THE SPARROW's stay at New York proved to be the most frustrating and testing time Bolitho could remember. Instead of weeks, as he had hoped, to carry out his repairs and replace stores, he was forced to wait and watch with mounting impatience while every other ship, or so it appeared, took precedence?
As the time dragged into one and then a second month, he found himself ready to plead rather than demand, beg instead of awaiting his rightful aid from the shore authorities, and from what he could gather elsewhere, it seemed that most other junior vessels were in the same situation?
Work aboard continued without pause, and already Sparrow had taken on the appearance of a tried veteran. Sails were carefully patched rather than being replaced without thought of cost. Nobody seemed to know when more replenishments were arriving from England, and those already in New York were guarded or, he suspected, hoarded for some suitable bribe. The main topgallant yard had been fished, and from the deck appeared as good as new. How it would withstand a real storm, or a chase after some blockade runner, was often in Bolitho's mind, along with the endless stream of reports to be made, requisition and victualling lists to be checked and argued over with the supply yard, until he began to think neither he nor his ship would ever move again?
Most of the pride and excitement at running the French frigate aground, of seeing the rescued soldiers safely landed, had given way to resigned gloom. Day after day, the ship's company endured the heat and the work, knowing there was no chance of setting foot on land unless under close supervision and then only on matters of duty. Bolitho knew the reasons for this rule were sound up to a point. Every vessel which came and went from Sandy Hook was shorthanded, and unscrupulous captains had been known to steal seamen from other ships if offered half a chance?
Since assuming command he, too, was short ob fifteen men, those killed or so badly injured as to be unfit for further service?
And the news was not encouraging. Everywhere on the mainland the British forces were in trouble. In June a complete army was forced to retreat from General Washington's attacks at the battle of Monmouth, and the reports which filtered to the anchored ships showed little hope of improvement?
To add to the fleet's troubles had come the first hurricane of the season. Sweeping up from the Caribbean like a scythe through corn it had destroyed severyl ships in its path, and so damaged others they were out of commission when most needed. Bolitho was able to appreciate the admiral's concern for his patrols and prowling frigates, for the whole management of strategy along the American coast depended on their vigilance, their ability to act like his eyes and an extension to his brain?
He was thankful for one thing only. That his ship had not been so seriously damaged below the waterline as he had first feared. As Garby, the carpenter, had said, «She's like a little fortress, sir."
On his regular inspections below decks to watch the work's progress Bolitho had understood the carpenter's pride. For Sparrow had been built as a sloop of war, quite unlike most of her contemporaries which had been purchased for the Navy from the less demanding tasks of merchant service. Even her stop?
frames had been grown to the right proportions and not cut with a saw, so that the hull had all the added security of natural strength. The fact that but for a few ragged shot-holes below the quarter which needed the aid and tools of the New York shipwrights his ship could sail and fight as before, made the delay all the more unbearable?
He had been to see Rear-Admiral Christie aboard his flagship, but had gained little idea of when he could complete repairs. The admiral had said wryly." If you had been less, er, difficult with General Blundell, things might be different."
When Bolitho had tried to draw him further he had snapped, "I know the general was wrong to act as he did. The whole of New York knows it by now. He may even be censured when he returns to Englands although knowing his influence in certain regions,] doubt that." He had shrugged wearily." You, Bolithos had to be the one to humble him. You did right, and] have already written a report to show my confidence in you. However, the right way is not always the most popular."
One item of news hung over Bolitho like a cloud and seemed to torment him as day by day he tried to prepare his ship for sea. An incoming brig had brought news of the privateer Bonaventure. She had fought severyl actions against supply vessels and ships-of-war alike. She had seized two prizes and destroyed an escorting sloop. Just as he had predicted, as he had feared. But to him the worst part was that the privateer had returned to the same area where they had exchanged shots, and had found the crippled frigate Miranda?
A handful of survivors had been discovered drifting in a small boat, some wounded or half-mad with thirsts the rest stunned by the suddenness of their ship's ends when they had done so much to repair and save her?
Over and over again Bolitho searched his mind to examine his actions, to discover what else he might or should have done. By carrying out his orders, by putting duty before the true desire to help the damaged frigate, he had left her like a helpless animal before the tiger?
