FORM LINE OF BATTLE!

8. THE PASSENGER

Captain Hoggan of the transport Justice stood arms folded in the centre of his littered cabin and watched Bolitho with obvious amusement. He was a muscular man with thick, unkempt hair, and his heavy coat, which would have been more suitable in the North Atlantic, looked as if it had been slept in.

'If you were expecting a protest from me, Bolitho, you can rest easy.' He gestured towards a bottle. 'Will you take a glass before you leave?'

Bolitho looked around the cabin. It was crammed with seachests and baggage of every kind, as well as a shining stand of muskets and pistols. What made a professional seaman take work of this sort? He wondered. A ship which plied its trade back and forth carrying one wretched cargo after another. He guessed that the boxes contained personal possessions of some of the convicts who died on passage, and the realisation made him answer coldly, 'No, Captain, I will not take a drink.'

'Suit yourself.' The cabin's close confines filled with the heady aroma of rum as Hoggan slopped a full measure into a glass for himself. Then he said, 'After all, you are ordering me to take this trash to Cozar. After that they're Pomfret's problem.' He winked. 'To me it just means a short trip and back home at the same price. Far better'n month after month at sea with Botany Bay at the end of it all!'

Bolitho shivered in spite of the trapped air. 'Very well. You will sail as soon as I make the signal. Obey all directions from my ship, and keep station at all times.'

Hoggan's face hardened slightly. 'This is no King's ship!'

'It is under my orders, Captain.' Bolitho tried to hide the contempt he felt for the other man. He glanced at his pocket watch. 'Now be so good as to assemble the convicts. I intend to tell them what is happening.'

Hoggan seemed about to protest. Then he grinned and muttered, 'This beats everything! Why bother with the like o' them?'

'Just do as I ask, if you please.' Bolitho looked away. 'They have that right surely.'

Hoggan clumped away, and within minutes could be heard bellowing orders from the poop. Then he reappeared in the doorway and made a mock bow.

'The gentlemen are ready, Captain!' He was grinning broadly. 'I must apologise for their rough appearance, but they wasn't expecting a King's officer to pay 'em a visit!'

Bolitho eyed him coldly and then walked out on to the windswept deck. Overhead the sky was crossed by narrow clouds, and as they scudded above the spiralling masts Bolitho knew that the wind was still mounting.

Then he looked down at the maindeck and saw the great press of upturned faces. The Justice was not much bigger than a large frigate, although he knew that her hull was deep and built more for carrying cargo than for making speed. It seemed incredible that all these unkempt, cowed-looking men could live and survive the rigours of the long voyage to New Holland, for the ship carried a full crew and all the additional stores as well which were required for such a journey. His eye moved along the gangways on either side of the upper deck. Unlike a ship of war they were protected as much from inboard as from a possible attacker, and the business-like swivel guns were pointing not to seaward but straight down on to the assembled convicts.

He noted the mixture of dress, too. Ranging from soiled broadcloth to stinking prison rags, while here and there a man stood out in some colourful garb to add to the unreality of their alien presence. Uprooted from their homes through greed or misfortune, they now stood swaying in total silence, their eyes on his face, their expressions ranging from fear to complete despair.

Some of the watchful guards on the gangways carried whips, and Bolitho's mind rebelled as he saw the expert ease with which they flicked them against their shoes as they waited idly for him to speak and then get about his proper business.

Was it possible that men never learned from past events? Senseless brutality had no place in the proper maintenance of order and discipline. It was less than a year since some of the ill-fated Bounty mutineers had choked out their lives before the eyes of the fleet at Portsmouth, yet some men still found more satisfaction from administering the punishment rather than finding the cure.

'I will not keep you long.' Bolitho's voice carried easily above the creak of spars and rigging. 'I am not here to judge or condemn you. That has been done already. I have to tell you that your journey to New Holland has been postponed, for how' long I cannot at present say.' He had every man's attention now. 'This ship will sail in convoy to the island of Cozar, a distance of some six hundred miles. There you will be put to work in order that you can make a real contribution in the fight against our country's enemies!'

Something like a great groan rose from the packed figures, and when Bolitho looked at Hoggan he said bluntly, 'Some o' them has womenfolk and children with 'em.' He gestured vaguely over the weather rail. 'They've sailed on with the main convoy.'

