He saw the darkness dosing in. It was like smoke or fog, with just one clear space in it where the captain was trying to ram another charge into his pistol.
Before the pain bore him into oblivion Parris’s agonised mind was able to record that Haven was laughing. Laughing as if he could not stop.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
For Or Against
It was early morning on a fine June day when Bolitho rehoisted his flag above Hyperion, and prepared his squadron to leave the Rock.
During Firefly’s speedy passage to Gibraltar, Bolitho and Keen had had much to discuss. If Keen had been unsettled at being made flag captain of a squadron he knew nothing about he barely showed it, while for Bolitho it was the return of a friend; like being made whole again.
At the commodore’s request he had visited Haven at the place where he was being confined ashore. He had expected him to be in a state of shock, or at least ready to offer something in the way of a defence for shooting Parris down in cold blood.
A garrison doctor had told Bolitho that Haven either did not remember, or did not care about what had happened. He had risen as Bolitho had entered his small room and had said, ”The ship is ready, Sir Richard. I took steps to ensure that old or not, Hyperion will match her artillery against any French- man when called to!’
Bolitho had said, ”You are relieved. I am sending you to England.”
Haven had stared at him. ”Relieved? Has my promotion been announced?”
Upon returning to the ship Bolitho had been handed a letter addressed to Haven, which had just been brought by a mail schooner from Spithead. Under the circumstances Bolitho decided to open it; he might at least be able to spare someone in England the bitter truth about Haven, until the facts were released at his inevitable court-martial.
Afterwards, Bolitho was not certain he should have read it.
The letter was from Haven’s wife. It stated in an almost matter of-fact fashion that she had left him to live with a wealthy mill-owner who was making uniforms for the military, where she and her child would be well cared for.
It seemed that the mill-owner was the father of the child, so it was certainly not Parris’s. When Haven eventually came to his senses, if he ever did, that would be the hardest cross to bear.
The first lieutenant must be born lucky, Bolitho thought. The pistol ball had lifted too much in the short range of the cabin, and had embedded itself in his shoulder and chipped the bone. He must have suffered terrible agony as Minchin had to probe it out. But the shot had been intended for his heart.
Keen had asked Bolitho, ”Do you wish to keep him aboard? The wound will take weeks to heal, and I fear it was roughly treated.”
He had probably been remembering how a great splinter had speared into his groin; rather than allow him to face the torture of a drunken surgeon, it had been Allday who had cut the jagged wood away.
”He is an experienced officer. I have hopes for his promotion. God knows we can use some skilled juniors for command.”
Keen had agreed. ”It will certainly put the other lieutenants on their mettle!”
And so with mixed feelings the squadron sailed and headed east into the Mediterranean, the sea which had seen so many battles, and where Bolitho had almost died.
With Hyperion in the van, Bolitho’s flag at the fore, and the other third-rates following astern, heeling steeply to a lively north-westerly, their departure probably roused as much speculation as their arrival. Bolitho watched the Rock’s famous silhouette until it was lost in haze. The strange cloud of stratus rising against an otherwise dear sky was a permanent feature when the wind cooled the overheated stones, so that from distance it appeared like a smouldering volcano.
Most of Hyperion s company had grown used to one another since the ship had commissioned, and Keen was almost the only stranger amongst them.
As day followed day, and each ship exercised her people at sail or gun dried [I, Bolitho was thankful for the fates which had brought Keen back to him.
Unlike Haven, he did know Bolitho’s ways and standards, had served him both as a midshipman and lieutenant before eventually becoming his flag captain. The ship’s company seemed to sense the bond between their captain and admiral, and the older hands would note and appreciate that if Keen did not know something about his ship he was not too proud to ask. It never occurred to Bolitho that Keen had perhaps learned it from him.
It had been sad to part with Firefly, but she had bustled op to deliver more despatches to admirals and captains who were eagerly awaiting the latest news of the French. Amongst Firefly’s mountain of despatches there would doubtless be a few like the one which Haven had still not read. War was as cruel in the home as it was on the high seas, he thought.
