FORM LINE OF BATTLE!

10. A GOOD OFFICER

Sir Edmund Pomfret stood at one side of the great stem windows in his day cabin, being careful to avoid the rectangle of hard sunlight thrown back from the harbour beyond. He had maintained the same stance throughout Bolitho's report, with his feet apart, arms folded across his chest and his back turned so that it was impossible to see his face or gauge his mood.

Hyperion had dropped anchor below the hill fortress in the darly morning after waiting until the transports and the battle-scarred Harvester had preceded her into the sheltering arms of the natural harbour. Bolitho had half-expected to be summoned aboard the Tenacious immediately, but for reasons best known to himself Pomfret had waited until seven bells of the forenoon watch before issuing his curt signal, 'Captain repair on board forthwith.'

Now as he concluded his description of the battle to defend the convoy Bolitho could feel the tiredness sapping his strength like a drug, and was able to listen to his own words with something like disinterest, as if. they concerned someone else entirely.

Pomfret had not asked him to sit down, and he was conscious the whole time of the cabin's other occupant, a floridfaced army colonel whom Pomfret had briefly introduced as Sir Torquil Cobban, the officer commanding the soldiers encamped on Cozar. But Pomfret had remained standing also, and in spite of his straddled legs and unmoving shoulders he seemed edgy and irritable.

The admiral said suddenly, 'So you lost the Snipe, did you?'

It sounded like an accusation, but Bolitho replied wearily, 'If I had had another escort things might have been different, – sir.'

Pomfret's head bobbed impatiently. 'If, if! That's all I hear these days!' In a calmer tone he added, 'And your own losses?'

'A total of sixteen dead and twenty-six wounded, sir. Most of the latter seem to beholding their own.'

'Hmm.' Pomfret turned slowly and walked to his table where lay a huge coloured chart. He said offhandedly, 'I would have waited a few more days for you, but after that I intended to sail with or without these supplies.' He shot Bolitho a searching glance. 'I have received news from Lord Hood. His forces have landed at Toulon, and my orders are to proceed with the capture of St. Clar.'

'Yes, sir.' Bolitho had been waiting for this news, but now that it had come it seemed like an anticlimax. He knew Pomfret and the colonel were studying him and made an effort to control his thoughts. He asked, 'Do you wish me to make another parley with the town, sir?'

Pomfret frowned. 'Certainly not. I have not been' idle while you have been away. Everything is in hand, I can assure you.' He smiled quickly at the soldier. 'The Frogs will have to watch their manners now, eh?'

Colonel Cobban spoke for the first time. He had a thick, resonant voice, and had a habit of tapping his fingers on his impeccable scarlet tunic with each word.

'God, yesl With General Carteau marching on Toulon, our new "allies" in St. Clar had no choice but to support us.' He seemed to be enjoying the idea.

Pomfret nodded. 'Now, Bolitho, I want you to get your ship ready for sea without delay.'

'The repairs are well in hand, sir. In the four days following the battle we have set all the damage to sails and cordage to rights, and most of the internal repairs are almost completed.'

Pomfret was peering at his chart and did not see the sudden change in Bolitho's expression. Four days. In spite of a constant guard it was all coming back to him. He had hoped that the safe return with his transports, the sudden prospect of action, even the efforts to ensure that his ship was ready and able to fight again, all these things would push the memory of those four short days to the back of his mind until time and distance made them too blurred to hurt him. Without effort he could recall the girl's face as she had listened to him talking about his ship, while together at the quarterdeck rail they had watched the seamen and carpenters working to put right the damage and to clean away the scars and stains of battle.

On the second evening just before sunset Bolitho had walked with her along the weather gangway, pointing out something of the complex maze of rigging and halyards, the very sinews of the ship's strength.

Once she had said quietly, `Thank you for explaining it to me. You have made the ship live with your words.'

She had not been bored or amused. She had been really interested, even though he had spoken as he had simply because it was the only thing he knew, the only life he understood.

