Sloop Of War

1. The Most Coveted Gift

In a little more than a hundred yards' walk from the busy foreshore to the elegant white building at the top of the coast road, but within a minute of leaving the launch Richard Bolitho was damp with sweat. In the broad expanse of English Harbour there had been an illusion of a breeze, but here, as the noon sun stood high above Monk's Hill and bathed the island of Antigua in a shimmering haze, there was no such comfort.

Nevertheless, Bolitho quickened his pace conscious of his rising excitement and a sense of unreality which had been with him since his arrival just a week earlier. Events had moved so fast that he felt unable to keep a grip on them, as if he was a spectator watching somebody else, a being quite alien to his own resources?

Through wide gates, the sand and dust covering his new shoes with a pale layer, and across some well tended gardens towards the building itself. But for the flag which hung limply from its staff it could have been the residence of some rich merchant or shipowner. From the number of Negro servants who were working amidst the flowers and shrubs he guessed that the previous occupant had probably been a dealer in African slaves?

Within the deep porch it felt almost cold after the sun's fierce glare, and he found himself confronted by a red-faced sergeant of marines who, after a cursory glance which covered Bolitho from top to toe, said, "If you will step into this room, sir." His tone, if not offhand was that of a man so used to dealing with the comings and goings of sea-officers that he could no longer become excited by anything or anyone?

Bolitho entered the small room and heard the doors slam behind him. For the first time since he could recall he was quite alone. Alone, and poised on what might be the most important step in his life?

He made himself walk very slowly to the window and stood looking down at the harbour spread below him like some great painting. English Harbour. The headquarters and linchpin of England 's sea power in the Indies and Caribbean. Every type of ship seemed to be here. Stately two-deckers in the deep anchorages their awnings spread and every gun port open to catch the merest breath of air. Lithe frigates and supply vessels, and a whole collection of smaller craft from brigs to schooners, between which countless oared boats plied back and forth like water-beetles?

Somewhere in the building a man shouted loudly and feet clattered in a passageway. Bolitho tore his eyes from the anchored ships and crossed to a wall mirror, his mind suddenly very aware of what the next minutes might bring or take away?

He still could not get used to his change of appearance. He had never imagined that a uniform would alter a man's outward image so much yet leave him inwardly the same. Just weeks ago he had been second lieutenant in the Trojan, an eighty-gun ship-ofthe-line. For three years he had lived, worked and nearly died within her crowded hull, rising from his original position of fourth lieutenant by way of one man's death and the promotion of another. He had become used to the Trojan, even though he had had to fight off the yearning to free himself from her ponderous authority to find more individual scope for his ideas?

Like everyone aboard he had been kept busy enough. With the rebellion in America every ship-of-war was needed as never before. As the rebellion grew and spread and some real hint of its purpose filtered through to the fleet the Trojan was called from one crisis to another?

It seemed incredible that disorganised bands ob men could be welded into armies. Armies strong and agile enough to out-manoeuvre some of the best troops from England. But like most of his companions Bolitho had firmly believed that some sort ob compromise would still present itself. That was until six months ago in October 1777, when the news of Burgoyne's surrender had burst upon them. Overnights or so it seemed, the rebellion had developed into a new and bitter conflict. On the one hand the British with their overstretched resources, and on the other the armies of the American Revolution backed as they were by a whole fleet of privateers from France and Spain. No supply ship could sail alone without the real risk of being taken by such privateers. Even troop convoys were not immune from attack?

It was in the middle of this new hit-and-run war that Bolitho's own life had changed. Trojan had run down and boarded a prize, a handsome brig, off the coast ob Puerto Rico, her holds jammed with contraband goods and powder for the Americans. Caught between two sets of shoals and confronted by the Trojan's impressive artillery, her master decided to surrender without fuss?

Trojan's first lieutenant was badly needed in his own ship as most of the officers were newly appointed and without much experience. To Bolitho fell the lot of prize-master, with orders to take her to Antigua and await further instructions. It was like the beginning to some impossible dream. Freedom, excitement, the room to move and act without his captain's eye upon him, the little brig seemed to offer unlimited possibilities, even though he knew it would not last?

