Allday shouted wildly, 'The Frogs are hauling off, sir! You did for 'em!'
Men were cheering in spite of the shots which still hissed and whimpered overhead.
Bolitho's mind cringed to the noise, but the realization was stronger. It would soon be too dark to chase the enemy, even if his battered ships were able. Ropars, too, would be unable to regroup in time to give battle, and a complete escape was no doubt uppermost on his mind.
He saw Pascoe hurrying along the gangway, his face strained and somehow defenceless.
He turned and then winced with pain as something struck him hard in the left thigh. For a brief instant he imagined someone had kicked him or had struck him with a musket or pike in the excitement of the moment. Then as he stared at the great pattern of blood pumping across his leg the agony slammed into him like a white-hot iron.
Bolitho could not think clearly, and heard himself cry out as his cheek scraped on the deck planking. He felt himself falling and falling, even though his body was motionless on the gangway.
He thought he heard Herrick shouting from a long way off, and Allday calling his name. Then Pascoe was above him, looking down at his face, his fingers pushing the hair from his eyes as the final darkness closed in and offered him oblivion.
Bolitho moved his head from side to side, conscious of little else but a terrible screaming, which for a few moments he imagined was coming from his own throat. Everything was dark, yet held patches of swaying light and blurred colours.
A voice said urgently, 'He is conscious. Get ready to move him!'
A red haze faded above him, and he realized it was Major Clinton's coat. He and some of his men must have carried him below. Sweat broke like ice water across his chest. Carried below. He was on the orlop deck, and the scream was someone already under the surgeon's knife.
He heard Allday, his voice almost unrecognizable as he said, 'We must take him aft, Major.'
Another voice, demented in terror, said, 'Oh no, oh no! Please!'
Bolitho felt his head being raised slightly and realized a hand was supporting it. Water trickled through his lips while his eyes probed the semi-darkness of the orlop as he tried to swallow. Another scene from Hades. Men propped against the Benbow's massive timbers. Inert shapes, and others which rocked about in their separate agonies.
Beneath a cluster of lanterns Loveys, the surgeon, stooped over his makeshift table, his apron spattered with blood like a butcher's.
The man who had been screaming was lying spreadeagled on the table, his cries stopped by a leather strap between his clenched teeth. He was naked, and held rigid by Loveys' mates. Only his eyes moved, like marbles as he stared at the surgeon, pleaded with him.
Bolitho saw that the man's arm had been split open, smashed by an enemy ball or a large fragment of iron. The knife glittered in Loveys' hand, and for what seemed like an eternity he held the edge of the blade on the soft flesh above the wound, barely inches from the point of the shoulder. With a quick nod to his mates he cut down and round, his face like stone. Another assistant handed him his saw, and in minutes it was done, the severed limb thrown into a bucket below the gyrating lanterns.
Someone whispered, 'Thank the Lord, he's fainted, poor bugger!'
Allday was behind Bolitho's head. 'Let us carry you aft, sir. Please, this is no place for you!'
Bolitho strained his head round to look at him. He wanted to console him, to explain that he had to remain here, if only to share the pain he had brought to the men around him. But no words came, and he was shocked to see the tears running down Allday's face.
Bolitho gritted his teeth. 'Where is Captain Herrick?'
Browne was on his knees beside him. 'He is attending to the squadron, sir. He will be down again soon.'
Again? So much to do; the dead to be buried, the repairs to be carried out before a storm found them, yet Herrick had already been here to see him.
Loveys was looking down at him, his wispy hair shining in the lamplight.
'Now, sir, let me see.'
Loveys knelt down, his skull-like features showing no sign of fatigue or dismay. He had just flensed a man's arm and amputated it, and God knew how many before that. For so frail a man he seemed to have more strength than any of them.
Bolitho closed his eyes. The pain was already so bad he barely felt the probing fingers, the slicing movement of a knife through his breeches.
Loveys said, 'Musket ball, but it is somehow deflected.' He stood up slowly. `I will do what I can, sir.'
Browne whispered, 'Your nephew is coming, sir. Shall I send him away?'
'No.'
