FORM LINE OF BATTLE!

7. A KNIGHT OF THE BATH

With all but her topsails and jib clewed up the Hyperion completed her tack and settled sedately on a course towards the harbour entrance. The upper deck and gangways were filled with idlers and unemployed seamen, as with something like awe they stared at the scene which greeted them beyond the fortress and its stark headland.

Bolitho raised his glass and moved it slowly from side to side. It was hard to remember this as the same barren anchorage he had vacated the previous day. When the masthead lookout had reported seeing topmasts beyond the cliff he had imagined it might be one of Hood's supply ships, or at most a frigate with despatches and new orders. But as the ship glided slowly across the dancing water towards the humped hills he realised there was far more to it than that.

Anchored in the centre of the natural harbour was a tall three-decker, a rear-admiral's flag drooping listlessly from the mizzen, and beyond her, close to the pier where the carronade had decimated the French troops, lay another large ship, which from her workmanlike appearance could be nothing else but a supply vessel. In the shallower water on the eastern side was a frigate and a small sloop which he quickly recognised as the Chanticleer. The Spanish Princesa was exactly as he had last seen her, but if the assembled vessels were both unexpected and impressive, the activity which surrounded them was even more so.

Around the ships and plying back and forth to the pier were boats of every shape and size. Cutters and gigs, launches and jolly boats, they seemed endless, and when Bolitho shifted his glass to the hillside beyond the fortress he saw a widely flung rectangle of pointed tents interspersed with tiny scarlet figures and an occasional camp-fire. It seemed as if the army had arrived, too.

With a start he realised the Hyperion'was already through the protective arm of the entrance, but when he glanced at Rooke he saw that the lieutenant was still standing rigidly by the quarterdeck rail, his speaking trumpet under his arm as if on parade.

He snapped, 'Wear ship, if you please!'

Rooke flushed angrily and raised the triumpet. 'Hands wear ship! Lee braces there!'

Bolitho compressed his lips tightly. Rooke was a good enough officer when it came to fighting and day-to-day routine, but he seemed to shrink in size when it came to taking charge of the Hyperion's great bulk in confined Waters.

Pearse, the gunner, was standing by the foremast shading his eyes as he peered aft towards the quarterdeck. Bolitho nodded curtly, and with a dull bang the first gun sent the echoes rolling around the cliffs as Hyperion paid her respects to the rear-admiral, whoever he was.

Bolitho knew he could ignore the routine of saluting. As the guns crashed out at five-second intervals and the ship crept forward in a cloud of drifting smoke he gauged the distance, his eye and brain noting the unruffled water below the tall cliffs, the slackening vigour of the masthead pendant.

'Tops'l sheets!' Rooke sounded out of breath. 'Tops'! clew lines!'

Bolitho saw the men strung out along the tapered yards, their tanned arms moving in unison, totally unconcerned by their dizzy height above the deck.

'Helm alee!'

With the breeze all but gone the Hyperion turned lazily into the wind, her remaining sails vanishing as Bolitho dropped his arm with a slice, and from forward came the shout, 'Let go!'

He half listened to the splash and the attendant rumble of outgoing cable, glad that the saluting guns had finished so that he could think clearly again.

Midshipman Caswell broke the sudden silence. He had kept his glass trained on the flagship, his mind empty of everything but the necessity of being the first to see the flags break from her yards.

'Tenacious to Hyperion. Captain repair on board in fifteen minutes.'

Bolitho saw Allday waiting by the poop. 'Tell Gimlett to lay out my best uniform immediately. Then call away the barge.'

He saw Gossett staring at the powerful three-decker and asked, 'Do you know her?'

Gossett pouted thoughtfully. 'She was with us off Brest for a while, sir. Then she went into Plymouth for an overhaul. She weren't carrying any admiral in them days.'

Caswell looked up from his book. 'Tenacious, ninety guns, sir. Captain Matthew Dash.'

Bolitho formed a small picture in his mind. 'I met him once,' was all he said., But he was more interested in the rearadmiral. A lot would depend on 'the sort of man he proved to be. Bolitho hurried to his cabin, throwing off his threadbare seagoing coat and tearing at his faded waistcoat.

