Command a King`s Ship

3. A Mixed Gathering

On the morning of the fourteenth day after weighing anchor at Spithead Bolitho was in his cabin sipping a mug of coffee and pondering for the countless time on what he had achieved.

The previous evening they had sighted the dull hump of Teneriffe sprawled like a cloud across the horizon, and he had decided to heave-to and avoid the hazards of a night approach. Fourteen days. It felt an eternity. They had been plagued by foul weather for much of that time. Flicking over the pages of his personal log he could see the countless, frustrating entries. Headwinds, occasional but fierce gales, and the constant need to shorten sail, to reef down and ride it out as best they could. The dreaded Bay of Biscay had been kind to them, that at least was a mercy. Otherwise, with almost half the ship's company too seasick to venture aloft, or too terrified to scramble out along the dizzily pitching yards without physical violence being used on them, it was likely Undine might have reached no further.

Bolitho appreciated what it must be like for many of his men. Shrieking winds, overcrowded conditions in a creaking, rolling hull where their food, if they could face it, often ended up in a mess of bilge water and vomit. It produced a kind of numbness, like that given to a man left abandoned in the sea. For a while he strikes out bravely, swimming he knows not where, until he is too exhausted, too dazed to care. He is without authority or any sort of guidance. It is his turning point.

Bolitho recognised all the signs well enough, and knew it was the same sort of challenge for him. Give in to his own underStanding and sympathy, listen too much to excuses from his hard-worked lieutenants and warrant officers, and he would never regain control, or be able to rally his company when the real pressure came.

He knew that many cursed him behind his back, prayed for him to fall dead or vanish overboard in the night. He saw their glances, sensed their resentment as he pushed them through each day, each hour of every one of those days. Sail drill, and more drill against Herrick's watch, while he himself made sure all engaged knew he was following their efforts. He made the men on Undine's three masts race each other in their struggle to shorten or make more sail, until finally he drove them even harder to work not in competition but as a gasping, silently cursing team.

Now, as he sat with the mug in his hands he found some grudging satisfaction in what they had done. What they had achieved together, willingly or otherwise. When Undine dropped her anchor in the roads of Santa Cruz today, the watching Spaniards would see a semblance of order and discipline, of efficiency which they had come to know and fear in times of war.

But if he had driven his company to the limit he had not spared himself either. And he was feeling it, despite the inviting rays of early sunshine which made reflections dance across the low deckhead. Barely a watch had passed without his going on deck to lend his presence. Lieutenant Davy had little experience of handling a ship in foul weather, but would learn, given time. Soames was too prone to lose patience when faced with a disaster on deck. He would knock some luckless seaman aside and leap into his place yelling, 'You're useless! I'd rather do it myself!' Only Herrick rode out the storm of Bolitho's persistent demands, and Bolitho felt sorry that his friend had been made to carry the brunt of the work. It was too easy to punish men, when in fact it was an officer's fault for losing his own head, or not being able to find the right words in the teeth of a raging gale. Herrick stood firmly between wardroom and lower deck, and twixt captain and company.

There had even been two floggings, something which he had hoped to avoid. Each case had been within the private world of the lower deck. The first a simple one of stealing from another sailor's small hoard of money. The second, far more serious, had been a savage knife-fight which had ended in a man having his face opened from ear to jaw. It was still not certain if he would live.

A real grudge fight, a momentary spark of anger caused by fatigue and constant work, he did not really know. In a welltrained ship of war it was likely he would never have heard about either case. The justice of the lower deck was far more drastic and instant when their own world was threatened by a thief or one too fond of his knife.

Bolitho despised captains who used authority without consideration for the misery it might entail, who meted out savage punishment without getting to the root of the trouble and thereby avoiding it. Herrick knew how he felt. When Bolitho had first met him he had been the junior lieutenant in his ship. A ship where the previous captain had been so severe, so unthinkingly brutal with his punishments that the seeds of mutiny had been well and truly laid.

Herrick knew better than most about such things, and yet he had intervened personally to persuade Bolitho to avoid the floggings. It was their first real disagreement, and Bolitho had hated to see the sudden hurt in Herrick's eyes.

