Allday saw nothing unusual in being asked the question by a captain. Herrick was different. A true friend.
Allday spread his big hands. 'He's so weak, sir. I gave him some soup but he couldn't keep it down. I've tried brandy, an' I asked Ozzard to read to him, him being an educated man, so to speak.'
Herrick nodded, touched by Allday's simplicity.
'I'll make my report.'
He entered the small sleeping compartment and walked hesitantly to the swinging cot. It was always the same. The horrifying dread of gangrene, of what it could do to a man.
He said, 'Good morning, sir. Lookout has just sighted a sail to the west'rd. Likely a Dane, or some other lucky neutral. I have ordered Relentless to be ready to run down and intercept.'
Herrick watched Bolitho's strained face. He was sweating badly and the lock of black hair which usually hid the terrible scar on his temple was plastered aside. Herrick looked at the scar. That must also have been a close thing. But Bolitho had been a youthful lieutenant when it had happened, younger than Pascoe or even the wretched Lieutenant Courtenay.
With a start he realized that Bolitho had opened his eyes. They were like the only things alive in the man.
'A sail, you say?'
Very carefully Herrick answered, 'Aye. Probably nothing important.'
'Must get word to the admiral, Thomas.' The words were hurting him to utter. 'Tell him about Ropars and the big transport. As soon as we sight a scouting frigate from the fleet you must...'
Herrick bent over the cot, feeling his friend's despair, his suffering.
'I will attend to all that. Have no fear.'
Bolitho tried to smile at him. 'I am in hell, Thomas. At times
I am afire. Sometimes I can feel nothing at all.'
Herrick wiped Bolitho's face and neck with a flannel. 'Rest
now.'
Bolitho gripped his wrist. 'Rest? D'you see yourself? You look worse than I do!' He coughed, and then groaned as the movement awakened the pain.
Then he asked; 'How is the ship? How many did we lose?'
Herrick said, 'Thirty killed, sir, and about four to follow them, I fear. Throughout the squadron we have lost a hundred dead and seriously wounded.'
'Too many, Thomas.' He was speaking very quietly. 'Where is Adam?'
'I put him to work, sir. He has a lot on his mind.' Herrick was amazed that Bolitho could manage a smile. 'Trust you to think of that.'
'Actually, it was the surgeon.'
'That man.' Bolitho tried to move his arm. 'He is like the Reaper. Waiting.'
`A better surgeon than some, sir.' Herrick stood up. 'I must go and attend to this newcomer. I shall return soon.'
Impetuously he reached down and touched Bolitho's shoulder. But he had drowsed off into semi-consciousness again. Very gently Herrick pulled down the blanket and after some hesitation laid his hand on Loveys' carefully prepared stupe. He withdrew it swiftly and left the cabin. Even through the dressing Bolitho's thigh had felt like fire. As if his body was being consumed from within.
Allday saw his face. 'Shall I go to him, sir?'
'Let him sleep.' Herrick studied him sadly. 'He spoke to me quite well, but ...' He did not finish and went straight out to the quarterdeck.
In the dull light of the forenoon he saw that most of the lieutenants who were discussing the strange sail were careful to avoid his eye as he appeared.
He heard Wolfe saying, 'I understand how you must feel, Mr Pascoe. But duty is duty, an' I'm short-handed enough without you staying away from your division.'
Wolfe-'touched his hat to Herrick and said, 'All done, sir. It's better from me. He can loathe my guts as much as he wants, provided he does his work.'
Midshipman Lyb called, 'Lookout's signalling, sir. The other vessel is . . .' He craned. over a fellow midshipman's arm to study the list of numbers. 'She's Marguerite, brig, sir.'
Wolfe released a great sigh. 'News, mebbee?'
Then he glared at Lyb and roared, 'Pork and molasses, sir! Acknowledge Lookout's signal, i f you please!'
Herrick turned away. It was better to be like Wolfe. Uninvolved, and therefore unreachable. Even as he thought -it he knew it was a lie.
The ship's company went to their midday meal, and by the time they had turned to for work again the lively little brig Marguerite was already standing into the wind while she lowered a boat alongside.
