It is hard to replace such things out here.'
Bolitho sat down with a thump, not knowing whether to be angry or humiliated.
He forgot Pears' abrasive tone, and the shirt which he had snatched off the wardroom line still wringing wet, as Pears said more evenly, 'We will sail at first light, gentlemen. The Governor of New York has received information that the expected convoy from Halifax is likely to be attacked. It is a large assembly of vessels with an escort of two frigates and a sloopof-war. But in this weather the ships could become scattered, some might endeavour to close with the land to ascertain their bearings.' His fingers changed to a fist. 'That is when our enemy will strike.'
Bolitho leaned forward, ignoring the sodden discomfort around his waist.
Pears continued, 'I was saying as much to Mr Cairns. You cannot win a defensive war. We have the ships, but the enemy
has the local knowledge to make use of smaller, faster vessels. To have a chance of success we must command and keep open every trade route, search and detain any suspected craft, make our presence felt. Wars are not finally won with ideals, they are won with powder and shot, and that the enemy does not have in quantity. Yet.' He looked around their faces, his eyes bleak. 'The Halifax convoy is carrying a great deal of powder and shot, cannon too, which are intended for the military in Philadelphia and here in New York. If just one of those valuable cargoes fell into the wrong hands we would feel the effects for months to come.' He looked round sharply. 'Questions?'
It was Sparke who rose to his feet first.
'Why us, sir? Of course, I am most gratified to be putting to sea in my country's service, to try and rectify some – '
Pears said heavily, 'Please get on with the bones of the matter.'
Sparke swallowed hard, his scar suddenly very bright on his cheek.
'Why net send frigates, sir?'
'Because there are not enough, there never are enough. Also, the admiral feels that a show of strength might be of more value.'
Bolitho stiffened, as if he had missed something. It was in the captain's tone. Just the merest suggestion of doubt. He glanced at his companions but they seemed much as usual. Perhaps he was imagining it, or seeking flaws to cover up his earlier discomfort under Pears' tongue.
Pears added, 'Whatever may happen this time, we must never drop our vigilance. This ship is our first responsibility, our main concern at all times. The war is changing from day to day. Yesterday's traitor is tomorrow's patriot. A man who responded to his country's call,' he shot a wry smile at Sparke, 'is now called a Loyalist, as if he and not the others was some sort of freak and outcast.'
The master, Erasmus Bunce, stood up very slowly, his eyes peering beneath a deckhead beam like twin coals.
'A man must do as he be guided, sir. It is for God to decide who be right in this conflict.'
Pears smiled gravely. Old Bunce was known to be very religious, and had once hurled a sailor into Portsmouth harbour merely for taking the Lord's name into a drunken song.
Bunce was a Devonian, and had gone to sea at the age of nine or ten. He was now said to be over sixty, but Pears could never picture him ever being young at all.
He said, 'Quite so, Mr Bunce. That was well said.'
Cairns cleared his throat and eyed the master patiently. 'Was that all, Mr Bunce?'
The master sat down and folded his arms. 'It be enough.' The captain gestured to Foley. No words seemed to be required here, Bolitho thought.
Glasses and wine jugs followed, and then Pears said, 'A toast, gentlemen. To the ship, and damnation to the King's enemies!'
Bolitho watched Probyn looking round for the jugs, his glass already emptied.
He thought of Pears' voice when he had spoken of the ship. God help George Probyn if he put her on a lee shore after taking too many glasses.
Soon after that the meeting broke up, and Bolitho realized that he had still got no closer to the captain than by way of a reprimand.
He sighed. When you were a midshipman you thought a lieutenant's life was in some sort of heaven. Maybe even captains were in dread of somebody, although at this moment it was hard to believe.
The next dawn was slightly clearer, but not much. The wind held firm enough from the north-west, and the snow flurries soon gave way to drizzle, which mixed with the blown spray made the decks and rigging shine like dull glass.
Bolitho had watched one ship or another get under way more times than he could remember. But it never failed to move and excite him. The way every man joined into the chain of command to make the ship work as a living, perfect instrument.
Each mast had its own divisions of seamen, from the swift
braces and halliards from the deck. As the calls shrilled, and the men poured up on deck through every hatch and companion, it seemed incredible that Trojan's hull, which from figurehead to taffrail measured two hundred and, fifteen feet, could contain so many. Yet within seconds the dashing figures of men and boys, marines and landmen were formed into compact groups, each being checked by leather-lunged petty officers against their various lists and watch-bills.
The great capstan was already turning, as was its twin on the deck below, and under his shoes Bolitho could almost sense the ship stirring, waiting to head towards the open sea.
Like the mass of seamen and marines, the officers too were at their stations. Probyn with Dalyell to assist him on the forecastle, the foremast their responsibility. Sparke commanded the upper gundeck and the ship's mainmast, which was her real strength, with all the spars, cordage, canvas and miles of rigging which gave life to the hull beneath. Lastly, the mizzen mast, handled mostly by the afterguard, where young Quinn waited with the marine lieutenant and his men to obey Cairns ' first requirements.
Bolitho looked across at Sparke. Not an easy man to know, but a pleasure to watch at work. He controlled his seamen and every halliard and brace with the practised ease of a dedicated concert conductor.
A hush seemed to fall over the ship, and Bolitho looked aft to see the captain walking to the quarterdeck rail, nodding to old Bunce, the Sage, then speaking quietly with his first lieutenant.
Far above the deck from the mainmast truck the long, scarlet pendant licked and hardened to the wind like bending metal. A good sailing wind, but Bolitho was thankful it was the captain and old Bunce who were taking her through the anchored shipping and not himself.
He glanced over the side and wondered who was watching. Friends, or spies who might already be passing news to Washington 's agents. Another man-of-war weighing. Where bound? For what purpose?
He returned his attention inboard. If half what he had heard was true, the enemy probably knew better than they did. There were said to be plenty of loose tongues in New York 's civil and military government circles.
Cairns raised his speaking trumpet. 'Get a move on, Mr Tolcher!'
Tolcher, the squat boatswain, raised his cane and bellowed, 'More 'ands to th' capstan! 'Save, lads!'
He glared at the shantyman with his fiddle. 'Play up, you bugger, or I'll'ave you on th' pumps!'
From forward came the cry, 'Anchor's hove short, sir!'
'Hands aloft! Loose tops'ls!' Cairns ' voice, magnified by the trumpet, pursued and drove them like a clarion. 'Loose the heads'ls!'
Released to the wind the canvas erupted aid flapped in wild confusion, while spread along the swaying yards like monkeys the topmen fought to bring it under control until the right moment.
Sparke called, 'Man your braces! Mr Bolitho, take that man's name!'
'Aye, sir!'
Bolitho smiled into the drizzle. It was always the same with Sparke. Take that man's name. There was nobody in particular, but it gave the seamen the idea that Sparke had eyes everywhere.
Again the hoarse voice from the bows, 'Anchor's aweigh, sir!'
Released from the ground, her first anchor already hoisted and catted, Trojan side-stepped heavily across the wind, her sails.spreading and thundering like a bombardment as the men hauled at the braces, their bodies straining back, angled down almost to the deck.
Round and further still, the yards swinging to hold the wind, the sails freed one by one to harden like steel