In his heart he believed he could have made no other decision. But if he had realised that the two transports were no longer so desperately needed, he also knew he would have acted differently. When he had admitted as much to the brig's captain he had replied, "The[
your Sparrow, too, would be at the bottom, for Bonaventure is more than a match for anything but a ship of the line!"
Apart from matters of duty, errands to use his presence or his purse on shipyard clerks, Bolitho refrained from going ashore. Partly because he thought it unfair when his men were penned in their ship, the size of which seemed to shrink with each passing day, and partly because of what he saw there? The military preparations were usual enough. Artillery wheeling and exercising, the horse-drawn limbers charging at full tilt, to the delight of idlers and yelling children. Foot soldiers drilling and sweating in the grinding heat, he had even seen cavalry on severyl occasions?
No, it went far deeper. The worsening news from inland seemed to reach just so far and then stop. In the great houses, rarely a night passed without some fine ball or reception being held. Staff officers and rich traders, ladies in full gowns and glittering jewels, it was hard to realise they were so close to a full-scale war? Equally, he knew his disgust came from his own inability to mix in such circles. In his home town ob Falmouth his family had always been respected, but more as seafarers than local residents. He had gone to sea at the age of twelve, and his education had been more concerned with navigation and learning the mysteries of every eye and cleat, each foot of cordage required to sail a ship under all conditions, than the art of making small-talk and mingling with some of the bewigged jackadandies he had seen in New York. The women, too, seemed different. Beyond reach. Unlike the outspoken countrywomen in Cornwall or the wives and daughters of fellow sea-officers, they appeared to give off a power all of their own. A boldness, a certain amused contempt which both irritated and confused him whenever he came in contact with their perfumed, privileged world?
He had allowed Tyrrell to go ashore whenever possible, and had been surprised to see the change in him. Instead of showing excitement or relief at being amongst men like himself, places he had often visited in his father's schooner, he withdrew still further, until eventually he avoided leaving the ship unless on some particular duty. Bolitho knew he had been making inquiries about his family's whereabouts, anything which might give him some hint of their safety or otherwise. Also, he believed that Tyrrell would tell him in his own good time, if that was what he wished?
And then, three months almost to the exact day after watching the French frigate pounding herself to fragments off the hidden bar, Sparrow was once more ready for sea. When the last shipwright had been escorted ashore, each watched to make certain he took no more than he had brought with him, and the watch-lighters and yard hoys had pulled clear of the side, Bolitho wrote his report for the admiral. Another special mission, to carry despatches, or merely to return to Captain Colquhoun's command, he now cared very little which it was to be. Just to be under sail again, free of urbane flag officers and inscrutable clerks, it was all he wanted?
When Tyrrell came aft to report the ship cleared ob shore workers Bolitho asked, "Will you dine with me this evening? We may be too occupied in the near future."
Tyrrell looked at him dully." My pleasure, sir." He sounded worn out. Spent?
Bolitho stared through the open stern windows towards the anchored ships and the pale houses beyond?
"You may share your worries with me, Mr. Tyrrell, if you wish." He had not meant to say what he did. Bu?
the look of despair on the lieutenant's face had pushed all caution aside?
Tyrrell watched him by the windows, his eyes in shadow." I did get news. My father lost his schooners, but that was expected. They went to one side or t'other? Makes no difference. My father also owned a small farmstead. Always said it was like th' one he had once in England."
Bolitho turned slowly." Is that gone, too?"
Tyrrell shrugged." Th' war reached th' territory some months back." His voice became distant, toneless? "We had a neighbour, called Luke Mason. He an'] grew up together. Like brothers. When th' rebellion began Luke was up north selling cattle an' I was at sea? Luke was always a bit wild, an' I guess he got carried along by all the excitement. Anyway, he joined up to fight th' English. But things got bad for his company. they were almost wiped out in some battle or t'other? Luke decided to go home. He had had enough of war,] guess."
Bolitho bit his lip." He went to your father?"
"Aye. Trouble was, my father was apparently helpin' th' English soldiers with fodder an' remounts. But he was fond of Luke. He was like family." He gave a long sigh." Th' local colonel heard about it from some goddamn informer. He had my father hanged on a tree and burned th' house down for good measure."
Bolitho exclaimed, "My God, I'm sorry!"
