see his like again, either."

He swung away and added bitterly, "Get the ship under way. Signal the squadron to take station on the flag as ordered."

If anything, Keen thought, Inch's presence aboard would be a reminder and a warning to them all.

On the larboard side of Argonautes orlop deck, in the tiny berth which he shared with Mannoch, the sailmaker, Allday moved a flickering lantern closer to his handiwork. Allday was big and powerfully built, and his fists made a cutlass look like a midshipman's dirk, but the model which he had half completed was as delicate as it was perfect. Wood, bone, even human hairs had been used to fashion it, but Allday was ever critical of his work. He had made models of every ship in which he had served with Bolitho, and on occasions he had produced more than one.

He cradled the little ship in one palm and turned it slowly before the lantern. It was a seventy-four, and he grunted with grudging approval as the ship it represented quivered and murmured around him.

Down on the orlop, which never saw the light of day, the air was always thick. In the small berth it was still heavy from the sailmaker's rum. He was a marvel at his work and could run up a sail or a suit of clothes with equal skill. But he loved his tot and was known by his crew as Old Grog Mannoch.

Allday shifted his buttocks on his hard sea-chest and thought of Bolitho, two decks above his head. It had been painful to watch him when the bandages had first come off; now it was hard to tell the extent of his injury and he rarely mentioned it any more. He heard Tuson laugh, and his assistant Carcaud say something in return. The sickbay was just a few yards away on the opposite side. A place to avoid at all costs. They were playing chess by the sound of it. Inch had been given an empty cabin elsewhere. The air down on the orlop could kill a man in his state, Allday decided.

He recalled the girl as he had last seen her with her shorn hair and borrowed clothes. There had been a nasty moment when they had headed for the Falmouth packet at Malta: one of the guard-boats had passed almost directly alongside. He had threatened his boat's crew with a quilting if one of them had said a word about it. Some of them had not even noticed. One midshipman was much like another in the dark.

It had made Allday think seriously about getting married himself. He grinned silently. Who would want an old bugger like me?

There was a tap on the narrow door and he looked up, surprised to see Bankart looking at him. "Yes?"

"I'd like to talk a spell, if it's all right?"

Allday shifted along the chest to make room. "What about?"

He looked at the youngster's features and remembered his mother. A clean, fresh girl. He had even thought of wedding her at the time. There had been so many of them, different faces, in many ports. The landlord's daughter of the inn near Bolitho's home was the only one who still held a firm place in his thoughts. He had thought her too young, but after what had happened to Captain Keen, well, you never know.

Bankart blurted out, "I don't want bad blood between us." He would not look at him. Like Allday, he was stubborn, and surprised that he had come to this place at all.

"Spit it out then." Allday watched him sternly. "An' no lies."

Bankart doubled his fists. "You may be me father, but-"

Allday nodded. "I know. I'm not used to it. Sorry, son."

The youth stared at him. "Son," he repeated quietly.

Then he said, "You was right about me. I wanted to get ashore, to come to where you was." He looked at him, his eyes bright. "I wanted a 'ome, a real one." He shook his head despairingly. "No, don't stop me or I'll never get it out. I wanted it 'cause I was sick of bein' chased an' cheated. I'd always sort of looked up to you, 'cause of what me Mum said an' told me 'bout you. I joined up as a volunteer 'cause it seemed the proper thing to do, like you, y'see?"

Allday nodded, the model ship forgotten.

"Then Mum died. Best thing for 'er, it was. They wore 'er out, the bastards. I wanted somethin' of me own, so I got a mate to write to you. We was told you were leavin' the sea." He looked at the deck. "It was a 'ome I wanted more'n a father." When he looked up again he exclaimed, "I can't 'elp bein' afraid. I'm not like the others! I never seen men killed like that afore!"

Allday gripped his wrist. "Easy, son. The sawbones'll be comin' to see what's up." He groped behind the chest and brought up a stone bottle and two mugs. "'Ave a wet."

Bankart took a quick swallow and almost choked.

Allday said, "That's the real stuff, not the muck that the pusser hands out! Most o' the others are scared too." Allday let the rum float across his tongue and smiled as he recalled when Bolitho had drunk some in his despair and his relief. "You must learn not to show it." He shook his wrist gently. "That takes real courage, believe me, matey."

"It's different for you, I 'spect." Bankart took a wary swallow.

"Maybe it is. Our Dick has taken good care o' me. He's a fine man. A friend. Not many can say that, an' I'd lay down me life for him, make no mistake on it!"

Bankart made to get up, his hair brushing a massive deck-head beam. "I just wanted to tell you, I-"

Allday pulled him down again. " 'Old still! I knew anyway, or most of it. I was the one who was wrong, I knows that now." He took another full measure of rum. "You don't belong in a King's ship. It took courage to volunteer, I can tell you that! They 'ad to press me!" He shook with silent laughter until the pain of his wound stopped him. "No, a job ashore, with a good 'ome, an' I'll make proper certain you gets one. Until then, do what I tells you and keep out of trouble, see?" There were more voices and he guessed the sailmaker and one of his cronies were coming aft. "We'll talk again, an' soon, right?"

Bankart looked at him, his eyes shining. "Thanks, er-"

Allday grinned. "Call me John if it's easier. But call me Cox'n when there's others about, or I'll tan your hide for you, an' that's no error, son!"

Bankart hesitated, unwilling to break the contact. He said quietly, "I-I think I might be killed. I wouldn't want to let you down. I've seen the man you are, 'eard what they all say about you. I never bin proud of anyone afore."

Allday did not even hear the door close. He sat staring at the unfinished model, at a complete loss.

The sailmaker banged into the berth with his friend and asked, "All right, 'swain? Good-lookin' lad that one."

Allday looked down. "Aye. He's my son."