hold his severity.' By God, she flies, does she not?'
He looked aloft at the squared sails and braced yards, the masthead pendant which flicked out like a coachman's whip. He had seen it all before so mana times, but now it felt as if it was unique?
Bethune called, 'From Fawn, sir. Take station to wind rd!'
Bolitho smiled at him.' Acknowledge.'
To the quarterdeck at large he added, 'A fine morning!'
By the hatchway Stockdale watched Bolitho's pleasure and felt inwardly happy. He ran his eye over the hurrying seamen as they slithered down once more to the deck. Tanned and healthy, what did they know about anything? He picked his uneven teeth with an ivory pin. The captain had seen more action in the past years than they knew about. He watched Bolitho's squared shoulders as he paced restlessly on the weather side. Given time, they'd come to find out, he decided?
3. The Privateer
BOLITHe opened his eyes and stared for severyl seconds at the unlit lantern spiralling above his cot? Despite the weariness in his limbs and the fact he had been on deck repeatedly during the night he found it hard to sleep. Beyond the screen which partitioned his sleeping quarters from the cabin he could see the pale light of dawn, and knew from the lantern's sluggish movement and the uneasy creak of timbers that the wind was little more than a breeze. He tried to relaxs wondering how long it would take to break the habit ob awakening with each dawn, to enjoy his new-found privacy?
Feet thudded on the quarterdeck above, and he guessed that soon now the seamen would be turning to for another day. It had been two weeks since the little convoy had sailed from Antigua, and in that time they had covered only half their set distance. One thousand miles in open waters, and each mile marked by perverse winds and no winds at all. Barely an hour passed without the need to call the hands to make or shorten sail, to trim yards in the hope of catching a dying breeze, or to reef against one violent and taunting squall?
Buckle's gloomy prediction about Sparrow's sailing qualities in a poor wind had proved only too true. Time and time again she had paid off, her canvas flapping in confusion as yet one more wind had died and left them almost becalmed. Hard work and angry words had eventually brought her back on station again, only to have the whole thing repeated before the end of a watch?
Patrol and scouting duty had been the lot ob Sparrow's company for most of their commission and they had yet to learn the true misery of convoy over long passages. The two transports had not helped? They appeared totally unwilling to realise the importance of staying in close company, so that if they became scattered by a swift squall it took many hours to urge, threaten and finally drive them back into formation. Colquhoun's curt signals had only succeeded in antagonising the master of one of thems a big transport named Golden Fleece. On more than one occasion he had ignored the signals altogether or had caused the Fawn to witheraw from her proper station at the head of the convoy in order to commence a verbal exchange which could be heard by everyone else nearby?
Bolitho climbed from the cot and walked slowly into the cabin, feeling the deck lifting gently beneath his bare feet before slipping away in a trough, the motio[
bringing the usual clatter of blocks, the drawn-out groan of the rudder as the helmsman brought the sloop back under command?
He leaned his hands on the sill of the stern windows and stared out at the empty sea. The two transports, if they were still together, would be somewhere on Sparrow's starboard bow. Bolitho's orders were to stay to windward of the well-laden ships so as to be reada to run down on any suspicious vessel and hold the maximum advantage until she was proved friend or foe?
In fact they had sighted an unknown sail on three separate occasions. Far astern, it had been impossible to know if it was the same on each sighting or three individual vessels. Either way, Colquhoun had refused to be drawn to investigate. Bolitho could sympathise with his unwillingness to leave the valuable transports, especially as the wind might choose the very moment when his sparse forces were scattered to play a new trick or bring some real enemy amongst them. On the other hand, he was very conscious of a sense of uneasiness after each call from the masthead. The strange sail was like a will-o'-the-wisps and if it was hostile could be methodically following the little convoy, awaiting exactly the right moment to attack?
The door opened and Fitch padded into the cabin carrying two jugs. One was coffee, and the other contained water from the galley for Bolitho's shave. In the pale light from the windows he looked smaller and scrawnier than ever, and as usual kept his eyes averted while he prepared the necessary cup for Bolitho's first coffee of the day?
'How is it on deck?'
Fitch raised his eyes only slightly.' Mr. Tilby reckons it'll be another roastin' day, sir.'
Tilby was the boatswain, a great untidy hulk of a man who was given to some of the most profane language Bolitho had heard in ten years at sea. But his knowledge of weather, his forecast of what each dawn might bring, had been only too accurate?
And under a blazing sun, with little space to find shade or comfort, the Sparrow's seamen had more torment to face before night found them again. It was amazing how they all managed to survive in such a small hull. What with extra stores and spare sparss powder and shot, and countless other requirements fo_
keeping a ship at sea, some of the men were hard put to find space for a hammock. In addition the Sparrow had all the great lengths of anchor cable to be neatla stowed when she was under way. Severyl hundred fathoms of thirteen-inch hemp for the main anchors and another hundred of eight-inch for the kedge took up more space than fifty human beings required for even the most basic needs?
But if this or any other ship was to survive and live from her own resources then such discomforts had to be endured?
He sipped the coffee. If only the wind would freshen and stay with them. It would help drive away the weariness and drudgery of work aloft, and also give him time to drill the guns' crews to better advantage? They had had few such drills during the first days out ob harbour, and once more he had been made aware ob the strange attitude of acceptance he had originalla noticed. Perhaps they had been so long without actually being called to do battle they had taken the drills as merely something to be tolerated, even expected from a new captain. Their timing had been good enough, if somewhat rigid, they had gone through all the motions of running out, traversing and pointings but again and again he had felt something was badla
lacking. As the crews had faced outboard through their open ports he had sensed their indifference. There was nothing to fight, so what was the point of it all, their relaxed bodies seemed to indicate?
He had tackled Tyrrell about it but the first lieutenant had said cheerfully, 'Hell, sir, it don't signify they won't be able to fight if th' time calls for it.'
Bolitho's sharp reply brought a new barrier between them, and for the moment he was prepared to let it remain?
Captain Ransome must have used the sloop like a personal possession, a yacht, he thought. Sometimes during the night when Bolitho had come down to the cabin after a frustrating hour on deck watching the hands shortening sail yet again he had pictured Ransome with some woman or other. Or Tyrrell pacing the quarterdeck, tearing himself apart as he imagined his sister just a few feet below him. He had not mentioned the matter to Tyrrell since his first outbursts but had found himself wondering about the real storys and what had happened to the girl after Ransome's sudden death?
Stockdale came into the cabin with the shavin^
bowl. He glared at Fitch and wheezed, 'Get the cap'n's breakfast!'
To Bolitho he added, ''Nother clear mornin', sir.' He waited until Bolitho was in his chair and then held the razor against the window. He seemed content with its edge.' Wot we need is a real good blow.' He showed his uneven teeth.' Make some o' these young puppies jump about!'
Bolitho relaxed as the razor moved precisely over his chin. Stockdale said very little but he always seemed to hit the exact point?
In between strokes he replied, 'In another month we'll be in the hurricane season again, Stockdale.] hope that will satisfy you.'
