'Aye, Captain.' Allday watched him sadly. 'I thought it for the best.'
Bolitho nodded. 'I expect it is.' He walked to the windows as if to see the riding-light still twinkling above the water. 'It is a bad thing to be alone.'
Aliday glanced at the tarnished sword which hung from the bulkhead. For a moment he thought about Bolitho's other coxswain, who had died protecting his back from French marksmen at the Saintes. They had come a long way together since those times, he thought. Soon now, it might all end. He looked at Bolitho's shoulders as he peered through the stern windows.
But you will never be alone, Captain. Not while I've a breath left.
17. Close Action
Bolitho rested his hands on the quarterdeck rail and peered searchingly along his command. In the darkness the decks and gangways made a pale outline against the sea beyond the bows, and only the irregular drift of spray, the swirling white arrowhead from the stem gave any true hint of their progress.
He restrained himself from going aft again to examine his watch by the shaded compass light. Nothing had changed since his last inspection, and he was well aware of the danger of adding to the tension around him.
Three days since they had left the anchorage in Pendang Bay, making good speed with favourable winds for most of the time. They had stood well clear of the land, even the approaches to the little whale-shaped islet, in case Muljadi or Le Chaumareys had thought fit to place another craft there to warn of any unwelcome sail.
The previous evening, just before sunset, they had sighted Herrick's schooner, a tiny dark sliver on the copper- edged horizon, seemingly motionless as she idled to await Undine's arrival at the arranged point of rendezvous. A brief dipping signal from a lantern before both vessels had lost each other again in darkness.
Bolitho shivered, feeling the cool, clammy air exploring his face and throat. The middle watch had only just run its course, and there was still an hour or so before any lightening of the sky could be expected. But overnight, while all hands had worked to prepare the ship for action, the clouds had gathered and thickened, brushing out the stars so that Undine seemed to be sailing remorselessly into a void.
He heard Mudge moving restlessly below the hammock nettings, rubbing his palms together to keep warm. The sailing master seemed unusually preoccupied. Perhaps his rheumatism was troubling him, or like Bolitho, he was thinking of Herrick, somewhere out there on Undine's larboard bow.
Bolitho straightened his back and looked up at the blacker outlines of yards and rigging. The ship was sailing under topsails and jibs, and with only the great forecourse hiding the sea ahead of the bowsprit. It was strange to feel so chilled, when within hours the sun would be back to torment them, to add to whatever else, lay in store.
He asked, 'How is the wind, Mr. Mudge?'
Mudge was glad to break the silence. 'Still sou'-west, sir. By an' large.' He coughed noisily. 'Under most occasions I'd be grateful for that.'
'What are you thinking?'
'Not sure, sir.' Mudge moved away from the seamen waiting by the quarterdeck six-pounders. 'It's too uneven for. my tastes.'
Bolitho turned to peer forward again. The big forecourse seemed to echo Mudge's doubts. Undine was steering almost due north, and with the wind coming across her quarter she should have been making easy-going of it. But she was not. The forecourse would billow and harden, making the stars and shrouds hum and vibrate, holding the ship firm for several minutes. Then it would flap and bang in disorder before falling almost limp against the foremast for another frustrating period.
Mudge added doubtfully, 'You never knows in these waters. Not for sure.'
Bolitho looked at his untidy outline. If Mudge was worried, with all his experience, how much worse it would be for many of the others.
He called, 'Mr. Davy! I am going forrard directly.' He saw the lieutenant's shape detach itself from the rail. 'Tell Mr. Keen to keep me company.'
He slipped out of his tarpaulin coat and handed it to Allday. He had been so occupied with his own thoughts and doubts he had not fully realised how heavily these dragging hours must be affecting his company. He had ordered the ship to be prepared for action as soon as he was satisfied with the final leg of their course towards the Benua islands. Working in almost total darkness, the hands had completed the task almost as quickly as in broad daylight, so familiar had they become with their surroundings. Their home. It was a simple precaution. Sound travelled too easily at sea, and the clatter of screens being torn down, the scrape and squeak of nets being spread above the gun deck and chain slings being rigged to every yard seemed loud enough to wake the dead. But from then on they had nothing to do but wait. To fret on what daylight might bring, or take away.
Keen came out of the darkness, his shirt pale against a black six-pounder.
Bolitho asked, 'How is the wound?' 'Much better, thank you, sir.'
Bolitho smiled. He could almost feel the pain which was probably showing on Keen's face.
'Then take a stroll with me.'
Together they walked along the lee gangway, ducking below the taut nets which Shellabeer's men had rigged to catch falling cordage or worse, seeing the upturned faces of each gun crew, the restless shapes of the marine sentries at hatchways, or powder-monkeys huddled together while they waited to serve the silent cannon.
On to the forecastle, where the squat carronades pointed from either bow like tethered beasts, their crews shivering in the occasional dashes of spray.
Bolitho paused, one hand. gripping the nettings as Undine sidled unsteadily into a deep trough. Most of the seamen were stripped to the waist, their bodies shining faintly above the d rk water alongside.
'All ready, lads?'
He felt them crowd around him, their sudden interest at his arrival. Of necessity, the galley fire had been doused when the ship had gone to quarters. A hot drink now would be worth more than a dozen extra guns, he thought bitterly.
To Keen he said, 'Pass the word to Mr. Davy with my compliments. A double tot of rum for all hands.' He heard the instant response around him, the murmur of appreciation as it flowed aft along the gun deck. 'If the purser complains, tell him he'll have me to reckon with!'
'Thankee, sir! That was right thoughtful, sir!'
He strode to the ladder, turning away in case they could see his face through the darkness, or sense his mood. It was too easy to raise their spirits. So simple that it made him feel cheap, hypocritical. A double tot of rum. A few pence. Whereas within hours they might have given their lives, or their limbs.
Bolitho paced aft beside the main hatch, seeing Soames's great figure towering above that of Tapril, the gunner. He nodded to Fowlar nearby, and to the larboard crews of the twelve-pounders. All were his men, his responsibility.
He thought suddenly of Rear Admiral Sir John Winslade, all those weeks and months ago in his office at the Admiralty. He had needed a, frigate captain he could know and trust. One whose mind he could follow even though it was on the other side of the globe.
He thought, too, of the ragged soldiers below the Admiralty window, one blind, the other begging for the both of them.
All the brave schemes and plans, the lofty preparations for a new world. Yet when it was boiled down, nothing was changed. Undine and Argus were but two ships, and yet their presence and their needs made them no less important than opposing fleets.
And if Undine failed, what would they say in those fine residences in Whitehall and St. James's Square, and in the busy coffee houses where mere rumour grew into fact in minutes? Would they care that men had fought and died for them in the King's name?
Someone gave a hoarse cheer in the gloom, and he guessed the rum had arrived on deck.
He continued aft, hardly aware that he had stopped short in his tracks as his bitterness had given way to anger. How spacious the deck seemed without the boats lying one upon the other across their tier. All were now towing astern, awaiting the moment to be cast adrift, mute spectators of the battle which might come. Which had to