Bolitho had said, 'This is a new company. It takes time to weld people together so that each can rely on his companion under all circumstances. Many are entirely ignorant of the Navy's ways and its demands. They hate to see "others" getting away with crimes they themselves avoid. At this stage we cannot allow them to split into separate groups. Old hands and the new recruits, professional criminals and the weak ones who have no protection but to ally themselves with some other faction.'

Herrick had persisted, 'But in peacetime, sir, maybe it takes all the longer.'

'We can't afford the luxury of finding out.' He had hardened his voice. 'You know how I feel. It is not easy.'

The thief had taken his punishment without a whimper, a dozen lashes at the gratings while Undine had cruised along beneath a clearing sky, some gulls throwing their shadows round and round across the tense drama below.

As he had read from the Articles of War, Bolitho had looked along his command at the watching men in shrouds and rigging, the sharp red lines of Bellairs' marines, Herrick and all the rest. The second culprit had been a brute of a man called Sullivan. He had volunteered to a recruiting party outside Portsmouth, and had all the looks of a hardened criminal_ But he had served in a King's ship before and should have been an asset.

Three dozen lashes. Little enough in the Navy's view for half killing a fellow seaman. Had he laid a hand on an officer he would have faced death rather than a flogging.

The actual punishment was terrible. Sullivan had broken down completely at the first blow across his naked back, and as the boatswain's mates took turns to lay the lash over his shoulders and spine he had wriggled and screamed like a madman, his mouth frothing with foam, his eyes like marbles in his distorted face.

Mr. Midshipman Armitage had almost fainted, and some of those who had just recovered from their own sickness had vomited in unison, despite the harsh shouts from their petty officers.

Then it had ended, the watching men giving a kind of sigh as they were dismissed below.

Sullivan had been cut down and carried to Whitmarsh's sickbay, where no doubt he had been restored by a plentiful ration of rum.

Each day following the punishment, as he had paced the quarterdeck or supervised a change of tack, Bolitho had felt the eyes watching him. Seeing him perhaps as enemy rather than commander. He had told himself often enough that when you accepted the honour of command you carried all of it. Not just the authority and the pride of controlling a living, vital ship, but the knocks and kicks as well.

There was a tap on the door and Herrick stepped into the cabin.

'About another hour, sir. With your permission I will give the order to clew up all canvas except tops'ls and jib. It will make our entrance more easy to manage.'

'Have some coffee, Thomas.' He relaxed as Herrick seated himself across the table. 'I am burning to know what we are about.'

Herrick took a mug and tested the coffee with his tongue.

'Me, too.' He smiled over the rim. 'Once or twice back there I thought we might never reach land!'

'Yes. I can feel for many of our people. Some will never have seen the sea, let alone driver. so far from England. Now, they know that Africa lies somewhere over the larboard bulwark. That we are going to the other side of the earth. Some are even beginning to feel like seamen, when just weeks back they had thumbs where their fingers should be.'

Herrick's smile widened. 'Due to you, sir. I am sometimes very thankful that I hold no command. Or chance of one either.'

Bolitho watched him thoughtfully. The rift was healed.

'I am afraid the choice may not be yours, Thomas.' He stood up. 'In fact, I shall see that you get command whenever the opportunity offers itself, if only to drive some of your wild idealism into the bilges!'

They grinned at each other like conspirators.

'Now be off with you while I change into a better coat.' He grimaced. 'To show our Spanish friends some respect, eh?

A little over an hour later, gliding above her own reflection, Undine moved slowly towards the anchorage in the roads. In the bright sunlight the island of Teneriffe seemed to abound with colour, and Bolitho heard several of the watching seamen gasping with awe. The hills were no longer hidden in shadow, but danced on the glare with every shade and hue. And everything was brighter and larger, at least it appeared so to the new hands. Shimmering white buildings, brilliant blue sea, with beaches and surf to make a man catch his breath and stare.

Allday stood aft by the cabin hatch and remarked, 'I'll bet some Don'd like to rake us as we come by!'