Gimlett followed him like an anxious shadow as Bolitho pulled on a clean shirt and ran a comb through his hair. Lord Hood might be senior enough to ignore such niceties, he thought grimly, but this rear-admiral obviously considered otherwise. The fifteen minutes' grace spoke for themselves.

He heard the splash of his boat alongside and Allday's strident tones calling to the bargemen.

And all the while his mind was busy with the possibilities now presented by the presence of the ninety-gun ship of the line and the newly landed soldiers. Hood must have seen the value of his first report. It seemed as if action was more than just a rough idea now.

He cursed as Gimlett adjusted his neckcloth and fussed around him with his swordbelt. He was like an old woman, he thought despairingly.

Rooke appeared in the open door. 'Barge alongside, sir.' He looked more composed now that the ship had anchored.

Bolitho thrust his arms into the gold-laced coat with its white lapels and said, 'Have all boats lowered, Mr. Rooke. Send the Fairfax 's people ashore and then await my instructions.' He picked up his carefully worded report and added slowly, 'When next we enter harbour you must try to get the feel of the ship, do you understand?'

'I was concerned about the wind, sir.' Rooke eyed him flatly. 'She's got so much weed on her bottom she might do anything.'

Boltiho reached for his hat. 'Until I decide otherwise you will take the responsibilities of first lieutenant. And those include the wind, and any other damn thing in or around this ship, understand?'

Rooke straightened his back. 'Aye, aye, sir.'

'Good.' He strode out into the sunlight, past the side party, and paused by the entry port. 'I see that the Chanticleer is flying her mail pendant, Mr. Rooke. I will send over some despatches, and if there are any letters from our people you had better get them across also.' He paused, his eye falling on the stolid line of bosun's mates, their pipes raised in readiness. The side boys with their rough white gloves, and Inch with his telescope. It seemed odd without any marines.

Then he added quietly, 'You had best parcel Mr. Quarme's possessions and send them too.' He watched for some flicker of regret or pity in Rooke's eyes. But he merely touched his hat and then stood aside as with a squeal of pipes Bolitho climbed down to the waiting barge.

Captain Dash of the Tenacious greeted Bolitho warmly. In his middle fifties, he was a square-set, bluff-looking man with a harsh, grating voice but a friendly enough smile. He was one of the Navy's rare products, for he had actually reached his senior post by way of the lower deck, having entered the Navy as a child volunteer and by effort and determination, which Bolitho could only half imagine, had clawed his way to command a ship of the line.

Bolitho followed him to the wide quarterdeck ladder and asked, 'When did you drop anchor?'

Dash grinned. 'This forenoon. It has been all hell here since.' He gestured with a worn thumb towards the big transport. 'She's the Welland, an old ex-Indiaman. She's 'brought five hundred of the 91st Foot an' half of the loudestvoiced sergeants in the British Army by the sound of 'em!'

He became suddenly serious. 'I was at Gibraltar when the sloop came from Lord Hood with my new orders.' He shrugged. 'So now my ship wears a rear-admiral's flag and I have to remember my manners!'

'What is he like?' Bolitho dropped his voice.

'Hard to tell. He has had me on the hop since he came aboard, but he spends most of the time in his cabin. He's waiting for you right now.'

Bolitho smiled. 'I forgot to ask his name.'

Dash pulled himself up the ladder. 'He's only just got his appointment to flag rank, so you probably never heard of him.' He paused, sweating profusely, and then stared at the mizzen truck. 'You are now under the flag of Sir Edmund Pomfret, Knight of the Bath, Rear-Admiral of the Red.' He broke off and peered at Bolitho uncertainly. 'You do know him then?'

Bolitho looked away, his mind reeling. Edmund Pomfret, it did not seem possible. He tried to think back to that one and only time he had ever seen him. It had been in the George at Portsmouth, where he had been summoned to receive the news of his new command of the frigate Phalarope. Nearly twelve years back in time. On his way from the inn to his new ship he had passed another junior who had been waiting to receive the full wrath of the admiral. That captain had been ordered from the Phalarope because of his senseless cruelty, his total indifference of the wellbeing of his men, even to the margin of life and death. And that man, the one who had sewn the seeds of the Phalarope's mutiny, had been Edmund Pomfret!

Dash paused outside the door of the great cabin where two marines stared unwinkingly from-beneath their black shakos. 'You feeling all right, Bolitho? I heard you had been under a fever, and…'

Bolitho touched his sleeve. 'I am well enough. It was just an old memory.'