But fate had other ideas. Within a few days they had sighted another, larger brig, well handled, and displaying a heavier armament than was usual for such a craft. There had been no doubt that she was a privateer, and, further, it had seemed likely she was approaching to make a rendezvous with the prize?

There was little time to think, let alone plan. The other ship would outsail and outshoot anything Bolitho's small prize-crew could offer. To fight and die to no purpose was unthinkable, and to surrender without doing so was equally so?

It had turned out to be so simple that looking back it too seemed like part of the dream. Closing the unsuspecting privateer, apparently to pass despatches, they had run alongside and grappled hers both vessels being buried under a mass of fallen spars and canvas in the collision. A volley of musket fire, a wildly yelling rush of boarders, and the other ship was taken, even though her company outnumbered Bolitho's party by four to one. Trojan's seamen were well used to this sort of game. The privateer's crew were not. In fact, it was her captain's first voyage in that capacity?

So instead of one prize Bolitho entered harbour with a pair. With the war going badly on land, and affairs at sea so confused as to be equally disheartening, his arrival under the guns of the harbour's battery was like a tonic. Handshakes from a rear-admiral, smiling greetings from senior captains, Bolitho had been staggered by the welcome?

With the prizes handed over to the dockyard he had been found accommodation in an old hulk called Octavia. Originally a two-decker, she had been all but sunk in a hurricane the previous year, and now served as accommodation ship. Junior officers whiled away the time gambling, sleeping or drinking to excess as they awaited their next appointments. Promotion and transfers, courts martial or passage home as a crippled victim of some encounter with the enemy, the old Octavia had seen them all?

As the days passed, Bolitho began to imagine he had been forgotten. Soon the Trojan would arrive and he would find himself back again in her tight community. Living from day to day. Hoping, yet not daring to hope for too much?

The orders, when they were delivered by an immaculate flag lieutenant, were as brief as they were astounding. By consent of the Commander-in-Chiefs Richard Bolitho would take upon himself the appointment of commander with the rank and benefits attached. The appointment would take effect forthwith? He would furnish himself with all necessary vestments and report to the newly acquired headquarters building in two days' time?

He stared at himself in the glass. Today?

It seemed that in Antigua you could obtain everything even at such short notice, for a price. And now, instead of his faded lieutenant's uniform, he was looking at the broad blue lapels of commander, the single gold stripe on each sleeve which showed him to be what was to all intent a junior captain. Behind him on the chair a gold-laced cocked hat shone in the filtered sunlight, and like everything else about him, his white waistcoat and breeches, a tight neckcloth and his dusty shoes, even the handsome basket-hilted sword which he had chosen with such care, were so new that they felt like borrowed finery. He had not dared to contemplate the cost, the bribes required to obtain everything within the allotted time. An advance on his well-earned prize money had sufficed for the present?

He touched the lock of black hair which hung rebelliously above his right eye. Beneath it the deeps savage scar which ran to his hairline felt hot, as if it had been a matter of weeks rather than years when he had been struck down by a cutlass?

In spite of his inner tension he grinned at himself? Junior or not, he had taken the first real step. One which would bring him either fame or disgrace, but which like all his family before him he had awaited with both andiety and eagerness?

More footsteps sounded in the passageway and he adjusted his neckcloth and settled the new sword more comfortably on his hip. Once again his image in the mirror was like a stranger's. The uniform, the tense way he was holding his slim figure as if on parades displayed more apprehension than he had believed he harboured?

The footsteps halted outside the door, and in one movement Bolitho swept up the cocked hat and jammed it beneath one arm, trying to ignore his heart pounding against his ribs like a hammer. His mouth was bone dry, yet he could feel the sweat running between his shoulder-blades like warm rain?