Tyrrell did not seem to hear." Then th' Americans attacked an' th' redcoats retreated." He looked up at the deckhead and added fiercely, "But Luke was safe? He got out of th' house before it burned around him. And you know what? Th' American colonel hanged Luke as a deserter!"
He dropped on a chair and fell against the table." In th' name of hell, where's th' goddamn sense in it all?"
"And your mother?" He watched Tyrrell's lowered head. His anguish was breaking him apart?
"She died two years back, so she was spared all this. There's just me now, an' my sister Jane." He looked up, his eyes reflecting the sunlight like fires? "After Cap'n Ransome had done with her, she disappeared. Christ alone knows where she is!"
In the sudden silence Bolitho tried to discover ho/
he would feel if, like Tyrrell, he was faced with such an appalling discovery. Ever since he could remember he had been taught to accept the possibility of death and not shirk from it. Most of his ancestors had died at sea in one manner or another. It was an easy thing to do? Quite apart from a brutal end under cannon fire or the plunge of an enemy's sword, there were countless traps for the unwary. A fall from aloft, drowning, fevers men died as much from these as anything fired from a gun. His brother Hugh had been a lieutenant in the Channel Fleet when he had last seen him. He could be commanding a ship against the French, or at this very moment lying many fathoms down with his men. But the roots would still be there. The house in Falmouth, his father and married sisters. What would he be suffering if, like Tyrrell, he knew all that was broken and trodden down in a country where brother fought brother and men cursed each other in the same language as they struggled and died?
Now Tyrrell, and many more besides, had nothing left. Not even a country?
There was a rap on the door and Graves stepped into the cabin?
"This was delivered by the guardboat, sir." He held out a canvas envelope?
Bolitho walked to the windows again and slit it open with a knife. He hoped Graves would not notice Tyrell's misery, that the time taken to read the message would give him a moment to recover?
It was very brief?
He said quietly, "We are ordered to weigh at first light tomorrow. We will be carrying important despatches to the admiral in Antigua."
He had a mental picture of the endless sea miles, the long passage back to English Harbour and Colquhoun. It was a pity they had ever left in the first place?
Graves said, "I'm not sorry. We'll have something to boast about this time."
Bolitho studied him gravely. What an unimaginative man he is." My compliments to the master. Tell him to make preparations at once."
When Graves had gone Bolitho added, "Maybe you'll wish to postpone dining with me?"
Tyrrell stood up, his fingers touching the table as if to test his own balance?
"No, sir. I'd like to come." He looked round the cabin? "This was th' last place I saw Jane. It helps a bit now."
Bolitho watched him leave and heard the slam of a cabin door. Then with a sigh he sat down at the table and began to write in his log?
For seven untroubled days the Sparrow pushed her bowsprit southwards, taking full advantage of a fresh wind which hardly varied in bearing or substance throughout that time. The regrets and brooding despondency which most of the company had felt at New York seemed to have blown away on the winds and their new freedom shone in the straining canvas which gleamed beneath a cloudless sky. Even the memory of the last fight, the faces of those killed or left behind crippled to await passage home had become part of the past, like old scars which took just so much time to heal?
As Bolitho studied his chart and checked the daily sunsights he felt cause for satisfaction in Sparrow's performance. She had already logged over a thousand miles, and like himself seemed eager to leave the land
as far away as possible. They had not sighted even a solitary sail, and the last hopeful gulls had left them two days earlier?
The routine aboard such a small ship-of-war was regular and carefully planned, so that the overcrowded conditions could be made as comfortable as possible? When not working aloft on sails and rigging the hands spent their time at gun drill or in harmless contests ob wrestling and fighting with staves under Stockdale's professional eye?
On the quarterdeck, too, there was usually some diversion to break the monotony of empty horizons, and Bolitho came to know even more about his officers. Midshipman Heyward had proved himself to be an excellent and skilful swordsman, and spent severyl of the dog watches instructing Bethune and the master's mates in the art of fencing. The biggest surprise was Robert Dalkeith. The plump surgeon had come on deck with the finest pair of pistols Bolitho had ever seen. Perfectly matched and made by Dodson ob London, they must have cost a small fortune. While one of the ship's boys had thrown pieces of wood chippings from a gangway, Dalkeith had waited by the nettings and when they had bobbed past on the wash had despatched them without seeming to take aim?