Herrick said heavily, 'Man the side, Mr Wolfe. The brig's commanding officer is coming across, it seems.'
Further aft in his cot, Bolitho strained his body on to one side as he listened to the familiar sounds from the quarterdeck. Preparing to receive the other vessel's captain. Allday had told him the brig's name, and Bolitho had sent him on deck to discover what was happening.
The pain seemed to pounce on his thigh like a savage beast. Sweating and sobbing, Bolitho pulled himself further and further up the side of the cot. In his reeling mind it was suddenly vital that he should see the water again, the other ships, and cling on to what he saw like a life-line.
It was like that day on the gangway. One second standing there, the next feeling his face grinding against the planking, with no memory in-between.
Outside the screen door the startled marine sentry yelled, 'Sir! Sir!'
Allday came running, thrusting the sentry aside as he rushed into the cabin and then stared aghast at Bolitho's sprawled figure on the deck.
The black and white chequered canvas beneath him was stained with discoloured blood, and it was spreading even as Allday shouted, 'Fetch the surgeon!'
He gathered Bolitho in his arms and held him firmly.
When Herrick and Loveys entered, followed by the brig's astonished commander, neither Allday nor Bolitho had moved.
Loveys knelt on the deck and said tersely, `It's broken the wound.' He looked at Herrick. 'Please send someone for my instruments.' He was thinking aloud.
Herrick stared at him as Ozzard ran to fetch Loveys' assistants. `Not his leg?'
When the surgeon remained silent he said, 'You'll not take off his leg?'
Allday exclaimed brokenly. ''Twas my fault. He sent me away. I should have known!'
Loveys eyed him sharply. 'Known what?'
Allday jerked his head towards the stern windows. 'He
wanted to get to the sea. It's his life, don't you understand?' Men were crowding into the cabin, with orders being passed
as rapidly as any musketry drill.'
Loveys cut away the dressing, and the lieutenant who commanded the brig recoiled saying, 'My God, he must have been in agony!'
Loveys shot him a chilling glance. 'Be off with you, sir, if you've nothing but' slops to offer!'
In a gentler tone Loveys said to Allday, 'Go, too. Trust me.' Allday reluctantly released hold of Bolitho's limp body as
the surgeon's men grouped around him like ghouls.
In the adjoining cabin Herrick said quietly, 'Now, what do you have to tell me, Lieutenant?'
Still wilting from the surgeon's anger, the lieutenant answered, I brought a despatch for your flag officer, sir. The French squadron did not go to Ireland. It is almost certain it may try to enter the Baltic. Commodore Rice of the Downs Squadron is coming to give you support.'
Herrick tried not to listen to the movements beyond the closed door.
Then he answered simply, `We met with Vice-Admiral Ropars three days ago. That man you just saw, who may well die before another hour is out, dispersed the enemy and destroyed one of his seventy-fours.' In the silent cabin his words were like pistol shots.
The lieutenant said shakily, 'That was bravely done, sir. Do you have orders for me?'
Herrick looked at the door. 'Presently.'
Lieutenant the Honourable Oliver Browne watched Herrick's stocky shadow sweeping back and forth beyond the cabin lanterns.
The ship's motion had got a good deal worse during the day, and Browne could not even imagine the surgeon's difficulties in such conditions. Now, it was early dark, and i
t was obvious that Herrick was driving himself to a complete collapse unless he rested from his work. Browne knew why Herrick was keeping himself busy when others could have done some of the tasks needing attention, but he did not know how.
The masthead lookouts had reported a signal from Relentless as she prowled along her patrol line to the north-west of the anchored ships. Commodore Rice's Downs Squadron had been sighted, but even as the signal had been read and repeated to the other captains, dusk, aided by a fast-moving rain-squall, had blotted out everything from view.
Herrick said, 'I shall inform Commodore Rice of our situation. We can fight, but some hull damage needs more careful attention. I will ask permission to leave the area and return to port.'
Browne nodded. The Benbow had certainly taken the worst of the battering, with more than a third of the squadron's total casualties. Two more men had been buried that day, surprisingly, neither had been expected to die at all.
Herrick threw his papers on the table and said desperately, `What is that damned butcher doing?'