He tapped the door and heard a voice call sharply, 'Enter.'

Pomfret was seated behind a large desk signing a paper held by his flag-lieutenant. He waved to a chair without looking up. 'Be seated, Captain. I must make sure this is drafted correctly.'

The worried-looking lieutenant winced, but Bolitho kept his eye on the seated admiral.

Pomfret had changed a good deal, but there was no mistaking him. Surprisingly, the heavy admiral's coat and gold lace made him appear younger than his forty years, but beneath his gleaming waistcoat his figure had given way to slight corpulence, and his forehead was creased m what appeared to be a permanent frown.

But the mouth' was the same, small and petulant, and the eyes, as they skimmed back and forth over the paper, pale and protruding. He had dull, reddish hair, and his skin seemed to be that which defied the sun and was blotchy with heat, in spite of the shaded cabin.

He looked up and waved his hand. 'Carry on, Fanshawe. But try and be quicker next time!' As the lieutenant hurried away he stared fixedly at Bolitho for the first time.

'That man is a fool.' His voice was quiet but sharp, and he sounded angry. 'Well, Bolitho, what have you to say for yourself?'

Bolitho reached for his sealed report. 'I have just returned from St. Clar, sir.'

Pomfret drummed one hand on the desk and said with forced patience, 'I know all about that from your captain of the marines. What I want to know is, just what the hell do you think you were doing there at all?'

'I had to obtain water for my ship, sir. No supplies or any sort of news came from the fleet. I had to use my initiative.' Bolitho kept his voice level and formal.

Pomfret pouted his lip. 'And you made a parley with the enemy. too, I believe?'

'Yes, sir. One of the prisoners…'

Pomfret's interruption was smooth and silky. 'Ex-prisoners, surely?'

'He gave me reason to hope that we might make good use of St. Clar in future, sir.' Bolitho could hear his own breathing, just as he could feel the anger and resentment growing in him like fire.

'I do not believe in obtaining victory by compliance, Bolitho. The French are the enemy. In future you will obey orders, nothing more. We bargain with strength.' His lip curled. 'Not with brotherly love!'

Bolitho continued evenly, 'I have to report the death of my first lieutenant, sir. It is all in the report.'

Pomfret ignored the envelope and said coldly, 'You seem to have a great attraction for death and destruction, Bolitho. Your first lieutenant, the Spanish flagship and Admiral Anduaga, and of course your own commander, Sir William Moresby!'

Bolitho flushed angrily. `That is unfair, sir! When Sir William was killed I was obeying orders to the letter!'

Pomfret waved his hand. It was a very gentle gesture. 'Easy, Bolitho! You must learn to control your temper!'

Bolitho relaxed slightly. So this was how it was to be. He recalled his words to Quarme. 'Men do not change.'

He said quietly, 'When we finally took Cozar our losses were very slight, sir.'

'So I hear.' Pomfret leaned back and plucked at his neckcloth. `Well, you are under my command now and things will be different in many ways. And since Sir William died aboard your ship, you can blame yourself for that! I stepped into his shoes, Bolitho, just as you did into Captain Turner's.' He smiled briefly. 'So that is that. I was en route for New Holland and Botany Bay when I received my new orders at Gibraltar. I was to have assumed governorship there, to have made something out of that disgusting mess of convict settlements and petty-minded idiots who have been given the task of founding a new colony for us.' His cheeks were reddening with barely suppressed rage. 'And God help them!'

Bolitho said slowly, 'Had I known of your coming, sir, I would have waited in Cozar. But the water…'

Pomfret nodded sharply. 'Ah yes, the water!' He eyed him bleakly. 'You are just the same, it appears. Too soft -by half!' He nodded again. 'Oh yes, I remember you, Bolitho, have no fear of that.'

'Thank you, sir.'

Pomfret half-jumped to his feet. 'Do not be impertinent!' He slumped down again as if totally exhausted by the heat. More calmly he continued, 'Men do not respect weakness, you should have learned that by now.'

Bolitho had a sudden picture of the luckless convicts in Botany Bay. Hundreds were being shipped there, deported for crimes of every kind. Without the American colonies, England had chosen to send her unwanted criminals to the other side of the world, where the survivors of the privations and unknown fever might live to form a new extension of the country which had rejected them. He wondered if they would ever learn how lucky they were to have avoided Ponfret's ideas of discipline and progress.

