concealing his growing corpulence. His face had once been handsome, but now, in his middle thirties, the major had all the signs of a heavy drinker, and one who enjoyed a good table.
D'Esterre had also said, 'This little jaunt might take some of the fat off him.'
But he had not smiled, and Bolitho had guessed that he had wished he and not the major was to command.
Once their mission was out in the open the ship's company got down to work and preparation with the usual mixture of attitudes. Grim resignation for those who would be taking part, cheerful optimism from those who would not.
At the chosen time the work of ferrying the marines and seamen to the little sloop-of-war was begun without delay. After the blazing heat of a July day the evening brought little respite, and the gruelling, irksome work soon roused tempers and onthe-spot justice from fist and ropes end.
Bolitho was counting the last group of seamen and making sure they were all armed, as well as being equipped with flasks of water and not hoarded rum, when Cairns strode up to him and snapped, 'There has been another change.'
'How so?'
Bolitho waited, expecting to hear that the raid was being delayed.
Cairns said bitterly, 'I am remaining aboard.' He looked away, hiding his hurt. 'Again.'
Bolitho did not know what to say. Cairns had obviously set his heart on going with the attack as senior lieutenant. Having missed the chance of being a prize-master, or even of taking part in the Faith ful's capture, he must have seen the landing as his rightful reward, although by going he stood as much chance of being killed as anyone else.
'Someone from the flagship, sir?'
Cairns faced him. 'No. Probyn is to lead, God help you!' Bolitho examined his feelings. 'And young James Quinn is to go with us also.'
Quinn had said nothing when he had been told, but he had looked as if someone had struck him.
Cairns seemed to read his thoughts. 'Aye, Dick. So it may fall to you to look after our people.'
'But why not the flagship? Surely they have a lieutenant and more to spare?'
Cairns regarded him curiously. 'You don't understand admirals, Dick. They never let go of their own. They must always show a perfect front, a well ordered world of officers and men. Coutts will be no exception. He'll want perfection, not a rabble of old men and boys like we are fast becoming.'
He could have said more, Bolitho thought. That Quinn was being sent to prove that his wound had not destroyed his resolution and courage, and Probyn because he would not be missed. He thought of his own position and almost smiled. Pears was only doing what the admiral had done. Keeping the best for himself. Anyone below Cairns in rank and quality would be sacrificed first.
Cairns said, 'I am glad you can still discover humour in this affair, Dick. For myself, I find it intolerable.'
Midshipman Couzens, hung about with telescope, dirk, pistols and a bulging sack of food, called breathlessly, 'Spite has signalled, sir! Last party to go across now.'
Bolitho nodded. 'Very well. Man your boats.'
He watched a second midshipman, a serious-faced sixteenyear-old named Huyghue, climbing down into the cutter to sit beside the coxswain, who was probably twice his age.
'I see you are ready, Mr Bolitho.'
Probyn's thick voice made him turn towards the quarterdeck. The second lieutenant could only just have been told of Pears' change of plans, but he looked remarkably unworried. He was very flushed, but that was quite usual, and as he leaned on the quarterdeck rail to peer at the boats alongside he seemed calm to the point of indifference.
Cairns straightened his back as the captain's heavy tread came across the deck. 'Good luck. Both of you.' He glanced at the dizzily swaying sloop. 'By God, I wish I was coming with you.'
Probyn said nothing but touched his hat to the quarterdeck before following the others down into a crowded boat.
Bolitho saw Stockdale in one of the other boats and nodded to him. If for some reason he had not been taking part, it would have been like an ill-omen, something final. Seeing him there, big and quiet-faced, made up for many of the other, nagging doubts.
Probyn said, 'Shove off, cox'n. I don't want to fry in this damn heat!'
As they drew closer to the sloop, her commanding officer hurried to the side and cupped his hands. 'Move yourselves, damn you! This is a King's ship, not a bloody lobster boat!'
Only then did Probyn show some mettle. 'Hear that? Impudent young chicken! God, how command changes a man!'
Bolitho shot him a quick glance. In just those few angry words Probyn had revealed a lot. Bolitho knew he had been beached on half-pay before the war. Whether it was because of his drinking, or he had simply become a hardened drinker because of his ill-luck, he was not sure. But he had certainly been passed over for promotion, and to be shouted at by the Spite's youthful commander would not make it any easier.
As they clambered up on to the sloop's busy deck, he wondered where all the marines had gone. As in the Faithful, they had been swallowed up within minutes of boarding. Aft by the taffrail he saw Major Paget speaking with D'Esterre and the two marine lieutenants.
The sloop's commander walked across to meet the last arrivals.
He nodded curtly and then shouted, 'Mr Walker! Get the ship under way, if you please!'
To Bolitho he added, 'I suggest you go below. My people have enough to contend with at present, without being faced by unknown officers from every hand!'
Bolitho touched his hat. Unlike Probyn, he could understand the young man's sharpness. He was very conscious of his command and the mission suddenly thrust upon him. Close by, two ships of the line, his admiral and some senior post captains would be watching, waiting to find fault, to compare his efficiency with others.
The commander swung on his heel. I understand that you were the officer involved with my ship two weeks back, eh?'
He had a sharp, incisive tone, and Bolitho guessed he would be a difficult man to get on with. Twenty-four years old. What had Probyn said? How command changes a man.
'Well?'
'Aye, sir. I was second-in-command of the raid. My senior was killed.'
'I see.' He nodded. 'My gunner nearly did that to you earlier.' He walked away.
Bolitho made his way aft, pushing through the bustling seamen as they ran to braces and halliards, oblivious to everyone but their own officers.
The pulling boats were already falling obediently astern on their lines, and almost before Bolitho's head had passed into the shadow of the companionway the Spite was heeling over to the wind and presenting her counter to the big two-deckers.
The wardroom was crowded with officers, and Spite's purser soon produced bottles and glasses for all the additional guests.
When it came to Probyn he shook his head and said abruptly, 'Not for me, but thankee. Later maybe.'
Bolitho looked away, unable to bear the sight of the man's battle. Probyn had never refused a drink before. And it had cost him a great deal to do it now.
He thought of Probyn's bitterness about the sloop's commander and what lay ahead of them tomorrow.
It was of paramount importance to Probyn that he should succeed, and for that he would give up a lot more than brandy.
During the night and through the following day, Spite tacked back and forth, biding her time while she continued a slow approach towards the land.
Fort Exeter stood on a sandy four-mile-long island which was shaped rather like an axe-head. At low water it was connected to the mainland by an unreliable causeway of sand and shingle, and the entrance to a lagoon-like anchorage was easily protected by the fort's carefully sited artillery.
As soon as the landing party was ashore, Spite would with draw and be out of sight of land by the following dawn. If the wind died, the attack would be postponed until it returned. Whatever happened, it would not be abandoned unless the enemy were ready and waiting.
