those killed or left behind crippled to await passage home had become part of the past, like old scars which took just so much time to heal?
As Bolitho studied his chart and checked the daily sunsights he felt cause for satisfaction in Sparrow's performance. She had already logged over a thousand miles, and like himself seemed eager to leave the land
as far away as possible. They had not sighted even a solitary sail, and the last hopeful gulls had left them two days earlier?
The routine aboard such a small ship-of-war was regular and carefully planned, so that the overcrowded conditions could be made as comfortable as possible? When not working aloft on sails and rigging the hands spent their time at gun drill or in harmless contests ob wrestling and fighting with staves under Stockdale's professional eye?
On the quarterdeck, too, there was usually some diversion to break the monotony of empty horizons, and Bolitho came to know even more about his officers. Midshipman Heyward had proved himself to be an excellent and skilful swordsman, and spent severyl of the dog watches instructing Bethune and the master's mates in the art of fencing. The biggest surprise was Robert Dalkeith. The plump surgeon had come on deck with the finest pair of pistols Bolitho had ever seen. Perfectly matched and made by Dodson ob London, they must have cost a small fortune. While one of the ship's boys had thrown pieces of wood chippings from a gangway, Dalkeith had waited by the nettings and when they had bobbed past on the wash had despatched them without seeming to take aim?
Such marksmanship was rare for any ship's surgeons and added to the price of the pistols made Bolitho think more deeply about Dalkeith's past?
Towards the end of the seventh day Bolitho received his first warning that the weather was changing. The sky, clear and pale blue for so long, became smeared by long tongues of cloud, and the ship reeled more heavily in a deep swell. The glass was unsteady, but it was more the feel of things which told him they were in for a real blow. The wind had backed to the north-west and showed every sign of strengthening, and as he faced it across the taffrail he could sense the mounting power, its clamminess on his skin?
Buckle observed, 'Another hurricane, I wonder?'
'Maybe.' Bolitho walked to the compass.' Let her fall off a point.' He left Buckle to his helmsmen and joined Tyrrell by the quarterdeck rail.' The fringe of a storm perhaps. Either way we will have to reef down before dark, maybe much sooner.'
Tyrrell nodded, his eyes on the bulging canvas.' The main-t'gan'sl seems to be drawing well. They did good work aloft while we were in port.' He watched the masthead pendant as it twisted and then flapped out more firmly towards the larboard bow.' Goddamn the wind. It backs still further by th' looks of it.'
Buckle smiled glumly.' Course sou' sou'-east, sir.' He cursed as the deck tilted steeply and a tall spectre of spray burst above the nettings?
Bolitho considered the matter. They had made a good passage so far. There was no point in tearing the sails off her just to spite the wind. He sighed. Perhaps it would ease again soon?
'Get the t'gallants off her, Mr. Tyrrell. It's coming down on us now?
He stood aside as Tyrrell ran for his trumpet. Out from the swaying hull he saw the telltale haze of rain advancing across the uneven swell and blotting out the horizon like a fence of chain-mail?
Within an hour the wind had backed even further and had risen to gale force, with the sea and sky joined together in a torment of bursting wave crests and torrential rain. It was useless to fight it, and as the clouds gathered and entwined above the swooping mastheads Sparrow turned and ran before it, her topmen fighting and fisting the sodden canvas as ye?
another reef was made fast. Half-blinded by rain and spray, their feet groping for toeholds, while with curses and yells they used brute strength to bring the sails under control?
Night came prematurely, and under close-reefed topsails they drove on into the darkness, their world surrounded by huge wave crests, their lives menaced at every step by the sea as it surged over the gangways and boiled along the decks like a river in flood. Even when the hands were dismissed in watches to find a moment of rest and shelter below there was little to sustain them. Everything was dripping or damp, and the cook had long since given up any idea of producing a hot meal?