He had realised at that moment that she had unwittingly touched on the truth. He had replied, 'I am glad you see her like that.' He had gestured to the shadowy guns below the gangway. `People see a ship like this pass far out to sea, but they rarely think of those who serve and live in her.' He had stared at the deserted forecastle and had found himself wondering about all those other men who had gone before him, and those who might follow. 'Here a man died. There another wrote poetry maybe. Men join ships like these as boys, as wide-eyed infants, and grow to be men beneath the same suits of sails.' He had touched the rail at his side. 'You are right, she is not just wood!'

And another evening they had dined together for the first time in the cabin, and again she had drawnhim out, had listened to him speaking of his home in Cornwall, of his voyages and the ships he had seen and served.

But as the miles rolled away under the Hyperion's keel they seemed both to sense that the strange feeling of comfort and understanding was becoming something more. Neither spoke of it, yet during the last two days they appeared to draw apart, even to avoid meeting other than in company.

Within minutes of the anchor splashing down a boat had come alongside, and with it Lieutenant Fanshawe, Pomfret's aide, to collect her. She had come on to the quarterdeck wearing that same green dress as when he bad first seen her, and had stared across at the grim fortress and the barren hills beyond.

Bolitho had seen many of his men standing on the gangways or watching from aloft, and had sensed the feeling of sadness which hung over the ship. Even the petty officers seemed unable or unwilling to drive the hands back to work, and had watched with the rest as the girl had gravely shaken hands with the assembled officers and had kissed her brother on the cheek.

Bolitho had kept his voice as formal as he knew how. 'We shall miss you. We all will.' He bad seen Gossett nodding in agreement. 'I am sorry that you were made to suffer as you did…' Then his words had run out.

She had looked at him with something like bewilderment in her eyes, as if the sight of Cozar had at last made her realise that the voyage was at an end. Then she had said, `Thank you, Captain. You made me very comfortable.' She had looked around the silent faces. 'It is something I will never forget.' Then without another glance she had gone down to the boat.

With a start he realised that Pomfret was saying, '… and I trust you will make good the depletions in your company from Snipe's survivors, and any spare hands you can obtain from the transports.'

`Yes, sir.' He forcibly made himself concentrate on the many details yet to be settled. Dalby was dead, and he had promoted Caswell to acting lieutenant to fill the gap in his officers. That was how it went. A man died. Another moved up the ladder.

Some of the more badly wounded must be taken ashore or to one of the transports where they could be properly looked after. There was fresh shot and powder to take on board, and countless other matters as well.

Cobban stood up, his high polished boots squeaking noisily. He was a tall man and on his feet seemed to dwarf Pomfret. He said, 'Well,. I'll be off. I must instruct my officers to make final preparations. If we are to take St. Clot on the fifth we must make sure of everything.' He readjusted his sword and frowned. 'But then, September will be a mite cooler. for marching, eh? Either way my troops will do as they are told.'

Bolitho, watching the colonel's tight mouth, knew it was unlikely that he would show much concern for his officers, let alone his private soldiers.

Pomfret waited until Cobban had departed and then said irritably, 'Very tiresome having to deal with the military, but I suppose under the circumstances…' He touched the chart vaguely and then asked, 'I trust that Miss Seton was in a place of safety during the, er, battle?'

Perhaps it had been uppermost on Bolitho's mind, or maybe his tiredness was playing tricks, but Pomfret sounded on edge, even suspicious.

He replied, 'She was, sir.' He dropped his eyes as the picture of the naked, screaming figures on the orlop, the swinging lanterns, and the girl in her blood-spattered jacket and breeches moved back into his thoughts.

'Good.' Pomfret nodded. 'Very good, I am glad to hear it. I have had her taken to quarters in the fortress. They will suffice until…'He did not finish the sentence. He did not have to.

Bolitho said flatly, 'My carpenters have made a few pieces of furniture. I thought that they might help to make the fortress a little more comfortable for Miss Seton.'