Bolitho stared down at the prisoners, both stunned by Hoggan's indifference and appalled by what his words really implied. He should have remembered that it was customary to carry men and women in separate ships, and it was a wise precaution. But he had never before visualised these people as being families, but more as faceless individuals.

A voice called suddenly, 'Me wife, sirl Fer pity's sake, what will she do without me?'

Hoggan yelled, 'Keep silent, you snivelling pig!'

Bolitho held up his hand. 'Let me try and answer that, Captain.' To the deck at large he added evenly, `War leaves little choice in these matters. My own people have not set foot ashore for many months, in some cases for several years. Yet they too have families..

He broke off as the voice called out again. 'But she's gone out there, out to…' It trailed away as if the speaker was suddenly confronted with the true horror of deportation.

Bolitho said, 'I will do what I can for all of you. If you work well and obey orders, I am sure that such behaviour will weigh heavily in your favour. Remission of sentence is not unknown.' He wanted to get away from this wretched ship, but could not find it in his heart to merely turn his back and leave them to their despair. 'Just remember that whatever else you may or may not be, you are all Englishmen and faced with a common enemy.'

He broke off as Allday said quietly, 'Hyperion's boats are returning, Captain. Mr. Rooke must be worried about the wind.'

Bolitho nodded and turned to Hoggan. 'You may prepare to weigh. I will sail directly.' He watched the upturned faces slowly breaking apart into small, aimless groups. 'Try not to make their lives any harder, Captain.'

Hoggan eyed him with obvious hostility. 'Are you choosing to give me orders, sir?'

'Since you put it that way, Captain Hoggan, yes, I am!' Bolitho's eyes were cold and hard. 'I am also holding you personally responsible!' Then he strode after Allday without another word.

As the barge butted manfully into the growing pattern of dancing whitecaps Bolitho stared across at the Hyperion and found time to wonder at the change she had seemingly undergone during his short visit to the Justice. He knew that the comparison was an illusion, but after the convict ship's air of decay and hopelessness the Hyperion seemed to shine like part of another world. Her tall, spray-covered side and the purposeful movements of figures above and around her upper deck helped to steady him and ease the turmoil in his thoughts.

He climbed swiftly through the entry port and touched his hat briefly to the assembled side party. To Lieutenant Inch he said, 'Secure the boats at once and report when you have done so.' Then it dawned on him that something was wrong. At any other time he would have sensed it immediately, but he had been too busy thinking about the convicts. He saw Inch staring aft, and as he followed his gaze he realised what had caused his expression of apprehension.

Allday had just climbed up through the port and was unable to restrain himself. 'Bless me! A woman on the quarterdeck!'

Bolitho asked quietly,, `Would you be so good as to explain the meaning of this, Mr. Inch?' His voice was dangerously calm.

Inch swallowed unhappily. 'She came aboard in one of the

boats, sir. F'rom the Rock, and she -had this letter… Bolitho pushed him aside. 'I will deal with it myself, since

you seem to have taken leave of your senses!' He strode aft and up the quarterdeck ladder, his sudden anger beating time with his heart.

He got a swift impression of Lieutenant Rooke, his face frowning and apprehensive, and Midshipman Seton, who was surprisingly smiling in spite of Bolitho's bleak expression.

Then he saw the girl. She was dressed in dark green velvet, and by contrast had a wide Spanish sun hat tied round beneath her chin by a length of bright red ribbon. She was endeavoring to hold the hat still in the whipping wind and at the same time trying to keep her long hair from blowing free across her face.

'May I have some sort of explanation?' Bolitho looked from one to the other.

Rooke made to speak, but the girl said calmly, 'I am Cheney Seton, Captain. I have a letter from you from Sir Edmund Pomfret.' She dropped one hand to her dress and withdrew an envelope, all the time keeping her eyes on Bolitho's frowning face. Her eyes, were large and blue-green like the sea, and very grave, and like her voice gave nothing away.

Bolitho took the letter and stared at it, his mind grappling with her words. 'Seton did you say?'

'S-Sir, she's m -m-my s-sister.' Midshipman Seton fell silent under Bolitho's flat stare.

The girl said evenly, 'I am sorry to have caused so much distress, Captain.' She gestured towards a small pile of luggage. 'But, as you can see, it is no mistake!'

Bolitho glared. 'Did you know about this, Mr. Seton?'