Richard Bolitho was twenty-two years old and had been in the King's Navy since the age of twelve. But as he stared fixedly at the gilt door handle he felt more like a frightened midshipman than the man who was about to receive the most coveted gift to be bestowed on any living creature. x command of his own?

The marine sergeant stared at him woodenly." When you're ready, sir. Cap'n Colquhoun will see you now."

"I'm ready, thank you."

The marine eyed him with the merest hint of a smile?

"He'll be glad to know that, I'm sure, sir."

Bolitho did not hear a word. Following the sergeant he strode out into the passageway, and another world?

Captain Vere Colquhoun rose briefly from behind a large desk, made as if to offer his hand, and then sank back into his chair?

"Pray be seated, Bolitho."

He had his back to a window and it was impossible to see his expression. But as Bolitho arranged himself into a narrow, high-backed chair he was well aware of the other man's scrutiny?

Colquhoun said, "You have a good report." He opened a canvas folder and ran his eyes across the attached papers." I see that you were commissioned lieutenant in 'seventy-four." He glanced up sharply? "Well?"

Bolitho replied, "Yes, sir. The Destiny, frigate."

He had been long enough in the Navy to realise that interviews with superior officers took time. Each had his own way, but all seemed to result in being kept hanging on a thread of uneasy expectation. He tried to ignore Colquhoun's bowed head and made himself look instead at the room. White walls and a colourful tiled floor. Some pieces of dark, heavy furniture and one table which was almost covered with handsome decanters. Colquhoun, it appeared, enjoyed life. He shifted his gaze to his new superior. At a guess he was about thirty, and from what he could see from the sunlit window he had finely cut features with a smalls aggressive chin. He had fair hair, pulled back to the nape of his neck like his own, in the current fashions and Bolitho noticed that in spite of his service on the station his skin was remarkably pale?

Colquhoun said, "Your captain speaks well of you.” He rustled his papers." Quite well."

Bolitho tried not to swallow and display the dryness in his throat. Captain Pears of the Trojan had sent a report with him aboard the prize. Had he been aware of Bolitho's later luck with the privateer his report might have been even better. It was strange, he thought. In the three years aboard Pears's ship he had never really understood the man. Sometimes he had imagined his captain disliked him, and at best only tolerated his efforts. Yet now, on this desk, under the eyes of a new superior, Pears's words were showing him in a different light?

"Thank you, sir."

"Hmph." Colquhoun stood up and walked towards the table and then changed his mind. Instead he moved to the window and stared absently at the anchorage." I am commanded to give you your new appointment. It will be up to you to prove your worth, an ability to carry out orders rather than to make play with them for your own advantage."

Bolitho waited. It was impossible to follow this man?

Colquhoun added, "Since the military disaster at Saratoga last year we have seen all the signs of the French increasing their aid to the Americans. Originally they sent supplies and military advisers. Then privateers and soldiers-of-fortune, mercenaries." He spat out the words." Now they are more open in their efforts to use the Americans to further their own ends and regain territory lost to us in the Seven Years War."

Bolitho gripped the hilt of his new sword and tried to remain outwardly calm. Somewhere outside this room was a ship awaiting her new captain. Old or new, large or insignificant as a fighting unit, she was to be all his own. And he had to remain quite still, listening to Captain Colquhoun's observations on the war. Bolitho had been involved in the war since its beginning, and he had already learned from a fellow officer in the Octavia that Colquhoun had arrived from England just six months ago?

Colquhoun was saying in the same dry tone, "But while we command the sea-lanes and supply routes neither the French nor the damned Pope can stop us regaining overyll control of the mainland." He turned slightly, the sun glinting across the gold lace of his coat? "Don't you agree?"

Bolitho shifted in his chair." Up to a point, sir. But…"

Colquhoun snapped, "But is not a word which appeals to me. Either you agree or you disagree."

"I think more should be done to seek out the privateers and destroy them in their bases, sir." He paused, anticipating some caustic remark. Then he continued, "We have too few ships to spare for convoy work. Any attack on merchantmen, pressed home by two or more vessels at once, can play the devil with a solitary escort."