Pomfret eyed him far several seconds. 'Considerate. Most considerate. Yes, you can send them over if you wish.' He walked to the windows and, added quickly, 'We sail on the first of the month. Just have your ship ready by that time.' He was staring at the black hulled convict ship which was anchored at the head of the transports. 'Scum! The sweepings of Newgate, I imagine. But they will suffice for what remains to be done here.' Then without turning he said, 'Carry on, Bolitho.'

Bolitho walked out to the dazzling sunlight, realising suddenly that Pomfret had not once congratulated him or his men on saving the precious supply ships and even managing to cripple two of the attackers at the same time. It was typical of the man, he thought bitterly. Pomfret obviously took such efforts for granted. Only if they had failed would he have made any real comment, and he could imagine what that would have been.

In silence he climbed into his barge and settled himself in the sternsheets. As the oars rose and dipped like wings he thought of Dalby and the empty desperation of his last words. Gambling. It was the curse and the despair of many other officers. Confined to their ships for months at a time, thrust on one another's company and separated by rigid discipline from the men they controlled, it was common enough for such men as Dalby to lose everything on the flick of a card. What started out as a safe distraction became real and overwhelming as the losers fought to regain their dwindling money by betting with wealth they did not possess.

Bolitho knew the true dangers of such behaviour. His own brother had broken his father's heart by deserting from the Navy after killing a brother officer in a senseless duel over a gambling debt.

He shook himself from his brooding and said sharply, 'Pull for the transport yonder!'

Allday looked up at him. 'The Erebus, Captain?'

Bolitho nodded. 'The survivors of the Snipe are aboard her.'

Allday eased the tiller and said nothing. It was hardly a post-captain's task to go looking for a few casual recruits, and there could not be more than a handful who had survived, but he knew from experience that Bolitho was deeply troubled. When he was like that it was better to say nothing at all.

As it happened the captain of the Erebus was waiting to receive Bolitho, his tanned features split in a great grin of welcome.

'I wanted to thank you, Captain!' He pumped Bolitho's hand mercilessly. 'You saved my ship, an' I never saw the likel When your old Hyperion tacked round under the Frog's bowsprit I thought you were done for!'

Bolitho let him go on for several minutes then said, 'Thank you, Captain. Now I expect you have guessed why I am here?'

He nodded. 'Aye. But I'm afraid there are only six hands and an officer fit enough for you. There are three more besides, but I fear they'll die before the week is.out' He broke off and stared suddenly at Bolitho's face. 'Are you ill, sir?' He. took his arm and added, 'You have gone quite palel'

Bolitho shook himself free, cursing the man's kindness and his own unpreparedness as the old fever stirred like a raw wound, and he felt the deck slanting beneath his feet as if the ship was in a gale instead of a sheltered harbour.

He replied harshly, 'I will return to my ship, Captain. It is nothing…' He looked round, searching for Allday, suddenly fearful of collapsing here in front of the other captain and his men.

It was worse than usual. He did not remember it being so bad since he had left Kent to take passage for Gibraltar. His mind seemed to be revolving like his vision, so that even the Erebus's captain appeared to sway as if in a heat haze.

But Allday was here. He could feel his fingers gentle but firm on his arm and allowed himself to be guided to the ladder, his shoes catching on the deck planks like a blind man's.

The other captain called, 'The sloop's officer, sir! Shall I send him across?' It was a question merely to cover his own embarrassment. He knew that if he tried to help Bolitho it would only add to his pain.

Bolitho tried to speak, but he was shivering so badly that the words would not come.

He heard Allday snarl, 'Eyes in the boat there!' and he guessed his barge crew were all watching and probably laughing at him.

Allday looked up at the other captain and said gruffly, 'Send him across, sir. He'll be needed right enough.'

The Erebus's captain nodded. He did not even seem to notice that it was a mere coxswain who was giving him his orders.

Bolitho said faintly, 'Get me to the ship, Aliday! For the love of God get me to her quickly!'