When he met with Adam again his promotion would have been confirmed. It seemed strange to consider it. He could imagine what they would think and say at Falmouth when the latest Captain Bolitho came home. Unless Adam eventually met and married the girl of his choice, he would be the last captain to arrive at the house in Cornwall.
He often thought of Catherine and their farewell. They had r shared their passion and love equally, and she had ”insisted that she accompany him all the way to Portsmouth to board the little Firefly. Keen had said his own goodbyes earlier when he had gone to Portsmouth with Adam in another carriage.
With the horses stamping and steaming in the sunshine Catherine had clung to him, searching his face, touching it with tenderness and then dismay when Allday had told them the boat was waiting at the sally port.
He had asked her to wait by the carriage but she had followed him to the wooden stairs where so many sea-officers had left the land. There had been a small crowd watching the ships and the officers being pulled out to them.
Bolitho had noticed that there were very few of the age for service. It would be a fool who risked the press gang’s net if he had no stomach for the fight.
The people had raised a cheer, and some of them recognised Bolitho, as well they might.
One had shouted, ”Good luck, Equality Dick, an’toyer lady as well!”
He had faced her and he had seen tears for the first time.
She had whispered, ”They included me!”
As the boat had pulled clear of the stairs Bolitho had looked back, but she had vanished. And yet as they had bumped over a choppy Solent where Firefly tugged at her cable, he had sensed that she was still there. Watching him to the last second. He had written to ask her just that, and to tell her what her love meant to him.
He remembered what Belinda had said about their infatuation.
Allday had described Catherine as a sailor’s woman, an’that’s no error. When he said it, it sounded the greatest compliment of all.
While the frigate Tyhalt and the sloop-of-war Phaedra chased and questioned any coaster or trader foolish enough to be - caught under their guns, Bolitho and Keen studied the scanty reports, as day by day they sailed deeper into the Mediterranean.
It was said that Nelson was still in the Atlantic and had joined up with his friend and second-in-command Vice-Admiral Collingwood. Nelson had probably decided that the enemy were trying to divide the British squadrons by ruses and quick dashes from safe harbours. Only when that was achieved would Napoleon launch his invasion across the Channel.
As Yovell had mildly suggested, ”if that is so, Sir Richard, then you are the senior officer in the Mediterranean.”
If true, it meant one thing Bolitho had barely considered it. But to him. When the enemy came his way he would need to ask no one what he must do. It made the weight of command seem more appealing.
One forenoon as he took his walk on the quarterdeck he saw Lieutenant Parris moving along a gangway, his arm strapped to his side, his steps unsteady while he gauged the rise and fall of the hull. He appeared to have withdrawn more into himself since Haven’s attack with intent to murder him. Keen had said that he was well content to have him as his senior, but had not known him before so could not mak
e a comparison.
Parris moved slowly to the lee side of the quarterdeck and clung to a stay to watch some seabirds swooping and diving alongside.
Bolitho walked across from the weather side. ”How do you feel?”
Parris tried to straighten his back but winced and apologised.
”It is slow progress, Sir Richard.” He stared up at the bulging sails, the tiny figures working amongst and high above them. ”I’ll feel a mite better when I know I can climb up there again.”
Bolitho studied his strong, gipsy profile. A ladies’ man? An enigma?
Parris saw his scrutiny and said awkwardly, ”May I thank you for allowing me to remain aboard, Sir Richard. I am less than useless at the moment.”
”Captain Keen made the final decision.”
Parris nodded, his eyes lost in memory. ”He makes this old ship come alive!” He hesitated, as if measuring the confidence. ”I was sorry to hear of your trouble in London, Sir Richard.”
Bolitho looked at the blue water and tensed as his damaged eye misted slightly in the moist air.
”Nelson has a saying, I believe.” It was like quoting one of Adam’s favourites. ”The boldest measures are usually the safest.”
Parris stood back as Keen appeared below the poop-deck, but added, ”I wish you much joy, Sir Richard. Both of you.”
