Alexander Kent - Bolitho 17

by Honour This Day [lit]

Blachford eyed him thoughtfully. ”I am always amazed that casualties are not greater when I see the hell-holes in which they endure th ”r suffering. It will take time to compare our findings at the College of Surgeons. It will be well spent. The recognition of wounds, the responses of the victims, a division of causes, be they gunshot or caused by thrusting or slashing blades. Immediate recognition can save time, and eventually lives. Mortification, gangrene and the terror it brings with it, each must be treated differently.”

  Bolitho tried to imagine this same, reedy man with the wispy white hair in the midst of a battle. Surprisingly, it was not difficult.

  He said, ”it is something we all dread.”

  Blachford smiled faintly. ”That is very honest. I am afraid one tends to think of senior officers as glory-seeking men without heart.”

  Bolitho smiled back. ”Both our worlds appear different from the outside. When I joined my first ship I was a boy. I had to learn that the packed, frightening world between decks was not just a mass, a mindless body. It took me a long time.” He stared at the glittering reflections that moved across one of the guns which to a breath of wind. ”I shared the cabin, as Hyperion responded am still learning.”

  Through the open skylight he heard the shrill of a call, the slap of bare feet as the watch on deck responded to the order to man the braces yet again, and retrim the great yards to hold this cupful of wind. He heard Parris, too, and was reminded of a strange incident when one of the infrequent Levantine gales had swept down on them from the east, throwing the ship into confusion.

  A man had gone overboard, and while the ship forged away with the gale, the sailor had floundered astern, waiting to perish. For no ship could be brought about in such a blow without the real risk of dismasting her. Some captains would not even have considered it.

  Keen had been on deck and had yelled for the quarter-boat to be cast adrift. The man overboard could obviously swim; there was a chance he might be able to reach the boat. There were also some captains who would have denied even that, saying that any boat was worth far more than a common seaman who might die anyway.

  But Parris had shinned down to the boat with a handful of volunteers. The next morning the wind had backed and dropped, its amusement at their efforts postponed. They had recovered the boat, and the half-drowned seaman.

  Parris had been sick with pain from his wounded shoulder, and Blachford had examined it afresh, and had done all he could.

  Bolitho had seen respect on Keen’s face, just as he had recorded Parris’s fanatical determination to prove himself. Because of him, there was one family in Portsmouth who would not grieve just yet. Blachford must also have been thinking of it, as well as all the other small incidents which when moulded into one hull made a fighting ship.

  He remarked, ”That was a brave thing your lieutenant did. Not many would even attempt it. It can be no help to see your own ship being carried further and further away until you are quite alone.”

  Bolitho called for Ozzard. ”Some wine?” He smiled. ”You are only unpopular aboard this ship if you ask for water!”

  The joke hid the truth. They had to divide the squadron soon.

  If they did not water the ships.... He shut it from his mind as Ozzard entered the cabin.

  And all the time he felt Blachford watching him. He had only once touched on the subject of his eye, but had dropped the matter when Bolitho had made light of it.

  Blachford said abruptly, ”You must do something about your eye. I have a fine colleague who will be pleased to examine it if I ask him.”

  Bolitho watched Ozzard as he poured the wine. There was nothing on the little man’s face to show he was listening to every word.

  Bolitho spread his hands. ”What can I do? Leave the squadron when at any moment the enemy may break out?”

  Blachford was unmoved. ”You have a second-in-command. Are you afraid to delegate? I did hear that you took the treasure galleon because you would not risk another in your place.”

  Bolitho smiled. ”Perhaps I did not care about the risk.”

  Blachford sipped his wine but his eyes remained on Bolitho. Bolitho was reminded of a watchful heron in the reeds at Falmouth. Waiting to strike.

  ”But that has changed?” The heron blinked at him.

  ”You are playing games with me...”

  ”Not really, To cure the sick is one thing. To understand the leaders who decide if a man shall live or die is another essential part of my studies.”

  Bolitho stood up and moved restlessly about the cabin. ”I am the cat on the wrong side of every door. When I am at home I fret about my ships and my sailors. Once here and I yearn or just a sight of England, the feel of grass underfoot, the smell of the land.”