'He did not.' She spoke almost sharply, and had Bolitho been less angry he might have seen past her pretence of easy self-control. 'I was with the convoy from New Holland.' She shrugged as if it was of little importance. 'Now I am to sail with you to this island of yours:

'Kindly do not interrupt me when I am addressing one of my officers, Miss, er, Seton!' Bolitho was already out of his depth, and from the comer of his eye saw a growing group of watching seamen below the quarterdeck.

She replied just as crisply. 'Then kindly do not discuss me as if I was a piece, of furniture on your boat, Captain!'

Dalby, the third lieutenant, who had been hovering nearby said helpfully, 'Not boat, miss! We call her a ship in the Navy!'

Bolitho shouted, 'And who asked you, Mr. Dalby?' He swung round angrily. 'Mr. Rooke, be so good as to call all hands for getting under way, and make a signal accordingly to the convoy!'

Then he turned back to the girl. Her arms were hanging at her sides now and her hair, which he noticed was of a deep chestnut colour, blew in the wind as if she no longer cared.

'If you will come aft, Miss Seton, I will hear this matter more fully.'

With Allday and Gimlett hurrying ahead Bolitho followed the girl below the poop, conscious of her slim figure and the defiant tilt of her head. Damn Pomfret to hell, he thought savagely. Why couldn't he have told him about the girl? The thought of Hyperion being despatched to Gibraltar at a time when the chance of real action was no longer a remote supposition was bad enough. To find Seton's sister waiting to be collected like one more piece of personal luggage was almost more than his mind could accept.

She stepped into the cabin and stared round with the same expression of grave interest.

Bolitho said more calmly, 'And now perhaps you could explain?'

'Do you mind if I sit down, Captain?' She eyed him quietly, her mouth set firmly against compromise.

'Please do.' Bolitho tore open the letter and walked to the windows. It was all there right enough. He said at length, 'I still do not understand the purpose of your visit?'

'I am not really sure it concerns you, Captain.' She gripped the arms of the chair. 'But since it will soon be generally known, I am going to Cozar to marry Sir Edmund Pomfret.'

Bolitho stared at her. 'I see.'

She leaned back in the chair, the defiance gone out of her. Almost wearily she said, 'I think not. But if you will be kind enough to tell me where I can rest, I will try and keep Gut of your way.'

Bolitho looked round the cabin helplessly. 'You may keep these quarters. I will have a cot rigged for myself in the chartroom. You will be more than comfortable.'

For a brief instant her eyes filled with quiet amusement. 'If you are sure, Captain?'

Bolitho seized Allday's sudden reappearance like a drowning man grasping a straw. 'Take my gear to the chartroom, Allday! I will change into my seagoing clothes immediately.' Damn the girl, too. She was mocking him for making such a fool of himself. 'Then get Gimlett and instruct him on the new arrangements.'

Allday looked quickly at the seated girl. But his face was expressionless as he answered, 'Looks like a fair wind, Captain.' Then he vanished.

Minutes later, when Bolitho strode on to the quarterdeck, all conversation amongst the assembled officers stopped instantly, as if he had shouted some terrible obscenity at them.

Rooke said formally, 'The transports have their cables hove short, sir.' He was very tense, and Bolitho guessed that he was not enjoying the prospect- of handling the ship under the glass of every captain anchored in Gibraltar. It gave him a small sense of cruel pleasure.

He snapped, 'Very well, Mr. Rooke. Get the ship under way, if you please.' He saw Gossett watching him, his expression like that of a sad mastiff. 'Lay a course to weather the headland and put two good hands on the wheel.'

Controlling his irritation with real effort he walked to the rail and looked slowly along the length of his command. The men already poised at the capstan bars, the marines at the mizzen braces, the topmen waiting for the order to move.

He said, 'Make to escorts "weigh when ready".' He took a telescope and studied the transports as they prepared to follow suit.

As the flags soared aloft Rooke lifted his speaking trumpet and shouted, 'Ready at the capstan!'

Tomlin, the bosun, showed his two fangs and waved his fist in acknowledgement.

Rooke moistened his lips. 'Loose the heads'ls! Hands aloft and loose tops'ls!'

Bolitho watched in silence as the topmen swarmed up the ratlines in a human tide, the rattans of the petty officers and master's mates urging on the laggards with more than their usual enthusiasm. It was as if they realised their captain's angry mood and were taking no chances.

'Man the braces!'