Even one word was agony. The thing he had always dreaded. This was no scar, no spent ball in the shoulder. This was deep in his thigh. His leg and foot were on fire, and he tried not to think of the man he had just seen on the table.
'Let him come to me.'
Pascoe knelt beside him, his face very still, like one of the old portraits at Falmouth.
'I'm here, Uncle.' He took Bolitho's hand in his. 'How are you?'
Bolitho looked at the deckhead. Above it, and the next above that, the guns were still.
He said thickly, 'I have been better, Adam.' He felt the grip
tighten. 'Is everything all right with the squadron?'
He saw Pascoe trying to shield him from a man who was
carrying the bloodied bucket to the companion ladder.
Pascoe nodded. 'You beat them, Unde. You showed them!' Bolitho tried to hold the pain at bay, to estimate the damage
to his body his wild gesture had cost him.
Loveys was back again.
'I will have to remove your clothes, sir.'
Allday said, 'I'll do it!' He could barely look at Bolitho as he fumbled with his shirt and slashed breeches.
Loveys watched patiently. 'Better leave the rest to my loblolly boys.' He gestured to his assistants. 'Lively there!'
It was then that Bolitho wanted to say so much. To tell Adam about his father and what had really happened to him. But hands were already lifting him up and over some motionless figures. Drugged with rum, bandaged against infection, they might yet live. He felt something like terror, claws of fear exploring his insides.
He exclaimed, 'I want you to take the house in Falmouth. Everything. There is a letter. ..'
Pascoe looked desperately at Allday. 'Oh God, I cannot bear it.'
Allday said brokenly, 'He'll be all right, won't he?'
His words shocked Pascoe into reality. He had never known
Allday show doubt, in fact he had always looked to the burly
coxswain for assurance in the past.
He gripped Allday's sleeve. 'Be certain of it.'
Bolitho lay on the table, seeing little beyond the circle of swaying lanterns.
He had always expected it to be swift when it found him. One instant in battle, the next in death. But not like this, a useless cripple to be pitied or ridiculed.
Loveys said calmly, 'I will not deceive you, sir. You are in mortal peril of losing your leg. I will do my best.'
A hand came round Bolitho's head and the man placed a pad between his teeth. It was sodden with brandy.
Loveys said, `Bite well, sir.'
Bolitho felt the terror rising like a phantom. Fear that the moment was here and now, and that he would show it in front of all the unseen watchers.
Fingers gripped his arms and legs like manacles, and he saw Loveys' right shoulder draw back and then come down suddenly, the pain exploding in his thigh like molten lead.
He tried to move his head from side to side, but Loveys' men knew their trade well. On and on, the agony spreading and probing, cutting, and hesitating whenever the ship gave an unexpected roll.
Through the haze of agony and fear he heard a voice call, ''Old on, Dick! Not long now!'
The interruption by the unknown sailor or marine gave Loveys the seconds he needed.
With a final twist of his thin wrist he gouged the flattened musket ball fro
m the blackened flesh and dropped it in a tray.
His senior assistant murmured, ''E's fainted away, sir.'
'Good.' Loveys made another, deeper probe. 'One more piece.' He watched the man swab away the blood. 'Hold him fast now.'
Herrick approached the table slowly, his men parting to let him through. It,was wrong to see Bolitho like this, naked and helpless. But in his heart he knew Bolitho would have it no other way. He had to clear his throat before he could speak.
'Is it done?'
Loveys snapped his fingers for another dressing. 'Aye, sir, for the present.' He gestured to the tray. 'The ball split one of his buttons and drove it and some fabric deep into the wound.' He met Herrick's anxious gaze. 'You and I have been in the King's service for a long time, sir. You know what can happen. Later I may regret that I did not remove the leg here and now.'
Herrick saw Bolitho stir, heard him moan quietly as a man removed the pad from his mouth.
He asked, 'Can we move him?'
Loveys signalled to his men. 'To my sick-bay. I dare not risk a longer journey.'
