To Glory We Steer (28 page)

Lieutenant Herrick had just taken over the forenoon watch and stood relaxed by the quarterdeck rail as he idly watched the men at work on the main deck. Earlier the swabs and holystones had made the planking wet and pliable, but now as the heat slowly mounted above the gently swaying hull the decks shone in shimmering whiteness while the normal business of splicing and running repairs was carried out.

It was a peaceful scene, and the combination of warmth and a good breakfast left Herrick drowsy and at ease. Occasionally he cast an eye towards Midshipman Neale to make sure he had his glass trained on the distant flagship, and
Phalarope
was keeping as good a station as the wind allowed.

He could see Lieutenant Okes inspecting the starboard battery of twelve-pounders with Brock, the gunner, and wondered, not for the first time, what was going on behind his strained features. Ever since the raid on Mola Island, Okes had been a changed man. And the admiral's casual comments across the dinner table had made him withdraw even more into himself.

As for Farquhar, it was quite impossible to tell what he was thinking. Herrick was not sure if he envied the midshipman's aloof reserve or admired him for it. It was strange how Farquhar's manner had always made him feel on the defensive. Perhaps it was because of his own humble beginnings, he decided. Even here, cooped up in a small frigate, Farquhar retained his distance and individuality.

Herrick tried to imagine what he would have felt if, as Rennie had suggested, Okes had retreated from the raid without care or interest, and had left
him
to die. He pictured himself reacting as Farquhar had done, but instantly in his heart he knew he was deceiving himself. More than likely it would have ended in an open conflict, with a court martial to round it off.

The helmsman coughed warningly, and Herrick turned quickly as Bolitho came up the cabin hatch. He touched his hat and waited as Bolitho walked first to the compass and then stood looking up at the masthead pendant. Then he relaxed slightly as Bolitho crossed to his side and looked down at the busy seamen on deck.

“Another fifty miles to our patrolling station, Mr Herrick. At this speed we will need another day!” There was impatience in his tone, and a touch of irritation which Herrick was now able to recognise immediately.

Herrick said, “But still it is comforting to see the
Cassius
abeam, sir. If de Grasse ventures out this way we will not be alone!”

Bolitho stared at the distant gleam of sails, but there was no response to Herrick's forced cheerfulness. “Ah yes, the flagship.” He gave a bitter smile. “Forty years old, and so much weed on her bottom that she crawls even in a strong gale!”

Herrick looked quickly at the
Cassius.
Up until this moment size and seniority had represented safety and a ready shield. He replied, “I did not know, sir.”

“She was a Dutch prize, Mr Herrick. Look at the rake of her beakhead!” Then as if realising that he was speaking from memory of things which were of no importance he added harshly, “My God, this crawling makes me sick!”

Herrick tried another tack. “Our orders, sir. May I ask what is expected of us?”

He immediately regretted his impulse and checked himself as Bolitho turned his head away to watch a slowly circling gull. But from the set of the captain's shoulders and the way his hands were locked on the rail he knew that he had struck on something uppermost in Bolitho's mind.

But Bolitho's voice was calm as he answered, “We will take up our station fifty miles to the west'rd of Guadeloupe and keep contact with our”—he waved his hand towards the open sea—“with our squadron!”

Herrick digested this information slowly. The excitement and frantic preparations at Antigua had left him in little doubt of an impending battle, and he knew that even now most of those proud ships he had watched with an undiminished fascination would have weighed and set sail to complete Rodney's plan to seek out and confront the Comte de Grasse.

Bolitho continued absently, “There is a chain of ships up and down the Caribbean. One good sighting and the chase will be on.” But there was no excitement in his voice. “Unfortunately, Martinique is another hundred miles to the south of our patrol area, Mr Herrick. De Grasse will be there with the bulk of his ships. He will bide his time and then make a dash for Jamaica.” He turned swiftly and stared at Herrick's frowning face. “And when Rodney's frigates report that the French have sailed, the fleet will attack him!” He shrugged, the gesture both angry and despairing. “And we shall still be on our station, as useless as a signpost in a desert!”

“But the French may come this way, sir.” Herrick felt Bolitho's bitterness changing his own eagerness to gloom. As he spoke he realised the reason for Bolitho's earlier scorn of the elderly
Cassius.
It was obvious that Rodney was using Admiral Napier's small squadron for the least important part of his overall plan.

“And pigs may lay eggs, Mr Herrick!” said Bolitho evenly. “But not in our day!”

“I see, sir.” Herrick was at a loss for words.

Bolitho studied him gravely and then touched his arm. “Cheer up, Mr Herrick. I am bad company this morning.” He winced and fingered his side. “I am thankful that ball missed anything vital. But I could well do without its reminder.”

Herrick watched him thoughtfully. “You should take more rest, sir.”

“I find it hard even to sit down, Mr Herrick.” Bolitho shaded his eyes to watch the set of the sails. “There is so much happening. History is being made all around us!” He suddenly began to pace, so that Herrick had to fall in step to keep up with him. “De Grasse will come out, I'm sure of it!” He was speaking quickly in time with his steps. “You saw that freak gale which gave you your chance to rake the
Andiron?
Well, it was rare indeed for this time of year. But later,” he smiled grimly at some hidden memory, “later in the year the hurricanes hit the West Indies in profusion. From August to September they follow one another like messengers from hell itself!” He shook his head firmly. “No, Mr Herrick, de Grasse will come out soon. He has much to accomplish before that time.”

Herrick said, “But which way will he go?”

“Maybe through the Martinique Passage. But either way he will head straight for the central Caribbean. There are a thousand miles between him and Jamaica. You could lose a whole fleet in such an area. If we fail to make contact when he sails we will never catch him again until it is too late!”