Keen joined him by the nettings.”We shall sight Malta tomorrow in the forenoon watch.” He glanced over at the master’s powerful figure. ”Mr Penhaligon assures me.”
Bolitho smiled. ”I was speaking with the first lieutenant. A strange fellow.”
Keen laughed. ”It is wrong, I know, to jest on it, but I have met captains I would have dearly liked to shoot. But never the other way around.”
Down by the boat-tier Allday turned as he heard their laughter. Keen’s old coxswain had been killed aboard their last ship, Al Argonaute. Allday had selected a new man for him, but secretly wished it was his son.
Keen’s coxswain was named Tojohns, and he had been captain of the foretop. He glanced aft with him and said, ”A new ship.”
He studied Allday curiously. ”You’ve known him a long while then?”
for Sir Allday smiled.”A year or two. He’ll do me, an’he’s good since he stepped aboard.”
Tojohns asked, ”Why did you pick me?” Allday gave a lazy smile. Tojohns was a fine seaman.
Allday said, ”Cause you talk too much!”
Tojohns laughed but fell silent as a passing midshipman bustled by.
He had accepted his new role. It was hard to realise he had not to shout every call, would no longer have to be up there at the fighting wild canvas with his foretopmen. Like Allday he was apart from all that. Somebody, for the first time.
”Whatever you sees yerself, right, matey’ down aft, you keep it to aft.”
”Mind you.” Allday watched him gravely.
Yes, he was somebody.
Tojohns nodded, barely able to suppress a smile.
Six bells chimed out from Hyperion’s forecastle and Valentine Keen touched his hat to Captain Bolitho.
”The master was right about our arrival here, Sir Richard.” Bolitho raised his telescope to scan the familiar walls and batteries of Valletta.
”Only just.” It had been a lengthy passage from Gibraltar, over eight days. It had given Keen time to impress his methods on to the whole ship, but had filled Bolitho with misgivings at the forthcoming meeting with Herrick.
He said slowly, ”Only three ships-of-the-line.”
He had recognised Herrick’s flagship Benbow almost as soon as the masthead lookouts.Once his own flagship, and like Hyperion, full of memories. Keen would be remembering her for very different reasons. Here he had faced a court of enquiry presided over by Herrick. It could have ruined him, but for Bolitho’s intervention. Past history? It seemed unlikely he would ever forget.
Bolitho said, ”I can make out the frigate yonder, anchored beyond Benbow.” He had been afraid that she would have been sent elsewhere. She was named La Mouette, a French prize taken off Toulon while Bolitho had been at Antigua. She was a small vessel of only twenty-six guns, but beggars could not be choosers.
Any frigate was welcome at this stage of the war against the new cat-and-mouse methods used by the French.
Keen said, ”But it raises our line of battle to eight.” He smiled.
”We have managed with far less in the past.”
Jenour stood slightly apart, supervising the signals midshipmen with their bright flags strewn about in apparent disorder.
Bolitho crossed to the opposite side to watch as the next astcm, Thynne’s Obdurate, took in more sail and tacked slowly after her admiral.
He pictured Herrick in Benbow, watching perhaps as the five major ships of Bolitho’s squadron moved ponderously on a converging tack in readiness to anchor. It was very hot, and Bolitho had seen the sunlight flash on many telescopes amongst the anchored ships. Would Herrick be regretting this meeting, he wondered? Or thinking how their friendship had been born out of battle and a near mutiny in that other war against the American rebels?
He said, ”Very well, Mr Jenour, you may signal now.”
He glanced at Keen’s profile. ”We shall just beat eight bells, Val, and so save Mr Penhaligon’s reputation’
”All acknowledged, sir!’
As the signal was briskly hauled to the deck, the ships faced up to the feeble breeze and dropped anchor.
Bolitho said, ”I have to go aft. I shall require my barge directly.” Keen faced him. ”You’ll not wait for the rear-admiral to come aboard, Sir Richard?”
