He watched the gig returning, pulling around one of the abandoned ships. Bolitho's coxswain was another rebel, or so it had first appeared.
The boat was turning toward the main chains, the bowman already standing with his hook raised.
'Royal Marines, ready.'
The boatswain's mates moistened their silver calls on their tongues and gazed at the entry port.
Galbraith gripped his sword and pressed it to his side.
For two weeks he had been in charge of this ship and every hour of her routine. Completing repairs, taking on stores and fresh water, powder and shot. Men to be sworn in and issued with clothing. It was a far cry from some ships he had known, when some of the poor wretches dragged aboard by the press gangs had worn their own clothes to shreds before a grasping purser could be persuaded to dole out garments from his slop chest.
And now that responsibility was over. The captain had returned.
Galbraith stepped forward, his hand to his hat as the calls shrilled in salute and the marines went through their drill.
He watched the captain as he climbed through the entry port, eyes moving quickly over and above his ship. At moments like this, a stranger again.
Adam took his hand and shook it.
'A long two weeks.' I le glanced at the other officers and then forward, the length of the ship.
Galbraith waited, feeling it all again. They had done so much in a year of action and triumph, disappointment and grief.
He was surprised, ashamed even. This man, who could be so youthful one moment, so grimly determined when he had made a decision which might affect each one of them, was still so distant, so unknown.
Galbraith recognised it, the old enemy which he had thought laid to rest. Envy.
'Welcome aboard, sir!'
It was done.
Adam Bolitho walked to the sloping windows of the stern cabin and stared out at the anchorage. The other ships looked even more desolate through the wet, misty glass. And it was cold, only to be expected in December, but a far cry from the Mediterranean, Malta or Algiers. Unrivalled was a big frigate, but the only heat came from her galley stove.
He should he used to it, able to accept or ignore it. He knew Galbraith was watching him, his tall frame slightly angled between the deck beams. The boy Napier was just inside the sleeping compartment; he could see his shadow moving up and down as he unpacked one of his captain's chests, doubtless with a ready ear cocked in case he was needed.
'You've done well, Leigh.' He turned away from the damp glass in time to catch the expression on the strong features. Galbraith still found it hard to accept a captain's use of his first name. In his absence the barrier had returned. Perhaps it had never truly gone away. 'Are the new people settled in?'
Galbraith seemed to consider it, as if taken aback by the question when all he and most of the others had been concerned about were their orders, their place in things, their world.
'I've warned the officers to be ready in the wardroom.'
'Yes, I shall want to speak with them.' He shivered and moved restlessly to the opposite quarter. Strain, excitement, or the fact that he had not had more than a few hours' sleep for days. He thought of Galbraith's words. In the wardroom. He had noticed the plume of smoke from the galley funnel, had caught the heavy smell of rum even as he had been piped aboard. Small, real things. They also reminded him that he had not eaten since yesterday.
He said abruptly, 'Men. We must get more hands. We can train them.' Almost bitterly it came out. 'We shall have all the time we need!'
'I've done what I can with the watch bills, sir. A mixture of old and new hands in each part of ship.'
Adam said, 'I am told that we may attract some experienced hands in Penzance.' He looked at the stern windows again, trying to accept it. 'One of the big packet companies has been forced to give way to competition. With so many trained seamen tossed on the beach they can pick and choose, it would seem!' He made another attempt. 'I have obtained some posters. Usher can deal with it.'
He stared at the small empty table by the screen door, where Usher his clerk had always sat, quiet and attentive, making notes and copying letters and orders, a handkerchief always balled in one fist, trying valiantly to stifle the coughs. A nervous man who had once been a purser's assistant, he had seemed totally out of place in the crowded confines of a fighting ship.
His lungs had been diseased, all too common in a man-of-war. As the surgeon had put it, Usher had been dying a day at a time.
'Forgive me.' It was as if he had spoken to the little clerk, who had finally died on their passage hack from Gibraltar, within a day's sighting of the Cornish coast.
They had buried him at sea. There were no details of home or relatives. lie stared at the curved beams and the reflection of the black and white checkered deck covering. This ship had been Usher's home, too.
lie thought suddenly, painfully, of the big grey house in Falmouth, people crowding around, kindness, warmth, and curiosity.
I le touched the sword at his hip and then unclipped it. The constant reminder, if he had needed one, like all the old portraits in the house, the watching faces, some with ships in the background, some not. But always the sword.
Flow empty the house had seemed. Bryan Ferguson had been overjoyed to see him, and had tried not to disturb him with the signing of papers relating to the estate and the farms, the people who had always known there was a Bolitho to care for them, or his lady when he was at sea. Now there were only memories.
He had intended to make the journey to Fallowfield to visit the little inn, The Old Hyperion, but Ferguson had persuaded him against it. The roads were deeply rutted, unsafe; he had seen ice for himself in the place where roses would bloom again in the new year. Catherine's roses.
Or had Ferguson been afraid of the effect on Alldav if the' had met so unexpectedly, Or on me?
Galbraith saw the play of emotions on his captain's face. Like a young colt, someone had once described him. Hair so dark that it was almost black, a mouth which could be determined, even hard. Equally, it could show a rare sensitivity. As it had now, at the mention of Usher's name. That was the true difference. He cared for these people he led and commanded; in some ships Galbraith had known, it was not always the same thing. Abrupt, impatient, stubborn, Adam Bolitho had revealed each mood throughout the months they had served together. But Galbraith felt privileged to have sometimes seen the other side to this youthful copy of the famous Richard Bolitho, and to have shared it.
Adam said, 'I shall leave you to take charge of recruiting parties. Remember, we are looking for men, not begging for them.' He smiled quickly. 'That was unnecessary, Leigh. I am bad company today.'
Galbraith was about to reply when he sensed something like an unspoken warning. Adam Bolitho had originally come from Penzance, or very close to it. Was that the reason for his dismissal of the task?
He said, 'I can deal with it, sir. Our marines will put on a good display.'
Adam scarcely heard him. 'I saw the Flag Officer, Plymouth. Twice, in fact.'
'Vice-Admiral Keen, sir. You have known him a long time, I believe.'
'Yes.' He saw the boy watching from the screen and said, 'Fetch me something hot, will you?' He laid the sword on the bench seat. 'Some cognac too, I think.'
The door closed. Only the marine sentry stood between them and the whole ship.
'In confidence.' He raised his hand, as if to dispel something. 'But it must be between ourselves.' He glanced toward the table again, as if expecting the cough, or one of Usher's usual meticulous explanations of what he was doing. 'We shall leave Plymouth tomorrow.' He gazed at Galbraith directly. 'Does that present a problem?'
Galbraith said, 'No, sir,' and saw the dark, restless eyes return to the old sword.
'After Penzance, where additional orders will be waiting for us, we shall proceed to Gibraltar.' He attempted to smile. 'Better weather, with good fortune!' But it eluded him.
Galbraith was suddenly tense. No routine orders; they were not rejoining the fleet or one of the local squadrons. He considered all the laid-up ships. What was left of them.
Adam said quietly, ' Sierra Leone. I shall receive full instructions when their lordships believe me fit and ready to proceed.'
