He frowned, trying to think of something to purchase if and when they were allowed a stay in port. And they were well overdue for that. Despite her coppered hulls Sparrow's speed had been reduced by a full knot in otherwise perfect sailing conditions by long clinging weed which defied the copper and their efforts to move it. He would buy some wine perhaps. Good wine, not the bitter-tasting muck which was normally used as the only alternative for foul drinking water. A dozen shirts or more. His mind played with the idea of such luxury. At the present moment he had only two shirts which would bear close inspection?
It might be possible to find a good sword somewhere. Not like the one which had shattered aboard the privateer, nor the curved hanger which he had used since, but something better. Lasting?
He heard footsteps beyond the door and knew it was Tyrrell. He would have known it even if it had been another time, a different watch. For since being wounded Tyrrell had been unable to rid himself of a limp and not a little pain?
The first lieutenant had otherwise not changed very much, he thought. Or maybe the three years had drawn them so close he had not noticed it. Unlike Gravess who seemed to have withdrawn even further and had grown noticeably more nervous after each action or skirmish. Upon his promotion to captain, Bolitho had become entitled to an extra lieutenant, and the appointment fell vacant on the very day the two midshipmen went aboard the flagship to sit for their commissions. Heyward had passed with flying colours, and now, looking back, it was hard to recall him as a midshipman at all. Bethune had unfortunately failed his exams, not once, but three times, and Bolitho repeatedly wondered how best to get rid of him. He had grown very fond of Bethune, but knew that being retained in Sparrow's confined community was only
acting against his remaining, if dwindling, chances. His navigation was hopeless, his ability to take charge ob the quarterdeck and set the hands to making or shortening sail was dismal to behold. As a marine officer, or even a foot soldier, he would have been adequate. He could obey orders, even if he found them hard to formulate. Under fire he had shown plenty ob courage, and a boyish stoicism which was rarely matched even by a seasoned sailor. Now, aged twenty, and with no hope of gaining the commission he so obviously desired, he stood out like a sore thumb? Heyward had tried to help him, more so than Bolitho had imagined he would. But it was no use. The ship's company treated him with cheerful acceptance, as they would a child. His burden had not been eased by the appointment of a new midshipman to take Heyward's place?
Roger Augustus Fowler, sixteen years of age, and with the pouting features of a petulant pig, had soon learned to add to rather than detract from Bethune's misery?
Fowler's arrival had further enlarged the rift between Bolitho and Colquhoun. The boy was the son of the admiral's best friend, and so his appointment to this or any ship was very close to a royal command. The offspring of some influential person could be a great handicap to a young and busy captain, but equally he could open doors otherwise denied by the chain ob command. Colquhoun had probably seen the boy's arrival from England as an opportunity in the latter category, and had been outraged when the admiral had chosen Sparrow rather than his frigate Bacchante?
Fowler had been aboard for eight months and was not popular. It was nothing you could put a name to? Obedient and attentive in the presence of his superiors, he could be equally sharp and sarcastic with seamen old enough to be his father. He had a way ob shutting off his expression, using his pale eyes and pouting lips like the extensions of a mask. If he ever reached command rank he would be a tyrant to serves Bolitho thought?
There was a tap at the door and Bolitho swept his musings into the background?
Tyrrell limped into the cabin and sat down at the table. Against his open shirt his skin was burned almost to mahogany, and his hair had become a shade lighter under forgotten suns. He pushed the calculations across the chart and together they looked at Sparrow's approximate position?
To the south lay the nearest extensions of the Bahama Islands, the countless spans of cays and reefs, treacherous sandbars and islets. Some eighty miles to the west lay the coast of Florida, and to the east the main routes used by ships going to and fro from the Indies and New York. It was a veritable warren of islands and narrow channels, although to the untried eye of a landsman the sea might appear at peaces broken here and there by restful purple humps of land shrouded in low haze. But to the mariner the chart showed much more, and that was less than he required to know the true margin of safety. The occasional dab of white betrayed a reef, the duller patch on the sea's face might represent a cloak ob weed across some vast pinnacle lurking beneath the surface, the spines of which could tear the keel from a ship like the string from an orange?