Pomfret said absently, 'I am sick and tired of hearing about the honour and loyalty of such rubbish. They lie and cheat and carouse, and despise the sea-officer such as you and I. But when the drumbeats and the balls begin to fly they need the tradition and the assurance of King and country. They are as weak as water!'

Bolitho was not sure if he was referring to convicts or seamen, or if to Pomfret they were indistinguishable.

He said, They are men none the less, sir. I do not despise a man because he does not share my beliefs.'

Pomfret regarded him narrowly. 'Then you are a bigger fool than I took you for.' He leaned forward as if to give his words more impact. 'You are not commanding a frigate now, Bolitho. Under my control you will learn to do your proper duty as befits the captain of a seventy-four, see?

'Yes, sir.' Bolitho eyed him impassively. 'But I was alone here. I acted as I thought fit. We have the Fairfax 's people back, and soon we might regain the sloop.'

Pomfret wiped his face with a silk handkerchief and said, 'Do you have the sloop's officers, too?'

'No, sir. The French had already sent them north for possible exchange.'

'Pity.' Pomfret nodded absently. `I would have court-martialled the fools for allowing their ship to be taken by such a stupid ruse. However, they are not my immediate concern.' He ruffled some papers. 'I will inform Lord Hood of the present situation, and in the meantime we will garrison this macabre and miserable island properly.' He glared at Bolitho's grave face. 'It looks like the most useless place on earth!'

'It has a good harbour, sir. There is an old village where the convicts used to be, but it is derelict now. The fortress you have seen, and..

Pomfret frowned and said, 'You can take your marines back. The army will control the island now, under me of course.'

Of course, Bolitho thought grimly. 'And my orders, sir?'

Pomfret yawned. 'Fanshawe will give you them immediately, or I'll know the reason. You will sail forthwith for Gibraltar and execute my requirements as they are writtenl' He ignored the surprise on Bolitho's face. 'I was commanding a convict convoy when all this came about. I have detached some of my ships to assist here. You will go and collect them.'

'But St. Clar, sir!' Bolitho felt the cabin closing in on him.

'It will still be there when you return, Bolitho.' It was a rebuke. 'Lord Hood has given me sole command here. A free hand to do whatever is required to make a success of a rather unsatisfactory beginning.'

Bolitho stood up, his muscles taut and stiff. 'These ships, sir. Are they supplies?'

'Some of them. But it is all written in your orders. Do not fail to reach Gibraltar before all the convoy has departed. I would not be at all pleased, I can assure you!'

As he made to leave Pomfret added flatly, 'I did not ask for this command, Bolitho. But now that it is mine I intend it to prosper, or so help me God I will know the reason!' He appeared to he bored with the interview. `Now I will read your report and assess its value. I suppose you will want a replacement for your dead man?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, speak to the senior officer at Gibraltar. You have my authority.'

Bolitho stifled his reply. It was amazing how promotion could change a man's outlook to a point of godlike supremacy.

He replied, 'Then I will leave at once, sir.'

Pomfret's words followed him through the door. 'My orders will be carried out at all times, to the letterl'

Captain Dash was waiting on the middle deck beside the entry port, his face alight with questions. 'How did you make out, Bolitho? Is it the man you remembered?'

Bolitho stared across at the Hyperion's tall masts. 'The same.' He looked down into the waiting barge and added, 'I think we may all be in for an interesting time ahead.'

Dash watched him leave and shook his head worriedly. Then he looked up at the admiral's flag again, and wondered.

Within an hour of Bolitho's brief meeting with RearAdmiral Pomfret the Hyperion had weighed and thrust her bowsprit once more towards the beckoning horizon. To her company it seemed as if it was some sort of judgement, and that the ship was doomed to sail on and on for ever, until her timbers fell apart and dropped them bodily into the sea.

The gathering of ships at Cozar, the presence too of the military, had aroused new interest, had even given the Hyperion's seamen a strange sense of pride, as if by going alone to St. Clar and anchoring imprudently so close to the enemy shore they had in some way started the whole operation in motion.

When the order to get under way was piped and Ashby's marines clumped resentfully aboard from the fortress the new excitement collapsed into bewildered resentment.