  Blachford said quietly, ”Think about it. A raging ple like the one I shared with you, the sting of salt spray and the constant demands of duty are no place for what you need.”

  He made up his mind. ”I tell you this. If you do not heed my warning you will lose all sight in that eye.”

  Bolitho looked down at him and smiled sadly. ”And if I hand over my flag? Can you be sure the eye will be saved?”

  Blachford shrugged. ”I am certain of nothings but...”

  ”Aye, the but; it is always there...”

  Bolitho touched his shoulder.

  ”No, I cannot leave. Call me what you will, but I am needed here.” He waved his hand towards the water. ”Hundreds of men are depending on me, just as their sons will probably depend on your eventual findings, eh?”

  Blachford sighed. ”I call you stubborn.”

  Bolitho said.”I am not ready for the surgeon’s wings-and-limbs tub just yet, and I do not yearn for glory as some will proclaim.”

  ”At least think about it.” Blachford waited and added gently, ”You have another to consider now.”

  Bolitho looked up as a far-off voice cried out, ”Deck there! Sail on the lee bow!”

  Bolitho laughed. ”With luck that will be your passage to England. I fear I am no match for your devious ways.”

  Blachford stood up and ducked his head between the massive beams. ”I never thought it, but I’ll be sorry to....” He looked at Bolitho curiously. ”How can you know that from a masthead’s call?”

  ”No other ship would dare come near us!” Bolitho grinned.

  Later, as the newcomer drew closer, the officer-of-the-watch reported to Keen that she was the brig Firefly.The vessel which, like the old Superb in Nelson’s famous squadron, sailed when others slept.

  Bolitho watched as Blachford’s much-used chests and folios were carried on deck and said, ”You will meet my nephew. He is good company.”

  But Firefly was no longer captained by Adam Bolitho; it was another young commander who hurried aboard the flagship to make his report.

  Bolitho met him aft and asked, ”What of my nephew?” The commander, who looked like a midshipman aping his betters, explained that Adam had received his promotion. It was all he knew, and was almost tongue-tied at meeting a viceadmiral face to face. Especially one who was now well known for reasons other than the sea, Bolitho thought bleakly.

  He was glad for Adam. But he would have liked more than anything to see him.

  Keen stood beside him as Firefly spread more sails, and tacked around in an effort to catch the feeble wind.

  Keen said, ”it seems wrong without him in command.” Bolitho looked up at Hyperion’s braced yards, the masthead pendant lifting and curling in the glare.

  ”Aye, Val, I wish him all the luck...” he faltered and remembered Herrick’s Lady Luck. ”With men like Sir Piers Blachford taking an interest at long last, maybe Adam’s navy will be a safer one for those who serve the fleet.”

  He watched the brig until she was stern-on and spreading more canvas, and her upper yards were touched with gold. In two weeks’ time Firefly would be in England.

  Keen moved away as Bolitho began to pace up and down the weather side of the quarterdeck.

  In is loose, white shi
rt, his lock of hair blowing in the breeze, he did not look much like an admiral.

  Keen smiled. He was a man.

  A week later the schooner Lady Jane, sailing under Admiralty warrant, was sighted by the frigate Tybalt, whose captain immediately signalled his flagship.

  The wind was fair but had veered considerably, so that the smart schooner had to beat back and forth for several hours before more signals could be exchanged.

  On Hyperion’s quarterdeck, Bolitho stood with Keen and watched the schooner’s white sails fill to the opposite tack, while Jenour’s signals party ran up another acknowledgement.

  Jenour said excitedly, ”She is from Gibraltar with despatches, Sir Richard.”

  Keen remarked, ”They must be urgent. The schooner is making heavy weather of it.” He gestured to Parris. ”Prepare to heave-to, if you please.”

  Calls trilled between decks and men swarmed through hatchways and along the upperdeck to be mustered by their petty officers.

  Bolitho touched his eyelid and pressed it gently. It had barely troubled him since Sir Piers Blachford had left the ship. Was it possible that it might improve, despite what he had said?

  ”Lady Jane’s hove-to, Sir Richard. She’s putting down a boat.”

