Signal-Close Action!

16. The Captain's Report

"ONLY the wounded into the boats!"

Bolitho was hoarse from shouting above the din of gunfire.

Several transports were shooting through the smoke, and he knew that some of the shots would be hitting their consorts, as the packed anchorage changed from a prepared defence-line to a scene of indescribable panic. Three ships were blazing fiercely, and with their cables either cut or burned through, were already drifting amongst the others.

Bolitho could not tell how many guns were firing at Osiris, for with only a few of her lower battery still manned, it was impossible to distinguish between a thirty-two-pounder's recoil and an enemy ball crashing into the hull.

He peered over the gangway and saw the boats immediate- ly below him, filled with wounded, while others clung to the gunwales or floated away, unable to swim, or without the strength to do so. Others were clambering down the rounded tumblehome, marines and seamen, coopers and sailmakers, while here and there the blue and white of an officer tried to restore order.

Pascoe ran to his side. "What will happen now, sir?" Bolitho did not reply immediately. "Down there, Adam.

That is what defeat is like. The way it looks. How it smells." He turned away. "Pass the word. Cease firing. This ship may take fire at any moment when one of those wrecks drifts against us."

More violent crashes, and freed at last from its remaining shrouds, the mizzen mast plunged down alongside, bedding itself in the shallows like a great marker.

He walked a few paces across the deck, his shoes catching in splinters and the great diagonal rent where the French gunners had smashed down the helm and all around it.

A few men ran past him, not even giving him a glance. To where, and for what purpose, they probably did not know.

Smoke poured across the hull and eddied through holes in the deck. It was like walking in hell. Dead men were on every hand, weapons and small possessions where they had been dropped or had fallen in battle. A marine lay staring at the sky, his head and shoulders supported on the lap of a comrade. A best friend perhaps. But he, too, was dead. Killed by a metal splinter as he had watched his friend die.

There was no sign of Farquhar, and he imagined that they had carried him right aft, to the wrecked cabin with its once beautiful furniture and fittings.

A small figure emerged below the poop, and he realised it was Midshipman Breen.

"Go with Mr. Pascoe!" He watched the boy peering at him without a spark of recognition. "And take care."

Breen nodded, and then burst into tears. "I ran away, sir! I ran away!"

Bolitho touched his shoulder. "A lot of men did that today, Mr. Breen. There's nothing more they can do here." Pascoe came aft with the second lieutenant. The latter looked exhausted, white-faced with shock.

"The boats are full, sir." He cringed as a ball ripped past him and struck something solid in the smoke. The smoke was so thick that the other ship was completely hidden.

"Very well." Bolitho looked slowly along the deserted decks. There would still be some who were trapped under that great tangle of wreckage. Listening, or calling for help.

He said, "Pass the word. Abandon ship. We will ferry the wounded ashore." He looked at Pascoe. "I am sorry for you, Adam. Twice a prisoner of war in so short a span." Pascoe shrugged. "At least we"re together this time, Uncle."

Allday, who had been nursing his injured arm, levered himself from the rail and said, "Listen!

They looked at him, and Bolitho put his arm round him, fearing that because of his own despair" he had failed to help Allday.

Breen wiped his eyes with his fists and stared at Allday. "I hear it!" He reached out for Allday's hand. "I do hear it!" Bolitho walked over the broken planks, listening to the swelling roar of cheers. It faltered only to a ragged crash of gunfire, which was followed instantly by an even louder, more violent broadside. Then the cheering resumed, stronger and fiercer, like one great voice.

Allday said huskily, "That's no French cheer!" "Huzza! Huzza!

And again the smoke surged towards the stranded Osiris, stirred and blown by another massive broadside.

Pascoe said, "Buzzard."

Allday leaned against him and looked at Bolitho. "Bless him, sir, did you hear that?"

"Yes." Bolitho sheathed his sword without knowing why he had done so. "No frigate carries that number of men." The second lieutenant dropped his head and said brokenly, "That damned Nicator. Here at last, too late to save our ship and all our men."

Sunlight probed through the smoke, and Bolitho saw leaping flames and heard the crackle of burning timber. A mastless hulk, abandoned and well ablaze, was less than fifty yards away.

But as the smoke swirled high in the air, he stared at a ship which even now was firing another broadside downwind, at some other invisible target.

