action!' He halted and glared at Bolitho with something like shock. `Can you believe that? A King's ship, and she failed to engage!'
Bolitho bit his lip. Mutiny was always a threat. Men pressed from life ashore, a handful of troublemakers, even one stupid officer, could turn a well-drilled ship into a living hell. But it rarely occurred with other ships in company. Usually this sort of madness broke out in a ship becalmed under a relentess tropical sun, with fever and disease the main instigators. Or during a long voyage out of sight of land, when a ship seemed to shrink in size with each dragging day, as if to force the men at each others' throats.
Sir Henry Langford added sharply, `I've relieved her captain of his command, of course.'
Bolitho felt a strange warmth for this tired, irritable old man, whose flagship, a massive three-decker, was even now taking on stores. in the harbour and preparing to carry her master back to his squadron off the hostile French coast. He had said `of course'. Yet Bolitho knew that many admirals would have backed up their captains even knowing them to be both guilty and incompetent.
The admiral gave a small smile. `I am afraid your honour is double-edged! It is never easy to take over an unhappy ship, especially in time of war.' He pointed at a sealed envelope on his desk. Its seals glittered in the firelight like fresh blood.,your orders. They require you to take command forthwith and proceed to sea.' He weighed his words carefully. `You will seek out Sir Samuel Hood's squadron and place yourself under his orders.'
Bolitho felt dazed. Hood was: still in the West Indies whence he had just returned. He had a brief picture of the same thousands of miles of empty sea, in command of a strange ship, with a crew still seething in discontent.
`So you see, Bolitho, I am still a hard taskmaster!' The admiral shuddered as a squall hit the window. `I am afraid you are nearly one hundred men under strength. I had to remove many of the troublemakers, and replacements are hard to come by. Some I will have to hang, as soon as a court martial can be convened. You have barely enough men to work the ship under way, let alone in action.' He rubbed his chin, his eyes glittering. `I suggest you make sail at once and head for the West Country. I understand that the fishing fleets are mostly in port in Devon and Cornwall. The weather it seems is not to their liking.' His smile broadened. `I see no- objection to your visiting Falmouth, Bolitho. While your officers are ashore pressing some of these fishermen into the King's service, you might well find the time to call upon your father. You will give him my kind regards, I hope.'
Bolitho nodded. `Thank you, sir. I will do that.' All at once he wanted to get away. There was so much to attend to. Stores and cordage to be checked, food and provisions for the long voyage. Above all, there was the Phalarope, waiting for him, ready to judge or condemn him.
The admiral picked up the canvas envelope and weighed it in his hands. `I will not advise you, Bolitho. You are young, but have more than proved yourself. Just remember this. There are bad men and good aboard your ship. Be firm, but not too hard. Do not regard lack of knowledge as insubordination, like your predecessor.' There was a bite to his tone. `If you have difficulty in remembering all this, try and recall what you were like when you came to serve me as midshipman.' He was. no longer smiling. `You can give the ship back her rightful place by returning her pride. But if you fail, even I cannot help you.'
`I would not expect you to, sir.' Bolitho's eyes were hard grey, like the sea beyond the harbour.
`I know. That is why I held the command for you.' There was a murmur of voices beyond the door and Bolitho knew the audience was nearly over. The admiral added, `I have a nephew aboard the Phalarope, he is one of your young gentlemen. His name is Charles Farquhar, and he might yet make a good officer. But do him no favours for my sake, Bolitho.' He sighed and handed over the envelope. `The ship is ready to sail, so take advantage of this southerly wind.' He held Bolitho's hand and studied his face intently. `We may not meet again, Bolitho, for I fear my days are numbered.' He waved down the other man's protest. `I have a responsibility, and I have certain rewards for my duty. But youth I cannot have.'
Bolithod hitched up his sword and tucked his hat under his arm once more. `Then I will take my leave, sir.' There was nothing more he could say.
Almost blindly he walked through the door and past the little group of whispering officers awaiting their admiral's pleasure.