Bolitho remained on the quarterdeck, his tarpaulin coat plastered to his body like a shroud while the wind howled and screamed around him. Shrouds and rigging whined like the strings of some mad orchestras and above the deck, hidden in darkness, the crack and boom of canvas told its own story. In brief lulls the wind seemed to drop, holding its breath as if to consider its efforts against the embattled sloop. In those small moments Bolitho could feel the salt warming on his face, raw to the touch. He could hear the clank ob pumps, the muffled shouts from below and on the
hidden forecastle as unseen men fought to make fast lashings, seek out severed cordage, or merely to reassure each other they were alive?
All night the wind battered against them, driving them further and still further to the south-cast. Hour by hour, as Bolitho peered at the compass or reeled below to examine his chart, there was neither rest nor relief from its pounding. Bolitho felt bruised and sicks as if he had been fighting a physical battle, or dragged half-drowned from the sea itself. Despite his reeling mind he thanked God he had not tried to lie to and ride out the storm under a solitary reefed topsail. With this strength of wind and sea Sparrow would never have recovered, could have been all aback and dismasted before anyone had realised what they were truly against?
He could even find a moment to marvel at Sparrow's behaviour. Uncomfortable she was to every man aboard. Fighting the jerking canvas or working on the pumps with sea and bilge water swirling amongst them like rats in a sewer, their lives were made worse by the motion. Up, higher still, and then down with the sound of thunder across a great crest, every spar and timber shaking as if to rip free of the hull. Food, a few precious possessions, clothing, all surged about the
decks in wild abandon, but not a gun tore away from its lashings, not a bolt snapped, nor was any hatch stove in by the attacking sea. Sparrow took it all, rode each assault with the unsteady belligerence of a drunken marine?
By the time they sighted a first hint of grey in the ska the sea had begun to ease, and when the sun peeped languidly above the horizon it was hard to believe they were in the same ocean?
The wind had veered again to the northwest and as they stared with salt-caked eyes at the patches of blue between the clouds they knew they were being left in comparative peace?
Bolitho realised that if he allowed the hands to rest now they would not be able to move again for hours? He looked down at the gun deck and gangways, seeing their tired faces and torn clothing, the way the topmen's tarred hands were held like claws after their repeated journeys to those treacherous yards to battle with the sails?
He said, 'Pass the word for the galley fire to be lit? We must get some hot food into them directly.' He looked up as a shaft of sunlight touched the upper yards so that they shone above the retreating darkness like a triple crucifix.' It will be warm enough soon, Mr? Tyrrell. Rig wind-sails above each hatch and open the weather gun ports.' He let his salt-stiffened lips crack into a smile.' I suggest you forget your usual concern for the ship's looks and have the hands run their spare clothing aloft to dry out.'
Graves came aft and touched his hat.' Able Seaman Marsh is missing.' He swayed and added wearily, 'Foretopman, sir.'
Bolitho let his eyes stray over the starboard quarter? The seaman must have been hurled overboard during the night, and they had not even heard a cry. Which was just as well. They could have done nothing to save him?
'Thank you, Mr. Graves. Note it in the log, if you please.'
He was still watching the sea, the way the night appeared to withdraw itself before the first gold rays, like some retreating assassin. The seaman was out there somewhere, dead and remembered by just a few. His shipmates, and those at home he had left so long ago?
He shook himself and turned to the master.' Mr? Buckle, I hope we can fix our position today? Somewhere to the sou'west of the Bermudas, I have no doubt.' He smiled gently at Buckle's gloomy expression.' But fifty miles or five hundred, I am not sure.'
Bolitho waited another hour until the ship had been laid on a new tack, her jib-boom prodding towards the southern horizon, her decks and upperworks steaming in the early sunlight as if she was smouldering?
Then he nodded to Tyrrell.' I will take some breakfast.' He sniffed the greasy aroma from the galley funnel.' Even that smell has given me an appetite.'
With the cabin door firmly closed and Stockdale padding around the table with fresh coffee and a pewter plate
