of their tackles.
Bolitho had watched Rooke closely in the eight days. He seemed to carry out his work efficiently enough, but his manner was unpleasant, and he appeared to have difficulty in containing his temper. Only the previous day Bolitho had arranged a contest between both of the maindeck batteries, and the larboard side had won by three minutes. Rooke had been nearly beside himself. Now as his men crouched beside their guns Bolitho could feel the tension Like a physical force.
Rooke yelled, 'Load!'
There was a wild scramble, each crew being driven and harangued by its gun-captain as practise cartridges and imaginary balls were cradled into muzzles while the heavier seamen gripped the falls and waited to race their guns for the waiting ports.
Quarme muttered, 'Better this time, sir.'
Bolitho did not answer. But it was certainly smoother, in spite of the over-eagerness on the part- of some of the younger men. He saw Rooke gripping the rail as if willing his men to move faster, and knew he was well aware of his captain's presence on the quarterdeck.
Rooke shouted, 'Run out!'
Obediently the trucks squealed across the worn planking, and as each gun-captain feverishly sprinted to prime his vent there was a sharp clatter and three of the furthest gunners went sprawling. Every other gun-captain had his hand in the air, but at the leading weapon there was complete confusion.
Rooke screamed, 'What the hell! What the bloody hell!'
Some of the upper-deck idlers were openly grinning and when Bolitho turned he saw that Lieutenant Fowler, the officer of the watch, was staring at his feet his mouth stifled with his handkerchief.
Rooke strode along the gangway until he was above the offending gun. ' Bell, I'll see your backbones for this! I'll have you flogged till…'
The gun-captain stared up at him his hands spread helplessly. 'T'worn't me, sir! T'were the young gennelman 'ere!' He pointed at Midshipman Seton who was struggling from between two dazed sailors beside the gun. ' 'E fell over 'is dirk, sir, an' t'other two went atop of 'im!'
'Hold your tongue!' Rooke seemed to realise that everyone was staring at him. He said in a more controlled voice, 'And what did you do wrong this time, Mr. Seton?'
The boy picked up his hat and looked round like a trapped animal. 'Sir, I-I…' The words would not come for several seconds. 'I tried t-to help with the f-falls, sir.'
Rooke sounded quite calm again. 'Did you?' He wiped his mouth with his hand. 'Well, don't stand there slavering! Pay attention when I address you!'
Bolitho turned away. It was unbearable to see Seton suffering like this, but to interfere now would only undermine Rooke's authority in front of the men.
Rooke persisted loudly, 'Why in God's name did your mother and father send you to sea, Mr. Seton? Surely there was some other work you could bring confusion to?'
Some of the men laughed, and then Seton -aid in a strangled voice, 'I-I have none, sir. M-My p-parents a-are…' He could not go on.
Rooke stared down at him, his hands on his hips. 'No father or mother, Mr. Seton? Then you mast be a bigger bastard than I imagined!'
Bolitho swung round. 'Mr. Quarme, please fall out the crews and secure guns.' He glanced quickly aloft. 'The wind is holding well. You may set the royals now.' He made himself wait a few more minutes as the pipes passed his order and the topmen swarmed up the ratlines in a tight mass, their bodies black against the clear sky. 'And have Mr. Rooke lay aft.'
Bolitho walked -to the weather side and thrust his hands behind his back. He could see the growing breeze ruffling the blue water and breaking it here and there into short, lively whitecaps. The noon position was estimated at some thirty miles south-east of Tarragona, but to all intents and purposes the sea was endless and empty. But his calculations had already been verified by the mainmast lookout swaying on his precarious perch almost two hundred feet above the deck. He alone had seen the distant mountains of Spain. His eyes were their only contact with the land. Bolitho was glad he had decided to stand well out to sea to avoid the opposing offshore current. His decision had given him the best of the wind too, and if it held they would find Hood's ships all the sooner. `You sent for me, sir?' Rooke was watching him, his chest heaving with exertion.
`I did.' Bolitho eyed him calmly. `Your men did quite well. With practive they will improve still further.'
He saw a slight glimmer in Rooke's eyes which might have been amusement or contempt. He added slowly, 'In future I hope you will refrain from that sort of treatment which you just gave Mr. Seton.'
Rooke's face was wooden. `He needs discipline, sir. They all do.'
`I agree entirely. But bullying is another matter, Mr. Rooke.' There was an edge to his tone. 'It does not help discipline to insult and humiliate a midshipman in front of men who may depend on him in battle!'
`Is that all, sir?' Rooke's hands were trembling against his sides.
`For the present.' Bolitho looked up as the last of the royals flapped and then hardened to contain the wind. Against the sky the full set of sails gleamed like white pyramids. He added, `You'll get better results by setting a good example, Mr. Rooke.' He watched the lieutenant walk stiffly towards the gangway and frowned. He had made an enemy of Rooke, but it seemed unlikely that a man of his nature would make friends with anyone.
Quarme hovered nearby. `I am sorry about all that, sir. He is a bit outspoken at times.'
Bolitho faced him. 'It is a pity you are not more outspoken, Mr. Quarme. I should not have to do your work for you!'
Quarme looked as if he had received a slap in the face. `My work, sir?'
`Yes. I do not expect to have to interfere amongst the officers.' He let his words sink in. 'Now let that be the last of it,'
But as he walked to the opposite side of the deck and began to pace slowly back and forth he knew in his heart that it was not the end of it at all.
The next four days were much as those which had gone before, with sail and gun drill taking precedence over all other routine. As the Hyperion tacked round the last jutting corner of the Spanish mainland and steered north- east across the Golfe du Lion there was little to ease the weary monotony or to smooth the atmosphere of irritation and resentment.
During his daily walks on the poop or quarterdeck Bolitho was conscious of his own isolation and the barrier which he had made between himself and his officers. It was necessary, he was more sure of that than ever now. They could resent, even hate, him if they wished, but they had to be drawn together, woven into a weapon which he could use when the time came.
He was still puzzled by Quarme's attitude to Rooke. When they were together Quarme seemed nervous and unsure of himself, although in all matters of duty he was efficient and hard-working. Perhaps he was awed by Rooke's noble upbringing. It was not uncommon for quite, senior officers, let alone aspiring first lieutenants, to be impressed to the point of servility with a subordinate who might have influence at Court or in Parliament, and who could perhaps be the means of quick advancement. But that seemed unlikely here. They had been too long in the same ship. Surely something would have happened by now.
Bolitho sat at his desk and toyed unwillingly with another of Gimlett's meals. Through the stern windows he could see the crisp' whiteness of the ship's short wake, and heard the thump and creak of the steering gear as she butted along in the steady, unswerving wind. In the afternoon sunlight the sea threw back a million dancing reflections, and the endless stretch of small, restless whitecaps made him more aware of his. loneliness.
There was a knock at the door and Piper, one of the midshipmen, stepped carefully into the cabin. With a full press of sail the Hyperion seemed to stay steady and immovable at one angle, so that against the open door Piper's scraggy body appeared to be leaning over as if in a strong wind.
'Mr.-Mr. Inch's respects, sir, and he thinks we have just sighted the squadron!' His eyes followed Bolitho across the,cabin, never leaving him as he pulled on his coat.
'He thinks?' Bolitho felt strangely relieved. At last something might happen to break the apathy.
`Sir!'
Bolitho smiled. Lieutenant Inch was the ship's junior lieutenant, an eager if unsure young man. He would, of course, never commit himself to an actual statement.
He asked, 'How is Mr. Seton settling down?'