Keen must have guessed that he was going to visit Benbow mainly to avoid having to greet Herrick with all the usual formalities. Their last meeting had been across the courts table.
When next they met it would have to be as man-to-man. For both their sakes.
”Old friends do not need to rest on traditions.”
Bolitho hoped it sounded more convincing than it felt. He tried to push it from his mind. Herrick had been here a long time; he might well have news of the enemy. Intelligence was everything. Without the little scraps of information gathered by the patrols and casual encounters they were helpless.
He heard Allday calling hoarsely to his barge crew, the creak of the tackles as the boat was swayed up and down over the gangway.
A few local craft were already approaching the ships, their hulls crammed with cheap wares to term their money. Like Portsmouth and any other seaport, there would be women too for the land-starved men if the captains turned a blind eye. It must be hard for any man to accept, Bolitho thought. The officers came and went as duty permitted, but only trusted hands and those of the press-gangs were ever allowed to as a marvel there had set foot ashore. month in and year out, it w not been more outbreaks of rebellion in the fleet.
He thought of Catherine as he had left her. Keen would be thinking the same about Zenoria. It would be ten thousand times worse if they could not meet until the war had ended, or they had been thrown on the beach as rejected cripples, like the one-legged man.
He went to his cabin and collected some letters which had been brought on board Firefly at the last moment. For Herrick. He gave a grim smile. Like bearing gifts.
Ozzard pattered round him, his eyes everywhere, to make sure that Bolitho had forgotten nothing.
It made Bolitho think of Catherine’s face when he had presented her with the fan Ozzard had cleaned. She had said, ”Keep it. It is all I have to give you. Have it by you if you need me. Then I shall be near you.”
He sighed and walked out past the sentry and Keen’s open cabin door, where fresh white paint disguised where Haven’s pistol had been fired.
Haven was lucky that Parris was still alive. Or was he? His career was wrecked, and there would be nothing waiting for him when he eventually reached his home.
He walked into the bright sunlight and saw the Royal Marines assembled at the entry port, boatswain’s mates with their silver calls, K
een and Jenour ready to pay their respects.
Major Adams of the Royal Marines raised his sword and barked:
”Guard ready, sir!’
Keen looked at Bolitho. ”Barge alongside, Sir Richard!
Bolitho raised his hat to the quarterdeck and saw bare-backed seamen working aloft on the mizzen yard peering down at him, their feet dangling in space.
One ship. One company.
Bolitho hurried down to the barge. The memories would have to wait.
Rear-Admiral Thomas Herrick stood with his hands grasped behind his back and watched the other ships anchoring, while the wind fell away to leave their sails almost empty. Gunsmoke from exchanged salutes drifted towards the shore, and Herrick tensed as he saw the green barge being lowered alongside HypMon almost as soon as the Jack was hoisted forward.
Captain Hector Gossage remarked, ”It seems that the viceadmiral is coming to us immediately, Sir.”
Herrick grunted. There were so many new faces in his command, and his flag captain had only been with him for a few months. His predecessor, Dewar, had gone home in ill health and Herrick still missed him.
Herrick said, ”Prepare to receive him. Full guard. You know what to do.”
He wanted to be left alone, to think. When he had received his new orders from Sir Owen Godschale at the Admiralty, Herrick had thought of little else. The last time he had met Bolitho had been here in the Mediterranean when Benbow had been under heavy attack from Jobert’s squadron. Re-united in battle, friends meeting against the heartless terms of war. But afterwards, when Bolitho had sailed for England, Herrick had thought a great deal about the court of enquiry, how Bolitho had cursed them after he had heard of Inch’s death. Herrick still believed that Bolitho’s hurt and anger had been directed at him, not the anonymous court.
He thought of Godschale’s personal letter, which had accompanied the changed orders. Herrick had already learned of the liaison between Bolitho and the woman he had known as Catherine Pareia. He had always felt ill-at-ease with her, out of his depth. A proud, uninhibited woman. In his eyes she lacked modesty, humility. He thought of his dear, loving Dulcie at their new house in Kent. Not a bit like her at all.
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