Herrick nodded, at last understanding the full reason for Bolitho's apprehension. “He has troops and guns. He can occupy any territory he chooses to take.”

“Quite so. The men and stores we dealt with at Mola Island were just a part of his strength. He had hoped to tie down the fleet while he drove on to Jamaica unimpeded. Now he knows we are alerted. His urgency will be all the keener.”

He stopped in his tracks and stared fixedly at the naked horizon. “If only we knew! If only we could go and find out for ourselves!” Then he seemed to realise that he was showing his own despair and he added briefly, “You may return to your watch, Mr Herrick. I have some thinking to do.”

Herrick walked back to the rail, but as the sun beat down on the tinder-dry decks, he was constantly aware of Bolitho's shadow. Back and forth, up and down.

When Herrick had been a midshipman he had dreamed of the time when he might attain the impossible heights of a lieutenant. From then on he had watched the slow path to promotion, gauging his own progress by the experience or the incompetence of his superiors. And all the time, nursed in the back in his mind like some precious jewel, was the idea that one day he might at last hold a command of his own.

But now, as he watched Bolitho's restless shadow and imagined the fretting thoughts which kept it company, he was not so sure.

Halfway through the forenoon the pipes shrilled, “Stand easy!” With varying degrees of relief the frigate's seamen threw themselves into patches of shade to make the most of the short break in routine.

Allday stayed where he had been working, with his legs astride the larboard cathead, his bronzed body sheltered from the sun by the jib sail. In the foremost part of the ship he had been engaged in cleaning and scraping one of the great anchors, and as he squatted comfortably above the small bow wave he rested one foot on the anchor's massive stock, feeling its warmth against the bare skin. At his back the other members of the working party lounged in various stages of abandon, while above their heads the air was tinged with a slow-moving vapour of smoke from their long pipes.

Old Ben Strachan picked up a new rope and examined the eye-splice which one of the ship's boys had just completed. “Not bad, youngster. Not bad at all.” He sucked noisily at his pipe and peered aft the length of the
Phalarope
's deck. “Is that the cap'n pacin' up an' down?”

Pochin, who was lying with his head cradled on his thick arms, muttered, “Course it is! Must be mad to be in this 'eat when 'e could be down in 'is cabin!”

Allday swung one leg and stared thoughtfully at the clear water below him. Pochin was still worried about Onslow's words in the cutter. He was edgy, as if he realised his own guilt. Just listening to such talk made a man liable to be labelled a conspirator.

He turned slightly to look aft, and across the length of the ship he saw Herrick, watching him from the quarterdeck. The lieutenant gave him a brief nod of recognition before returning to his own contemplation, and Allday suddenly remembered that moment on the crumbling cliff when he had stopped Herrick from falling to the rocks below. In spite of his original intention to stay apart from internal affairs in the
Phalarope,
and to keep clear of loyalty to either faction, Allday was beginning to realise that such neutrality was impossible, even dangerous.

Allday liked Herrick, and recognised what he was trying to do. He was always ready to listen to complaints from his division, and was never quick to award punishment. But he was no fool, and few took advantage of his humane manner a second time.

Allday could see the captain still pacing the quarterdeck at the weather rail, coatless with his shirt open to his chest and his dark hair pulled back to the nape of his neck. He was a harder man to know, Allday thought, but it was strangely reassuring to see him back at his familiar place on the poop. Allday, perhaps better than most, knew the reputation of the Bolitho family. On his visits to Falmouth he had often heard them discussed in the taverns, and had even seen the house which was the captain's home. It was strange to realise that he had a brother fighting on the other side. Allday wondered how he would have felt. Not only that, but Bolitho's brother was said to have deserted from the Navy, a crime which could only be wiped out at the end of a rope.

He came back from his thoughts as Ferguson climbed up from the main deck and walked across to the rail. He looked strained and self-conscious in his clean clothes, a marked contrast to the tired and sweating seamen who had once been his companions.

Ferguson fidgeted for a few moments and then said, “Do you think we will see any more fighting?”

Pochin turned his head and growled, “You should know! Aren't you in the captain's pocket?”

Allday grinned. “Don't pay any attention to Nick.” He dropped his voice. “Has Onslow been after you again?”

He saw Ferguson's pale eyes flicker.

“Not much. He just passes the time with me sometimes.”

“Well, remember my warning, Bryan!” Allday studied him closely. “I've not told a living soul aboard, but I believe he had a lot to do with Mathias's death.” He saw the disbelief in Ferguson's face and added sharply, “In fact, I'm sure he had!”

“Why should he do a thing like that?” Ferguson tried to smile, but his mouth remained slack.

“He's a bad one. He knows no other life but this. He came to the fleet as a child. His world is bounded by the sides of a wooden hull.” He ran his hands along the carved cathead. “I've met a few of his kind before Bryan. They're as dangerous as wolves!”

Ferguson said, “He'll not make trouble. He wouldn't dare!”

“No? And why do you think he keeps asking about the cabin? He's biding his time. His sort have a lot of patience.”

“The captain'd not stand for any more trouble!” Ferguson showed his agitation in the quick movements of his hands. “I've heard him telling Mr Vibart about taking care of the men. About how he wants them treated.”

Allday sighed. “You see? You're even telling me what you've heard. If you want to stay safe you'd better keep what you know to yourself.”

Ferguson stared at him. “You don't have to tell me!” He tightened his mouth with sudden anger. “You're just like the others. You're jealous because of my job!”

Allday turned away. “Suit yourself.”

He waited until he heard Ferguson moving aft again. Then he turned to watch as Onslow stepped from beside the mainmast to stop his passing. He saw Onslow grinning and patting Ferguson on the shoulder.