Allday wrapped the boatcioak around Bolitho's shoulders and cradled him against his arm. But for it he knew Bolitho would fall down to the bottom of the boat like a corpse. He had seen it all before, and he was filled with pity and something like love. He was angry, too. Angry with the admiral who had kept Bolitho waiting when anyone but a blind fool could have seen what the battle had done to his reserves of inner strength.

He barked, 'Shove off! Give way together!' As the oars rose and fell he added coldly, `Roundly! Pull like you've never pulled before!' He looked down at Bolitho's strained features and said half to himself, 'That's the least you can do for him!'

Bolitho opened his eyes very slowly and stared for a full minute at the deckhead above his cot. For once the dull roaring in his ears seemed to have faded, and he was suddenly conscious oЂ the intrusion of shipboard noises and once more he could hear the steady sluice of water against the hull and the far-off sounds of voices.

Almost timidly he tried to move his arms and legs, but the layers of blankets held him so tightly that he lay still and tried to assemble his thoughts into some sort of order. He could remember leaving the Erebus in his barge, even to the •extent that he could still feel the agony of waiting to reach the safety of his cabin. It had seemed as if the Hyperion would never draw any closer, and all the while he had fought to stay upright in the tossing boat, aware vaguely of the sweating oarsmen and Allday's arm around his shoulders.

But the actual moment of climbing aboard had gone completely. The memories were all jumbled together in crude half-pictures of swaying figures and distorted, meaningless voices around him. The fever bad raged like a tormenting nightmare, with faces sweeping occasionally above him and hands holding or moving him, over which he had no control. Some of the time he must have been dreaming, only to awake shivering and retching uncontrollably with a throat so dry that he felt his tongue swollen to such a degree that he imagined himself choking to death.

Either awake or in an exhausted sleep he had also been aware of a white triangle that bore no relation or meaning to anything he had ever known before. It seemed to come and go like a tiny sail, never close enough to identify, yet in his reeling mind it appeared to hold a magic quality of comfort.

He turned his head slowly, feeling the sweat on his pillow and the clammy embrace of the sheets, Beside the cot, round-shouldered with concentration, Gimlett was watching him, his body appearing to sway back and forth like a human pendulum.

Bolitho asked, 'How long have I been here?' He hardly recognised his own voice. Gimlett reached out and plucked at the pillow in an effort to make it more comfortable. 'Three days, zur.' He gave a yelp of alarm as Bolitho tried to push the blankets aside.

'Three days!' Bolitho stared around the small compartment with disbelief. 'In God's name get me up!'

Allday's figure moved across his vision, his face set in a grim smile of satisfaction. 'Easy, Captain! You've had a bad time.' Then he reached down and tucked the blankets even tighter.

Bolitho felt his eyes clouding with helpless anger. 'Damn you, Allday! Help me up! I am ordering you, d'you hear?'

But Aliday only stared at him with complete calm. 'I'm sorry, Captain. But the surgeon said that you were to stay until he…

Bolitho suddenly realised that the cot was swinging steadily and both Gimlett and Allday were really swaying. As he twisted his head round he saw the red sunlight darting across the deckhead as the ship lifted and plunged in a steady swell.

He murmured thickly, 'My God, we are at sea!' He saw Allday dart a quick glance at Gimtett and added desperately, 'How did Rooke manage to get her out of the harbour?'

Allday stepped closer, his face near enough for Bolitho to see the shadows of strain beneath his eyes. 'It is all right, Captain, believe me!' He gestured towards the open window. 'We are anchored to the east'rd of Cozar, below the Moorish fort. We came out this forenoon as smooth as a young girl's belly!'

But Bolitho would not be consoled. For three days while he had lain useless and incapable in his cot the small invasion fleet had been preparing to get under way. Signals must have poured from the flagship to every captain in the harbour, and what Pomfret must be thinking was past consideration.

He said, 'What time is it?

"Three bells of the First Dog, Captain.' Allday sat down on a stool and stretched his legs. `The squadron will sail in company tomorrow morning.'