There was no mistaking her. Lysander was steering past the scattered transports, firing into individual vessels, or pouring a half-broadside into one isolated or apparently untouched. Her other side was obviously firing at the French seventy-four, which explained the first cheers and violent broadsides.

Bolitho saw and understood all of these things, but found they carried no meaning.

Only one thing counted. Lysander. Thomas Herrick had come for them, by some fantastic piece of luck and little less than a miracle, he had sailed down from the north channel and turned the anchorage into a shipbreaker's yard.

Pascoe said, "I think that's Buzzard now, sir!" He was wild-eyed, his chest and throat moving with emotion. "Yes, it is her! Her sails are so holed she is barely making way!"

Bolitho rubbed his eyes, seeing a corvette following close under Lysander's stern. She was listing, but had less damage to her sails than Javal's victorious frigate. Also, above her flapping tricolour she was wearing a large Union Jack.

Bolitho wrenched his eyes away. "They’ve got boats in the water. Tell our people that help is coming."

He watched the drifting hulk and prayed she was not one of the ammunition ships.

Another gust of wind moved across the water, and he saw that many of the transports had sunk completely. If they were loaded with those great guns, it was not surprising.

Boats "pulled below the Osiris's shadow, and he heard voices shouting encouragement, while the oarsmen stared grim-faced at the battered, holed wreck which had once been Farquhar's command.

Plowman limped past carrying the ship's chronometer. He saw Bolitho and gave a tense grin. "Pity to leave it in the wreck, sir. "Er’ll come in useful." He hurried to the side adding, "Glad you"re safe, sir."

Bolitho realised there were many boats now, some with armed marines, and swivels mounted on their stems, while the others got on with the work of rescue.

That, too, became clear as he leaned on the rail to watch. Some boats were painted dark red, from Nicator then. So somewhere beyond the scattered transports and burning wrecks Probyn's ship was here to see the price of the battle.

A lieutenant crossed the deck and touched his hat to Pascoe. "Nobody else survived but you?" He looked very clean against the horror and death.

Bolitho said, "I survived."

The lieutenant gaped at him and snapped, "Beg pardon, sir! I did not recognise you in-"

Bolitho said wearily, "No matter. It has become a custom. " The officer blinked. "I am from Nicator, sir. We did not think anyone had survived, "he waved his hand despairingly around the deck, "all this!"

Guthrie, the Osiris's second lieutenant, suddenly ran from the poop and seized the young officer by the coat.

, You bloody coward! You damned, crawling toad! Look what you did-"

As Pascoe pulled him away from the astonished lieutenant, Guthrie broke down completely, his body shaking violently to his sobs.

The lieutenant gasped, "Nicator ran aground, sir. But when Lysander appeared out of nowhere, we were able to kedge off fairly well. Without Captain Herrick's arrival I fear we would have been even later."

Bolitho watched him gravely, seeing his despair, his shame at Guthrie's attack.

"Of that I am quite sure."

He walked to the sagging gangway. "Now we can clear the ship. "

He paused above the nearest launch, his eyes on the hull's bare outline. Without masts or sails, and with only the dead and a few trapped and crazed men to crew her, Osiris was already a wreck. He felt the hull shudder, as if in protest against his thoughts, and knew that the blazing hulk had drifted along the other side. He heard the crackle of flames, the jubilant roar as they spread along Osiris's tarred rigging which lay in huge coils to receive them.

The French, or others, might salvage some of her seventy-four guns, and perhaps her bell as a souvenir. But the keel and ribs would lie in the sand long after the flames had been quenched, and until time and the sea completed the victory.

"Cast off." He sat on the gunwale, surrounded by silent men, some wounded, some merely stunned by all they had witnessed and suffered. "Give way all!"

Bolitho looked at the other boats. Every one crowded with survivors. But of Osiris's original company of six hundred souls there were about half that number. He tightened his lips and felt his gaze smarting from strain. A very heavy price. It was to be hoped someone would appreciate their sacrifice.

He heard a voice calling, and then Allday croaked, "God, look at that gig!"

It was Lieutenant Veitch, blackened from head to foot and almost naked, but waving towards him and grinning from ear to ear.

Plowman murmured, 'said "e"d make it. That what "e said. The mad bugger!"

