Band of Brothers

him apart from the crowded world around him.

He waited for the two midshipmen to seat themselves on a bench half-covered by documents neatly tied with blue ribbon. It looked chaotic, but Bolitho had the feeling that Colchester would know immediately if a single item was misplaced.

He regarded them with an expression that might have been patience or boredom.

‘The Board today consists of three captains, unlike the more usual practice of one captain and two junior officers.’ He cleared his throat, the sound like a gunshot in the paper-filled cabin.

Three captains. Dancer had told him what to expect, to warn him, this very morning, while they had been trying to dress and prepare themselves mentally in the noise and upheaval of the midshipmen’s berth. It had seemed worse than usual, and the mess space was further reduced by stores and bedding from the sick quarters nearby.

How had Dancer known about the Board’s members?

He did not seem troubled by it, but that was Dancer. His way, his shield. No wonder he had won a kind of respect even from some of the hard men in Gorgon’s company.

And from Bolitho’s sister Nancy, in the short time Dancer had stayed at the house in Falmouth. She was only sixteen, and it was hard for Bolitho to accept her as a woman. She was more used to the youngsters around Falmouth, farmers’ sons, and the callow young men who made up the bulk of the officers at the garrisons in Pendennis and Truro. But it had not been merely his imagination. She and Dancer had seemed to belong together.

Three captains. There was no point in wondering why. A sudden sense of urgency? Unlikely. There were far too many officers in a state of stalemate, with no prospect of promotion. Only war increased demand, and cleared the way on the Navy List.

Or perhaps it was the admiral’s idea…

He looked over at Dancer, who appeared serenely oblivious.

Colchester said, ‘You will wait here until you are called.’ He got slowly to his feet, his lank hair brushing the deckhead beams. ‘Be patient, gentlemen. Always fire on the uproll…’

Dancer watched him leave, and said, ‘If I get through today, Dick, I shall always owe it to you!’

Not so confident, then. Bolitho looked away, the words lingering in his mind. He had thought it was the other way around.

2

Not A Contest

Waiting was the worst part, more than either of them would admit. And here they were shut off from life, while the great ship throbbed and murmured above and around them. The clerk’s cabin consisted merely of the screens which separated it from the marines’ quarters and stores, and was devoid of ports; the only light came from vents above the door and two small lanterns. How Colchester coped with his letters and files was a mystery.

It was now afternoon, and apart from a brief visit by a young midshipman who had hovered half in and half outside the screen door as a seaman had delivered a plate of biscuits and a jug of wine, they had seen nobody. The midshipman, whom Bolitho thought was about twelve years old, seemed almost too frightened to speak, as if he had been ordered not to confide in or converse with anyone waiting to face the Board.

So young. I must have been like that in Manxman. It had been his first ship.

Even now, Poseidon was evoking those memories. Constant movement, like a small town. The click of heels, the thud of bare feet, and the heavier stamp of boots. He cocked his head. The marines must have abandoned their ‘barracks’ to carry out drills on the upper deck, or some special ceremony. This was the flagship, after all.

Dancer was on his feet again, his face almost pressed against the door.

‘I’m beginning to think my father was right, Dick. That I should have followed his advice and stayed on dry land!’

They listened to the rumble of gun trucks, one of the upper deck twelve-pounders being moved. To train a new crew, or for care and maintenance. At least they were doing something.

Dancer sighed and sat down again. ‘I was just thinking about your sister.’ He ran his fingers through his fair hair, a habit Bolitho had come to know and recognise. He was coming to a decision. ‘It was such a pleasure to meet her. Nancy… I could have talked with her for ages. I was wondering…’

They both turned as the door clicked open. Another seaman this time, but the same midshipman hovering at a distance, the white patches on his uniform very clean and bright in the filtered sunlight from a grating above his head.

‘Just come for this gear, sir.’ The seaman gathered up the plates and the wine jug, which was empty, although neither of them could recall drinking the contents.

He half turned as the midshipman outside the door answered someone who was passing. Friends, or a matter of duty, it was not clear. But it was like a signal.

He looked quickly at Dancer, then leaned over toward Bolitho.

‘I served with Cap’n James Bolitho, sir. In the old Dunbar, it was.’ He darted another glance at the door, but the voices were continuing as before. He added quietly, ‘’E were good to me. I said I’d never forget…’

Bolitho waited, afraid to interrupt. This man had served under his father. The Dunbar had been James Bolitho’s first command. Well before his own time, but as familiar to him as the family portraits. The seaman was not going to ask any favours. He wanted to repay one. And he was afraid, even now.

‘My father, yes.’ He knew Dancer was listening, but keeping his distance, possibly with disapproval.

‘Cap’n Greville.’ He leaned closer, and Bolitho could smell the heavy rum. ‘’E commands the Odin.’ He reached out as if to touch his arm, but withdrew just as quickly, perhaps regretting what he had begun.

The young midshipman was calling, ‘Tomorrow at noon, John. I’ll not forget!’

Bolitho said quietly, ‘Tell me. You can rest easy.’

The ship named Odin was a seventy-four like Gorgon, and in the same squadron, and that was all he knew, except that it was important to this seaman who had once served his father.

The plates and the jug clashed together and the man blurted out, ‘Greville’s bad, right the way through.’ He nodded to emphasise it. ‘Right through!’

The door swung slightly and the young voice rapped, ‘Come along, Webber, don’t take all day!’

The door closed and they were alone again. He might have been a ghost.

Bolitho spread his hands. ‘Maybe I was wrong to let him speak like that. Because he knew my father, I suppose. But the rest…’

Dancer made a cautioning gesture.

‘It cost him something to come here. He was afraid. More than afraid.’ He seemed to be listening. ‘One thing I do know. Captain Greville is on the Board, here and now.’ He regarded Bolitho steadily, his eyes very blue, like the sky which had begun the day. ‘So be warned, my friend.’

The door swung open.

‘Follow me, if you please.’

Bolitho walked out of the cabin, trying to remember exactly what the unknown seaman had said.

But he kept hearing his father’s voice instead, seeing him. It was the closest they had been for a long, long time.

The young midshipman trotted briskly ahead of them, as if he were afraid they might try to break the silence he had maintained. Perhaps it was policy in the flagship to keep candidates from any contact that might prepare or warn them against what lay in store. It was certainly true that they had seen no other ‘young gentlemen’ here for the same rendezvous.