Bolitho said, `Are there despatches for me?' He tensed, not knowing what to expect.

Allday's reply was even more surprising. `All taken care of, Captain.' Now that Bolitho was pulling out of the fever's grip he seemed almost cheerful. 'The admiral has sent his orders across, but nobody outside o' this ship knows a thing about your illness, that I can promise!'

Bolitho closed his eyes. It was not difficult to picture Allday and Gimlett watching over him. The weariness on their faces, and obvious pleasure at his recovery spoke volumes. But to keep his wretched fever a secret from the assembled squadron called for much more than the efforts of a coxswain and a buck-toothed steward. He felt his eyes pricking with sudden emotion at the realisation that his whole ship's company must have made it possible.

Allday said quietly, 'There is nothing to fear, Captain. You must be strong and well again so that you can keep us out o' trouble.' He grinned. 'All this harbour routine is good training for the young gentlemen.' He watched as Bolitho opened his eyes and added, 'The officer from Snipe has taken charge and has been acting first lieutenant the whole time. The flagship has approved, Captain.' He controlled the smile on his lips. 'It just awaits your confirmation.'

Bolitho allowed his limbs to fall limp. That explained it. Rooke could never have coped on his own.

Quietly he said, 'He must be a good officer.'

'Oh, he is!' The grin could no longer be held in check.

Bolitho stared from one to the other with mounting exasperation. 'Well? What are you so damn happy about?' The effort of shouting made his head fall back to the pillow, and he did not even resist as Gimlett wiped his forehead with a damp cloth.

There was a movement beyond the screen door and Allday said calmly, 'That'll be him, Captain.' He did not wait for Bolitho to speak further but stood up and opened the door.

The Hyperion had swung slightly at her cable, so that the small cabin was thrown momentarily into deep shadow. But as Bolitho craned his head to stare at the figure framed in the door he imagined for a few seconds that he was still gripped in a feverish dream. For there was the white triangle. But as he strained his eyes and blinked away the mist he realised that it was no figment of imagination or part of any nightmare. The lieutenant had one arm across his body in a white sling, so that against his shadowed figure it indeed gleamed like a small sail.

But Bolitho forgot his fever and his apprehension as the ship swung slowly back again and the filtered sunlight fell full across the man's face. He still could not find the words, and he knew that the other man was gripped by the same emotion.

Then he said, 'For God's sake tell me I am not dreaming!'

Allday laughed with sudden excitement. 'It's him, Captain, Lieutenant Thomas Herrick as ever was!'

Bolitho tugged his hand from the blankets and seized Herrick's across the side of the cot. 'It's good to see you, Thomas.' He felt the pressure returned, firm and hard, as he remembered it from the past.

Herrick watched him gravely. 'And I can't tell you how I feel, sir.' He shook his head. `You've had a bad passage, but things will soon be all right again.'

Bolitho could not release his hand. 'Things will get better now, Thomas!'

The excitement and shock of seeing Herrick again had left him suddenly exhausted, but he said, 'Where have you been? What have you been doing?'

Allday interrupted, 'I think you should rest a while, Captain. Later on I can.,.'

Bolitho croaked, 'Shut up, damn you! Or I'll have you flogged!'

But Herrick said, 'He is right, sir. You rest and I will tell you all my news, what there is of it.'

Bolitho relaxed and closed his eyes as Herrick continued in

the same level tones he remembered so well. Without effort he could see him as the stubborn, idealistic lieutenant aboard the Phalarope in the West Indies, and again in the frigate

Tempest in the vast wilderness of the Great South Sea. Above all else he could see him as what he was, a loyal, trusted friend.

Herrick had changed a little'sincc he bad last seen him. His body was more stocky now, and there were streaks of grey in his hair. But his face was still round and competent, and the eyes which watched him over the cot were as bright and blue as on their first meeting.