Bolitho ran his eye quickly along his ship, trying to see her as those ashore would. She looked very smart, and gave little hint of the sweat and effort which had gone to make her so. The best ensign fluttered from the gaff, the scarlet matching that of the marines' swaying lines athwart the quarterdeck. On the larboard gangway Tapril, the gunner, was having a last hurried discussion with his mates in readiness to begin a salute to the Spanish flag which flew so proudly above the headland battery.

Old Mudge was beside the wheel, hands hidden in the folds of his watchcoat. He seemed to retain the same clothing no matter what the weather might do, hot or cold, rain or fine. He kept a variety of instruments and personal items in his capacious pockets, and Bolitho guessed that sometime, long past, he had been made to rush on deck and stay there with half of his things still scattered around his cabin.

He growled to the helmsmen and they edged the wheel over a few spokes, the main topsail filling and then drooping again as the ship idled beneath the land's protection.

Herrick trained his glass on the land and then said, 'Passing the point now, sir!'

'Very well.' Bolitho waved his hand to Tapril. 'Begin the salute.'

And as the English frigate continued slowly towards her anchorage the frail morning air shook and trembled to the regular crash of cannon fire. Gun for gun the Spanish replied, the smoke hanging almost motionless above the shallowing water.

Bolitho gripped his hands together behind him, feeling the sweat exploring his spine under his heavy dress coat and making one of his new shirts cling like a wet towel.

It was strange to stand so impassively as the slow barrage went on around him. Like some trick or dream. At any moment he half-expected to see the bulwark blast apart, or a ball to come screaming amongst the rigid marines and cut them to a bloody gruel.

The last shot hammered his ears, and as the drifting smoke moved away from the decks he saw another frigate anchored at the head of the roads. Spanish, larger than Undine, her colours and pendants very bright against the green shore beyond. Her captain, too, had probably been remembering, he thought.

He glanced up at the masthead pendant as it whipped halfheartedly in the breeze. Soon now. More orders. A new piece to fit into the puzzle.

Mudge blew his great nose loudly, a thing he always did before carrying out some part of his duties. 'Ready, sir.'

'Very well. Man the braces. Hands wear ship, if you please.' Bare feet padded across the newly-scrubbed decks in a steady rush to obey his repeated order, and Bolitho breathed out slowly as each man reached his station without mishap. 'Tops'l sheets!'

The flag above the battery dipped in the glare and then returned to its proper place. Some small boats were shoving off from the land, and Bolitho saw that many were loaded with

fruit and other items for barter. With all their bread ruined in the first storm, and few fresh fruits to rival those in the boats, Triphook, the purser, would be busy indeed.

'Tops'l clew lines!'

A boatswain's mate shook his fist at some anonymous figure on the fore topsail yard. 'Yew clumsy bugger! You 'old on with one 'and or yew'll never see yer dozy again!'

Bolitho watched the narrowing strip of water, his eyes half closed against the searing glare.

'Helm a'lee!'

He waited, as with dignity Undine turned quietly into the wind, her remaining canvas shivering violently.

'Let go!'

There was a yell from forward, followed by a splash as the anchor plunged down beneath the golden figurehead.

Herrick waited until the last of the canvas had vanished as if by magic along the yards and said, 'They did quite well, I thought, sir?'

Bolitho watched him, holding back the smile. Then, relent ing, he replied, 'Quite well, Mr. Herrick.'

Herrick grinned. 'You'll not need the gig today, sir. A boat's heading out to us in fine style.'

Allday strode forward and presented Bolitho's sword. He frowned and muttered, 'Not the gig, Captain?' He sounded aggrieved.

Bolitho held out his arms to allow the coxswain to buckle the belt around his waist.

'Not this time, Allday.'

It was terrible how both Herrick and Allday watched over his every move.

The marines were stamping and shuffling into a new formation by the entry port, Sergeant Coaker's face shining beneath his black shako like a great sweating fruit.