As the men strained and groaned at the capstan bars and the great anchor tore itself from the silt and sand of the harbour the Hyperion bowed heavily to the rising wind. Then as the full force struck her she tilted even further, the men on the yards fighting and kicking to control the great billowing folds of canvas beneath them. Further and further, and then with the wheel hard over and the yards creaking and bending like huge bows the Hyperion paid off to the wind and gathered way. As the anchor was seized and catted by the nimble forecastle hands she settled on a course towards the blown waste of broken wave crests, showing the watchers ashore that she at least was an experienced warrior, and as proud as her name.

Caswell called, 'All ships have weighed, sir!'

'Very well. Signal them to take station as ordered.' He tugged his hat firmly across his forehead and stared up at the masthead pendant. It was stiff and pointing like a spear. `Signal them to make all sail conformable with weather.' It would be as well to keep signals to a minimum, he thought grimly. There would be time enough later for chasing up the laggards.

He watched the tiny sloop Snipe spreading her topsails and overhauling the leading transport like a terrier past a bullock. Her station was ahead of the convoy. Hyperion and the frigate would stay to windward, in this case astern of the transports, so that they could dash down if required to defend them. He shifted his glass to the Harvester and saw her sleek bows lift and crash down, slicing into the first deep-sea roller with the grace of a wild thing.

Hyperion merely lifted a massive shoulder into it and threw the sea back across the blunt bows in a solid sheet. With the wind astern the deck lifted and fell in a steady smashing motion, while overhead the air was filled with noise of whining rigging and the overall beat and roar of straining canvas as the tiny, shortened shapes of the men aloft fought to obey Bolitho's last order and set more sail.

He thought suddenly of the girl below in his cabin and knew she was the cause of his irritation. He saw Gossett's face soften with relief as he added shortly, 'We may have to take in a second reef directly, Mr. Gossett, but we'll use this advantage to clear the land.'

The master nodded. No doubt he understood better than most that there was no point in dismasting the ship merely to relieve a captain's anger.

The wind's force and direction stayed with the little convoy without much variation until the fourth day out from Gibraltar, and by noon of that day they had logged all of four hundred and twenty miles. Nobody aboard the Hyperion could recall the ship making such a good speed, and the voyage had proceeded with little interruption or incident.

By dusk of the fourth day the wind veered suddenly to the north-west and lost a little of its power, but as Bolitho stood on the weather side of the quarterdeck watching the glowing beauty of a great copper sunset he could afford to feel satisfied. The ships had held together well, and even now as he turned his eyes ahead of the Hyperion's plunging bows he could see the transports' hulls gleaming in the strange light as if they were of burnished metal. Erebus, the largest transport, led the line, followed at a comfortable distance by her consort Vanessa. Both were well-handled vessels, and as they basked in the fading sunset they looked for all the world like men-of-war-with their imitation painted gunports and taut rigging. Further astern followed the Justice, her hull a dull black and already lost in shadow, her hands still working aloft, as like the rest of the ships they shortened sail for the night.

Above the drumming whine of rigging Bolitho heard a sudden gust of laughter, and guessed that his officers were making full use of their time and the unusual opportunity of entertaining a lady in their mess.

Bolitho clasped his hands behind him and resumed his steady pacing back and forth along the weather side. His regular movement was watched by the two helmsmen, as well as by Dalby, the officer of the watch, who stayed discreetly on the lee side of the deck.

It was strange how the girl Cheney Seton had taken the ship by storm. In spite of her brief appearance. on the poop there always seemed to be a goodly crowd of spare seamen ready to smile up at her, or merely to watch her spellbound, as if she was some sort of apparition.

Gimlett was, of course, in his element. He fussed over his passenger like a mother hen and guarded her against every possible intruder with more determination then Bolitho imagined he could possess. She had kept her word, too. She had stayed out of Bolitho's way and had done nothing which might outwardly interfere with the running of the ship.

Bolitho quickened his pacing in time to his thoughts as the realisation returned once more to remind him of one true fact. By her very reasonableness she had somehow managed to isolate him more than ever, rather than the other way round. Perhaps it was for that reason he had granted Inch's cautious request to entertain her at dinner that evening. He had half-expected they might invite him too, but it was not to be, and as he paced the darkening deck listening to the sounds of his own shoes on the scrubbed planking he half-hoped there might be some emergency or change of wind so that he could call all hands and break up the sounds of gaiety from below.

