future accordingly. For him it was the Navy. Nothing else would do. It was odd because there was no precedent in his family, all of whom had been tradesmen, sprinkled with the occasional soldier.
His father had pleaded in vain. He had warned him of the pitfalls, which were many. Lack of personal standing and financial security made him see only too clearly what his son was attempting to, challenge. He even compromised by suggesting a safe berth aboard an Indiaman, but Herrick was quietly adamant.
. Quite by chance a visiting warship had been laid up near Rochester while repairs had been carried out to her hull. Her captain had been a friend of the man who employed Herrick's father, a grave senior captain who showed neither resentment nor open scorn when the eleven years old boy had waylaid him and told him of his desire to go to sea in a King's ship.
Faced by the captain and his employer, Herrick's father had,given in. To do him full justice he had made the best of it by using his meagre savings to send his son on his way, outwardly at least, a young gentleman as good as any of his fellows.
Herrick was now twenty-five. It had been a long and arduous journey from that time. He had learned humiliation and embarrassment for the first time. He had faced unequal opposition of breeding and influence. The starry-eyed boy had been whittled away and hardened like the good Kentish oak beneath his -feet. But one thing had not changed. His love of the sea and the Navy stayed over him like a protecting cloak or some strange religion which he only partly understood.
This timeless thing was the same to all men, he decided. It was far above them. It controlled and used everyone alike, no matter what his ambition might be.
He smiled at himself as he continued his endless pacing. He wondered what young Neale, yawning hugely by the rail, would think of his grave faced senior. Or the helmsmen who watched the swinging needle and gauged the pull of the sails. Or Betts, high overhead on his precarious perch, his own thoughts no doubt full of what he had done and what might lie in store for him behind Evans' vengeance.
Maybe it was better to be unimaginative, he thought. To be completely absorbed in day-to-day worries, like Lieutenant
Okes for instance. He was a married man, and that was obstacle enough for any young officer. Okes spent his time either fretting about his distant wife or treading warily to avoid Vibart's eye. He was a strange, shallow man, Herrick thought, unsure of himself, and afraid to unbend even with his own kind. It seemed as if he was afraid of becoming too friendly, and nervous of expressing an opinion outside the necessities of duty. As if by so doing he might awake suspicion elsewhere or give a hint of misplaced loyalty.
Herrick moved his stiff shoulders inside his, coat and pushed Okes from his thoughts. He might after all be right. Aboard the Phalarope it often seemed safer to say nothing, to do nothing which might be wrongly interpreted later.
He stared at the weather rail and noticed with a start that he could see the carved dolphin above the starboard ladder and the fat, ugly carronade nearby. His thoughts had carried him through another half hour, and soon the dawn would show him an horizon once more. Would bring another day.
Harsh and clear above the hiss of spray he suddenly heard Betts' voice from the masthead. `Deck there! Sail on the starboard bow! Hull down, but it's a ship!'
Snatching his glass from the rack Herrick scrambled up into the mizzen shrouds, his mind working on the unexpected report. The sea was already gathering shape and personality, and there was a finger of grey along where the horizon should be. Up there, high above the swaying deck, Betts would just be able to see the other ship in the dawn's cautious approach.
He snapped, `Mr. Neale! Up you go and see what you can discover. If you give me a false report you'll kiss the gunner's daughter before you're much older!'
Neale's face split into a grin, and without a word he scampered like a monkey towards the main shrouds.
Herrick tried to stay calm, to return to his pacing as he had seen Bolitho do. But the newcomer, if there was indeed a ship, filled him with uncertainty, so that he stared at the dark sea as if willing it to appear.
Betts called again. `She's a frigate, sir! No doubt about it. Steerin' south-east!'
Neale's shrill voice took up the call. `She's running before the wind like a bird, sir! Under all plain sail!'
Herrick breathed out noisily. For one brief instant he had imagined it might be a Frenchman. Even out here, alone and unaided, it was not impossible. But the French rarely sailed fast or far by night. Usually they lay to and rode out the darkness. This was no enemy.
As if to open his thoughts Betts yelled, `I know that rig, sir! She's an English ship right enough!,
'Very well, keep on reporting!' Herrick lowered the speaking trumpet and peered back along the quarterdeck. Even in minutes the place had taken more shape and reality. The deck was pale and grey, and he could see the helmsmen again as familiar faces.
There might be new orders in the other frigate. Maybe the American war was already over and they would return, to Brest or England In his heart Herrick felt a sudden twinge of disappointment. At first the prospect of another long commission in the unhappy Phalarope had appalled him. Now, with the thought that he might never see the West Indies at all, he was not so sure.
Neale slithered straight down a backstay, disdaining shrouds and ratlines, and ran panting to the quarterdeck.
Herrick made up his mind. `My respects to the captain, Mr. Neale, and tell him we have sighted a King's ship. She will be up to us in an hour, maybe much less. He will wish to prepare himself.'
Neale hurried down the hatchway and Herrick stared across the tumbling waste of water. Bolitho would be even more concerned, he thought. If the Phalarope was ordered home now, all his plans and promises would be without meaning. He would have lost his private battle before he had had time to begin.
There was a soft step beside him and Bolitho said, `Now, Mr. Herrick, what about this ship?'
4. THE SIGNAL
Bolitho steadied his, glasses against the weather rigging and waited for the other ship to leap into focus. In the time it had taken him to, walk from his cabin to the quarterdeck and listen to Herrick's excited report, the dawn sun had slowly clawed its way over the horizon so that already the endless waste of tossing whitecaps was touched with pale gold,, the shadows gone from the short, steep waves.
The other vessel made a fine sight in the strengthening light, he thought, with her tall pyramids of full sails and the unbroken curtain of spray bursting around the high bow. She was moving fast, her topmasts glittering in the weak sunlight like crucifixes.
Over his shoulder he called, `You have a good lookout, Mr. Herrick! He is to be complimented for such an early sighting.'
Even for a trained seaman it was not easy to pick out a ship from the shadows of night and dawn and identify her. She was English right enough, and there was a certain familiarity about her.
Vaguely in the background he could hear the boatswain's mates calling the hands, the shrill twitter of pipes.
`All hands! All hands! Show a leg!'
He could imagine the sleep-dazed men tumbling from their hammocks groaning and protesting, while from forward came the usual mixture of smells from the galley. Another day, but this time it would be different. The sea was no longer empty and hostile. The other ship might make the men remember that they were part of something real and important.
He saw the frigate's big yards begin to change shape and heard Herrick say, `She's going about, sir. She'll be up to us shortly!'
Bolitho nodded absently. The stranger would swing round to run parallel, keeping the Phalarope down to leeward. As Herrick had suggested, it might mean new orders.
He climbed down from the rigging suddenly chilled and tired. The keen spray had moulded his shirt to his body and his hair felt wet against his cheek. He noticed that his ship had changed yet again. The quarterdeck seemed thronged with figures, the officers keeping to the lee side, but with their glasses raised and watching the other frigate.
