version of what had happened. Apart from a few quiet words with Pears as he and the others had been helped aboard, he had not spoken with him at all.
Pears said, 'The war makes great demands. We were short of experienced officers, now we are even shorter.' He stared at the empty table where the report had been lying. 'Good men killed, others maimed for life. Half my marines gone in the blink of an eye, and nozv, with two officers taken prisoner to boot, I am feeling like a clergyman with an empty church.'
Bolitho glanced at Cairns, but his face gave nothing away. He had seen a brig speaking with the flagship that morning, but he knew nothing further.
He asked, 'Two officers, sir?' He must have missed something.
Pears sighed. 'Young Huyghue, and now the flagship has told me about Probyn. He was apparently run down by a privateer, one day after leaving you at Fort Exeter.' He watched Bolitho's face. 'Shortest command in naval history, I'd imagine.'
Bolitho thought of the last time he had seen Probyn. Angry, triumphant, bitter. Now it had all been taken away. His hopes dashed.
All he could find in his heart was pity.
'So,' Pears' voice brought him back with a jerk, 'you are
hereby appointed as second lieutenant of this ship, my ship.' Bolitho stared at him dazedly. From fourth to second. He
had heard of it happening, but had never expected it like this. I – that is, thank you, sir.'
Pears eyed him flatly. 'I am glad you did not crow over Probyn's fate. But I think I could have understood even that.'
Cairns nodded, his lips parted in a rare smile. 'Congratulations.'
Pears waved his large hands. 'Save them for later and spare me, Mr Cairns. Be about your affairs. Appoint another midshipman to Huyghue's duties, and I suggest you consider the master's mate, Frowd, as acting lieutenant. A promising fellow, I think.'
The marine sentry opened the door gingerly. 'Beg pardon, sir, midshipman o' th' watch is 'ere.'
It was little Forbes, somehow grown in stature to his title. 'S-sir. Mr Dalyell's respects, and the flagship has just signalled us to heave to.'
Pears glanced at Cairns. 'See to it. I'll be up presently.'
As the two lieutenants hurried after the midshipman, Bolitho asked, 'Why is this?'
Cairns stared at him. 'You are out of touch, Dick!' He pointed to a petty officer with a flag neatly rolled under his arm. 'Today we will hoist the fag to our mizzen. Rear-Admiral Coutts is to be our very present help in trouble!'
'Flagship?'
'Acting.' Cairns straightened his hat as they strode forward to the quarterdeck rail. 'Until Coutts reaps his reward, or lays his head on the block.'
Seamen were already running to their stations, and Bolitho had to make himself look at the massive trunk of the mainmast, where he had once taken so many orders and goads from Lieutenant Sparke.
Now he was second lieutenant. With still two months between him and twenty-one years.
He saw Stockdale watching him and nodding. It was thanks to Stockdale, and some missing faces, that he was here at all.
'All hands! Stand by to wear ship!'
Cairns ' voice found him with the speaking trumpet. Mr Bolitho, sir! Hurry those men at the braces! They are like old cripples today!'
Bolitho touched his hat and kept his face straight.
Across the scrambling seamen he saw Quinn staring at him, still uncertain at his new station. He smiled at him, trying to break the strain that was still there.
'Lively, Mr Quinn!' He hesitated, holding another memory. 'Take that man's name!'
12
Rivals
The day after Rear-Admiral Coutts had shifted his flag to Trojan found Bolitho pacing the quarterdeck, keeping an eye on the forenoon watch and enjoying a fresh north-west breeze. During the night the big ninety-gun Resolute with the frigate in company had vanished astern, and would now be beating back towards New York, the wind making every mile a battle of its own.
For the Trojan things were different, as if Coutts' unexpected arrival had brought a change of circumstances. She must make a fine sight, Bolitho thought as his feet took him up and down the windward side without conscious effort. In her fair-weather canvas, and under courses, topsails and topgallants, she was leaning her shoulder into the blue water, throwing curtains of spray high above her beakhead.
The compass held steady at south, south-east, taking the powerful two-decker well away from the land, down towards the long chain of islands which separated the Atlantic from the Caribbean.
The wind held back the heat, and allowed the less badly wounded and injured men to move about the decks, to find themselves again in their own way. The remainder, some of whom might die before they reached Sandy Hook, had gone with the flagship, as had the prisoners, and Coutts' report of the attack.
Only one captive remained aboard, the Frenchman, Contenay. He took regular walks on deck without an escort, and seemed completely at home in a King's ship.
Bolitho had discovered that he still knew little about his own captain. The brief moments of contact, even warmth, upon his return to the ship had been replaced by Pears' usual stem, remote demeanour. Bolitho thought that the admiral's presence had a lot to do with it.
Coutts had appeared on deck this morning. Youthful, relaxed and apparently interested, he had strolled along the weather gangway, pausing to watch the bare-backed seamen at their work, the carpenter with his crew, the sailmaker and the cooper, the ship's tradesmen who daily changed a man-of-war into a busy street.
He had spoken to the officers and some of the senior hands. The Sage had been impressed by his knowledge of Arctic exploration, and Midshipman Forbes reduced to blushing incoherence by a few well-aimed questions.
If he was troubled at the doubtful prospect of running another enemy supply cache to earth, or at what the commanderin-chief might say at his behaviour, he certainly did not show it. His plans he kept to himself, and only Ackerman, his urbane flag lieutenant, the one Bolitho had seen in a cabin with a half-naked woman, and his personal clerk shared his confidences.
Bolitho decided that would also irritate Pears beyond measure.
A step fell on the deck nearby and Cairns joined him at the rail, his eyes taking in the working parties and the set of each sail with practised authority.
He said, 'The admiral is with our captain. I sense an air of grapeshot close by.' He turned and glanced meaningly at the poop skylight. 'I was glad to leave the great men.'
'No news yet?'
'Not much. Like D'Esterre, the admiral plays a taut hand. He will rise like a comet.' He gestured at the deck. 'Or fall like one.'
With Coutts aboard, Cairns also faced changes. The main result was that he shared more of his thoughts with his second lieutenant.
He added slowly, 'The captain was wanting to know why this ship and not Resolute was selected for the mission.' He smiled grimly. 'The admiral explained, as cool as you please, that Trojan is the faster vessel, and her company deserving of reward for their work.'
Bolitho nodded. 'I suppose so. Resolute has been out here far longer and has had few refits, I believe. She must be foul with weed.'
Cairns eyed him admiringly. 'We'll make a politician of you yet.' He waved Bolitho's confusion aside. 'You see, the backhanded compliment. Coutts lays on treacle with talk of reward and the better ship for the task, then in the next breath he gently reminds Captain Pears that his, own flagship is in truth the more deserving.'