"Really. You surprise me."

Bolitho bit his lip. He had allowed himself to be drawn. Perhaps Colquhoun had been hoping that one of his friends or proteges would be given the new appointment, and saw Bolitho as an intruder. Whatever it was, there seemed to be no doubting his hostility?

"I have, of course, heard of your family, Bolitho? Seafaring stock. None of 'em ever afraid to risk his neck. And out here at this moment we need the best fighting officers we can get."

He turned abruptly to the window." Come over here."

Bolitho crossed to his side and followed his glance towards the ships at anchor?

"Look impressive, don't they?" Colquhoun gave what might have been a sigh." But once at sea, scattered to the winds, they are just a handful. With the Frogs at our backs and threatening England once more we are stretched beyond any safety limit." He gestured across the harbour. A frigate was being careened, heeled right over on her beam, her bilges covered with busa figures, their naked backs shining in the glare like polished mahogany. Colquhoun said, quietly, «Bacchante, thirty-six." He tightened his jaw." My ship? First time I've been able to get her underwater repairs done since I assumed command." Bolitho darted a quick glance at him. He had always dreamed ob commanding a frigate since his first and only experience in the little twenty-eight-gun Destiny? Freedom to move and hit hard at anything but a ship-of-the-line, with all the dash and agility that any young captain could ask for. But Colquhoun did not seem to fit the role. Slightly built, with the pale, petulant good looks of a true aristocrat. His clothes were beautifulla made, and the sword at his hip must be worth two hundred guineas. Colquhoun raised his arm." Look yonder. Beyond my ship you will see the rest of ou_

flotilla. With these and nothing more I am expected to patrol and seek out the enemy, run errands for the fleets dab away the tears of rich merchantmen whenever they sight an unfamiliar sail. It would need a force five times as large, and even then I would hope for more?

He turned to watch Bolitho's expression as he stared across the shimmering water?

Bolitho said slowly, "Three sloops-of-war." He saw a tiny armed schooner anchored beyond the others. Was she to be his? He swallowed hard." And a schooner."

"Correct." Colquhoun moved to his table and picked up a heavy decanter. As he held it against the sunlight he said, "You are being given the Sparrow, Bolitho? Eighteen guns and only two years old." He eyed him flatly." Next to my frigate, she is the best under ma command."

Bolitho could only stare at him?

"I do not know what to say, sir."

The other man grimaced." Then say nought." He poured two glasses of brandy?

"I have no doubt of your ability as a sea-officerB

Bolitho. Your past record is proof of that. To obey and carry out orders without question is one thing, however? To lead others, to hold their skills and lives in your hands without ever losing grip, is something else entirely." He offered him a glass." To your first command, Bolitho. I wish you more of the luck which has guided your feet to this year of '78, for I promise you will need it!"

The brandy was like fire, but Bolitho's head was still reeling and he hardly noticed it. A new sloop. The best under Colquhoun's command. In a moment he would awake aboard Octavia to find today just beginning?

Colquhoun said calmly, "Your predecessor in Sparrow died recently."

"I am sorry to hear it, sir."

"Hmm." Colquhoun studied him thoughtfully." Fever? His first lieutenant is too junior even for temporary command." He shrugged." Your timely arrival, the blessing of our devoted admiral, and, of courses Bolitho, your obvious qualities for the appointments made you an immediate choice, eh?" He was not smiling?

Bolitho looked away. It would be safer to assume from the beginning that Colquhoun had no sense ob humour?

He said, "I will do my best, sir."

"Be sure of that." Colquhoun took out his watch and flicked it open." Sparrow is at full complement. For seamen, that is. I will have to send your prize-crew to other vessels in greater need. Unless you have any particular fellow you wish to keep?"

"Yes, sir. Just one. I appreciate that."

Colquhoun sighed." You are a curious mixture. E Cornishman, I believe?"

"Aye, sir."

"Ah well…" He did not continue. Instead he said, "] have made arrangements for a boat to collect you in a half-hour. Your documents will be ready by then."

