on the lookout to remove the cause in the first place.'
He held his breath as the other vessel's topmasts flitted above the heaving water, as if the rest of her were totally submerged. She had a red square stitched against the throat of her mainsail. A makeshift patch, he wondered, or some special form of recognition? He shivered, feeling the rain trickling over his collar, plastering his hair to his forehead. It was uncanny to see the disembodied masts, to know nothing of the vessel and crew.
He turned to speak with Stockdale, but he had vanished as silently as he had appeared.
Dalyell lurched up the sloping deck and said hoarsely, 'It looks as if you'll be staying with us, Dick.' He'grinned unfeelingly. 'I'm not sorry. I've no wish to do George Probyn's work when he's in his cups!'
Bolitho grimaced. 'I'm coming round to everyone else's view, Simon. I'll go below now.' He looked up at the flapping masthead pendant. 'It seems I shall have the afternoon watch after all.'
But it appeared that the captain had other ideas and still retained some powerful faith in his sailing master. Bolitho was relieved from his watchkeeping duties, and spent most of Lie time compiling a letter to his father. He merely added to the same long letter whenever he found the opportunity, and ended it just as abruptly whenever they spoke with a homebound packet. It would be a link with his father. The reverse would also be true as Bolitho described daily events, the sighting of ships and islands, the life which was no more for Captain James.
He sat on his sea chest, squinting his eyes as he tried to think of something new to put in his letter.
A chill seemed to run up his spine. As if a ghost had suddenly entered his tiny cabin. He looked up, startled, and saw the deckhead lantern flickering as before. But was it? He stared, and then peered round at the small hanging space where his other clothing had been swaying and creaking just moments earlier.
Bolitho stood up, but remembered to duck his head as he rushed out and aft into the wardroom. The stern windows were dull grey, streaked with spindrift and caked salt.
He pressed his face against them and exclaimed. 'My God The Sage was right!'
He hurried up to the quarterdeck, instantly aware of the motionless figures all around him, their eyes peering across the quarter or up at the sails which were lifting and then drooping, shaking against the pressures of rigging and spars.
Cairns had the watch, and looked at him gravely. 'The fog, Dick.' He pointed across the nettings. 'It is coming now.'
Bolitho watched the slow progress, the way it seemed to smooth the turbulence from the waves and flatten the crests as it approached.
'Deck there! Oi've lost sight o' th' schooner, zur!'
Pears' voice cut across the speculation and gossip. 'Bring her up two points, Mr Cairns!' He watched the sudden bustle, the shrill calls between decks.
'Man the braces there!'
Pears said to the deck at large, 'We'll gain a cable or so.'
He looked up as the wheel squeaked and the yards began to swing in response to the braces. With her great spread of canvas still holding the dying wind, Trojan heeled obediently and pointed her jib boom further to windward. Flapping canvas, chattering blocks and the yells of petty officers did not cover his voice as he said to the tall sailing master, 'That was well done, Mr Bunce.'
Bunce dragged his gaze from the helmsmen and the swaying compass card. In the dull light his eyes and brows stood out from all else.
He replied humbly, 'It is His will, sir.'
Pears turned away as if to hide a smile. He barked, 'Mr Sparke, lay aft. Mr Bolitho, attend the cutters and have them swayed out presently.'
Steel clashed between decks, and more men swarmed up to the boat tier, their arms filled with cutlasses, pikes and muskets.
Bolitho was on the gundeck, watching the second cutter's black painted hull rising on its tackles. Then he turned to look aft and saw that the upper poop and the taffrail were already misty and without substance.
He said, 'Lively, lads, or we'll not find our way over the bulwark!' It brought a few laughs.
Pears heard them and said soberly to Sparke, 'Tend well what the master tells you about the set of the current hereabouts. It will save a mile of unnecessary boat pulling, and not see you arriving on your prize with no breath to lift a blade.' He watched Sparke's eyes as they took it all in. 'And take care. If you cannot board, then stand off and wait for the fog to clear. Well not drift that much apart.'
He cupped his hands. 'Shorten sail, Mr Cairns! Bring her about and lie to!'
More shouted commands, and moments later as the courses and topsails were brailed up to the yards the two boats detached themselves from the shadowy gundeck and swung up and over the gangway.
Bolitho came aft and touched his hat. 'The people are mustered and armed, sir.'
Sparke handed him a scribbled note. 'Estimated course to steer. Mr Bunce has allowed for the schooner's drift and the strength of the current.' He looked at the captain. 'I'll be away, sir.'
Pears said, 'Carry on, Mr Sparke.' He was going to add good luck, but set against Sparke's severe features it- seemed superfluous.
He did say to Bolitho, however, 'Do not get lost, sir. I'll not
hunt around Massachusetts Bay for a year?'
Bolitho smiled. 'I will do my best, sir.'
As he ran down to the entry port, Pears said to Cairns,
'Young rascal.'
But Cairns was watching the pitching boats alongside, already filled with men and waiting for Sparke and Bolitho to take them clear of their ship. His heart was with them. It did him no good to realize that the captain's decision had probably been the right one.
Pears watched the black hulls turning end on, the confused
splash and thud of oars suddenly picking up the stroke and
taking them deeper into the wet, enveloping mist.
'Double the watch on deck, Mr Cairns. Have swivels loaded
and set to withstand any boarding attempt on ourselves.' 'What will you do now, sir?'
Pears looked up at his ship's strength. Each sail was either furled or motionless, and Trojan herself was paying off to the current, rolling deeply on a steady swell.
'Do?' He yawned. 'I am going to eat.'
Bolitho stood up in the sternsheets and gripped Stockdale's shoulder while he found his balance. Through the man's checkered shirt his muscles felt like warm timber.
The mist swirled into the boat, clinging to their arms and face, making their hair glisten as if with frost.
Bolitho listened to the steady, unhurried pull of the oars. No sense in urgency. Save the strength for later.
He said, 'Hold her nor'-west, Stockdale, I am assured that is the best course to take.'
He thought of Bunce's wild eyes. Could there be any other course indeed!
Then, leaving Stockdale at the tiller, crouching over the boat's compass, Bolitho groped his way slowly towards the bows, climbing over thwarts and grunting seamen, treading on weapons and the feet of the extra passengers.
The twenty-eight-foot cutter had a crew of eight and a coxswain in normal times. Now she held them and an additional party which in total amounted to eighteen officers and men.
He found Balleine, the boatswain's mate, crouching above the stem like a figurehead, peering into the wet mist, a hand cupped around his ear to pick up the slightest sound which might be a ship, or another boat.
Bolitho said quietly, 'I cannot see the second lieutenant's cutter, so we must assume. we are dependent on our own resources.'
'Aye, sir.' The reply was blunt.
Bolitho thought Balleine might be brooding over the flogging, or merely resentful in being given a look-out's job while Stockdale took the tiller.
Bolitho said, 'I am depending on your experience today.' He saw the man nod and knew he had found the right spot. 'I fear we are somewhat short of it otherwise.'
The boatswain's mate grinned. 'Mr Quinn and Mr Couzens, sir. I'll see 'em fair.'
'I knew it.'
He touched the man's arm and began to make his way aft again. He picked out individual faces and shapes.
