It was Couzens, thirteen years old, and one of the new members of the ship's company, having been sent out from England aboard a transport. He was round-faced, constantly shivering, but made up for his ignorance with a willingness which neither his superiors nor the ship could break.
Bolitho told him about the cook, and the captain's expected return, then instructed him to arrange for piping the relief for the first dog-watch. He passed his instructions without conscious thought, but watched Couzens instead, seeing not him but himself at that tender age. He had been in a ship of the line, too. Chased, harried, bullied by everyone, or so it had seemed. But he had had one hero, a lieutenant who had probably never even noticed him as a human being. And Bolitho had always remembered him. He had never lost his temper without cause. Never found escape in humiliating others when he had received a
telling-off from his captain. Bolitho had hoped he would be like that lieutenant one day. He still hoped.
Couzens nodded firmly. 'Aye, aye, sir.'
Trojan carried nine midshipmen, and Bolitho sometimes wondered how their lives would take shape. Some would rise to flag rank, others drop by the wayside. There would be the usual sprinkling of tyrants and of leaders, of heroes and cowards.
Later, as the new watch was being mustered below the quarterdeck, one of the look-outs called, 'Boat approaching, sir!' The merest pause. 'Tis the captain!'
Bolitho darted a quick glance at the milling confusion below the quarterdeck, The captain could not have chosen a better time to catch them all out.
He yelled, 'Pass the word for the first lieutenant! Man the side, and call the boatswain directly!'
Men dashed hither and thither through the gloom, and while the marines tramped stolidly to the entry port, their cross,belts very white in the poor light, the petty officers tried to muster the relieving watchkeepers into some semblance of order.
A boat appeared, pulling strongly towards the main chains, the bowman already standing erect with his hook at the ready.
'Boat ahoy?'
The coxswain's cry came back instantly. 'Trojan!'
Their lord and master was back. The man who, next to God, controlled each hour of their lives, who could reward, flog, promote or hang as the situation dictated, was amongst their crowded world once more.
When Bolitho glanced round again he saw that where there had been chaos there was order, with the marines lined up, muskets to their shoulders, their commanding officer, the debonair Captain D'Esterre, standing with his lieutenant, apparently oblivious to wind and cold.
The boatswain's mates were here, moistening their silver calls on their lips, and Cairns, his eyes everywhere, waited to receive his captain.
The boat hooked on to the chains, the muskets slapped and cracked to the present while the calls shrilled in piercing salute. The captain's head and shoulders rose over the side, and while he doffed his cocked hat tb the quarterdeck he too examined the ship, his command, with one sweeping scrutiny.
He said curtly, 'Come aft, Mr Cairns.' He nodded to the marine officers. 'Smart turn-out, D'Esterre.' He turned abruptly and snapped, 'Why are you, here, Mr Bolitho?' As he spoke, eight bells chimed out from the forecastle. 'You should have been relieved, surely?'
Bolitho looked at him. 'I think Mr Probyn is detained, sir.'
'Do you indeed.' The captain had a harsh voice which cut above the din of wind and creaking spars like a cutlass. 'The responsibility of watchkeeping is as much that of the relief as the one awaiting it.' He glanced at Cairns ' impassive face. 'Pon my soul, Mr Cairns, not a difficult thing to learn, I'd have thought?'
They walked aft, and Bolitho breathed out very slowly.
Lieutenant George Probyn, his immediate superior, was often late taking over his watch, and other duties too for that matter. Ile was the odd man in the wardroom, morose, argumentative, bitter, although for what reason Bolitho had not yet discovered. He saw him coming up the starboard ladder, broad, untidy, peering around suspiciously.
Bolitho faced him. 'The watch is aft, Mr Probyn.'
Probyn wiped his face and then blew his nose in a red handkerchief.
'I suppose the captain was asking about me?' Even his question sounded hostile.
'He noted you were absent.' Bolitho could smell brandy, and added, 'But he seemed satisfied enough.'
Probyn beckoned to a master's mate and scanned quickly through the deck log which the man held below a lantern.
Bolitho said wearily, 'Nothing unusual to report. One seaman injured and taken to the sickbay. He fell from the boat tier.'
Probyn sniffed. 'Shame.' He closed the book. 'You are relieved.' He watched him broodingly. 'If I thought anyone was making trouble for me behind my back…'
Bolitho turned away, hiding his anger. Do not fret, my drunken friend. You are doing that for yourself.
Probyn's rumbling voice followed him to the companion as he put his men to their stations and allotted their tasks.
As he ran lightly down the companion ladder and made his way aft towards the wardroom, Bolitho wondered what the captain was discussing with Cairns,
Once below, the ship seemed to enfold him, contain him with her familiarity, The combined smells of tar and hemp, of bilge and packed humanity, they were as much a part of Bolitho as his own skin.
Mackenzie, dhe senior wardroom servant, who had ended his service as a topman when a fall from aloft had broken his leg in three places and made him a permanent cripple, met him with a cheery smile. If everyone else was sorry for him, Mackenzie at least was well satisfied. His injuries had given him as much comfort and security as any man could hope to find in a King's ship.
I've some coffee, sir. Piping hot, too,' He had a soft Scottish accent which was very like Cairns '.
Bolitho peeled off his coat and handed it with his hat to Logan, a ship's boy who helped in the wardroom.
'I'd relish that, thank you.'
The wardroom, which ran the whole breadth of the ship's stern, was wreathed in tobacco smoke and touched with its own familiar aromas of wine and cheese. Right aft the great stern windows were already in darkness, and as the counter swung slightly to the pull of the massive anchor it was possible to see an occasional light glittering from the shore like a lost star.
Hutchlike cabins, little more than screens which would be torn down when the ship cleared for action, lined either side. Tiny havens which contained the owner's cot, chest and a small hanging space. But each was at least private. Apart from the cells, about the only place in the ship a man could be alone.
Directly a.9xove, and in a cabin which matched in size and Space that which. contained most of his officers, was the captain's domain. Also on that deck was the master and the first lieutenant, to be in easy reach of the quarterdeck and the helm.
But here, in the wardroom, was where they all shared their moments off-duty, Where they discussed their hopes and fears, ate their meals and took their wine. The six lieutenants, two marine officers, the sailing master, the purser and the surgeon. It was crowded certainly, but when compared with the below-the-waterline quarters of the midshipmen and other warrant officers and specialists, let alone the great majority of seamen and marines, it was luxury indeed.
Dalyell, the fifth lieutenant, sat beneath the stern windows, his legs crossed and resting on a small keg, a long clay pipe balanced in one hand.
'George Probyn adrift again, eh, Dick?'
Bolitho grinned. 'It is becoming a habit.'
Sparke, the second lieutenant, a severe-faced man with a coin-shaped scar on one cheek, said, 'I'd drag him to the captain if I were the senior here.' He returned to a tattered news-sheet and added vehemently, 'These damned rebels seem to do what they like! Two more transports seized from under our frigates' noses, and a brig cut out of harbour by one of their bloody privateers! We're too soft on 'em!'
Bolitho sat down and stretched, grateful to be out of the wind, even though he knew the illusion of warmth would soon pass.
His head lolled, and when Mackenzie brought the mug of coffee he had to shake his shoulder to awaken him.