Bolitho waited, half expecting some fresh advice?

Colquhoun seemed to read his thoughts and said quietly, "From time to time you will receive written instructions. But you will only be told what to do. Ho/

you achieve success and carry them out will be your burden alone." He turned back to the window, his eyes on the careened frigate." I have held four different commands. The first was, of course, the most exciting? But also, as I recall, the loneliest. No more could I ask for help from my companions in the wardroom. Nor could I seek freedom outside my hours of duty. In earlier days I always imagined a captain to be a kind of god, put on earth to command and to leave all worra of execution to mere subordinates. Now, I know different, as you will."

Bolitho picked up his hat." I shall try and remember that, sir."

Colquhoun did not face him." You will not. You will think you know better than everyone else, which is as it should be. But somewhere along the way, in the teeth of a gale, or facing an enemy broadside, or becalmed perhaps with the ship's people near mad with thirsts you will know the true meaning of command. When you need help and advice most, and there is none. When all others are looking aft at you, and you have the power of life and death in your fingers. Then you will know, believe me."

He added shortly, "You may wait in the room by the

entrynce."

The interview was ended?

Bolitho crossed to the door, his eyes on the silhouette against the bright window. It was such an important moment that he wanted to hold on to every part of it. Even the furniture and the well-stocked decanters?

Then he closed the door behind him and returned to the waiting room. When he looked at his watch he saw he had been just twenty minutes in the building?

At the window he stood staring at the small ships on the far side of the anchorage, trying to distinguish one from the other, wondering what she would be like. What his company would think of him?

Eventually the door opened and an elderly lieutenant peered into the room?

"Sparrow, sir?"

Bolitho saw the sealed envelope in the man's hands and took a deep breath?

He nodded." Yes."

The lieutenant bobbed his head and smiled." Your orders, sir. The boat has been sighted approaching the jetty. I will arrange for your gear to be collected from Trojan when she reaches here." He shrugged." I am not so sure it will ever catch up with you, however?

Bolitho grinned, unable to maintain his outward calm?

"Have it sold for me, eh? Put it towards helping some of those wounded seamen awaiting passage to England."

As he strode towards the sunlight the lieutenant took out a pair of steel-rimmed glasses and peered after him. Then he shook his head very slowly. x remarkable young man, he thought. It was to be hoped he would remain so?

After the shadowy cool of the building Bolitho found the sun's glare harsher than before. As he strode down the coast road, his mind half dwelling on the interview with Colquhoun, he was already wondering what his new command would offer. With, but not of the fleet, there should at least be room to move, freedom from the daily flow of signals and requirements which had been his lot in the powerful Trojan?

He paused at a curve in the road and shaded his eyes to watch the boat which was already drawing near to the jetty. He shivered in spite of the heat and started to walk more quickly towards the sea. To anybody else it was just one more boat going about its ship's affairs, but to him it represented far more. x first contact. Some of his men. His men?

He saw the familiar shape of Stockdale standing beside some of his newly bought belongings and felt a sudden touch of warmth. Even if Colquhoun had said that not one single man of Bolitho's prize-crew could be spared for his first command he felt sure Stockdale would have arrived aboard in his own way. Thickset and muscular, in his broad white trousers and blue jacket, he reminded him of some indestructible oak? He, too, was watching the approaching boat, his eyes slitted against the light with critical interest?

Bolitho had been junior lieutenant in the frigate Destiny when their paths had first crossed. Sent ashore on the thankless task of drumming up recruits for the ship, and with little hope of much success, he had arrived at a small inn with his party of seamen to set up headquarters, and, more to the point, to find some peace and a moment to refresh himself for the

next attempt to obtain volunteers. Tramping from village to village, inn to inn, the system rarely changed? It usually resulted in a collection of those who were either too young for the harsh demands of a frigate or old sailors who had failed to find fortune or success ashore and merely wanted to return and end their days in surroundings they had originally sworn to forsake forever?