Bolitho turned to watch the approaching launch, a grand affair with a gilded and canopied cockpit. Beside it, Allday's poor gig would look like a Falmouth harbour boat. A resplendent officer stood watching the anchored frigate, a scroll under one arm. The usual welcoming words. The first link to w hatever lay ahead.

He said quietly, 'You will remain aboard, Mr. Herrick. Mr. Davy will accompany me ashore.' He ignored the obvious disappointment. 'Take good care of matters here, and make certain our people are ready for anything.'

Herrick touched his hat. 'Aye, aye, sir.' He hurried away to tell Davy of his good fortune.

Bolitho smiled gravely. With shore boats and other temptations, it would need all of Herrick's skill to keep the ship from being swamped by traders and less respectable visitors.

He heard Flerrick say, 'Sojou are to accompany the captain, Mr. Davy.'

Davy hesitated, gauging the moment and Herrick's mood. Then he said calmly, 'A wise choice, if I may say so, Mr. Herrick.'

Bolitho turned away, hiding his smile, as Herrick snapped, 'Well, you are damn little use here, are you?'

Then as the four minute drummer boys struck up with their flutes and drums Hearts of Oak and Bellairs' sweating guard presented muskets, Bolitho stepped forward to greet his visitor.

The Governor's Residence was well situated on a gently sloping road above the main anchorage. On his way from the ship by barge and carriage Bolitho was relieved to discover that his official escort, a major of artillery, spoke very little English, and contented himself wtih occasional exclamations of pleasure whenever they passed anything unusual.

It was obvious that everything was well planned, and that from the moment Undine's topgallants had been sighted the previous evening things had begun to move.

Bolitho barely remembered meeting the Governor. A bearded, courteous man who shook his hand, received Bolitho's formal greetings on behalf of King George, and who then withdrew to allow an aide to conduct the two British officers to another room.

Davy, who was not easily impressed, whispered, 'By God, sir, the Dons live well. No wonder the treasure ships stop here en route for Spain. A ready market for 'em, I would think.'

The room into which they were ushered was spacious indeed. Long and cool, with a tiled floor and a plentiful selection of well-carved furniture and handsome rugs. There was one huge table in the centre, made entirely of marble. It would take seven gun crews to move it, Bolitho decided.

There were about a dozen people standing around the table, arranged, he thought, so that without wasting time he could distinguish those who counted from those who did not.

The man he guessed to be James Raymond stepped forward and said quickly, 'I am Raymond, Captain. Welcome. We had expected you earlier perhaps.' He spoke very abruptly. Afraid of wasting time? Unsure of himself? It was hard to tell.

He was in his early thirties, well dressed, and had features which could pass as handsome but for his petulant frown.

He said, 'And this is Don Luis Puigserver, His Most Catholic Majesty's personal emissary.'

Puigserver was a sturdy man, with biscuit-coloured features and a pair of black eyebrows which dominated the rest of his face. He had hard eyes, but there was charm, too, as he stepped forward and took Bolitho's hand.

'A pleasure, Capstan. You have a fine ship.' He gestured to a tall figure by the window. 'Capstan Alfonso Triarte of the Nervion had much praise for the way she behaved.'

Bolitho looked at the other man. Very senior. He would be, to command the big frigate in the roads. He returned Bolitho's examination without much show of pleasure. Like two dogs who have fought once too often, perhaps.

He forgot all about Triarte as the emissary said smoothly, 'I will be brief. You will wish to return to your ship, to make last arrangements for sailing to our destination.'

Bolitho watched him curiously. There was something very compelling about the man. His stocky figure, his legs which looked so muscled, despite the fine silk stockings, even the rough handshake could not disguise his confident assurance.

No wonder the Governor had been quick to pass Bolitho on to him. Puigserver obviously commanded respect.

He snapped his spatulate fingers and a nervous aide hurried forward to take Bolitho's hat and sword. Another beckoned to some servants, and in minutes everyone was seated around the altar-like table, a beautifully cut goblet at his elbow.

Only Puigserver remained standing. He watched the servants filling the goblets with sparkling wine, his face completely unruffled. But when Bolitho glanced down he saw one of his feet tapping very insistently on the tiled floor.