Such marksmanship was rare for any ship's surgeons and added to the price of the pistols made Bolitho think more deeply about Dalkeith's past?
Towards the end of the seventh day Bolitho received his first warning that the weather was changing. The sky, clear and pale blue for so long, became smeared by long tongues of cloud, and the ship reeled more heavily in a deep swell. The glass was unsteady, but it was more the feel of things which told him they were in for a real blow. The wind had backed to the north-west and showed every sign of strengthening, and as he faced it across the taffrail he could sense the mounting power, its clamminess on his skin?
Buckle observed, "Another hurricane, I wonder?"
"Maybe." Bolitho walked to the compass." Let her fall off a point." He left Buckle to his helmsmen and joined Tyrrell by the quarterdeck rail." The fringe of a storm perhaps. Either way we will have to reef down before dark, maybe much sooner."
Tyrrell nodded, his eyes on the bulging canvas." The main-t'gan'sl seems to be drawing well. They did good work aloft while we were in port." He watched the masthead pendant as it twisted and then flapped out more firmly towards the larboard bow." Goddamn the wind. It backs still further by th' looks of it."
Buckle smiled glumly." Course sou' sou'-east, sir." He cursed as the deck tilted steeply and a tall spectre of spray burst above the nettings?
Bolitho considered the matter. They had made a good passage so far. There was no point in tearing the sails off her just to spite the wind. He sighed. Perhaps it would ease again soon?
"Get the t'gallants off her, Mr. Tyrrell. It's coming down on us now?
He stood aside as Tyrrell ran for his trumpet. Out from the swaying hull he saw the telltale haze of rain advancing across the uneven swell and blotting out the horizon like a fence of chain-mail?
Within an hour the wind had backed even further and had risen to gale force, with the sea and sky joined together in a torment of bursting wave crests and torrential rain. It was useless to fight it, and as the clouds gathered and entwined above the swooping mastheads Sparrow turned and ran before it, her topmen fighting and fisting the sodden canvas as ye?
another reef was made fast. Half-blinded by rain and spray, their feet groping for toeholds, while with curses and yells they used brute strength to bring the sails under control?
Night came prematurely, and under close-reefed topsails they drove on into the darkness, their world surrounded by huge wave crests, their lives menaced at every step by the sea as it surged over the gangways and boiled along the decks like a river in flood. Even when the hands were dismissed in watches to find a moment of rest and shelter below there was little to sustain them. Everything was dripping or damp, and the cook had long since given up any idea of producing a hot meal?
Bolitho remained on the quarterdeck, his tarpaulin coat plastered to his body like a shroud while the wind howled and screamed around him. Shrouds and rigging whined like the strings of some mad orchestras and above the deck, hidden in darkness, the crack and boom of canvas told its own story. In brief lulls the wind seemed to drop, holding its breath as if to consider its efforts against the embattled sloop. In those small moments Bolitho could feel the salt warming on his face, raw to the touch. He could hear the clank ob pumps, the muffled shouts from below and on the
hidden forecastle as unseen men fought to make fast lashings, seek out severed cordage, or merely to reassure each other they were alive?
All night the wind battered against them, driving them further and still further to the south-cast. Hour by hour, as Bolitho peered at the compass or reeled below to examine his chart, there was neither rest nor relief from its pounding. Bolitho felt bruised and sicks as if he had been fighting a physical battle, or dragged half-drowned from the sea itself. Despite his reeling mind he thanked God he had not tried to lie to and ride out the storm under a solitary reefed topsail. With this strength of wind and sea Sparrow would never have recovered, could have been all aback and dismasted before anyone had realised what they were truly against?
He could even find a moment to marvel at Sparrow's behaviour. Uncomfortable she was to every man aboard. Fighting the jerking canvas or working on the pumps with sea and bilge water swirling amongst them like rats in a sewer, their lives were made worse by the motion. Up, higher still, and then down with the sound of thunder across a great crest, every spar and timber shaking as if to rip free of the hull. Food, a few precious possessions, clothing, all surged about the
decks in wild abandon, but not a gun tore away from its lashings, not a bolt snapped, nor was any hatch stove in by the attacking sea. Sparrow took it all, rode each assault with the unsteady belligerence of a drunken marine?