One officer stood apart, a captain of about his own age. There the similarity ended. He had pale, protruding eyes and a small, petulant mouth. He was tapping his fingers on his sword and staring at the door, and Bolitho guessed him to be the man who had been taken from the Phalarope. But he seemed unworried, merely irritated. He probably had influence at Court, or in Parliament, Bolitho thought grimly. Even so, he would need more than that to face Sir Henry.
As he crossed to the stairway the other captain met his stare. The pale eyes were empty of expression yet vaguely hostile. Then he looked away, and Bolitho reached the foot of the stairs where a marine orderly waited with his cloak.
Outside the inn the wind howled in his face and the rain dashed across his skin like ice rime. But as he walked slowly towards the Sally Port he noticed neither.
When he reached the Hard, Bolitho noticed that the highwater garland of slime and weed was all but covered by the angry, hissing wavelets, and he knew that the tide was nearing the flood. With luck he could get his new ship under way on the ebb. Nothing made a ship's company settle down to a fresh master more quickly than routine and work.
As he left the shelter of the last line of buildings he caught sight of the boat which waited to carry him away from the land. The oars were tossed, and swayed like twin lines of bare trees as the small craft rocked uneasily in the swell, and he guessed that each man in the boat was watching his slow approach. At the top of the stone ramp, his thick body framed against the cruising wavelets, was the familiar shape ai Stockdale, his personal coxswain. Aboard the Phalarope there would be one, friend at least, he thought grimly.
Stockdale had followed him from ship to ship. More like a trusting dog than a man. Bolitho often found time to wonder at the bond which had held them together, a link which was beyond explanation in words.
As a young and very junior lieutenant Bolitho had been sent ashore with a recruiting party during the uneasy peace, when he had considered himself more than fortunate to be spared the indignity of so many of his fellows, that of being beached and unwanted on half-pay. Volunteers had been few, but when about to return to his ship to face the wrath of his captain Bolitho had seen Stockdale standing miserably outside a local inn. Stripped to the waist he had made a truly imposing figure, his thickset body a mass of muscle and power. A loud-mouthed barker at his side had called to the small naval recruiting party that Stockdale was a prize-fighter of great repute, and that a golden guinea would be immediately awarded to any one of Bolitho's men who could lay him low. Bolitho had-been weary, and the thought of a cool drink at the inn while his men tried their luck overcame his normal objections to. what he thought to be a degrading spectacle.
As it happened, he had had in his party a gunner's mate who was not only a very proficient fist-fighter but a man quite used to maintaining discipline by that and any other means which came his way. He had thrown aside his jacket, and encouraged by the other sailors had gone to the attack.
Exactly what had happened next Bolitho was not quite sure. It was said that one of the sailors had managed to trip Stockdale, and that seemed likely, as Bolitho had never seen him beaten since that day, but the next instant, even as Bolitho had been reaching for his ale, there had been a scream of rage from the barker and a great bellow of laughter from the sailors.
Bolitho had found the gunner's mate pocketing his guinea while the infuriated barker had proceeded to beat Stockdale with a length of chain, interspersed 'with threats and curses.
It was then that Bolitho had discovered that Stockdale accepted loyalty like a manacle. He never flinched from the unjust beating, although he could have killed his tormentor with one blow.
Pity or disgust drove Bolitho to stop the beating, and the look of dumb gratitude on Stockdale's battered face only helped to make things worse. Watched by the grinning sailors and the flint-eyed barker he had asked Stockdale to volunteer for the King's service. The barker had raised a storm of pro= test at the thought of his living being removed for all time.
Stockdale had given a brief nod and. picked up his shirt without a word. Even now he hardly ever spoke, his vocal cords having been damaged over the years of fighting in one town after another.
Bolitho had imagined that his angry gesture had ended the matter. But it was not so. Stockdale had settled down aboard ship in a manner born. For all his strength he was gentle and patient, and only one real object seemed to alter his placid way of life. Wherever Bolitho went, so did he.
At first Bolitho decided to ignore this fact, but when at length he had his own command and required a personal coxswain, Stockdale just seemed to be there, ready. As he was now.