The Hyperion's officers were at least spared the task of inventing ways to keep the men occupied on the return voyage to Gibraltar. In spite of a clear sky the wind force increased almost as soon as Cozar had vanished astern. As the old ship clawed her way south-west and around the southern coast of Spain she was at times close-hauled almost into the teeth of the wind, or worse, beating painfully against it to regain a mile or so already lost. Day after day it went on without respite, with the hands no sooner down from aloft for a brief rest below decks than the cry would come again. 'All hands! All hands! Hands aloft to shorten sail!'

Not that there was much relief below decks either. Ports were sealed against the driving spray, and the confined messes were foul with the stench of bilge and the trapped aromas of hastily cooked meals. Hyperion was taking the driving ranks of short rollers very badly. The monotonous clank of pumps went on so continuously that it was unnoticed until it stopped for a change of watch.

On the morning of the tenth day the ship drove thankfully into the anchorage below the Rock, her company too weary and dispirited to care about their reasons for coming or even what lay ahead.

Bolitho sat unmoving in a chair beside the cabin table, hating the clinging dampness of his clothes, but too tired to stir himself. It seemed as if he had not left the deck for more than a few minutes at a time during the voyage, and in the cabin's quiet elegance he felt stale and unclean. The ship's four remaining lieutenants had worked well enough, but they lacked the barest experience in handling the ship under such conditions. Bolitho was more convinced than ever that Captain Turner had trusted no one but Quarme and Gossett with the actual sailing of his ship, and the results of his jealous attitude were now painfully obvious.

Rooke entered the door and said tonelessly, 'Signal from the frigate Harvester, sir. She has dispatches for you.' He swayed and then collected himself under Bolitho's scrutiny. He most of all seemed to feel his own shortcomings, and for once was unable to shift the blame elsewhere.

Bolitho levered himself from the chair and walked to the quarter windows. Through the salt-encrusted glass he could.see the anchored frigate, her red ensign making a bright stab of colour against the Rock." It was just as if she had never moved from the time he had left her after his voyage from England. Was it really only two months ago? It seemed like a lifetime.

Barely two cables ahead of the frigate he could see three heavy supply ships and the small bobbing shape of an eighteen-gun sloop.

He thought of Pomfret's orders which he had read and reread a dozen times, and which stayed in his thoughts even when he bad been fighting his ship into the shrieking fury of wind and spray. Well, they would all have to know soon enough, he thought wearily. And with a man like Pomfret it was just as well to get started on the right foot.

Rooke was saying, 'Shall I send a boat across, sir?'

'No,' Bolitho rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. 'Make a signal to Harvester and the sloop Snipe and tell their captain to repair on board immediately.'

Rooke eyed him unsurely. `Are they the rest of our force, sir?'

'They are, Mr. Rooke. And the three supply ships are to be convoyed to Cozar.'

Even as he spoke he was reminded of Pomfret and his flagship. He could just as easily have convoyed the ships himself. A frigate sent on ahead to Cozar, or even the Chanticleer, would have been sufficient to break the uncertainty of waiting for word of new orders. But Pomfret had sailed merely with his escorts and a fairly fast troopship, oblivious or indifferent of Bolitho's difficulties and the shortage of fresh water.

When he turned from the window Rooke had gone, and Gimlett stood by the door showing his buck teeth and clasping his hands together with nervous expectancy.

Bolitho said, `Clean shirt, Gimlett. And lay out another uniform directly as I have some visits to make.' He rubbed his chin and added, 'I will wash and shave before the two captains come aboard.'

By the time Leach, the frigate's captain, and Tudor, the commander of the Snipe, were ushered into his cabin Bolitho was to all outward appearances as fresh and alert as a man who spent his days ashore within the comforts of his house. He waited until Gimlett had poured wine for his visitors and then said, 'Welcome aboard, gentlemen. I trust that you are ready to sail at short notice.'

Leach nodded. 'Admiral Pomfret gave us instructions to remain with the supply ships after the other convoy had left Gibraltar. It seems that several attacks have been made on unprotected vessels of that sort in the past few weeks, and I will feel easier with your Hyperion to watch over us.' He relaxed slightly. 'It is good to meet with you again, sir. I trust that young Seton has recovered from his seasickness by now?'