By the time they sighted a first hint of grey in the ska the sea had begun to ease, and when the sun peeped languidly above the horizon it was hard to believe they were in the same ocean?
The wind had veered again to the northwest and as they stared with salt-caked eyes at the patches of blue between the clouds they knew they were being left in comparative peace?
Bolitho realised that if he allowed the hands to rest now they would not be able to move again for hours? He looked down at the gun deck and gangways, seeing their tired faces and torn clothing, the way the topmen's tarred hands were held like claws after their repeated journeys to those treacherous yards to battle with the sails?
He said, "Pass the word for the galley fire to be lit? We must get some hot food into them directly." He looked up as a shaft of sunlight touched the upper yards so that they shone above the retreating darkness like a triple crucifix." It will be warm enough soon, Mr? Tyrrell. Rig wind-sails above each hatch and open the weather gun ports." He let his salt-stiffened lips crack into a smile." I suggest you forget your usual concern for the ship's looks and have the hands run their spare clothing aloft to dry out."
Graves came aft and touched his hat." Able Seaman Marsh is missing." He swayed and added wearily, "Foretopman, sir."
Bolitho let his eyes stray over the starboard quarter? The seaman must have been hurled overboard during the night, and they had not even heard a cry. Which was just as well. They could have done nothing to save him?
"Thank you, Mr. Graves. Note it in the log, if you please."
He was still watching the sea, the way the night appeared to withdraw itself before the first gold rays, like some retreating assassin. The seaman was out there somewhere, dead and remembered by just a few. His shipmates, and those at home he had left so long ago?
He shook himself and turned to the master." Mr? Buckle, I hope we can fix our position today? Somewhere to the sou'west of the Bermudas, I have no doubt." He smiled gently at Buckle's gloomy expression." But fifty miles or five hundred, I am not sure."
Bolitho waited another hour until the ship had been laid on a new tack, her jib-boom prodding towards the southern horizon, her decks and upperworks steaming in the early sunlight as if she was smouldering?
Then he nodded to Tyrrell." I will take some breakfast." He sniffed the greasy aroma from the galley funnel." Even that smell has given me an appetite."
With the cabin door firmly closed and Stockdale padding around the table with fresh coffee and a pewter plate of fried pork, Bolitho was able to relax, to weigh the value and cost of the night's work. He had faced his first storm in command. A man had died, but many others had stayed alive. And the Sparrow was once again dipping and creaking around him as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all?
Stockdale put a plate with half a loaf of stale bread on it beside a crock of yellow butter. The bread was the last of that brought aboard at New York, the butter probably rancid from the cask. But as Bolitho leaned back in his chair he felt like a king, and the meagre breakfast seemed no less than a banquet?
He stared idly around the cabin. He had survived much in so short a time. It was luck, more than he deserved?
He asked, "Where is Fitch?"
Stockdale showed his teeth." Dryin' your sleeping gear, sir." He rarely spoke when Bolitho was eating and thinking. He had learned all about Bolitho's odd habits long back. He added, "Woman's work."
Bolitho laughed, the sound carrying up through the open skylight where Tyrrell had the watch and Buckle was scribbling on his slate beside the binnacle?
Buckle shook his head." What did I tell you? No worries, that one!"
"Deck there!" Tyrrell stared up at the masthead as the cry came." Sail! Fine on th' starboard quarter!"
Feet clattered on the ladder and Bolitho appeared beside him, his jaw still working on some buttered bread?
He said, "I have a feeling about this morning." He saw a master's mate by the mainmast trunk and called, «Mr. Raven! Aloft with you!" He held up his hand, halting the man as he ran to the shrouds." Remember your lesson, as I will."
Graves had also come on deck, partly shaved and naked to the waist. Bolitho looked around the waiting men, studying each in turn if only to contain his impatience while Raven clawed his way to the masthead. Changed. They were all different in some way. Toughened, more confident perhaps. Like bronzed pirates, held together by their trade-he hesitated-their loyalty?
"Deck there!" Another maddening wait and then Raven yelled down, "It's her right enough! The Bonaventure!"
Something like a growl came from the watching seamen?
One man shouted, "The bloody Bonaventure, is it. Us'll give that bugger a quiltin' today an' that's for sure!"
Severyl others cheered, and even Bethune called excitedly, "Huzza, lads!"