Bolitho lost sense of time and distance, and as the boats were followed, and surrounded by drifting smoke it was almost a surprise when he saw Lysander's black and buff hull rising like a cliff to greet him, her gun ports crammed with cheering faces, her gangway thronged with seamen and marines.

He gripped the nearest stair below the entry port and pulled himself from the boat. He felt as if his arms would not hold him, or tear from their sockets.

There were hands gripping his, figures pushing around him, helping, staring.

Herrick took his arm and guided hill) aft.

He said softly, "Thank God." He turned and studied Bolitho's face for some seconds. "Thank God."

Bolitho swung round as a searing column of flame shot above the smoke. Osiris's pyre.

He said, 'see to her people, Thomas. They fought well. Better than I dared hope." He shrugged heavily. "But for your arrival, their efforts would have failed. Their losses too great when weighed against the gains."

He nodded as Pascoe joined them. "Adam, too, is unhurt." Herrick peered through the smoke. "And the captain?" Bolitho watched the leaping flames. "He died in battle." He turned to Herrick. "Bravely."

More cheering echoed through the din of gunfire, and someone called wildly, "The Frenchie's struck, sir!" Bolitho looked at Herrick questioningly. "The seventy-four?"

"Aye. We shot her steering away, and raked her twice before she could fight clear. I think her captain was so taken with Osiris's defiance he did not see us at all." He reached out awkwardly. 'so you’ll have another ship to replace the one lost. "

Lieutenant Kipling strode aft and touched his hat. "Boarding party in command now, sir. Mr. Gilchrist has hailed us to say that the French commodore and most of his senior officers are wounded."

Herrick nodded. "Very well. Tell Mr. Gilchrist to arrange an exchange with the enemy. Their officers and seamen in return for any of Osiris's people who managed to swim ashore. And we keep their ship."

Bolitho watched him. What a change. Herrick had not even hesitated or asked his aid.

Herrick faced him again. "I’d like to anchor, sir. I understand that the French will not pursue their bombardment for the present. Javal ran their frigate into the shallows and she is hard and fast. He took a sprightly corvette as a prize, and I think the surviving one fled south as fast as he could go."

Bolitho replied, "Yes, I agree. But it is your decision as flag-captain. "

Herrick looked at him and. then smiled sadly. "About Captain Farquhar, sir."

"It is over for him, Thomas. He died because he put facts before ideas. Because he put too much value in his own future perhaps. But when he did die, it was with courage." Herrick sighed. "That I never doubted. "

A figure hurried beneath the poop and said, "You"re back safe and sound!"

It was Ozzard, his sad features set in a rare smile. "Please come aft, sir!"

Bolitho shook his head. "Later. I want to watch."

He looked at the ships which were already anchoring, their boats surging alongside with cargoes of rescued men. Buzzard, pockmarked from the French guns, with her neat prize close by. The other French ship, her broad pendant gone and British flags at every masthead. Immortalite. The name had served her well, he thought. She had survived, and with luck would make a valuable addition to his little squadron.

He heard a loud explosion and watched scattered fragments falling all round. Osiris's powder store or a magazine had ignited at last. He saw her open gun ports glowing like lines of red eyes as the fire consumed her from within. Deck by deck, yard by yard.

His mind ached and he wanted to go to find seclusion, deep in the hull, beyond a man's voice or a sight of the sea.

But he stood by the nettings, watching Lysander's preparations, the hurrying figures of so many familiar faces. Old Grubb, nodding and saying something to him about honour. Major Leroux striding to speak with him, -but turning away at the last moment after seeing his expression.

Fitz-Clarence, and Kipling, little Midshipman Saxby with his gap-toothed grin, and Mariot, the old gun captain, who had served with his father.

He heard Herrick shout, "Tell them to make haste, Mr. Steere! The wind is better placed, and I’d like to weigh before noon… "

Before noon? Had it taken so little time since dawn?

Bolitho stared listlessly at the littered water, the corpses and charred timbers. Just hours since dawn. That was all it had been. Many had died, more would die later.

He gripped the nettings and took several deep breaths. And he most of all had expected to be killed. That was the strangest part. He had often been near to death in his life at sea. Sometimes so close he had almost felt its presence like another being. This last time had been the worst yet.

Herrick came back to him again. "I hate to leave you, sir.

