Stockdale had not even hesitated. 'I'd like to go on serving you, Captain. I don't have no other wish!'
Bolitho had been considering the idea of getting Stockdale discharged ashore as soon as the ship returned to an English port. There with a little help he might be able to settle down to live his life in peace and security: But as what? Stockdale's prompt and simple reply had driven the suggestion from hi mind. It would only have hurt the man.
He wrote: `And of my coxswain, Mark Stockdale, I can only add that without his prompt action the entire mission might have ended in failure. By cutting the Andiron's cable and thereby allowing her to drift beneath Lieutenant Herrick's fire he ensured the total and complete destruction of the ship with a minimum loss to our own side.' He signed his name wearily across the bottom and stood up. Pages, of writing. It was to be hoped that they would be read by those unbiased against the Phalarope's name.
At least Farquhar's uncle, Vice-Admiral Sir Henry Lang ford, would be pleased. His faith would be sustained, and given time his hopes for his nephew would certainly materialise.
Bolitho leaned out of the stem window and let the warm air caress his face. He could hear the creak of tackles and the steady splash of oars as boats plied back and forth to the shore. The ship had dropped anchor in the early morning, and all day the boats had been busy gathering fresh stores and taking the wounded to more comfortable quarters in the town.
He watched the impressive line of anchored ships, the growing might of the West Indies fleet. Perhaps their presence had dwarfed what might have otherwise been a triumphant return for the Phalarope. He frowned at his, recurring thought. Maybe the Phalarope was still to be treated with shame and mistrust?
Bolitho let his eyes move slowly along the great ships with their towering masts and lines of open gunports. There was the Formidable, ninety-eight, fresh out of England with Sir George Rodney's flag at her truck. There were others too, their names already well known in the face of war. Ajax and Resolution, Agamemnon and Royal Oak, and Sir Samuel Hood's flagship Barfleur. And there were some he did not recognise at all, no doubt reinforcements brought by Rodney from the Channel Fleet. And they were all gathering for one purpose. To seek out and destroy the great French and Spanish fleet before it in turn drove the British from the Caribbean for good.
He turned his head to look towards his own small squadron on the other side of the anchorage. The elderly Cassius dwarfing the little Witch of Looe. And one other frigate, the Volcano, a vessel very similar to the Phalarope.
There was still no summons from the admiral. Just a brief message brought by a pink-faced midshipman to state that Bolitho's report was required before sunset. The frigate was to replete reprovisioning and await further orders. Nothing more.
Nothing more until something even stranger had happened.
Halfway through the forenoon a boat had put off from the Cassius and within minutes a dapper lieutenant had reported himself to Bolitho. He had said, 'Rear-Admiral Sir Robert Napier sends his compliments, sir. He wishes to inform you that he will be willing to accept an invitation for dinner tonight aboard your ship. He will be bringing our captain as an additional guest.' The officer had watched the consternation on Bolitho's features and had added helpfully, 'Is there anything I can do to help, sir?'
Bolitho had been stunned by the wording of the message. It was unusual for flag officers to dine aboard their less impressive ships. It was unknown for them actually to word their own invitations!
Bolitho had thought of his dwindling provisions and the crude results produced from the galley.
The lieutenant from the Cassius had obviously been well briefed. 'If I may make a suggestion, sir?'
Bolitho stared at him. 'Anything you can say would be a great help at this moment.'
`My captain is sending some stores from his own pantry, sir. In addition there will be some quite drinkable wine arriving within the hour.' He had ticked off the items on his fingers, his face wrapped in thought. Bolitho had guessed that the young man was not unused to the strange behavior of his admiral. 'If I may suggest some lean pork, sir? It is in goodly supply in St. John's, and the cheese is newly arrived with Admiral Rodney's ships from England.'
Bolitho had sent for Vibart and the purser, Evan, and explained what was due to happen. For once Vibart seemed too surprised to make any comment, and Bolitho had said curtly, 'See to it, Mr. Vibart. And tell my servant to clean out the cabin and lay, a full table.' He had felt suddenly reckless. 'Sir Robert Napier must not expect a flagship's fare aboard a mere frigate!'