Bolitho turned to look at them again, his heart suddenly heavy, the promise of the morning sour and spoiled?
"Get the t'gallants on her, Mr. Tyrrell. The royals, too, if the wind stays friendly."
He saw Tyrrell's eyes, worried, even sad, and snapped, "We have orders. To carry despatches to our admiral." He gestured angrily towards the taffrail." Do you want to match guns with her?" He turned away, adding vehemently, "By God, I'd like nothing better than to see her strike!"
Tyrrell took his trumpet and shouted, "Call th' hands0 All hands make sail!"
He glanced quickly at Bolitho who was staring astern. The privateer was not visible from anywhere but the masthead. Nor would she be now. But Bolitho was staring fixedly, as if he could see every gun, each gaping muzzle, like the day she had swept Miranda's defences aside like so much rubbish?
Graves moved to his side, his eyes on the seamen as they hurried to their various stations, some still puzzled by their orders?
Tyrrell said quietly, "It ain't easy to run before an enemy."
Graves shrugged." How about you? I'd have thought you should be somewhat comforted by the fact." He fell back before Tyrrell's cold stare but added smoothly, "It would have been less easy for you to fight a Yankees eh?" Then he hurried down the ladder towards his men at the foremast?
Tyrrell followed him with his eyes." Bastard." He spoke only to himself and was surprised to find he was so calm." Bastard."
When he turned his head he saw Bolitho had left the deck?
Buckle dipped his thumb to the skylight." He's not laughing now, Mr. Tyrrell." He sounded grim." I'd not have his rank for all the whores in Plymouth!"
Tyrrell tapped the half-hour glass and said nothing?
How different from Captain Ransome, he thought?
He would have shared neither hopes nor fears with any of them. And these same seamen who were already swarming up the ratlines on either beam would have shown no surprise if he made a similar decision as Bolitho. It was because they seemed to think Bolitho could lead them anywhere, and with all odds against them, that they were puzzled by his action. The sudden realisation troubled him. Partly because Bolitho did not understand, but mainly because he should have been the one to make Bolitho realise how they all felt for him?
Ransome had always used and never led them? Instead of example he had laid down rules. Whereas he… Tyrrell glanced at the cabin skylight now shuts and imagined he could hear a girl's voice again?
Graves strode aft and touched his hat, his tone formal in front of the watching eyes?
"Permission to dismiss the watch below, sir?"
"Aye. Carry on, Mr. Graves." They held each other's gaze then Tyrrell turned his back?
He walked to the rail and stared up at the freshly trimmed sails, the seamen on the upper yards, their skins brown in the sunlight?
The privateer would never catch them now, even if she so intended. It would be another ship, a fat merchantman, or some unsuspecting trader from the Bahamas?
He saw the captain's coxswain beside the nettings and asked, "How is he, Stockdale?"
Stockdale regarded him warily, like a watchdog examining a possible intruder?
Then he relaxed slightly, his big hands loose at his sides." 'E's in irons at th' moment, sir." He stared angrily at the blue water." But we've come through worse afore. A whole lot worse."
Tyrrell nodded, seeing the certainty in Stockdale's eyes like something written?
"He has a good friend in you, Stockdale."
The coxswain turned his broken face away." Aye. I could tell you things I seen 'im do that'd make some ob these Jacks run to their mothers and pray."
Tyrrell kept quiet and very still, watching the man's profile as he relived some memory, an incident so vivid it was like yesterday?
Stockdale said in his wheezing voice, "I've carried 'im like a child, seen 'im so beside hisself with anger there's not a man-jack'd draw near. Other times I've seen 'im 'old a man in 'is arms until 'e died, even though there was nought anyone could do for th' poor bugger." He swung round, his eyes fierce." I ain't got the words for it, else I'd make 'em all listen."
Tyrrell reached out and touched his massive arm?
"You're wrong. You've got th' words right enough. And thanks for telling me."
Stockdale grunted and walked heavily towards the hatch. He had never spoken like that before, but somehow he trusted Tyrrell. Like Bolitho, he was a man, not just an officer, and for him that was more than enough?
All that day the Sparrow ran freely towards an empty horizon. The watches changed, drills were carried outs and one man was flogged for drawing his knife against a messmate after an argument. But there were no contests on deck, and when Heyward appeared with his swords to begin another period of instruction he found no takers, nor did Dalkeith leave his sickbay for a pistol shoot?