With most of the men at quarters, and the rest all wild with their victory, it is hard to seize a moment when you need it the most.".

"Thank you, Thomas." He looked at the blazing Osiris; "For them, and for me."

Herrick said ruefully, "Had I only known, sir." He looked away. "But I thought it useless to remain at anchor when you had done so much, had wanted so much for the squadron." Bolitho watched him gravely. 'so you just sailed away, Thomas. With a scrap of paper from your acting-commodore which if it had protected him from higher authority would most certainly have damned you. Your future would have been in ruins."

He saw the lines on Herrick's homely face and guessed that he had thought him dead or captured. By sailing alone from Syracuse he had made his own gesture, just as Inch had described.

Some boats pulled abeam, being careful to keep well away from the burning two-decker in case there should be an even worse explosion.

Herrick said, "There go the French, sir. They fought well, but were vanquished without the loss of a man to us. We took them in surprise. To us as much as them, I suppose." Bolitho craned over the side and watched the nearest boat.

He saw a thin officer, one arm in a sling, and his uniform streaked with blood, staring up at him, his face dull with pain.

"Their commodore." He raised one hand above his head and saw the French officer's companions return the salute. "I know how it feels to lose. What he is thinking at this very moment."

Herrick regarded him anxiously. "He has his freedom, sir." "From his thoughts, Thomas? I think not."

He turned abruptly inboard. "Once we are clear of this place I want a full report from Captain Probyn. "

Herrick watched him, sensing his bitterness and anger. "Aye, sir."

Bolitho faced him again. "But I"11 not let anything more spoil the pleasure of seeing you again, my friend!" He smiled, his exhaustion making him appear somehow defenceless. "I had a message for you anyway, Thomas. From a delightful lady, who even now is planning a welcome for you in Kent!"

Herrick stammered, "Hell, sir, I mean-" He grinned. "Did you meet her then?"

"It is what Iam saying, Thomas." He took his arm. "I hope I am there at your wedding, as you were at… " He stopped and looked away.

"I’d be honoured, sir, if it ever comes to it."

Veitch hurried across the quarterdeck, grinning to the laughs and taunts which attended his wild entrance.

Herrick smiled. "Another Lysander has got home, sir." He looked at Bolitho and added, "But if you’ve no objection, I’d like to make him my first lieutenant immediately. Mr. Fitz- Clarence can command the corvette and Mr Gilchrist the French seventy-four. That is, until other appointments can be arranged."

"As I said, Thomas, you are the flag captain. Your opinions are mine. I suppose always have been without either of us knowing. But have you asked Captain Javal about his officers?"

Herrick smiled. "I hailed him in the battle. He escaped unscathed, but…"He looked Bolitho in the eyes." We have only one frigate. She needs to be better than all she meets. Anyway, Javal will be content with his prize money."

He became serious again as Fitz-Clarence hurried aft, his face full of questions. "I’ll deal with him, if I may." Pascoe came to the side and said quietly, "It feels strange to be back."

Bolitho nodded. "For you especially, Adam.". "For me?" The dark eyes were surprised. "With Gilchrist and Fitz-Clarence in temporary command of the prizes," he saw Pascoe's face clear with understanding, you will step up two places to Lysander's fourth lieutenant. And at eighteen that is fair gain!"

He thought suddenly of Guthrie, Osiris's second lieu- tenant. At least Pascoe had not got his advancement by another's death, or a gap left by someone like Guthrie, his mind unhinged by the cruelty of battle. And he thought, too, of Probyn, seeing him again as a lieutenant. His excuses, his constant drunkenness.

If all these men had died today because of him, there was no influence or authority in the world to save him.

He saw Pascoe's expression and knew he must have shown his own anger as he thought of Probyn.

He said, "You’ve earned it, and far more beside." He turned to watch the white flag of parley being pulled past on one of Lysander's boats. "Y our father would have been proud of you."

Bolitho walked away to join Herrick by the gangway. He did not see Pascoe's face, but knew in his heart he had just given him a far greater reward than promotion.

Bolitho was writing in the cabin when Herrick came aft to see him. It was a full week since they had sailed from Corfu with its bitter sights and memories, and after steering south and east around the countless Greek islands they had discovered a safe anchorage where further repairs could be carried out.