Herrick was saying quietly, 'When we paid off the Tempest in '91 I had every intention of sticking out for another ship with you, sir. I think you knew that.' He sighed. 'But when I got home to Rochester I found my father dead and money too short for anything beyond staying alive. My father had been a clerk and did not even own the house we grew up in. And I was on half pay, so I had no choice but to take what I could get. I shipped out in an East Indiaman, something I swore never to do, and was lucky to get it with the best part of the Navy paid off and kicking their heels on the beach. I thought maybe when I got back to England you'd be fit and well again, but by that time we were at war again.'

Bolitho said slowly, 'I tried to find you, Thomas.' He did' not open his eyes but felt Herrick tense beside him.

'You did, sir?'

'I went to Rochester. I met your mother and the sister you have supported all these years. I never knew she was a cripple'

Herrick sounded stunned. 'She never said you'd been there!'

'I told her to say nothing. You were away at sea, and knowing you of old I guessed you would leave that security if you thought I had a ship to offer. And I did not at that time.'

Herrick sighed again. 'They were difficult days, sir. But I picked up a berth in the Snipe and sailed with the convict convoy from Torbay. At Gibraltar we got new orders, and the rest you know.'

Bolitho opened his eyes and studied Herrick's face intently. 'But your captain, Tudor, came aboard at Gibraltar. He knew I wanted a seasoned first lieutenant, and must have told you.'

Herrick looked away. 'He told me. But I deserted you after the Tempest paid off. I was not going to use an old friendship to gain me fresh favours.'

Bolitho smiled sadly. 'You've not changed, Thomas! Still the proud onel' He continued, 'The Snipe's loss was a hard blow for you. With the war expanding as it is you would have got command in no time. Post rank would have followed, and you would have what you richly deserve.' He saw the sudden embarrassment on Herrick's face and said, 'When we capture St. Clar they will be wanting a senior lieutenant to command the sloop Fairfax, if she's still there!'. He tried to struggle up on to his elbows but Herrick forced him back to the pillow. 'You must go to Sir Edmund, Thomas! If you stay in this ship you'll never get the chance of commanding that sloop!'

Herrick stood up and fidgeted with his sling. 'I missed my way once, sir. I'd rather stay with you, if you'll have me.' He saw Bolitho twist his face away and added firmly, That is how I want it, sir.'

B' litho turned and studied him, not knowing what to say.

Then Herrick smiled, so that in the half-light he looked almost boyish. 'Besides which, I know I'll stand a better chance of prize-money if I keep with you, sir. And don't forget I was Pomfret's third lieutenant when he commanded Phalarope. If there are any favours in the offing he might well be disposed towards me!'

Bolitho said quietly, 'You can joke about it, Thomas. I think you have made the wrong decision.' He reached out and gripped his hand again. 'But by God it's good to have you aboard!'

As Herrick moved out of his vision Gimlett said, 'I think you had better take some soup, zur.'

Bolitho answered firmly, 'Take it away! I am getting up directly, if only to get away from your clumsy hands!'

Allday looked across at the steward and winked. Under his breath he said, 'I think the captain is feeling better!'

The following day dawned bright and clear, and when Bolitho walked out on to the quarterdeck the salt wind in his face was better -than any tonic. Also it had freshened during the night, and when he glanced up at the masthead pendant he saw that it was whipping out to its full length.

Herrick watched him walk to the quarterdeck rail and then touched his hat. 'Anchor's hove short, sir. Ready to get under way.' His tone was formal, but as their eyes met Bolitho felt something like the excitement of sharing a secret.

'Very good, Mr. Herrick.' He took a telescope and moved it across the other anchored ships. It was a small force, but none the less impressive, and to Bolitho, who was more used to the independence granted a frigate captain, it seemed almost like a fleet.

Tugging at their cables at carefully spaced intervals were the other two line-of-battle ships. The Spanish Princesa was less gaily festooned with bunting than before, and Bolitho guessed that Pomfret must have had something to say about the matter for her to present such a sober appearance. The Tenacious was closest inshore, and as he watched he saw fresh flags breaking from her yards and a sudden burst of activity on her upper deck.