As they carried him into the shadows of the orlop Loveys seemed to thrust him momentarily from his mind. He pointed to a man whose head was swathed in bandages. `Get him!' Then to Herrick he added simply, `This place, these conditions, are all I have, sir. What do the Admiralty expect of me?'
Herrick walked past the man who was next on the table. To Pascoe he said, 'I'd take it as a favour if you'd stay with him.' He selected his words carefully, sensing Pascoe's sudden anxiety as he added, 'If things go badly, I need to know at once.' He looked at the young lieutenant gravely. 'And be will want to know you are dose by.'
He turned on his heel and beckoned to Browne. `Come. We'll walk through the gundecks and speak with our people. They did well today, bless 'em.'
Browne followed him towards the companion ladder, to the cleansing air of the upper deck.
Under his breath he said, `And so did you, Captain Herrick, and I know what it is costing you at this very moment.'
When Herrick eventually returned to the quarterdeck the work was still under way. Aloft and below men were splicing and cutting wood for repairs under Wolfe's watchful eye.
Speke, who had taken over the watch, touched his hat and said, 'Indomitable has rigged a jury-mast for her mizzen, sir, and the squadron is under command.'
It was strange, Herrick thought, he had not even considered his sudden authority of overall responsibility. Nor did it seem to matter now. He clenched his jaw as a man cried out pitifully from the lower gundeck. Then he took a telescope and levelled it on the other ships. The line was uneven, and the sails were more holes than canvas. But Herrick knew that given time ships could be put to rights, their hurts repaired. He thought of the terrible scene on the orlop. With people it was not so simple.
Herrick turned towards Browne. It would soon be too dark to pass or exchange signals. He had already ordered that the squadron should, steer south-east in the best formation they could manage.
'I will require a list of all casualties and damage, Mr Browne. Mr Speke will assist you. At daylight you will signal the squadron and request the same from each ship in turn.' He swallowed hard and turned his face away. `Our admiral is bound to ask me that first when he is up and about again.'
Speke was an unimaginative man. 'Will he recover, sir?'
Herrick swung on him, his eyes blazing. `What are you saying, man! Just you attend your damn duties!'
As the two lieutenants hurried away, Major Clinton came out of the gloom and said, `Be easy, sir. I'm sure he meant no harm.'
Herrick nodded. 'I expect you're right.' Then he moved to the weather side and began to pace up and down.'
Old Grubb blew his nose noisily and plodded over to the marine. 'Leave 'im, Major. With all respect, leave 'im be. This'll be a black day for the cap'n, be certain of that, an for many more beside.'
Clinton smiled sadly and then climbed up to the poop deck where some of his men had fallen that afternoon.
He had heard many stories about Bolitho and Herrick, that they had obviously been true was even more surprising, he thought.
9
Waiting
Captain Thomas Herrick leaned moodily on his elbow and leafed through the purser's daily report. His mind and body ached from worry and work, and neither was helped by the Benbow's uncomfortable motion. She would roll steeply into a trough, the movement ending each time with a long-drawn-out shudder which ran through every deck and timber.
She was, like the other ships of the line, anchored under the protection of Skaw Point. After the slow crawl from the position on the chart where they had fought Ropars' squadron, and another day at anchor, they were still working. Mending or replacing sails, paying seams, hammering and sawing, splicing and blacking-down rigging. It was just as if they were in the security of a dockyard instead of being out here in the bleak North Sea.
There was a tap at the door, and Herrick steeled himself for the moment he had been dreading.
'Enter!'
Loveys, the surgeon, closed the door behind him and took a proffered chair. He appeared exactly as before, deathly white, and yet tireless.
Loveys said, 'You look worn out, Captain.'
Herrick thrust all the affairs of the squadron and his ship aside like dead leaves. Even though he had been forced to attend to his daily work without respite, he had not once forgotten his friend in the stern cabin.
Men to be promoted to fill the gaps of dead or crippled comrades. Midshipman Aggett appointed as acting lieutenant in place of young Courtenay. With his lower jaw shot away and his mind completely unhinged, it was a miracle Courtenay had survived this long. The watch and quarter bills had had to be rearranged to share out the experienced hands. The purser had been complaining about rations, about. the total loss of some salt beef casks which had been shattered by a stray cannon-ball. The grim business of sea burials, of answering questions and maintaining contact with the other captains, all had taken a brutal toll of his resources.