Stockdale had been none of these. He had been a prize-fighter, and stripped to the waist had been standing like a patient ox outside the inn while his sharp-faced barker had called upon all and sundry to risk a battering and win a guinea?

Tired and thirsty, Bolitho had entered the inns momentarily leaving his small party to their own devices. Exactly what had happened next was not quite clear, but on hearing a string of curses, mingled with the loud laughter of the sailors, he had hurried outside to find one of his men pocketing the guineZ and the enraged barker beating Stockdale round the head and shoulders with a length of chain. Whether the victorious seaman, a powerful gunner's mate well used to enforcing authority with brute force, had tripped Stockdale or gained a lucky blow was never discovered. Certainly, Bolitho had never see[

Stockdale beaten in any fight, fair or otherwise, since that day. As he had shouted at his men to fall in line again he had realised that Stockdale had been standing as before, taking the unjust punishment, when with one stroke he could have killed the barker who was tormenting him?

Sickened by the spectacle, and angry with himself at the same time, he had asked Stockdale to volunteer for the King's service. The man's dumb gratitude had been almost as embarrassing as the grins on the sailors' faces, but he had found some comfort in the barker's stunned disbelief as without a word Stockdale had picked up his shirt and followed the party away from the inn?

If he had imagined that was the end of the matter he was soon to discover otherwise. Stockdale took to a life at sea in a manner born. As strong as two men, he was gentle and patient, and whenever Bolitho was in danger he always seemed to be there. When a cutlass had hacked Bolitho to the ground and his boat's crew had retreated in panic, it had been Stockdale who had rallied them, had fought off the attackers and carried his unconscious lieutenant to safety. When Bolitho had left the frigate for the Trojan Stockdale had somehow contrived to transfer also. Never far away, he had bee[

his servant as well as a gun captain, and when aboard the prize ship he had merely to glare at the captured crew to obtain instant respect. He spoke very little, and then only with a husky whisper. His vocal cords had been maimed over the years of fighting for others in booths and fair grounds up and down the country?

But when Bolitho's promotion had been delivered he had said simply, "You'll be needing a good cox'n, sir.l He had given his lazy, lopsided grin." Whatever sort ob a ship they gives you."

And so it was settled. Not that there would have been any doubt in Bolitho's mind either?

He turned as Bolitho strode down the jetty and touched his hat?

"All ready." He ran his eyes over Bolitho's new uniform and nodded with obvious approval." No more'n you deserve, sir."

Bolitho smiled." We shall have to see about that."

With oars tossed, and a seaman already scrambling ashore with a line, the cutter eased gently against the piles. Stockdale stooped and steadied the gunwale with his fist, his eyes on the motionless oarsmen as he said hoarsely, "A fine day for it, sir."

A slim midshipman leapt from the boat and removed his hat with a flourish. About eighteen, he was a pleasant looking youth, and as tanned as a native?

"I'm Heyward, sir." He shifted under Bolitho's impassive gaze." I-I've been sent to collect you, sir."

Bolitho nodded." Thank you, Mr. Heyward. You can tell me about the ship as we go."

He waited for the midshipman and Stockdale to follow his sea-chest and bags into the boat and then stepped after them?

"Shove off forrard! Out oars!" Heyward seemed very conscious of Bolitho's nearness." Give way all!"

Like pale bones the oars rose and fell in regular precision. Bolitho glanced swiftly at the two lines ob oarsmen. Neatly dressed in check shirts and white trousers, they looked fit and healthy enough. A ship could always be judged by her boats, some people contended. Bolitho knew otherwise. Some captains kept their boats as outward showpieces, while within their own ships the people lived little better tha[

animals. Their expressions gave nothing away. The usual, homely faces of British sailors, set in careful masks to avoid his scrutiny. Each man was probabla wondering about the new captain. To any seaman his captain was not much junior to God. He could leads and use his skills on their behalf in battle. He might just as easily turn their lives into a daily hell with no one to whom they could protest or plead their cause?