Tudor, a heavy-jawed lieutenant, spoke for the first time. Either the wine or Leach's apparent ease with Bolitho had given him more confidence. 'I am not quite sure I understand, sir.' The others looked at him and he added awkwardly, 'The admiral instructed that one of the New Holland ships, the Justice, should stay here with us. I realise that the two supply ships are vital for our squadron,' he shrugged helplessly, 'but a convict ship should never be left here unguarded!'

Bolitho watched him gravely. 'It is not staying here.' They put down their glasses in one motion and looked at him with equal surprise.

Bolitho continued, `The Justice is to be taken to Cozar with us.'

Leach said, 'But, sir, she is a convict ship! God in heaven, there are three hundred of 'em aboardt'

'I know that.' Bolitho looked at his desk where he had locked Pomfret's orders. He could well understand Leach's confusion. Pomfret must have cross-questioned Bellamy of the Chanticleer to a considerable extent before making this surprise arrangement. As he had written in his orders,… it would appear that certain fortifications and matters of mutual defence of the island of Cozar 's occupying forces are in poor repair, and in many cases quite inadequate. As no additional labour is to hand to rectify these faults, and given the full authority accorded to me by Lord Hood, it is my intention to use a proportion of the convict cargo as carried in the transport Justice hereby. under my command. It was as simple as that.

Once again Pomfret had made it quite clear that he regarded human material with less concern than he would the stress of sailcloth or the replenishment of new spars.

Leach asked quietly, 'Can he do that, sir?' He shifted under Bolitho's grey eyes. 'I mean, is it legal?'

'There may be questions raised in Parliament, Leach. By then it seems unlikely that anyone will care. Many will take the view that the shipping of criminals is already costing the country too much when we are at war with France again. To have them "work their passage" might seem reasonable.'

Leach asked stubbornly, 'But do you think it so, sir?'

Bolitho locked his fingers together below the table. 'That is not your concern, Leach!' The harshness in his voice was unintentional, and he knew that Leach had uncovered his uncertainty as if he had spoken his thoughts aloud.

Tudor looked at his feet. 'In that case..

Bolitho stood up, suddenly angry. 'In that case, Tudor, we will get on with it, shall we?'

'Shall I inform the Justice's captain, sir?' Leach was trying to ease away the tension. 'He is a difficult man and shows little liking for the Navy.'

'I will tell him.' Bolitho walked to the windows. 'It is a duty I could well do without.'

Leach said suddenly, 'I understand that you are in need of a senior lieutenant, sir? My own is a good officer and well due for advancement.'

Bolitho was staring at the distant convict ship, seeing it as if for the first time. 'Thank you, Leach, that is considerate of you. Both to me and to an officer you are probably unwilling to lose.' He shook his head. 'But it will have to wait a while. The wind is backing all the time and mounting too, I believe. We must make a move soon or ride out the gale in harbour.'

Leach nodded. 'It has been coming in from the Atlantic for several days.' He stood up and reached for his hat. 'I agree we must sail without too much delay.'

Bolitho followed the two officers on deck and watched them depart for their ships. Then he said shortly, 'My barge, if you please! I am going across to the Justice.' He saw the officers exchange quick glances and guessed that they knew almost to a word what was to happen. News travelled faster between ships than any signals system yet devised.

Rooke asked, 'Any orders, sir?'

'Get as much fresh fruit as the boats can carry aboard while I'm away. But this ship will sail by eight bells, understood?'

Then he climbed down to the boat and pulled his cloak around his body as if to hide his thoughts from the watching seamen.

Allday growled, 'Shove off! Give way together!'

Over Bolitho's shoulder he said quietly, 'An odd name for a convict ship, Captain. There were some folk transported from Bodmin just for stealing bread. I don't call that justice!'

Bolitho bowed his head as spray whipped across his lips like hail. It was strange that Aiday and men like him who had once been forcibly pressed into Service should speak with such compassion, yet showed no pity for others taken from their homes to serve at sea in a King's ship. But like Allday he knew there was a difference, and although he would have to stifle it in his mind, it would always be there for him too.

'Boat ahoy?' A gruff voice yelled down from the ship's weathered side.

Allday replied loudly, 'Captain of his Majesty's Ship Hyperion coming aboard!'

Beneath his cloak Bolitho shivered. The Justice even smelt of human decay.