For the time of year, the weather was surprisingly bad. If he hoped to return to Syracuse with his squadron intact, Bolitho knew he would have to make sure they could withstand the passage there.

Buzzard had been badly mauled, and had received several holes below her waterline. Once, in a heavy gust of wind as they had fought to shorten sail, he had thought that the frigate was about to founder. But Javal had kept Buzzard alive, working her and his men until the immediate danger had passed.

The captured two-decker, Immortalite, had also endured several hazards in the gales. With her company of spare hands taken from all the squadron, and the bulk comprising Osiris's survivors, she had not found the time to settle into a single unit. Her jury steering had carried away twice before she had been brought under command, and Bolitho could do nothing but admire the determination of her temporary cap- tain, Lieutenant Gilchrist. Herrick had certainly been right in his choice. In fact, with their resources stretched and reduced by battle, it was hard to know how they would have managed without him.

He looked up and smiled as Herrick entered the cabin. 'sit down, Thomas. Have some wine."

Herrick sat, and waited until Ozzard had brought him a goblet.

Bolitho said, "I’ve been making my report. As soon as the weather eases I want Fitz-Clarence to sail for Syracuse and then on to Gibraltar. "He added, "D"you think he can do that?" Herrick grinned over his glass. "I think he will find his way, sir." He grimaced as a gust of wind brought spindrift splashing across the stem windows. "But it may be a while yet. I’m grateful we found this little island. Major Leroux had his pickets ashore, but says it seems uninhabited. It will give us shelter at least, until Javal and Gilchrist have done some more repairs."

Bolitho looked at his thick report. "Mr. Gilchrist has shown up well, Thomas." He glanced across the cabin, seeing faces in his imagination. "I’ve recommended that he be made commander at the first opportunity and given a ship of his own. A brig, most likely. It should teach him the more human side of command. A small ship with a vast amount of work!"

"Thank you, sir. I’m glad. I know he got off badly with you, and I blame myself for it. But he's had a hard climb to get where he is, and I admire his tenacity."

"Yes."

Bolitho thought of the letters he had written for the despatch bag. To Farquhar's widowed mother, to others who would know before long that a husband or father would never come home.

Herrick hesitated and then said, "Mr. Grubb fears that the adverse winds will not blowout for days, sir. Maybe weeks. We"re snug enough here, and I was wondering if you"d wish the other business to be dealt with now. "

They looked at each other.

Bolitho replied, "You were right to remind me:" Perhaps he had only been putting it off, avoiding a confrontation. "I’ll have Captain Probyn aboard tomorrow, unless there's a full gale again."

Herrick seemed relieved. "I read his account, sir. Straight-forward grounding in a badly charted channel. When I reached Nicator, I saw she was on a bar. Not badly, but enough for us to need a kedge-anchor."

Bolitho stood up and walked to the wine cabinet. Over and over again he had thought about Herrick's sudden and vital arrival at the scene of battle. With the aid of Lysander's log, the master's lengthy explanation and what he had managed to drag from Herrick himself, he had built up a picture of the ship's movements after leaving Syracuse.

Driven by that strange loyalty, Herrick had sailed not direct to Corfu, but much further south and to the coast of Africa. East and still further east, the lookouts scanning every mile for a ship, or better still, a fleet. When he recalled Herrick's early despair, his apparent inability to contain the work of flag captain, it was all the more incredible.

All those long, empty miles, until finally they had sighted the walls of Alexandria and the Bay of Aboukir which guided them to the mouth of the great Nile itself.

When he had praised Herrick for his stubborn determination, his inbuilt belief in Bolitho's conclusions, Herrick had said, "You convinced me, sir. And when I told the people that, they seemed content to go where I wanted." He had shown some embarrassment when Leroux had said, "Captain Herrick made a speech to all hands which I think must have reached you, sir, wherever you were at the time!"

With no sign of a French fleet, Herrick had decided to make for Corfu. Confident that the supply ships would be there, and imagining the squadron still at anchor in Syracuse, he had sailed into the attack. From north to south, he had explained, was better for surprise, and left the wider channel as an escape route.

But he had run down on Nicator. Two ships meeting as if by plan, timed to the hour of attack.

The same storm which had scattered Bolitho's depleted squadron had sent the faster Lysander as far as the Nile and back across the sea to Corfu.