'Never'mind that.' He calmed his tone with an effort. `How is he today?'
Loveys looked at his strong fingers.. `The wound is very inflamed, sir. I have repeatedly changed the dressings, and am now using a dry stupe on it.' He shook his head. 'I'm not certain, sir. I cannot smell gangrene as yet, but the wound is a bad one.' Loveys made a gesture like scissors with his fingers. 'The enemy ball was flattened on impact with flesh acid bone, but that is normal enough. The button was split like a claw and, I fear there may be fragments left in the wound, even pieces of cloth which could encourage rotting.'
'Is he bearing up well?'
Loveys gave a rare smile. 'You will know that better than I, sir.' The smile vanished. 'He needs proper care ashore. Each jerk of his cot is agony, each movement could be the one to start gangrene. I give him an opiate at night but I cannot weaken him further.' He looked Herrick in the eyes. 'I may have to probe again, or worse, take off the leg. That can kill even the strongest, or a man given power by the lust for battle.'
Herrick nodded. 'Thank you.' It was as he had expected, although he had searched for hope, for his 'Lady Luck'.
Loveys made to leave. 'I suggest you send Mr Pascoe to his normal duties, sir.' He silenced Herrick's unspoken protest by adding, 'Our admiral might die, but young Mr Pascoe will have to fight again. He is wearing down his very soul by staying aft with him.'
'Very well. Ask Mr Wolfe to attend to it for me.'
Alone once more, Herrick tried to decide what he should do. With Styx away from the squadron he could not spare Relentless to carry Bolitho to England. Relentless had amazed everyone. By harrying the heavy transport, which Captain Peel had confirmed to be packed with French soldiers, she had drawn off Ropars' frigates from the real fight. That, plus Benbow's unexpected challenge, had turned the tables. In spite of all that, Relentless had been barely marked.
Herrick had thought of detaching Lookout from the squadron. After Loveys' discouraging report there
seemed no alternative.
He would get no thanks from Bolitho. He had always put duty before personal involvement, no matter what hurt it had caused him. But in this case ...
Herrick started as someone tapped at the door and Lyb, who had taken over from Aggett as senior midshipman, peered in at him.
`Mr Byrd's respects, sir, and Lookout has just reported a sail to the west'rd.'
Herrick stood up, uncertain and reluctant. 'Tell the fourth lieutenant I will be on deck shortly, and inform the squadron. Is Relentless in sight?'
Lyb frowned at the unexpected question. He was a pleasantlooking youth of sixteen with hair the same colour as Wolfe's. He must have had to take some cruel comments on that, Herrick thought.
'Aye, sir. She is still to the nor'-west of us.'
'My compliments to Mr Byrd. Tell him to repeat the signal to Relentless. Just in case.'
Lyb stared. 'In case, sir?'
'Dammit, Mr Lyb, do I have to repeat every word?'
He gripped the chairback and steadied himself. Just in case.
It had been unthinkable to voice his caution aloud. It gave some
hint of the strain which held him like a vice. He called, 'Mr Lyb ! '
The youth came back, trying not to look frightened. 'Sir?'
'I had no cause to abuse you just then. Now please carry my message to the fourth lieutenant.'
Lyb backed away, mystified. At the sudden outburst, which was quite unlike the captain, but more so at the apology, which was unlike any captain.
Herrick picked up his hat and made his way aft. Every day he had tried to act out his part, to pretend for Bolitho's sake that all was as before. Even when he had found Bolitho drowsing, or barely aware of what was happening, he had made his report, his comments about the ship and the weather. It was his own way of offering something which might break through the barrier of anguish, might also help to remind Bolitho of the world they shared.
He found Allday sitting in a chair and Ozzard collecting some soiled dressings from the sleeping cabin.
He waved Allday down as he made to rise. 'Easy, man. These are bad times for us all. How does he seem?'
The Inshore Squadron Page 13