In his cabin Bolitho remained with his thoughts, wondering why a simple action was so hard to bears merely because he had been the one to dictate it? Command, leadership, authority, they were mere words. At no time could they explain his true feelings, or wipe away inner misgivings?
As Rear-Admiral Christie had said, the right way was not always the most popular, or the easiest to accept?
When the bell chimed out for the first dog watch he heard another cry from the masthead?
"Deck there! Sail on the lee bow!"
He made himself remain seated at the table until Midshipman Bethune came down to report that the sail was barely moving and was perhaps hove-to?
Even then he delayed before going on deck. Another disappointment, a fresh need to take avoiding action from one more enemy, only time and distance would tell him these things?
Graves, who had the watch, said, "If it's one of our frigates we could turn and close with the Bonaventures sir."
Heyward added, "Maybe we could take her as a prize."
Bolitho faced them coldly." And if she's a French frigate, what then?" He saw them stiffen under his stare." I suggest you hold your suppositions until later."
But it was neither privateer nor patrolling ship-of-war? As Sparrow sped down towards her Bolitho watched the stranger through his glass, seeing the gap in her outline where her main topmast had been torn away like a branch from a tree, and the huge scars along her tumblehome to show the battering she had received from sea and wind?
Buckle said quietly, "By God, she must have taken the storm full on herself. She's in a poor way, I'm thinking."
Tyrrell, who had climbed to the main topmast yards shinned down a backstay and reported, "I know her sir? She's th' RoyalAnne, West Indiaman."
Buckle agreed." Aye, that's so. She set sail from Sandy Hook three days afore us. Bound for Bristol, I heard."
"Run up the colours."
Bolitho shifted the glass carefully, watching the tiny figures swarming along the other ship's decks, the broken gangway where a great sea had thundered inboard like a failing cliff. She made a pitiful sight? Spars missing, sails in ribbons. She must have ridden out the same storm which they had skirted just a night ago?
Bethune exclaimed, "I have her here in my book, sir? She is under warrant to the Commander-in-Chief."
But Bolitho barely heard him. He saw the figures along the vessel's upper deck pausing to stare at the approaching sloop, while here and there a man was waving, perhaps cheering to see a friendly flag?
He stiffened and then said, "There are women aboard that ship." He lowered the glass and looked at Tyrrell questioningly." Under warrant, is she?"
Tyrrell nodded slowly." Indiamen do take a government charter when it suits, sir." He glanced away." Th' Royal Anne'll be carrying folk from New York to England. And away from th' war, no doubt."
Bolitho raised the glass again, his mind working on Tyrrell's words?
He said, "We will close her now, Mr. Tyrrell, and keep her under our lee. Have the starboard cutter cleared for lowering. The surgeon will accompany me on board." He glanced at Bethune." Signal her to that effect. If she fails to understand, then hail her when we draw nearer."
He walked away from the rail as the flags soared aloft on their halliards?
Tyrrell followed him and said gravely, "She'll not be able to outsail th' Bonaventure, sir. Even if she was without damage."
Bolitho faced him." I know."
He tried to sound composed even though his mind was screaming. Turn after all and face the big privateer. The facts had not altered. Sparrow would still be outgunned and sunk without too much difficulty. The Royal Anne was so badly damaged that a respite brought about by sacrificing this ship and all her company would make no difference. But to run once more. Leave her helpless and allow the enemy to take her at leisure was too cruel even to contemplate?
He must contemplate it. It was his decision. His?
Buckle called, "She's standing by, sir! We'd best take the way off us."
"Very well." Bolitho walked slowly along the side? "Get the royals and t'gallants off her, Mr. Tyrrell. We will heave-to directly."
He saw Stockdale hurrying towards him with his coat and sword. It would be dark in five hours. If they were to do anything, they would need haste and luck? Especially the latter?
He slipped into his coat and said, "Mr. Tyrrell, you will come with me."
Then as the boat was hoisted over the gangway and lowered alongside he looked astern, almost expecting to see a sliver of sail, or hear the masthead's call?
"Cutter alongside, sir!"
He nodded and strode towards the gangway." Let us be about it then." And without a glance at the others he followed Tyrrell down into the boat?