When he turned into his cramped quarters in the chartroom he still found it difficult to believe that the girl was sleeping within feet of him in his own cot, or eating in his own cabin, while he hid away like a naughty schoolboy. Stranger still was the realisation that he hardly knew anything more about her than the minute she had stepped aboard. What information there was available was third or fourth hand, and all the more maddening because of its incompleteness. The gunroom messman had overheard Midshipman Piper telling Caswell what Seton had confided to him about his sister. The messman had of course informed Gimlett, who with obvious reluctance, but under threat of violence, had disclosed some of his information to Aliday. As the coxswain had stood watching Bolitho shaving or had helped him into his heavy coat when the ship had reeled to a sudden squall in the middle of the night, he had casually imparted his news. Bolitho had accepted it equally casually, and had thereby saved both time and face.

Now as he recrossed the deck his chin sunk into his neekcloth, he built up a small picture of the girl who was going to be Pomfret's bride. She was twenty-six years old, and had until recently been in Pomfret's London house acting as a sort of housekeeper. Bolitho's first suspicion had been diminished when Allday had informed him that Pomfret had arranged that to their mutual benefit, as she had been nursing her invalid father, who for some reason which Bolitho could – not discover, had been allowed to use the house as his own. Her father was now dead, and she had only a brother left in the whole world. Her mother had died in one of the uprisings in Jamaica when some slaves had -revolted and bad attacked the Seton homestead, more from convenience than for any real purpose.

Bolitho's frown deepened. That was interesting. Pomfret had been attached to a squadron off Jamaica, and it was quite possibly where he had met and made friends with the Seton family. In those days at least the girl's family must have been quite rich and influential. But what had happened since was past his understanding. But one thing was quite clear, her attitude of defiance which he had at first taken for a natural arrogance was merely a defence. It could not have been easy for her to manage alone in London.

Allday had fed him his last titbit of information- that forenoon. Midshipman Seton had been made Pomfret's ward. The admiral was obviously very eager to make sure of his position, Bolitho thought.

Lieutenant Dalby crossed the deck and touched his hat in the darkness. `All lights burning, sir.'

Bolitho paused and glanced ahead at the slow-moving 128

transports. Each carried a single lantern and would be able to retain close contact even at night. It was his-own idea and he was already putting it down to over-caution on his part. But during the afternoon the sloop Snipe, far ahead of the convoy like a searching terrier, had signalled that she had sighted an unknown sail to the north-west. Nothing more had been seen of it, but one had to be careful. It was probably a Spanish merchantman, he thought, although the convoy was standing well out to sea, and even now was some sixty miles from the nearest land. But they were in the Gulf of Valencia, and every day took them nearer to the coast of France.

`Very good, Mr. Dalby.' He did not feel much like confiding in the third lieutenant who was inclined to be overtalkative if given the chance.

Dalby said, `We will be in Cozar within five days if this weather holds, sir.' He banged his hands together noisily for it was already cold after the heat of the day. 'I hope Miss Seton is not disappointed with her new home.'

That was something else which had been nagging Bolitho_ more than a little. And the fact that Dalby could discuss it so easily made him unreasonably angry.

`Be so good as to attend to your duties, Mr. Dalbyi You should call the duty watch and take another pull on the weather forebrace, it sounds like a flapping bellrope!'

He saw Dalby hurry away and sighed to himself. It was not his concern at all, but how could Pomfret let a girl like that go to a sun-beached hell like Cozar?

From forward he heard the snap of orders and the weary fumblings of the roused seamen as they sought to find some fault where there was none.

There was a movement on the quarterdeck ladder and he saw two shadows climbing up to the lee side. One he saw was the girl well wrapped in a long cloak with a hood over her hair, and the other was her brother. The latter had been almost a guest of honour at the wardroom dinner, and was probably well pleased with the sudden popularity his sister's presence had given him.

Seton saw Bolitho's solitary figure and said quickly, _MMust go! I-I am on w-watch in an hour!'

He scurried below and the girl turned by the massive trunk of the mainmast, her face pale against the sea beyond.

'Good night, Captain.' She lifted one hand very slightly and then steadied herself against the mast as the Hyperion lifted lazily over a steep roller. `A very pleasant evening.'

She made to head for the poop but Bolitho said hurriedly, 'Er, Miss Seton!' He saw her falter and then turn back. 'I was, er, just wondering if you are quite comfortable?'

In the darkness her teeth shone very white. 'Thank you, Captain, quite comfortable.'