Tyrrell said at length, 'I reckon we've lost th' bugger.'
'Maybe.' Bolitho opened a drawer in the table and took out two long clay pipes. Handing one to Tyrrell he groped for a tobacco bowl and then said, 'Is Fawn still in sight?'
Tyrrell grinned.' Sure enough. 'Bout three miles to the
east'rd.' He tamped down the tobacco in his pipe and added, 'Our masthead lookout thought he saw breakers to th' sou'-west. If so, that would be the Matanilla Shoal, which fixes our calculations, so to speak.'
Bolitho lit his pipe from the hanging smoking-lantern and then walked restlessly to the windows. Once near the sill he felt the slow breeze across his face and chest like air fanned from a blacksmith's forge. When eventually the wind returned to give life to the sails it was to be hoped it came from the south-east as before. It was no time to be driven closer to those deadly shoals. But they had to stay near enough to be able to watch at least three channels while Fawn patrolled further to the east. For six weeks, in company with the other sloop, they had been searching for a big blockade runner, a French flute which had been reported out of Martinique and heading north, most likely for the enemy base of naval operations in Newport, Rhode Island. The information from spies, or those merely after recognition or reward, was always open to doubt. But a flute, which was a large man-of-war with some of her armament removed to facilitate the fast passage of men or stores, was too important to be ignored?
The flotilla's third sloop, Heron, was sweeping somewhere to the south, off the Andros Islands, and Colquhoun's Bacchante had, as far as he knew, remained in more open waters to the west, between the Bahamas and the American mainland?
Once away from Colquhoun's supervision, Bolitho had taken the sloops to their present position. On the chart the chance of making contact with a solitary enemy seemed impossible, but he knew by now that if the sea appeared empty, it was in fact divided into channels by sprawling reefs and cays, and was just as much a hazard to enemy as to friend?
'If we take her, it'll be another feather for us.' Tyrrell watched his pipe-smoke drifting through the skylight above him.' I often wonder if it makes all that difference to th' war.'
'It all helps, Jethro.'
Bolitho studied him gravely. How close they had become. Like the use of first names, the ritual pipe-smoking for as long as the tobacco stock lasted, it all seemed to symbolise what the ship had made them?
Time and distance, hours and days spent in every
sort of condition, they had all left their mark on Sparrow's company. Even the necessary changes brought about by death and injury, transfer and discharge had seemed unable to break the little ship's hold on their destiny. Over a third of the company were replacements made since he had taken commands and apart from colonists, included a sprinkling ob Negroes, some merchant seamen pressed from a home-bound ship, and a solitary Greek who had deserted his own vessel only to be taken aboard a French brig as a captive. The brig, seized as a prize by Sparrow, had yielded severyl new hands, and the Greek had proved to be an excellent assistant cook?
'How long will you give her?'
Bolitho considered the question.' Another week maybe. If she doesn't show herself, I think we can assume she's slipped past us, or turned back somewhere. She might have run into one of the patrols further south.'
'Aye.' Tyrrell yawned.' An' then we can get some time in port.'
Feet pounded overhead and they heard Buckle shout, 'Call all hands! Th' wind's a'coming back!'
Then there was a rap on the door and Bethune peered in at them, his round face sweating badly?
'Mr. Buckle's respects, sir. The wind is freshening from the sou'-east. Fawn's tops'ls are already filling.'
'I'll come up.' Bolitho waited until the midshipman had withdrawn before asking quietly, 'What am Ito do about him?'
Tyrrell shrugged.' He'll not get promoted unless by a miracle. Maybe if we put him in charge of our next prize?' He shook his head before Bolitho could comment.' Almighty God, the lad'd lose his way an' the prize!'
On deck they found the hands already being mustered while overhead the sails were stirring uneasily, the masthead pendant lifting as the first breeze reached it?
'Man th' braces!' Tyrrell strode to the rail and squinted into the glare.' It'll be up to us soon, lads.'