The midshipman said haltingly, "We have been at anchor for three days, sir."

"Before that?"

"Patrol duty off Guadeloupe. We did sight a French brig but lost her, sir."

"How long have you been in Sparrow?"

"Two years, sir. Since she commissioned on the Thames at Greenwich."

Stockdale craned round." There she is, sir. Fine on the larboard bow."

Bolitho sat upright in the sternsheets, knowing that as soon as his eyes left the boat every man would be staring at him. He could barely contain his excitemen?

as he peered towards the anchored sloop which was now fully in view beyond a heavy transport. She was riding almost motionless above the twin of her own reflection, her ensign making a scarlet patch of colour against the hazeshrouded hills beyond?

Bolitho had seen sloops in plenty during his service? Like frigates, they were everywhere and always in demand. Maids of all work, the eyes of the fleet, they were familiar in most naval harbours. But right at this moment in time he also knew that the Sparrow was going to be different for all those others. From her gently spiralling mastheads to the single line of open gun ports she was a thing of beauty. A thoroughbred, a miniature frigate, a vessel which seemed eager to be free of the land. She was all and none of these things?

He heard himself say, "Steer round her bows."

As the tiller went over he was conscious of the silence, broken only by the sluice of water around the cutter's stern and the rhythmic creak of oars. As if he was sharing this moment with nobody. Like a raked black finger the sloop's long jib-boom swept out and over his head, and for a few more moments he stared up at the figurehead below the bowsprit. A man-sized sparrow, beak wide in fury and wings spread as if to

fight, its curved claws firmly gripping a gilded cluster ob oak leaves and acorns. Bolitho watched until the boat had moved around and under the starboard catheyd? He had never thought a mere sparrow could be depicted as being so warlike?

He started with surprise as his eyes fell on a gun muzzle in the first port?

Heyward said respectfully, "We have a thirty-two-pounder on either bow, sir. The rest of the gun deck is made up of sixteen 12-pounders." He flinched as Bolitho turned to look at him." I beg your pardon, sir,] did not mean to intrude."

Bolitho smiled and touched his arm." I was merela surprised, She seems to have very heavy artillery for such a small ship." He shook his head." Those two bowchasers must have brought many an enema aback with shock. Nine-pounders are more common in sloops, I believe."

The midshipman nodded, but his eyes were on the ship's side, his lips in an anxious line as he gauged the moment?

"Put her about!"

The cutter swung in a tight arc and headed for the main chains. There were many heads lining the gangway, and Bolitho saw the blue and white of an officer's uniform by the entry port, a press of more figures by the mainmast?

"Toss your oars!"

The boat idled towards the chains where the bowman brought down his boathook with a well-timed slash?

Bolitho stood up in the sternsheets, conscious of all the eyes above and around him. Of Stockdale's hands half-raised, ready to steady him if he lost his balance? Of the new sword at his hip and not wanting to look down to make sure it would not tangle with his legs as he climbed up the sleek tumblehome?

With a quick breath he reached out and hauled himself from the boat. He had been prepared for almost everything but was still taken totally off guard by the piercing shrill of pipes as his head and shoulders rose through the port. Perhaps, more than anything else, the time-honoured salute from a ship to her captain made him realise just how great was the step from lieutenant's berth to command?

It was all too much to take in and comprehend in this small cameo. The drawn swords, the boatswain's mates with their silver calls to their lips, the bare-backed seamen on the gangways and high in the shrouds. Below his feet he felt the deck lift easily, and once more was aware of the change this ship had brought him. After the Trojan's fat bulk, her massive weight of guns and spars, this sloop even felt alive?

One officer stepped forward as Bolitho removed his hat to the quarterdeck and said, "Welcome aboard, sir? I am Graves, second lieutenant."

Bolitho regarded him searchingly. The lieutenant was young and alert, but had the controlled caution on his dark features of a man much older?

He half turned and added, "The others are awaiting your plea, sure, sir?

Bolitho asked, "And the first lieutenant?"