Bolitho felt himself actually flushing and was suddenly enraged by his own stupidity. What, after all, had he expected?

She said calmly, 'I shall be almost sorry to reach Cozar.'

Bolitho made himself walk across the intervening deck and then said, 'I have been thinking about that. Cozar is not exactly a suitable place..

'I know, Captain.' There was no rebuke or hostility in her voice. It might have been sadness. 'But there it is.'

Dalby pattered across the quarterdeck and stood staring at them. 'Forebrace secure and snug for the night, sir!'

Bolitho turned hotly. 'Go away, Mr. Dalby!'

When he faced the girl again he saw that she was holding her mouth and shaking with suppressed laughter.

'The poor man! You've frightened him to death!' She recovered quickly. 'I can't imagine why they all seem to like you so much. You really are a terrible bully!'

Bolitho did not know what to say. 'I do not mean…’ he began, but he sounded so pompous that he broke off and grinned helplessly. 'I am sorry, Miss Seton. I will try to remember that.'

She nodded. 'Now I will go to my cabin, Captain?

Bolitho took half a pace after her. 'Might we dine together?' He was out of his depth, and worse, he knew it. 'Perhaps before we reach Cozar?'

For a terrible moment he thought she was going to complete her victory by ignoring him. But beside the helmsman she paused and seemed to consider the request.

'I think that would be very pleasant, Captain. I will think about it tomorrow.' Then she was gone.

The eyes of the two helmsmen glowed in the binnacle light like bright marbles as they watched their captain's confusion.

But Bolitho did not care. He was enjoying a new sensation entirely, and was strangely indifferent to what any of his men thought at that particular moment.

The following morning found Bolitho up, dressed and shaved bright and early. This was not unusual for him, because although he was always fascinated by sunsets at sea, he was even more intrigued and strengthened by the early morning. The air felt fresher, and the sea was without malice in the pale sunlight.

He walked to the quarterdeck rail and stood for several minutes watching the hands moving busily across the upper deck, calling cheerfully to each other as they worked with swabs and holystones to the steady accompaniment of saltwater pumps.

Rooke had requested permission to set topgallants and royals while he had been shaving, and now as he looked up at the gleaming white banks of canvas he felt strangely happy and replete. The ship was behaving well, and the men were far happier than they had been for some time, and more so than they had a right to be. When he thought back to the previous night he felt a brief pang of uncertainty. The girl would be leaving the ship very soon. It was to be hoped that this new sense of comradeship did not leave with her.

But he knew he was really exploring his own feelings. The sudden sense of loss gave him an instant answer, if doubts he had. It was of course quite ridiculous. Right or wrong, she would be an admiral's lady, and he had no doubt that Pomfret would soon use his influence to get away from Cozar and hoist his flag in more amenable surroundings.

He heard Gossett murmur a greeting behind him, and when he turned he saw her walking slowly towards the rail, her face turned towards the filtered sunlight. She had been more tanned than was customary to expect when she had come aboard, and now that he knew she had grown up in Jamaica he was not surprised. But after a few days at sea the tan had settled to a beautiiful golden brown, and he felt unusually moved as he watched her enjoying the early warmth of the day to come.

He removed his hat and smiled awkwardly. 'Good morning, Miss Seton. I trust you slept well?' His voice was louder than he had intended, and by the nine-pounders a ship's boy froze above his holystone and stared up at him.

She smiled. 'Very well, Captain. Better than for a long time.'

'Fr, good.' Bolitho ignored the gaping seamen by the wheel. 'As you see, the convoy is keeping good station and the wind is still behaving as it should.'

She was watching him, her eyes suddenly grave. 'We will be at Cozar on time then?'

He nodded. 'Yes.' He nearly replied, 'I'm afraid so.' He glanced at the masthead pendant to recover himself. 'I have just instructed my carpenter to start work on a few pieces of furniture which might make your home at Cozar more comfortable for you.' She was still watching him, and he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. 'They wanted to do it,' he added lamely.

She did not speak for a few seconds. Then she nodded slowly, and he saw a sudden brightness in her eyes.

'Thank you, Captain. That was very kind of you.'

The men working around them, the helmsmen and the officer of the. watch all seemed to fade as he continued quietly, 'I only wish there was something more I could do.'

She swung towards the sea, her face hidden by her hair, and Bolitho held his breath with something like panic. He had gone too far. She would cut the ground from under him, as he well deserved.