He raised his glass. 'Gentlemen. To our friendship.'

They stood up and swallowed the wine. It was excellent, and Bolitho had a mental picture of his own doubts and fumblings in the shop at St. James's Street.

Puigserver continued, 'Little came out of the war but a need to avoid further bloodshed. I will not waste our time by making empty promises which I cannot keep, but I can only hope that we may further our separate causes in peace.'

Bolitho glanced quickly at the others. Raymond leaning back in his chair, trying to appear relaxed, but as taut as a spring. The Spanish captain looking at his wine, eyes distant. Most of the others had the empty expressions of those who pretend to understand when in fact they do not. It seemed likely to Bolitho that they only understood one word in ten.

Davy sat stiffly on the opposite side of the table, his clean features glowing with heat, his face set in a mask of formality.

It all boiled down to the three of them. Don Luis Puigserver, Raymond and himself.

The former said, 'Thankfully, Spain has received back Minorca and certain other islands as concessions following the unfortunate war.' His eyes rested on Bolitho very briefly. Dark, almost black. They were like Spanish olives. 'In return, His Most Catholic Majesty has seen fit to bless this new venture between us.' He looked at Raymond. 'Perhaps you would be good enough to expand the details, yes?'

Raymond made to stand up and changed his mind.

'As you will know, Captain Bolitho, the French Admiral Suffren was responsible for many attacks on our ships and possessions in the East Indies and India itself. Holland and Spain'-he hesitated as Ca pitaa Triarte coughed gently-'were France's allies, but they had not the available squadrons and men to protect their possessions in that area. Suffren did it for them. He captured Trincomalee from us and restored it to the Dutch after the war. There were several other instances, but you will know of most of them, Captain. Now, in exchange for certain other considerations which need not concern you, Spain has agreed in principle to hand over to Britain one of her remaining possessions in, er, Borneo.' He eyed Bolitho flatly. 'Which is where you will eventually be going, of course.'

Of course. It sounded so simple. Another two or three thousand miles added to their present voyage. The way Raymond spoke it could have been Plymouth.

Bolitho said quietly, 'I am not certain I understand the purpose of all this.'

Puigserver interjected, 'Of that I am sure, Capitan.' He glanced coldly at Raymond. 'Let us be frank. To avoid further trouble in this uneasy truce, for that is what it is, we must move with caution. The French gained next to nothing in the Indies despite all their efforts, and they are, how you say? Touchy about any swift expansions around their dwindling influence there. Your final destination will be Teluk Pendang. A fine anchorage, a commanding position for any country with the will to expand elsewhere in that area. A bridge to empire, as some Greek once remarked.'

Bolitho nodded. 'I see, Senor.'

He did not, nor had he even heard of the place mentioned.

Raymond said sharply, 'When peace was signed last year, our Government despatched the frigate Fortunate to Madras with the bones of this present agreement in her care. On her way around the Cape of Good Hope she met with two of Suffren's frigates which were returning to France. Naturally enough, they knew nothing of the peace, and Fortunate's captain was given no time to explainthe point. They fought, and Fortunate so battered one of the enemy that she took fire and sank. Unfortunately, she, too, was set ablaze and was lost with most of her company.'

Bolitho could picture the scene. Three ships on an open sea. Countries at peace at last, but their captains eager to fight, as they had been conditioned to do.

'However, one of the French captains, the surviving one, was a veteran called Le Chaumareys. One of France's best.'

Bolitho smiled. 'I have heard of him.'

Raymond seemed flustered. 'Yes. I am sure of it. Well, it is believed in some quarters that France, through Le Chaumareys, now knows about this arrangement we are making with Spain. If that is so, then France will be troubled at the prospect of our gaining another possession, one which she fought for on Spain's behalf.'

Bolitho did understand now. All the veiled remarks at the Admiralty. The secrecy. No wonder. One hint that England was about to push her way further into the East Indies, no matter for what outward. reason, and a war might burst out again like an exploding magazine.

He asked, 'What are we to do?'