Graves looked away." In the flagship sir. He had an appointment." He faced him quickly." He meant no disrespect, sir, I am quite sure of that."

Bolitho nodded. Graves 's explanation was too swifts too glib. Or that of a man who wished to draw attention to the absent officer's behaviour by excusing it?

Graves hurried on, "This is Mr. Buckle, the sailing master, sir. Mr. Dalkeith, surgeon." His voice followed Bolitho down the small line of senior warrant officers?

Bolitho marked each face but checked himself from further contact. That would come soon enough, but now his own impression on them was far more vital?

He stood by the quarterdeck rail and stared down at the gun deck. The Sparrow was one hundred and ten feet long on that deck, but had a broad beam of thirta feet, almost that of a frigate. No wonder she could contain such powerful armament for her size?

He said, "Have the hands lay aft, Mr. Graves."

As the order was passed and the men came pressing down on those already assembled, he drew his commission from his pocket and spread it on the rail. How hot the wood felt beneath his hands?

Again he darted a glance at the faces beneath him? In so small a ship how did they all manage to exist. There were one hundred and fifteen souls crammed aboard Sparrow, and as they jostled together below the quarterdeck there appeared to be twice that number?

Graves touched his hat." All present, sir."

Bolitho replied with equal formality, "Thank you." Then in a steady voice he began to read himself in?

He had heard other captains do it often enough, but as he read the beautifully penned words he felt once more like a spectator?

It was addressed to Richard Bolitho, Esquire, and required him forthwith to go on board and take upon him the charge and command of captain in His Britannic Majesty's Sloop-of-War Sparrow?

Once or twice as his voice carried along the deck he heard a man cough or move his feet, and aboard another sloop close by he saw an officer watching the proceedings through a telescope?

He put the commission in his coat and said, "I will go to my quarters, Mr. Graves."

He replaced his hat and walked slowly towards a covered hatch just forward of the mizzen mast. He noticed that the ship's wheel was completely unsheltered. A bad place in a storm, he thought, or when the balls begin to fly?

At his back he heard the rising murmur of voices as the men were dismissed, and noticed, too, the heavy smell of cooking in the listless air. He was glad he had restrained himself from making a speech. It would have been vanity, and he knew it. All the same, it was so precious a day that he wanted to share it with all ob them in some way?

In his excitement he had forgotten about the time? Now as he made his way down a ladder to the gun deck and aft behind Graves 's crouched figure he was more than glad he had restricted himself to the formal reading of his appointment. Men kept standing in the sun to hear a pompous speech were one thing. Men kept also from their well-earned meal were something else entirely?

He gasped as his head crashed against a deck beam?

Graves spun round." I beg your pardon, sir!" He seemed terrified Bolitho should blame him for the lack of headroom?

"I will remember next time."

He reached the stern cabin and stepped inside. For an instant he stood motionless, taking in the graceful sloping stern windows which spread from quarter to quarter, displaying the anchorage and the headland like some glistening panorama. The cabin was beautifully painted in pale green, the panels picked out with gold leaf. The deck was concealed with a black and white checked canvas covering, and arranged on either side was a selection of well-made furniture? Gingerly he raised his head and found he could just stand upright between the beams above?

Graves was watching him worriedly." I am afraid that after a ship-of-the-line, sir, you'll find this somewhat cramped."

Bolitho smiled." Have the ship's books brought to me after you have dined, Mr. Graves. I will also want to meet the other officers informally sometime today." He paused, seeing again the caution in his eyes? "Including the first lieutenant."

Graves bowed himself out and Bolitho turned his back to the closed door?

Cramped, after a ship-of-the-line, Graves had said? He hurled his hat across the cabin on to the bench seat below the windows. His sword he unbuckled and dropped in a green velvet chair. He was laughing aloud, and the effort to restrain it was almost painful?

Cramped. He walked, ducking between the beams? It was a palace after the Trojan's wardroom?

He sat down beside his hat and stared around the neat, cheerful-looking cabin?

And it was his own?