`His best, sir.' It sounded so trite, so far short of what he had meant that Browne expected Herrick to fly at him.
Instead Herrick said, `I have never cared more for any man, d'you know that? We have seen action together from here to the Great South Sea. I could tell you things which would make you shake with fear and with pride.'
Herrick was looking at Browne as he spoke but his blue eyes were far-away, reliving moments which Browne knew full well he could never share.
Herrick said, `Storms, raging gales which threatened to tear the sticks out of the ship, but we saw them through, we managed, d'you understand me?'
'I - I think so, sir.'
'I was the one who had to take him the message about his young wife. They said it came better from me, but how can terrible news like that ever be better?'
Herrick sat on the edge of the cabin table and leaned towards the lieutenant as if to emphasize his words.
'Down on the orlop, one of our people shouted out to him and called him Dick.' He gave a sad smile. 'In his frigate Phalarope they used to call him that. Equality Dick. He cares, you see.'
Herrick stared past Browne's head as the cabin door swung
open, the other shipboard noises intruding like strangers. Allday stood there, filling the entrance, his face like stone. Herrick leapt to his feet. 'What is it, man?'
Browne strode across the cabin and gripped Allday's arm.
'For God's sake!'
Allday said in a small voice, 'I would relish a glass of something strong, sir.' He made a great effort. 'The surgeon says he'll live, sir.'
He sounded stunned, as if he was only half aware of what was happening to him. The three of them stood together, swaying in time with Benbow's deep roll, each wanting to speak but only Allday with the words.
Then Herrick said, 'Go on.'
He backed across the cabin as if by taking his eyes off Allday he would destroy everything. He groped for a bottle and some glasses.
Allday took the brandy and swallowed it without apparently noticing.
Herrick said gently, 'I thought the surgeon told you to leave?'
'You know better than that, sir.' Allday held out the glass to be refilled. 'Hours they were. All that blood. Even old Loveys ...' He shook himself. 'Meaning no disrespect, sir, but ' he was taken aback by it.'
Herrick listened, fascinated, reliving it through Allday's hesitant words.
Allday continued, 'The surgeon said that if he hadn't fallen from the cot he would have lost the leg. The wound burst, and Mr Loveys found another splinter of metal and some more cloth with his forceps.'
Herrick sat down heavily. 'Thank God.' He had thought until now that Bolitho had lived but had lost his leg.
Allday looked round the cabin, his face still stricken. 'I - I'm sorry, sir, I shouldn't have burst in here without so much as a by-your-leave.'
Herrick handed him the bottle. 'Go to your quarters and drink what is left. I think you've done enough.'
Allday nodded slowly and walked towards the door. Then he turned and murmured, 'He opened his eyes, sir.' Allday rubbed his chin to confirm it. 'And d'you know the first thing he said to me?'
Herrick did not speak, unable to watch the tears on Allday's stubbled cheeks.
' "You've not shaved, you ruffian!" That's what he said, sir!'
Browne closed the door quietly. Allday had left it swinging to the ship's motion. He was in a world all of his own.
Browne sat down and looked at the deck. 'Now I understand, sir.'
When Herrick said nothing he realized the captain had fallen asleep in his chair.
Very carefully Browne left the cabin and made his way to the companion ladder. He almost collided with the surgeon who was holding to the ladder while he waited for the ship to sway upright again. Browne noticed that Loveys' hands were like red gloves.
He said, `Come to the wardroom and I will open a bottle, you more than deserve it.'
Loveys regarded him suspiciously. 'I'm not a wizard, you know. Rear-Admiral Bolitho may have a relapse, and at best he will probably endure pain and a limp for the rest of his life.' He smiled unexpectedly, and for once the strain showed itself to its full extent. 'Mind you, Mr Browne, I'm quite pleased myself.'
Herrick left his chair and groped his way from the cabin. His exhaustion had been a useful excuse. Had he continued to speak with Browne he knew that he, like Allday, would have been unable to hide his emotion.
He stepped on to the quarterdeck, his eyes distinguishing the darker shapes in the gloom, the guns, the nettings finely etched against the evening sky.