But she said, 'Perhaps we had better not dine together, Captain. It might be better if…' She broke off as a voice pealed down from above.

'Deck therel Snipe's going about! She's signalling, sir!' Bolitho dragged his mind back from the sudden despair her words had given him.

'Get aloft, Mr. Caswell, and see what you can of herl'

Then to the girl he said quietly, 'I am sorry. I did not mean to imply…' He struggled; helplessly for words.

She faced him again and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. She said, 'It was nothing you did, Captain. Believe me.'

'Deck there! Signal reads, "Snipe to Hyperion. Strange sail bearing nor'-nor-west." '' Caswell had to shout above the din of booming canvas.

When Bolitho looked again the girl had gone. He said heavily, 'Very well. Make to Snipe.' He frowned. Every thought was a physical effort. 'Make, "Investigate immediately."' As Caswell slithered down a backstay he added, 'Then signal the convoy to reduce sail.'

He walked past the men by the halyards as flag after flag was pulled from the locker to snake its way up the yards. A mile.clear on the starboard quarter the frigate Harvester heeled slightly in the wind, and a shaft of sunlight played on more than one raised telescope as the signals broke out stiffly with colourful urgency.

He saw Rooke watching him thoughtfully and said, 'Get the royals off her, Mr. Rooke. We will overtake the convoy otherwise.'

Every available glass was trained on the distant feather of white sail as the little sloop tacked round and away towards the horizon. Another false alarm? Bolitho could find neither relief nor apprehension now.

The minutes dragged by. Eight bells struck from forward and the watches changed.

Allday crossed the quarterdeck. 'You have had no breakfast, Captain.' He seemed anxious.

Bolitho shrugged. 'I am not hungry.' He did not even rebuke him for breaking into his thoughts.

A whole hour went by before the sloop's topgallants reappeared on the sharpening horizon.

Caswell climbed high into the mizzen shrouds, his telescope balanced agninst the ship's easy roll. 'From Snipe, sir.' He blinked and rubbed his streaming eye. Then he tried again. 'I can't quite make it out, sir.' He almost fell from the shrouds as some freak roller lifted the far-off sloop simultaneously with the Hyperion. He shouted, 'Signal reads, "Enemy in sight", sir!'

Bolitho felt strangely unmoved. 'Very well. General signal to convoy. "Enemy in sight. Prepare for battle." '

Rooke stared at him. 'But, sir, they might not wish to fight!'

Bolitho's tone was scathing. 'They have not come this far to see you, Mr. Rooke!" He saw.the sudden flurry of activity on the Justice's poop as his signal broke free to the wind. `They are after those transports!'

He looked around the watching figures, the decks which were still damp from the swabs and holystones. Like the other ships around him, everyone was waiting to be told what to do.

He said calmly, 'Beat to quarters, Mr. Rooke, and clear for action!'

Two small marine drummers ran to the larboard gangway, pulling on their black shakos and fumbling with their sticks. Then as the ship held her breath they started to beat out their tattoo, their faces tight with concentration as their message was picked up aboard the Harvester and.the three transports.

Bolitho made himself stand motionless by the rail as his men poured up from below and the marines hurried aft and aloft to the tops, their uniforms shining like blood in the growing sunlight. Below decks he could hear the thuds and bangs of screens being removed, the whole urgent business of changing a ship from a floating home and a way of life to a unified instrument of war.

He looked again at the quiet sea, but found no comfort. The morning was already spoilt for Bolitho even before the Snipe had brought her news.

Rooke touched his hat. He was sweating badly. 'Cleared for action, sir.' The words seemed to spark off a memory of that early resentment and he added, 'Less than ten minutes that time!'

Bolitho looked at him gravely. 'Good.' 'Shall I give the order to load, sir?'

'Not yet.' Bolitho thought suddenly of his breakfast and felt a sharp pang of hunger. He knew he would be unable to eat. But he had to do something. He saw the sunlight lancing down between the straining topsails and felt a new sensation of fear. By tonight he could be dead. Or, worse, screaming under the surgeon's knife. He licked his lips and said tightly, 'You have all eaten. I have not. I will be in the chartroom if I am required.' Then he turned and walked slowly towards the poop.

Gossett watched him pass and breathed out admiringly. 'Did you see that, lads? Not a flicker! As cool as an Arctic wind is our cap'n!'