There was a nervous tap at the door, and before Bolitho
could speak it swung open to reveal a narrow-shouldered man
in a plain blue coat who was carrying a silver tray. Bolitho glared at him. 'Well?'
The man swallowed hard…'Gimlett, sir. I'm yer servant, sir.' He had a piping voice, and with each syllable displayed a set of large, protruding teeth, like a frightened rabbit's.
Bolitho saw the man's eyes swivel towards a small side table upon which was laid his lunch untouched and, unknown to the wretched Gimlett, unseen till this moment.
Bolitho's anger at being disturbed softened slightly. The fear on the man's face was. quite genuine. It had, been known for an irate captain to have his servant flogged for merely spilling a cup of coffee.
Gimlett said, 'If it wasn't to yer liking, sir, I'll… '
'I was not hungry.' The lie was suitable compromise. 'But thank you, Gimlett, for the thought.' He looked at the servant with sudden interest. 'Did you serve Captain Turner for long?'
'Yessir.' Gimlett shuffled from one foot to the other. `He was a fine master to me, sir. Very considerate indeed.'
Bolitho smiled slightly. 'I take it you're a Devon man?'
'Aye, sir. I was chief ostler at the Golden Lion at Plymouth but came away with Cap'n Turner to serve my country the better.' His eyes suddenly fell on the pile of papers on Bolitho's desk and he added hastily, 'Well, I was in a bit of trouble with one of the chambermaids, sir. It seemed the best thing to do all round.'
Bolitho smiled more broadly. Gimlett was apparently under the impression that his late master might have left some written record of his real reason for quitting the land. He said, 'So you were only with Captain Turner while the ship was in the Indies? You did not actually go ashore to his home?' The last question was an effort to clear the look of complete incomprehension from the man's worried features.
'That's right, sir.' He looked around the wide cabin. 'This was his home, sir. He had no family. Just the ship.' He swallowed again, as if afraid he had said too much. 'Can I clear away, sir?'
Bolitho nodded thoughtfully and walked back to the windows. That was the best explanation so far. Under Turner the ship had become a home, a way of life rather than a ship of war. And her company, away from England for three years with neither combat nor hardship to trouble them, would have become equally unprepared for the challenge of blockade and war.
Twice during the day Quarme, the first lieutenant, had visited Bolitho to report on progress. Under Bolitho's casual questioning he too had more or less admitted that Turner was a fair captin but unimaginative, even lethargic.
But it was hard to, assess Quarme's true feelings. He was twenty-eight years old, with calm but uncompromising features, and gave the impression of a man who was just biding his time for better things. As well he might with ships being commissioned on every hand and gaps already left by death and injury. If he stayed out of trouble he might have a small command of his own within the year. The fact that Turner had made no recommendation had at first made Bolitho suspicious. Now as he built up a mental picture of his predecessor he began to realise that Turner probably wanted the ship and everything aboard, including his officer, to remain the same. It was a reasonable, if selfish, explanation, he thought.
There was one further factor in Turner's make-up which still left him feeling troubled. In his private papers which Quarme had opened after his death he had left what amounted to a will. There were a few small bequests to some distant relatives, but the part which caught Bolitho's attention was the neatly written addition at the end.
‘… and to the next captain of this ship I leave and bequest all my furniture and fittings, my wines and my personal belongings, with the true and sincere hope that he will continue to retain them for his own uses and the wellbeing of the ship.’
It was an unusual request indeed.
At first Bolitho had intended to have Allday pack up everything and send it ashore to the Rock garrison. But be had left England in a hurry, so great was his eagerness to join the Hyperion. Apart from his uniforms and a few personal items he had come with little to ease the life of a captain in a ship of the line. Now as he looked round the great cabin he had second thoughts. It was as if by agreeing to Turner's eccentric desires he had allowed the man to remain aboard also. Dead and buried he might be, but in the captain's quarters his memory seemed to hang like a presence.
There was another tap at the door, but this time it was Quarme. He had his hat beneath his arm, and in the reflected sunlight his face looked guarded.
'I have mustered the officers in the wardroom as you ordered, sir.'
As he spoke, four bells of the afternoon watch chimed overhead, and Bolitho guessed he had been waiting for the exact moment of entry.
'Very well, Mr. Quarme. I am ready.' He pulled his uniform coat from a chair back and readjusted his neckcloth. 'I have completed reading the log, you may take it with you.'
Quarme said nothing. Instead he looked at the old sword which hung on the polished bulkhead. It had almost been Allday's first action to hang it there, and as Bolitho followed Quarme's stare he thought of his father and his father before him. Even in the sunlight it looked tarnished and old. But he knew that if he had brought nothing else from Falmouth but that sword it would have been worth more to him than all the rest of his possessions.
He half expected Quarme to comment. As Herrick would have done. He shook himself angrily. It was useless to continue with these pointless comparisons.
He said coldly, 'Lead the way if you please.'
Since his first-ever command, that of the tiny sloop Sparrow, Bolitho had alwaysmade a point of meeting his officers informally on the first possible moment. Now as he followed Quarme out on to the quarterdeck and down a wide ladder to the maindeck he found himself wondering about his new subordinates. He could never rid himself of the feeling of nervousness, although time and time again he bad told himself that it was their part to be the more apprehensive.
The wardroom was directly beneath his own cabin, with the same set of wide wmdows across the stem. But the sides were lined with tiny cabins, and the corners jammed with sea-chests and the litter of personal equipment. Two of the ship's upper battery of twelve-pounders were also present, and Bolitho was briefly gratified that unlike the wardroom his own cabin would be spared the chaos and damage when the ship cleared for action.
The wardroom was crowded with standing figures, for apart from the five lieutenants and marine officers Bolitho had made sure that the midshipmen and senior warrant officers were also present. These latter were the true link be
tween poop and forecastle, as he knew from hard experience.
He seated himself at the head of the long table and placed his hat beside a rolled chart. `Seat yourselves, gentlemen, or stand if you desire. I would not wish you to change your habits for my temporary convenience.' There was some polite laughter. The captain was, after all, merely, a guest in a wardroom, although Bolitho had often wondered what might happen if such a privilege be denied. He opened the chart slowly, knowing that their eyes were still on him rather than it.
'As you are now aware, we sail to join Lord Hood. It is understood that in Toulon there are certain forces who, although French, are firmly against the present Revolutionary Government, and with help may well be the tools to overthrow it. By showing our strength and using every opportunity to harass the enemy's shipping we may have the chance to aid that state of affairs.' He looked up and caught sight of young Seton's face framed between the shoulders of the two marines.
He continued evenly, 'By the middle of July, Lord Hood will have such a force available as to make all this possible. Every ship will be needed. It is therefore essential that each officr does his utmost to ensure there is no wastage in effort or training.' He looked around their intent faces. 'We may not be free to return here or to any other supply base for some time to come, is that understood?'
Quarme said quietly, 'I think the second lieutenant has a question, sir.'
Bolitho glanced across to where a languid, bored-looking young offcer was sitting on one of the chests. He said, 'I forget your name for the moment.'
The lieutenant eyed him coolly. 'Sir Philip Rooke, sir.'
There was nothing insolent in his tone but Bolitho could see it in the man's pale eyes like a challenge.
`Well, Mr. Rooke, and what is the question?' Bolitho's voice was equally calm.
