Command a King's Ship (26 page)

Midshipman Armitage ran up the ladder and touched his hat.

To Herrick he stammered, “Mr. Tapril's respects, sir, and would you join him in the magazine.”

Herrick asked, “Is that all?”

The boy looked uncomfortable. “He said you'd
promised,
sir.”

“And so I did, Mr. Armitage.”

As the midshipman hurried away Herrick said, “I was going to arrange to have the powder casks inspected and marked again. No sense in losing good powder.” He lowered his voice “Look, sir, are you sure you cannot see the folly of what you are doing? There is no telling what damage it might do to your career.”

Bolitho swung towards him and then saw the anxious concern on Herrick's face.

He replied, “I am relying on your lady luck, Thomas!”

He walked towards the cabin hatch, adding for Soames's ben- efit, “Call me the moment there is a change.”

Soames watched him go and then walked aft to the compass.

Fowlar watched him warily. Once back in England, he, too, would get the chance to obtain a commission as lieutenant. The captain had said as much, and that was good enough. But if he did make that first all-important step up the ladder, he hoped he would be happier about it than Lieutenant Soames appeared to be.

Soames rasped, “Mr. Fowlar, your helmsmen are wandering off a point or so! Damn my eyes, I don't expect that from you!”

Fowlar watched him move away and smiled to himself. There was nothing wrong with the helm, and Soames knew it. It was part of the game.

He said, “Watch your helm, Mallard.”

Mallard transferred a plug of tobacco from one cheek to the other and nodded.

“Aye, Mr. Fowlar, sur.”

The watch continued.

Before the last dog watch had ran its course it was obvious the rising wind made it necessary to reef topsails.

Bolitho gripped the hammock nettings and faced along his ship's length as he watched the petty officers checking their men in readiness for going aloft, while Shellabeer and his own hands were already busy scrambling about the boat-tier with further lashings.

Herrick shouted above the wind, “A second reef within the hour, sir, if I'm any judge!”

Bolitho turned aft and felt the spray as it hissed freely above the weather quarter. The wind had backed rapidly and now blew lustily from the south-east, making the motion both violent and uncomfortable.

He replied, “We will steer due west once we have reefed. On the larboard tack she will be steadier.”

He watched the great, steeply banked swell, like serried lines of angry glass hills. When the wind got up further, those rounded rollers would break into heavy waves.

Bolitho heard Mudge shout, “We're in for a blow right enough, sir!” He was clinging to his misshapen hat, his small eyes watering in the wind. “The barometer is poppin' about like a pea on a drum!”

Davy shouted, “All mustered, sir!”

“Very well. Hands aloft.” Herrick held up his hand. “Keep them from racing each other, and stop the bosun's mates from us- ing their ropes'-ends.” He glanced at Bolitho. “One slip, and a man would go overboard without a chance of recovery.”

Bolitho agreed. Herrick always remembered things like that.

He said, “I hope this doesn't last too long. If we have to ride it out it will upset Admiral Conway's other arrangements, I have no doubt.”

He looked up as faint shouts and curses told him of the struggle the topmen were having with the violent, unruly canvas. Fisting and kicking, pitching this way and that, with the deck far below, the very sight of their efforts made him feel queasy.

It took the best part of an hour to master the sails to Herrick's satisfaction, and by then it was time to take in yet another reef. Spray and spindrift whipped across the weather side, and every timber and stay seemed to be groaning in a protesting chorus.

Bolitho shouted, “Lay her round another point, Mr. Herrick! We will steer west-by-south!”

Herrick nodded, his face running with spray. “Afterguard to the mizzen braces!” He shook his speaking trumpet angrily. “Keep together, damn you!”

A marine had slipped and fallen in a scarlet heap, knocking several of his comrades into confusion.

Bolitho pointed abeam, to the first glitter of white crests as the wind did its work.

“She's steadier, Mr. Herrick!” He relaxed as the experienced seamen rushed aft to help the marines and less skilled hands on the mizzen braces. “And not a man hurt by the looks of it!”

Undine
had paid off stiffly to the wind, her shrouds and ratlines shining jet-black against the rising swell. But with her yards comfortably braced, and canvas reduced to topsails and jibs, she was making the best of it.

Davy panted on to the quarterdeck, his shirt wringing and sodden.

“All secure, sir!” He lurched backwards, tottered and then reeled against the nettings, adding savagely, “By the Lord, I'd for- gotten what a real gale felt like!”

Bolitho smiled. “Dismiss the watch below. But tell the boat- swain to make regular inspections. We can't afford to lose precious gear for want of a good lashing.” He turned to Herrick. “Come below with me.”

Despite the din of sea and strained timbers it seemed warm and inviting in the cabin. Bolitho watched the spray making di- agonal patterns across the stern windows, heard the rudder grinding and squeaking while the helmsmen held the frigate on her new course.

Noddall pattered into the cabin, his small body steeply angled as he fetched goblets for the two officers.

Herrick wedged himself in a corner of the bench seat and re- garded Bolitho questioningly.

“If we have to run before the wind, would it make so much difference, sir?”

Bolitho thought of his written orders, Conway's brief but lucid instructions.

“It might.” He waited until they both had goblets and said, “To what we can achieve, Thomas!”

Herrick chuckled, “I'll share
that
toast!”

Bolitho sat at the desk, feeling the deck tilting and then sliding into yet another trough.

He was glad he had insisted that Keen and some of the other wounded had been left at Pendang Bay. Too much of this sort of motion would burst open even the finest stitches.

He said, “Admiral Conway intends to let
Bedford
put to sea as soon as we are on our way to the Benua Islands. I think he wishes to get rid of the Spanish troops and dependents as soon as pos- sible.”