  Someone chuckled, ”Gawd, her captain looks about twelve years old!’

  Bolitho watched the small boat rising and dipping over the smooth-sided swell.

  He had been in his cabin when the hail had come from the masthead about Tybalt’s signal. He had been composing fresh the squadron. Delay orders for Herrick and his captains. Divide no longer.

  Bolitho glanced at the nearest gangway, the bare-backed seamen clinging to the nettings to watch as the boat pulled nearer. Was it wrong to curse boredom when the alternative could be sudden death?

  ”Heave-to, if you please!’

  Parris raised his speaking trumpet. ”Main tops’l braces!” Even he seemed to have forgotten his wound.

  Hyperion came slowly into the wind, while Bolitho kept his gaze on the approaching boat.

  Suppose it was just one more despatch, which in the end meant nothing? He swung away to hide the anger he felt for himself. In God’s name, he should be used to that by now.

  Lady Jane’s captain, a pink-checked lieutenant named Edwardes, clambered through the entry port and stared around like someone trapped.

  Keen stepped forward. ”Come aft, sir. My admiral will speak -with you., But Bolitho stared at the second figure who was being hauled unceremoniously on deck, accompanied by grins and nudges from the seamen.

  Bolitho exclaimed, ”So you could not stay away!”

  Sir Piers Blachford waved a warning hand as a sailor made to drop his case of instruments on the deck. Then he said simply, ”I had reached Gibraltar. There I was told that the French are massed at Cadiz with their Spanish allies. I could not see my way to joining the fleet, so I decided to return here in the schooner.” He smiled gently. ”I have the blessing of authority behind me, Sir Richard.”

  Keen smiled wryly. ”You are more likely to get sunburn or dry rot if you stay with us, Sir Piers!” But his eyes were on Bolitho, seeing the change in him. It never failed to move him just to watch his expression, the sudden glint in his dark grey eyes.

  In the cabin Bolitho slit open the weighted canvas envelope himself. The shipboard sounds seemed to be muffled, as if Hyperion too was holding her breath.

  The others stood around like unrehearsed players. Keen, feet astride, his fair hair and handsome features picked out in a bar of sunlight. Yovell by the table, a pen still gripped in his hand. Sir Piers Blachford, sitting down because of his height, but unusually subdued, as if he knew this was a moment he must share and remember. Jenour by the table, dose enough for Bolitho to hear his rapid breathing. And Lieutenant Edwardes who had carried the despatches under all sail from the Rock, gulping gratefully from a tankard which Ozzard had put into his hand.

  And of course, Allday. Was it by chance, or had he taken his stance by the rack with its two swords to mark the moment?

  Bolitho said quietly, ”Last month Lord Nelson hauled down his flag and returned home after failing to bring the French to battle.” He glanced at Blachford. The French fleet is at Cadiz, so too the Spanish squadrons. Vice-Admiral Collingwood is blockading the enemy in Cadiz.”

  Jenour whispered, ”And Lord Nelson?”

  Bolitho looked at him. ”Nelson has rejoined Victory, and is now doubtless with the fleet.”

  For a long moment nobody spoke. Then Keen asked, ”They will break out. They must.”

  Bolitho gripped his hands behind him. ”I agree. Villeneuve is ready. He has no choice. Which way will he head? North to Biscay, or back here, Toulon perhaps?” He studied their intent faces. ”We shall be ready. We are ordered to prepare to join Lord Nelson, to blockade or to fight; only Villeneuve knows which.” He felt every muscle relax, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  He looked at the pink-cheeked lieutenant. ”So you are on your way?”

  ”Aye, Sir Richard.” He waved vaguely. ”First to Malta, and then.. . .”

  Bolitho watched the sparkle in his eyes; he was planning how he would relate to his friends, how he had carried the word to the rest of the fleet.

  ”I wish you Godspeed.”

  Keen left to see the young man over the side and Bolitho said, ”Make a signal to Tybalt, repeated to Phaedra. Captain to close the Flag and repair on board without delay.”

  Jenour wrote in his book and said, ”Immediately, Sir Richard.” He almost ran from the cabin.