Raymond replied, 'You will sail in company with the Nervion.' He swallowed hard. 'She will be the senior ship, and you will act accordingly. Upon arrival at Madras you will embark the new British Governor and convey him, with whatever forces he may have, to his new destination. Teluk Pendang. I will accompany you with despatches for him, and to advise in any way I can.'

Puigserver beamed at them, his black eyebrows arched like great bows. 'And I will be there to ensure that there is no nonsense from our people, eh?'

Raymond added wearily, 'The French have a forty-four-gun frigate in that area, the Argus. It is said that Le Chaumareys is with her. He knows the Sunda Isles and Borneo as well as any European can.'

Bolitho breathed out slowly. It was a good plan as far as it went. A British squadron would invite an open battle sooner or later, but two frigates, one from each nation, would be more than a match for the heavily-armed Argus both verbally and in artillery.

Puigserver walked slowly to the broad window and stared down at the anchored ships.

'A long voyage, gentlemen, but I hope a rewarding one for us all.' He turned towards Bolitho, his square face in shadow. 'Are you ready to sail again?'

'Aye, Senor. My people are preparing to take in more water and fresh fruit, if that is possible.'

'It is being attended to, Capitan.' He showed his teeth. 'I am sorry I cannot entertain you now, but in any case, this island is a dismal place. If you come to Bilbao.' He kissed his fingertips. 'Then I will show you how to live, eh?' He laughed at Raymond's grim features. 'And I suspect we will all know ourselves much better after this voyage is done!'

The Spanish aides bowed politely as Puigserver walked to the door, and he called, 'We will meet before we sail.' He turned away. 'But tomorrow we raise our anchors, come what may.'

Raymond walked round the table as the babble of conversation broke out again. He whispered fiercely, 'That damned fellow! One more day with him and I would have told him a thing or two!'

Bolitho asked, 'In which vessel will you be sailing? Mine is a fine ship, but smaller by far than the Spaniard.'

Raymond twisted round to watch the Spanish captain who was discussing something with his companions in a low voice.

'Sail in the Nervion? If your ship were a damned collier brig I'd take her in preference!'

Davy whispered, 'I think they expect us to leave, sir.'

Raymond scowled. 'I will come to your ship and arrange things there. Where no ears listen even to one's breathing!'

Bolitho saw his escort waiting outside the door and smiled to himself. Raymond seemed to have a very vital role in things. Tact, however, was beyond him.

They returned to the jetty with hardly a word, but Bolitho was very conscious of the tension within the man Raymond. On a knife edge. Tortured by something. His work was overreaching him perhaps.

As the scarlet-coated oarsmen propelled the Governor's barge towards Undine Bolitho felt a sense of relief. A ship he could understand. Raymond's life was as alien as the moon.

Raymond clambered up from the barge and stared vaguely at the assembled side-party, at the comings and goings of Undine's seamen as they worked the tackles on the opposite side. Casks and nets of fruit, and straw hats to protect the unwary from sunburn.

Bolitho nodded to Herrick. 'All well?' He touched Raymond's arm. 'Mr. Raymond will be a passenger with us.' He turned sharply as he heard a shrill of laughter from the cabin hatch.

'Who let that woman on board? In God's name, Mr. Herrick, this is not the Nore or Portsmouth Point!'

Then he saw the girl. Small and dark, in a bright red dress, she was talking to Allday, who was obviously enjoying himself.

Raymond said heavily, 'I had hoped to explain _earlier, Captain. That girl is a maid-servant. My wife's maid.' He looked as if he was going to be sick.

Herrick tried to dispel Bolitho's sudden anger. 'She came out with her lady just an hour back, sir. She had authority.' He looked worried. 'I had little choice in the matter.'

'I see.'

Bolitho strode aft. All those thousands of miles in a small crowded ship-of-war. Raymond was bad enough, but his wife and a maid were too much. He saw some seamen nudging each other. They had probably been waiting just to see his reactions.

Very calmly he said, 'Perhaps you would, er, introduce me, Mr. Raymond?'

They went aft together, and Davy whispered, 'God's teeth, Mr. Herrick, what a mixed gathering we are fast becoming!'