Midshipman Piper squeaked, `From Flag! Up anchor, sir!'

From the lee side of the quarterdeck Caswell growled, 'You should have seen that signal earlier, Mr. Piper!'

Bolitho hid a smile as the humbled Piper murmured a suitable apology. As an acting lieutenant Caswell was apparently well able to forget that only four days ago he had been doing Piper's work and taking all the kicks, justified or otherwise.

Bolitho said, 'Get the ship under way, if you please. Lay a course to weather the headland.'

Herrick raised his speaking trumpet, his voice and move-' ments unhurried. 'Stand by the capstan! Loose heads'ls!'

Bolitho crossed to the nettings and watched the troopship Welland and the two supply vessels he had escorted from Gibraltar going through the orderly confusion of making sail.

Piper said loudly, 'Signal from Flag, sir. Make haste!'

Herrick half turned and then yelled, 'Loose tops'ls! He was shading his eyes as he followed the desperate activity above the deck, as first one then a second sail billowed out to thunder impatiently against the fresh wind.

'Anchor's aweigh, sir!'

That was Rooke's voice, and Bolitho wondered how he felt about Herrick's arrival as his superior.

Herrick snapped, 'Braces therel You, Mr. Tomlin, drive those idlers aft! Get 'em on the mi7Jen braces!'

Bolitho shivered, but not from fever. It was the old thrill and excitement coming back to him as strongly as ever. And he need have no fears on Herrick's part. After a clumsy, deep hulled Indiaman, probably crewed by semi-articulate seamen from a dozen countries, he would find the Hyperion's welldrilled company something of a relief.

Wheeling ponderously like armoured knights the three ships of the line tacked slowly around the island's crumbling headland. With Tenacious in the lead and Hyperion and Princesa following at quarter-mile intervals they made a formidable and splendid picture.

The three transports, their decks crammed with red-coated soldiers, tacked more carefully to leeward, whilst ahead and astern the sloops Chanticleer and Alisma acted like sheepdogs around a valuable flock.

The battered Harvester had remained in harbour to complete her repairs, and until more help arrived would be the island's only guardship.

PomЂret's only other frigate, Bat, had sailed two days earlier, and with luck would be sniffing off the French coast in case of last-minute difficulties.

`Another signal from Flag, sir!' Piper was hoarse. 'Make all sail conformable with weather!'

Herrick rocked forward on his toes as the Hyperion butted into a steep, white-backed roller. 'Lively therel Set the t'gallants!' He leaned over the rail and pointed with his trumpet. 'You there, with the fancy knife, move yourself, my lad, you'll feel the bosun's displeasure!' Then he grinned as if he was enjoying a private joke.

Gossett intoned, 'Fleet course nor' by west, sir! Full and bye!'

The deck trembled as more and more canvas crept along the vibrating yards, whilst framed against the sunlight the nimble topmen ran heedless of their dizzy perches, racing each other in their efforts to obey the demanding voice from the deck.

Piper gulped. 'Here, Seton, give me a hand, will you? I'm puffed out!'

Bolitho turned, caught off guard as Midshipman Seton ran to help his, friend beside the snaking halyards. Then he lifted his glass and. trained it on the island, which as he watched was slipping back into the rolling bank of morning haze like a brown shadow. He could just make out the small Moorish fort, and below it, scattered amongst the fallen stonework, he could also see a crowd of silent, watching figures. They were convicts, working already to repair some of the neglected defences. But now they were watching the ships, wondering no doubt if they would ever live to see England or anywhere else again.

But Bolitho was thinking of someone else. Just the mention of the girl's brother had started the nagging pain of uncertainty again, a pain only temporarily dulled by his fever.

Then he saw Herrick watching him, his face shadowed beneath his hat. He tried to ease the girl's memory to the back of his mind. He had at least got Herrick.

But in spite of this consolation he trained his glass again, and was still watching Cozar when the flagship made another signal and together the ships turned and headed towards France.