The master's mate of the watch was by the poop ladder, while one of the midshipmen was writing something on his slate as he held it against the compass light.
All around the ship groaned and clattered as she swung heavily to her cable, her decks shining with rain, the sea air like ice.
Herrick saw the officer of the watch on the far side of the deck and called, 'Mr Pascoe!'
Pascoe hurried towards him, his shoes making little sound
on the wet planking.
He hesitated, his eyes trying to pierce the darkness as he said,
'You want me, sir?'
'It's over, Adam. He's going to live, and with two legs.' He turned away, adding, 'I shall be in my cabin if needed.' 'Aye, aye, sir!'
Pascoe waited until he had disappeared and then clapped his hands together.
The midshipman gasped, 'Sir? Is something wrong?'
Pascoe had to share it, to tell somebody. 'Not any more! - I've never felt better!'
He strode away, leaving the midshipman as mystified as before. He cared about the admiral, of course, but in a midshipman's life there were so many things to worry about. These calculations, for instance. Old Grubb, the master, wanted them before morning. He would take no excuses from anyone.
The slate shook as the youth relived that terrible and splendid moment. The rear-admiral waving his hat and defying the enemy's blazing guns. Men cheering and dying.
And he, Mr Midshipman Edward Graham of the County of Hampshire, had survived.
Unknown to the thirteen-year-old midshipman, Richard Bolitho was thinking very much the same.
10
The Fantasy
After one of the stormiest passages Bolitho could recall, Benbow had at last dropped anchor at Spithead. They had been away for nearly three months, a short time to any experienced sea officer, but Bolitho had not expected to see Spithead again, or anywhere else for that matter.
The tossing waves with curling crests of dirty yellow were almost beautiful, and the clinging damp air of the cabin no longer seemed irksome.
Bolitho stood back carefully from the stern windows, taking the strain on his wounded leg, trying not to cry aloud as the pain lanced upwards. Each day, supported by Allday or Ozzard, and on the stormiest days by both, he had forced himself to take a few steps.
Pride, anger - he was still not certain which
- had made him start on the road to recovery. He suspected that Commodore Rice of the Downs Squadron had quite unsuspectingly had a lot to do with it.
Herrick had requested that Rice should take over the charge of the combined squadrons while he sailed Benbow to a dockyard for proper inspection and repair.
Rice had almost snubbed Herrick, probably eager to get back to his own, less arduous station, and he likely imagined Bolitho already dying and Herrick too junior for his consideration. Whatever it had been, Bolitho had called for Yovell and had dictated a curt despatch for the commodore. Rice would remain in temporary command of the combined squadron until otherwise instructed. If Ropars or other enemy ships attempted to enter the Baltic they would have to face a much larger force and at far greater risk.
Herrick tapped on the door and entered. 'We are anchored, sir.' He watched Bolitho doubtfully and added, 'You should rest.'
`Would you have me dropped in the boat by bosun's chair, Thomas? Like that surgeon we once had, or some piece of unwanted cargo?' He winced as the deck tilted steeply. 'But I will take care.'
Herrick smiled. 'Aye, sir. As soon as the tide turns I intend to enter Portsmouth Dockyard. I have sent word to the port admiral to that effect.' He added gravely, 'The sixth lieutenant has just died. So near to home.'
Bolitho nodded. It was kinder this way. A young officer with half of his face blown away and his mind equally crippled would be an embarrassment ashore. Now, his memory would be cherished by his family.
He said, 'A lot of good men, Thomas. I hope they did not die in vain.'
Herrick smiled. 'Put it behind you, sir. We've had to do that often enough.'
'And what will you do?'
'Once docked, I will send the midshipmen and some of the married men to their homes.'
Bolitho understood. By married men Herrick meant lieutenants and warrant officers. Seamen, no matter how loyal, might soon desert when they found the comfort of their homes again.
Herrick was saying, 'I will remain with the ship, of course. Please God, my wife will join me here.'
Bolitho sat down with great care. 'The best of both worlds, Thomas, and rightly so.'
'That is true. I am lucky.' He sounded almost unhappy at the thought. 'Will you be going to the Admiralty, sir?'
The Inshore Squadron Page 14