Herrick glared at him. 'And I suppose you have been out there damn well enjoying yourself!'

'A little wine. Some fair company.' He chuckled. 'But I thought, too, of you, sir.'

Herrick grinned. 'To hell with you! Get into your working clothes and help with this loading. You need a million eyes today!'

In the meantime Bolitho had reached his cabin, and stared at it in dismay. There were boxes everywhere, and clothing spilled across furniture and guns, as if there bad been a violent robbery aboard.

Mrs. Raymond was tall, unsmiling, and almost beside herself with anger.

Her husband exclaimed, 'You should have waited, Viola. This is our captain.'

Bolitho bowed slightly. 'Richard Bolitho, ma'am. I had just mentioned that a thirty-two-gun frigate has barely the room for luxury. However, since you have chosen to sail with us, I will do all that I can to-' He got no further.

'Chosen?' Her voice was husky with scorn. 'Please do not delude yourself, Captain. He does not wish me to travel in the Nervion.' Her mouth twisted in contempt. 'He fears for ray safety when I am with Spanish gentlemen!'

Bolitho noticed Noddall hovering anxiously by the dinin compartment and snapped, 'Help Mrs. Raymond's maid to stow all this'-he looked round helplessly-'gear.' He save Raymond slump down on the bench seat like a dying mad. No wonder he looked troubled. 'And pass the word for the first lieutenant.' He glanced around the cabin, speaking his thoughts aloud. 'We will have these twelve-pounders removed temporarily and put quakers in their place. That will allow a little more room.'

Raymond looked up dully. 'Quakers?'

'Wooden muzzles. They give an appearance that we are still fully armed.' He forced a smile. 'Quakers having an opposition to war.'

Herrick appeared by the door. 'Sir?'

'We will rig extra screens here, Mr. Herrick. A larger sleeping compartment for our passengers. To larboard, I think.'

Mrs. Raymond said calmly, 'For me and my maid, if you please.' She looked at her husband. 'He will bed elsewhere on this ship.'

Herrick studied her curiously but said, 'Mr. Raymond to starboard then. And what about you, sir?'

Bolitho sighed. 'Chart space.' He looked at the others. 'We will dine together here, if you agree.'

Nobody answered.

Midshipman Keen hovered by the door, his eyes on the woman.

'Mr. Soames's respects, sir, and the captain of Nervion is about to board, us.'

Bolitho swung round and then. gasped as his shin cracked against a heavy chest.

He said between his teeth, 'I will endeavour to be hospitable, Mr. Herrick!'

Herrick kept his face blank. 'I am certain of it, sir.'

It was early morning by the time Bolitho had pulled himself wearily into his cot, his mind still reeling from entertaining Capitan Triarte and some of his officers. He had been made to go across to the Nervion where the captain had again made a point of comparing the spacious comfort with Undine's overcrowded quarters. It had not helped at all. Now the ship lay quiet again, and he tried to picture Mrs. Raymond who was sleeping beyond the newly-rigged screen. He had seen her in the cabin when the Spanish officers had come aboard. Aloof yet tempting, with little to reveal her true feelings for her husband. A dangerous woman to cross, he thought.

How still the ship felt. Perhaps, like himself, everyone was too weary to move. Guns had been trundled away and lowered with difficulty into the holds. More stores and heavy gear had had to be swayed aft to readjust the trim once again. It was surprising how much larger the cabin looked without the guns there.

He groaned as his head found some new ache to offer him. He would not see much of it though. He turned his face to the pillow, the sweat running across his chest with the effort. One thing was certain. He had rarely had better incentive for a fast passage.

He was up and about at first light, eager to get his work done before the heat of the day made thinking more difficult. In the afternoon, to the distant strains of a military band and the cheers of a crowd along the waterfront, Undine weighed anchor, and with Nervion in the lead, her great foresail displaying a resplendent cross of scarlet and gold, worked clear of the roads before setting more canvas to the wind.

Some small craft followed them across the glittering water, but were soon outpaced by the graceful frigates. By dusk they had the sea to themselves, with only the stars for company.