Now, looking back, he knew that the momentary recklessness was more likely to have been a result of too much sun on the open quarterdeck and the weakening pain of his wound.
Well, it could not be helped. It was more than obvious what the admiral intended. With Rodney back at the reins he would not wish to lambast Phalarope in public. He would not even risk an open argument aboard his own flagship. No, he would come to the Phalarope in person, like God coming down to smite a sinner, Bolitho thought bitterly. No success would wipe away his first displeasure or recompense his son's death. If- the Andiron lay under guard beneath the guns of his own, flagship the admiral might have felt differently. But the privateer was now less than nothing. A mere pencilled mark on a chart.
Bolitho sat down heavily on the stern bench, suddenly tired and irritable. He stared at the waiting report and then called, `Sentry! Pass the word for Mr. Herrick!'
The report could go across to Cassius now, he thought angrily. Whatever else happened, he wanted to make sure that his men received recognition and had their efforts properly recorded.
Herrick entered the cabin and stood alerty beside the desk. `Take this envelope over to the flagship.' Bolitho saw the immediate concern on Herrick's open face and became more irritated. Try as he might he could not keep the dullness from his voice, and knew that in spite of all his efforts his fatigue was wearing him down, so that every word seemed to drag from his lips.
Herrick said carefully, 'May I suggest that you take a rest; sir? I think you have been doing too much.'
`Kindly attend to your duties, damn you!' Bolitho looked away, angry with Herrick but more so with himself for the unfairness of his attack.
'Aye, aye, sir.' Herrick seemed unmoved and said, 'May I ask if this is the full report about the Andiron, sir?'
Bolitho turned coldly. 'Of course it is! Were you afraid I'd not included your efforts in this escapade?'
Herrick eyed him steadily. 'I am sorry, sir. It's just that-'He swallowed hard. 'Well, we feel, those of us who took part,' he began to stammer. 'You are the one who should take all the credit, sir!'
Bolitho looked at the deck, the blood singing in his ears. 'You have a happy knack of making me feel ashamed, Mr. Herrick. I would be obliged if you would refrain from doing so in the future!' He looked up sharply, remembering with sudden clarity the sound of Herrick's voice in the darkness, the touch of his hands on his wound. 'But thank you.' He walked slowly to the desk. 'The attack on the Andiron was a series of lucky occurrences, Mr. Herrick. The end result may seem to some to justify this. But I must admit that I am still dissatisfied. I believe in luck, but I know that no man can depend upon itl'
ayes, sir.' Herrick watched him closely. `I just wanted you to know how we all feel.' His jaw jutted stubbornly.,Whatever lies in store for us, we'll feel all the better for your being in command, sir.'
Bolitho ruffled the papers on his desk. `Thank you. Now for God's sake go to the Cassius, Mr. Herrick., He watched Herrick duck through the door and heard his voice calling for the quarter boat.
It was odd how easy it was to tell his fears to Herrick. Stranger too that Herrick was able to listen without taking advantage of this confidence.
His eye fell on the punishment book, and again he felt the tired glow of anger. While he had been a prisoner of his own brother the old disease had broken out again. Floggings and more floggings, with one man dying of his agony under the lash. Maybe there would be time to heal the damage, he thought grimly. He must accept Vibart's sullen explanations, just as he had had to recognise Okes' report on the attack on Mola Island. He must back up his own officers. And if they were weak and stupid, then he must take the blame for that also.
He thought too of Vibart's attitude since his return to command. Due to' his wound and the swirling darkness of pain and sickness he had not seen his face at the actual moment of return. But in the days which had followed, the days and nights of creaking timbers and thundering seas against the hull, he had seen him several times. Once when he had been delirious and sweating in his swaying cot hee had seen Vibart standing over him and had heard him ask, 'Will he live? Tell me, Mr. Ellice, will he live?
Perhaps he had only imagined it. It was hard to tell now. But for a brief moment he was sure he had heard the true resentment in Vibart's voice. He wanted him to die. Just as his return from the dead was still leaving him