Bolitho refilled their goblets and returned to the table. "Unless there has been a great change, Thomas, we can only believe that the French will soon move to attack. The corvette which escaped from Corfu may have returned there, but far more likely she will have headed for France." He glanced at the streaked windows and listened to the moan of wind through the shrouds and furled sails… 'she may have a hard fight, but we must accept that she will get to a port before anyone else."

Herrick nodded slowly. "True. So the French admiral may decide to come out at last. If he knows that his heavy artillery is on the sea bed, he’ll anticipate a running battle. It makes good sense."

Bolitho said, "We are badly placed here. With these prevailing winds we need to be much further west again. Where we can be of use to our fleet when it comes."

"If it comes." Herrick sighed. "But we’ve done what we can so far."

"Yes." He thought of the sea-burials which attended each day after the battle. "And they’ll not find us wanting." There was a tap at the door and Midshipman Saxby said anxiously, "Mr. Glasson sends his respects, sir, and could you come on deck."

Bolitho looked at Herrick and gave a quick wink. With two lieutenants short, the vacancies had gone to the senior midshipmen. Glasson, more sharp-faced and seemingly sourer than ever, was making the most of it. He rarely held a watch without calling Herrick or Veitch to attend one of his tantrums over duty or apparent incompetence of some seaman or other.

Herrick stood up. "I’ll come up." In a quieter tone he said, "I’ll put this little prig over my knee in view of the whole ship's company if he tries my patience much more!" Bolitho smiled gravely. "Our wardroom gets younger every day, Thomas."

"Or we get older." Herrick shook his head. "These youngsters! If I’d called down to my captain when I was commissioned lieutenant, I’d have been tom into small pieces unless the ship had been actually falling apart!"

Faintly above the wind and ship noises Bolitho heard the hail, "Boat ahoy?" and the reply from somewhere near Lysander's quarter, "Nicator!"

Herrick looked at him questioningly. "Mr. Glasson is not troubling me for a trivial cause this time!" He reached for his hat. "Captain Probyn is coming aboard without waiting for your summons."

'so it seems." He listened to the marines clattering towards the entry port. "Bring him aft, Thomas. And we shall see."

Captain George Probyn loomed into the cabin, his coat and breeches blotchy with spray from the hard pull to the ship. His face was even redder than before, and as he stared belligerently around the cabin he said, "I trust you will see me, sir?"

"I do see you." Bolitho gestured to a chair. "Well?" Probyn sank into the chair and glared at him. "I’ll not mince words, sir. I’ve been. hearing things. About my ship, and what happened off Corfu. I’ll not stand by and have my good name slandered, bandied about by rogues not fit to wear the King's coat!" He pointed at the papers on the table. "I made a full and proper report. It will stand any scrutiny, a damned court of enquiry if need be!"

Bolitho said quietly, 'some claret for the captain, Ozzard. " He added, "Or brandy, perhaps?"

Probyn nodded. "Brandy. Better for a man in these damned waters." He almost snatched the goblet from Ozzard and downed the drink in one huge swallow. "If I may, sir?" He thrust the glass to Ozzard for refilling.

Despite the persistent wind -which swept across the little bay and sent countless white-horses amongst the anchored ships, the air in the sealed cabin was warm and humid. Bolitho had put on his coat to receive Probyn, but was wishing that he was still in his shirt. He watched the brandy moving into Probyn" s eyes and voice, blurring and distorting as he repeated, almost word for word, how his sailing master and the officer of the watch, a-young booby if ever I saw one, the leadsman in the chains, I had him seized up and flogged double quick, I can tell you, and several others had made the grounding inevitable.

Bolitho waited until there was a pause while Ozzard filled the goblet again. The servant's eyes Were lowered, but he could not hide his interest. His experience as a lawyer's clerk was probably too much for his normal reserve.

Then Bolitho said calmly, 'so you were not actually there when it happened?"

"There?" The red-rimmed eyes fixed on him with obvious effort. "Of course I was there!" "I’ll trouble you to keep a civil tongue in your head,

Captain." Bolitho kept his tone level, even gentle, but saw a warning show itself on Probyn's reddened*features.

"Yes. Yes, I apologise. It's been troubling me, thinking you might blame me in some way for what-"

"Well, Captain, where were you in Nicator when she struck?"