Herrick watched him. “Bit risky, isn't it, sir? With the damned
Argus
still at large?”

Bolitho shook his head. “I think not. I am certain the French or Muljadi will have agents watching Conway's settlement. They will have seen us weigh anchor.
Argus
will know we are coming well enough.”

Herrick looked glum. “They are as clever as that, eh?”

“We must assume so. I think Conway is right. Better to get
Bedford
away with her passengers and despatches for Madras be- fore things get any worse.”

“If there's a real storm, it'll put paid to everything!” Herrick cheered up somewhat. “The Frogs don't like bad weather!”

Bolitho smiled at Herrick's confidence. “This one may not care. He has been in these waters a long time, I believe. He is not one of the hit-and-run kind who used to dash out of Brest or Lorient and flee for home again at the sight of an English ship!” He rubbed his chin. “This Le Chaumareys interests me. I would like to know more of him than his record in battle.”

Herrick nodded. “He appears to know a lot about you, sir.”

“Too much.”

A steep roller cruised beneath the quarter, holding the ship up and tilting her forward at a steeper angle before freeing her again to sidle into the next rough. Beyond the closed door they heard the marine sentry slip and fall, his musket clattering away while he cursed and fought to regain his composure.

Bolitho said slowly, “When we meet with
Argus
's captain we must keep our eyes well opened. If he agrees to parley, we may learn something. If not, we must be ready to fight.”

Herrick frowned. “I'd rather fight, sir. It's the only way I know how to be at ease with a Frenchman!”

Bolitho thought suddenly of that room at the Admiralty, the calm features of Admiral Winslade as he had given a brief outline of
Undine
's mission. Four months back. A time of peace, yet ships had foundered, and men had been killed or crippled for life.

But even the lordly power of admiralty, the guile and experi- ence of politics were useless out here. A solitary, wind-swept frigate, minimum resources, and no guiding hand when one might be needed.

Herrick took Bolitho's quiet mood as a signal. He placed his goblet inside the table fiddles and rose carefully to his feet.

“Time to do my rounds, sir.” He cocked his head to listen as water gurgled and sluiced along the quarterdeck scuppers. “I have the middle watch, and may snatch a cat-nap before I face the breeze.”

Bolitho pulled out his watch and felt Herrick looking at it.

“I will turn in now. I have a notion we may all be needed before long.”

In fact, it felt only minutes after his head had touched the pillow that someone was clinging to the cot and tapping his shoul- der. It was Allday, his shadow rising and falling like a black spectre as the cabin lantern swung violently from the deckhead.

“Sorry to wake you, Captain, but it's getting far worse up top.” He paused to allow Bolitho's brain to clear. “Mr. Herrick told me to pass the word!”

Bolitho stumbled out of the cot, instantly conscious of a new, more uneven motion. As he pulled on his breeches and shoes and held out his arms for a heavy tarpaulin coat he asked, “What time is it?”

Allday had to shout as the sea thundered against the hull and surged angrily along the upper deck.

“Morning watch is about to be called, sir!”

“Tell Mr. Herrick! Call them
now!
” He gripped his arm and together they lurched half across the cabin like two tipsy sailors. “I want all hands directly! I'm going to the chart space.”

He found Mudge already there, his lumpy figure sprawled across the table while he peered at the chart, blaspheming quietly as the lantern went mad above his head.

Bolitho snapped, “How is it?”

He glanced up at him, his eyes red in the feeble glow.

“Bad, sir. We'll 'ave the canvas in shreds unless we lie to for a bit.”

Bolitho peered at the chart. Plenty of sea-room. That was the only consolation.

He hurried towards the quarterdeck ladder and almost fell as the ship swayed and corkscrewed in two separate motions. He fought his way to the wheel, where four helmsmen, their bodies lashed firmly to prevent their being caught unawares by an incom- ing wave, were fighting the spokes, their eyes glowing in the flickering compass light.

Herrick shouted, “I've called all hands, sir! And I've put extra ones on the pumps!”

Bolitho peered at the jerking compass card. “Very well. We will lie to under shortened maintops'l. Get Davy to put the best men aloft at once!”

He turned as a sound like gunshot echoed above the shriek of wind and sea, and saw the mizzen topsail rip itself apart, the fragments tearing yet again into ragged streamers, pale against the low, scudding clouds.

He could hear the dismal clank of pumps, hoarse cries as men blundered to their stations, dodging below the gangways as more frothing water flooded amongst them.

Fowlar shouted, “The sailmaker has only just repaired that cro'jack, sir!” He was grinning, in spite of the confusion. “He'll not be pleased!”

Bolitho was watching the black shapes of the topmen as they climbed cautiously up the vibrating ratlines. The wind flattened them occasionally against the shrouds, so that they hung motion- less before starting up again for the topsail yards.

Mudge yelled, “Th' quarter boat 'as carried away, sir!”

No one paid any heed, and Herrick spluttered in spray before saying, “There goes the foretops'l, sir! Those lads are doing fine.”

Something dropped amongst the taut rigging before falling to the gun deck with a sickening thud.

Herrick shouted, “Man from aloft! Take him to the surgeon!”

Bolitho bit his lip. It was unlikely he could live after such a fall.

Fighting every yard of the way,
Undine
came round into the wind, her hull awash from quarterdeck to beakhead, and with men clinging to tethered guns or stanchions as each wave surged and broke across her reeling deck.

Mudge bellowed hoarsely, “She'll ride it out now, sir!”

Bolitho nodded, his mind cringing from the onslaught, the very vehemence of the storm.