  Bolitho looked at Blachford. ”I shall send Phaedra to recall the rest of the squadron. When Herrick joins me, I intend to move to the west. If there is to be a fight, then we shall share it.” He smiled and added, ”You will be more than welcome here if that happens.”

  Keen came back and asked, ”Will you send Phaedra, Sir Richard?”

  ”Yes.”

  Bolitho thought, Val’s mind matches my own. He is thinking it a pity it could not be Adam going to tell Herrick the news.

  Blachford remarked, ”But it may end in another blockade?”

  Keen shook his head. ”I think not, Sir Piers. There is too much at stake here.”

  Bolitho nodded. ”Not least, Villeneuve’s honour.”

  He walked to the stern windows and wondered how long it would take Dunstan to work his sloop-of-war back to the squadron.

  So Nelson had quit the land to rejoin his Victory? He must feel it too. Bolitho ran his palms over the worn sill of the stern windows and watched the sea rise and fall beneath the counter.

  Two old ships. He thought of the sally port where he had released his hold on Catherine that last time. Nelson would have used those same stairs. One day they would meet. It was inevitable.

  Dear Inch had met him, and Adam was on speaking terms. He smiled to himself. Our Nel.

  There were whispers at the screen door, then Keen said, Phaedra is in sight, Sir Richard.”

  ”Good. We’ll send her on her way before dusk with any luck.” Bolitho threw off his gold-laced coat and sat at the table. ”I shall write my orders, Mr Yovell. Tell your clerk to prepare copies for every captain.”

  He stared at the sun glinting across the fresh ink.

  Upon receipt of these orders you are to proceed with all despatch - Right or wrong, it was a time lor action.

  Herrick sat squarely in Hyperion’s stern cabin and grasped a tankard of ginger-beer with both hands.

  ”It feels strange.” He dropped his eyes. ”Why should that be?”

  Bolitho walked about the cabin, remembering his own feelings when the lookouts had sighted Benbow and her two consorts in the dawn light.

  He could understand Herrick’s feelings. Two men drawn together like passing ships on an ocean. Now he was here, and not even the coolness Bolitho had seen between him and Keen as the latter had greeted his arrival on board could dispel a sense of relief.

  Bolitho said, ”I have decided to head west now tha
t we are joined, Thomas.”

  Herrick looked up, but his eyes seemed drawn to the elegant wine cabinet in the corner of the cabin. He probably saw Catherine ”s hand here too.

  ”I am not certain it is wise.” He pouted, and then shrugged. ”But if we are called to support Nelson, then the closer we are to the Strait the better, I suppose.” He did not sound very certain. ”At least we can face the enemy if he comes our way in the narrows.” Bolitho listened to the tramp of feet as the afterguard manned the mizzen braces for changing tack again. Eight ships-of-the line, a frigate and a small sloop-of-war. It was no fleet, but he was as proud of them as a man could be.

  Only one was missing, the little prize frigate La Mouette which Herrick had sent further north to scout for any coastal shipping from which she might glean some information.

  Herrick said, ”If the Frogs decide not to venture out, we shall remain in ignorance of their next plan of attack. What then?” He waved Ozzard aside as he made to bring the tray and some claret.

  ”No, I would relish some more ginger-beer.”

  Bolitho turned away. Was it really that, or had Herrick become so rigid in his bias against Catherine that he would take nothing from her cabinet? He tried to dismiss the thought as unworthy, petty, but it still persisted.

  He said, ”We’ll move in separate formations, Thomas. If the weather remains our ally, we shall stand two miles or more apart. It will give our mastheads a better scan of the horizons. If the enemy is chased our way, we should have good warning of it, eh?” He made to smile. ”It is never wise to stand in the path of a charging bull!’

  Herrick said abruptly, ”When we return home, what will you do?” He moved his shoes on the deck. ”Share your life with another?”

  Bolitho braced his legs as the ship heeled slightly to an extra thrust in her canvas.

  He replied, ”I share nothing. Catherine is my life.”

  ”Dulcie said...” The blue eyes lifted and watched him stubbornly. ”She believes you will regret it.”

  Bolitho glanced at the wine cabinet, the folded fan lying on top of it.

  ”You can go with the stream, Thomas, or fight against it.”