"Let me see now." He pouted heavily. "Must be exact, eh? Like we used to be in the old Trojan when we were lieutenants together."

Bolitho remained very still, watching the emotions and blurred memories on Probyn's heavy features.

He said, "That was a long time ago. "

Probyn leaned forward, his sleeve knocking over the empty goblet. "Not so long, surely? It's like a dog watch ago to me. She was a fine old ship."

"Trojan?" Bolitho nodded to Ozzard who brought a full goblet for the captain. 'she was hard and demanding, as I remember. A good school for those who wanted to learn, but hell on earth for the laggard. Captain Pears was never a one to tolerate fools."

Probyn looked at him, his eyes glazed. "Of course, I was that bit senior to you. Knew a bit more, so to speak. Saw through their little game. "

"Game?"

Probyn tapped the side of his nose. "Y'see? You didn"t even suspect. The first lieutenant was always on at me. The captain's lickspittle. And that other lieutenant, the one who got killed, he was a crawler."

Bolitho stood up and walked to the wine cabinet, seeing Kate's face and hearing her infectious laugh when she had given it to him. She would laugh at him now, if she were here. How she despised the ways of true authority.

He said sharply, "Apart from the very junior lieutenants then, that only left you and me." He poured himself a glass of claret, waving Ozzard away as he continued. "I remember that ship in many ways, but one of the things which I recall most clearly, and which has come back to me during this last week, was the way you drank." He swung round, seeing the sudden alarm on Probyn" s face. 'several times that I knew of, men were flogged because of things which you had done wrong. Do you remember the night watches which others had to perform because you were too much in your cups to get on deck? That lickspittle you just mentioned saw to it that the captain knew nothing about it. But by God, Probyn, if I’d been your captain, I’d have made certain you never did it twice!"

Probyn lurched to his feet, his great shadow reaching towards Bolitho like a curtain.

"Indeed you would! Like the time we took two prizes! I was put in charge of the first. A rotten, worm-infested hulk, that's all she was! I never stood a chance when the enemy ship came after me!" He was squinting with fierce concentration, his face and throat wet with sweat. "It was deliberate, to get rid of me!"

"You were senior to me. The prize was yours by right.

What about a previous one? A little schooner? You were supposed to take her into New York, but a master's mate went in your place. "

He watched his words slamming home, the fuddled way which Probyn" s eyes were swivelling around the cabin as if to discover answers.

Bolitho said harshly, "You were drunk then. Admit it, man."

Probyn sat down very slowly, his hands shaking as he supported himself on the arms of the chair.

"I’ll admit nothing." He looked up, his reddened eyes filled with hate. 'sir."

'so you’ve nothing more to tell me about Nicator's grounding?"

The question seemed to take him momentarily off guard.

Then Probyn said, "I have made a full and proper report." He thrust his hands under the table. "And I have taken sworn statements from those of the watch who were involved." He leaned forward, his drink-sodden face crafty as he added, "If there is a court of enquiry, I will produce those statements. One of which may incriminate the officer of the watch, an admiral's nephew, by the way. And it may be thought that you were not unbiased, sir. That you were levelling old scores by having my reputation tarnished."

He fell back, startled, as Bolitho stood up, his eyes blazing with contempt.

"Don’t you bargain with me! A week back we struck a blow against the enemy, but the harm which was done to our people was more deeply felt! But for Lysander's arrival, and Buzzard's support, yours would be the only ship afloat today! Think on these things the next time you dare to talk of bias or honour!"

He called for Ozzard and added, "You may return to your ship now. But remember, what cannot be proved is nevertheless between us. The squadron is undermanned, and officered for the most part by inexperienced youngsters. For that reason alone, I am not holding an official court of enquiry. "

Herrick appeared in the door with Ozzard, but stayed very still as Bolitho said, "But hear me, Captain Probyn. If I ever discover that your failure to give support was deliberate, or that at any time in the future you act against the interests of this squadron, I will see you hanged for it!"

Probyn snatched his hat from Ozzard and lurched blindly from the cabin.

When Herrick returned he found Bolitho as before, staring at Probyn" s empty chair with an expression of disgust.

He said, "That was an ugly side of me, Thomas. But by God, I meant every word of it!"