Marines blundered down the slope and waited until Libby's oarsmen had recovered sufficiently to bring their boat towards the tiny beach.
But all Bolitho could see was Sparke's face as he had out
lined his last plan. The quality o f courage. It had not sustained him.
Bolitho pulled himself together as D'Esterre with his sergeant and two skirmishers walked towards him.
Again he seemed to hear Sparke's crisp voice. Speaking as he had aboard the schooner when the shocked aftermath of battle had begun to take charge.
'They'll be looking to us. So we'll save our regrets for later.'
It could have been his epitaph.
Bolitho said huskily, 'Get the marines ferried over as quickly as you can.' He turned away from the stench of burning wood and tar. 'We'll get under way directly.'
D'Esterre eyed him strangely. 'Another few minutes and it could have been Libby's boat. Or yours.'
Bolitho met his' gaze and replied, 'There may not be much time. So let's be about it, shall we?'
D'Esterre watched the last squad of marines lining up to await the boat's return. He saw Bolitho and Stockdale climb from the dory to the Faithful's deck, Frowd hurrying across to meet them.
D'Esterre had been in too many fights of one sort or another to be affected for long. But this time had been different. He thought of Bolitho's face, suddenly so pale beneath the black hair with its unruly lock above one eye. Determined, using every ounce of strength to contain his feelings.
Junior he might be in rank, but D 'Esterre had felt in those few moments that he was in the presence of his superior.
6. A Lieutenant’s Lot
Lieutenant Neil Cairns looked up from the small bulkhead desk in response to a knock on his cabin door.
'Come!'
Bolitho stepped inside, his hat beneath his arm, his features tired.
Cairns gestured to the only other chair. 'Take those books oft there and sit yourself down, man.' He groped amongst piles of papers, lists and scribbled messages and added, 'There should be some glasses here, too. You look as if you need a drink. I am certain I do. If anyone advises you to take on the role of first lieutenant, I suggest you tell him to go to hell!'
Bolitho sat and loosened his neckcloth. There was the hint of a cool breeze in the cabin, and after hours of walking around New York, and the long pull across the harbour in Trojan's launch he was feeling sweaty and weary. He had been sent ashore to try to get some new hands to replace those killed or injured aboard the Faithful and later when Sparke's cutter and his men had been blasted to fragments. It all seemed like a vague, distorted dream now. Three months ago, and already it was hard to put the order of things together properly. Even the weather made it more obscure. Then it had been miserably cold and bleak, with fierce running seas and the fog which had then seemed like a miracle. Now it was bright sunshine and long periods without any wind at all. The Trojan's hull creaked with dryness and her deck seams shone moistly in the glare, clinging to the shoes and to the seamen's bare feet.
Cairns watched him thoughtfully. Bolitho had changed a great deal, he decided. He had returned to New York with the two prizes a different man. More mature, and lacking the youthful optimism which had marked him out from the others.
The events which had changed him, Sparke's terrible death in particular, had even been noticed by the captain.
Cairns said, 'Red wine, Dick. Warm-, but better than anything else to hand. I bought it from a trader ashore.'
He saw Bolitho tilt back his head, the lock of hair clinging to his forehead and hiding the cruel scar. Despite his service in these waters, Bolitho looked pale, and his grey eyes were like the winter they had long since left behind.
Bolitho knew he was being watched, but he had become used to it. If he had changed, so too had his world. With Sparke dead, the officers had taken another step on promotion's ladder. Bolitho was now the third lieutenant, and the most junior post, then left vacant, had been taken by Midshipman Libby. He was now Trojan's acting sixth lieutenant, whether he was able to take his proper examination or not. The age difference between the captain and his lieutenants was startling. Bolitho would not be twenty-one until October, and his juniors were aged from twenty to Libby's mere seventeen years.
It was a well-used system in the larger ships, but Bolitho could find little comfort in his promotion, even though his new duties had kept him busy enough to hold most of the worst memories to the back of his mind.
Cairns said suddenly, 'The captain wants you to accompany him to the flagship this evening. The admiral is 'holding court', and captains will be expected to produce a likely aide or two.' He refilled the glasses, his features impassive. 'I have work to do with the damned victualling yard, so I'll not be able to go. Not that I care much for empty conversation when the whole world is failing apart.'
He said it with such bitterness that Bolitho was moved to ask, 'Is something troubling you?'
Cairns gave a rare smile. 'Just everything. I am heartily sick of inactivity. Of writing down lists of stores, begging for new cordage and spars, when all those rogues ashore want is for you to pass them a few pieces of gold, damn their eyes!'
Bolitho thought of the two prizes he had brought back to New York. They had been whisked away to the prize court, sold and recommissioned into the King's service almost before die new ensigns had been hoisted.
Not one man of the Trojan's company had been appointed to them, and the lieutenant given command of the Faithful had barely been out from England more than a few weeks. It was unfair, to say the least, and it was obviously a sore point with Cairns. In about eighteen months he would be thirty. The war could be over, and he might be thrown on the beach as a halfpay lieutenant. It was not a very enjoyable prospect for a man without means beyond his naval pay.
'Anyway,' Cairns leaned back and looked at him, 'the captain has made it plain he'd rather have you with him in his admiral's presence than our tippling second lieutenant!'
Bolitho smiled. It was amazing how Probyn survived. He was fortunate perhaps that after Trojan's return from escorting the convoy from Halifax the. ship had barely been to sea at all. Two short patrols in support of the Army and a gunnery exercise with the flagship well within sight of New York was the extent of her efforts. A few more storms and Probyn's weakness might have put an end to him.
Bolitho stood up. 'I'd better get changed then.'
Cairns nodded. 'You're to meet the captain at the end of the first dog-watch. He'll be taking the barge, so make sure the crew are smart and ready. He's in no mood to suffer slackness, I can tell you.'
Sharp at four bells Captain Pears strode on to the quarterdeck, resplendent in his full-dress uniform and carrying his sword at his side like a pointer. If anything, the glittering gold lace set off against the dark blue coat and white breeches made him appear younger and taller.
Bolitho, also dressed in his best clothes, waited by the entry port, a sword, instead of his usual hanger, slung across his waistcoat on a cross-belt.
He had already examined the barge to ensure it was ready and suitable for Trojan's captain. It was a fine- looking boat, with a dark red hull and white painted gunwales. In the sternsheets there were matching red cushions, while across the transom was the ship's name in gilt. Swaying against Trojan's side, with the oars tossed in two vertical lines, her crew dressed in red and white checkered shirts and black tarred hats, the barge looked good enough for an emperor, Bolitho thought.
Cairns hurried to the side and murmured something to the captain. Molesworth, the nervous-looking purser, was waiting by the mizzen, and Bolitho guessed that Cairns was going ashore with him to bolster his dealings with the victuallers, who, like ships' chandlers, thought more of personal profit than patriotism.
Captain D'Esterre snapped, 'Marines, present arms!'
The bayoneted muskets jerked up almost to the canvas awning overhead, and Bolitho momentarily forgot Pears as he recalled the marines on the Faith f ul's deck as they had cut down the boarders with the same crisp
