Mudge ambled into the shadow of the hammock nettings and said, 'If you are about to alter course, sir.' He dragged out his handkerchief. 'It is as good a time as any.' He blew his nose violently.
Herrick said quickly, 'I would like to make a suggestion, sir.'
Mudge moved away and stood patiently near the helmsman.
It was hard to tell if Herrick had just thought of his suggestion, or if he had discussed it with the others.
'Some were a mite surprised when you stood clear of Cape Town, sir.' His eyes were very blue in the glare. 'We could have landed our remaining sick people and taken in fresh water. I doubt that the Dutch governor there would pay much heed to our movements.'
'Do you, Mr. Herrick?'
He saw a puff of dull smoke from the galley. Soon now the offwatch men would be having a meal in the sweltering heat of their messes. The remains of yesterday's salt beef. Skillygolee, as they named it. A mixture of oatmeal gruel, crushed biscuits and lumps of boiled meat. And all that washed down with a full ration of beer. It was likely the latter was stale and without life. But anything was better than the meagre ration of water.
He jerked himself back to Herrick, suddenly irritated. 'And who put you up to this remarkable assessment?' He saw Herrick's face cloud over but added, 'It has an unfamiliar ring to it.'
Herrick said, 'It's just that I do not wish to see you driving yourself, sir. I felt as you did about Nervion's loss, but it is done, and there's an end to it. You did all you could for her people…'
Bolitho said, 'Thank you for your concern, but I am not driving myself or our people to no purpose. I believe we may be needed, even at this moment.'
'Perhaps, sir.'
Bolitho regarded him searchingly. 'Perhaps indeed, but then that is my responsibility. If I have acted wrongly, then you may receive promotion more quickly than you thought.' He turned away. 'When the hands have eaten we will lay her on the new course. Nor'-east by east.' He looked at the masthead pendant. 'See how it blows. We'll get the royals on her directly and run with the wind under our coat-tails while it lasts.'
Herrick bit his lip. 'I still believe we should touch land, sir, if only to collect water.'
'As I do, Mr. Herrick.' He faced him coldly. 'And that I will do whenever I can without arousing interest elsewhere. I have my orders. I intend to carry them out as best I can, do you understand?'
They watched each other, their eyes angry, troubled, and concerned by the sudden flare-up between them.
'Very good, sir.' Herrick stood back, his eyes squinting in the sun. 'You can rely on me.'
'I was beginning to wonder, Mr. Herrick.' Bolitho half stepped forward, one hand outstretched as Herrick swung away, his face taut with dismay.
He had not meant the words to form in that way. If he had ever doubted anything in his life, Herrick's loyalty was not one of them. He felt ashamed and angry. Perhaps the strain of this empty monotony, of carrying men who wanted to do nothing but crawl away from work and the sun, of torturing his mind with plans and doubts, had taken a far greater toll than he had imagined.
He turned on his heel and saw Davy watching him curiously.
'Mr. Davy, you have only just taken over your watch, and I would not wish to disrupt your thoughts. But examine the forecourse, if you please, and set some of your hands to put it to rights.' He saw the lieutenant fall back from his anger and added, 'It looks as slack as the watch on deck!'
As he strode to the cabin hatch he saw the lieutenant hurrying to the rail. The fact that the forecourse was not drawing as it should was no excuse for taking out his temper on Davy.
He strode past the sentry and slammed the cabin door behind him. But there was no escape here. Noddall was laying plates on the table, his face stiffly resentful as Mrs. Raymond's maid followed him around the cabin like an amused child.
Raymond was slumped in a chair by the stern windows, apparently dozing, and his wife sat on the bench seat, fanning herself, and watching Noddall's preparations, a look of complete boredom on her face.
Bolitho made to go but she called, 'Come along, Captain. We barely see you from day to day.' She patted the bench seat with the fan. 'Sit awhile. Your precious ship will survive, I think.'
Bolitho sat down and leaned one elbow on the sill. It was good to feel life in the wind again, to watch the lift and swirl of foam as it surged freely from the counter, or came up gurgling around the rudder.
Then he turned slightly and looked at her. She had been aboard all this time and yet he knew little of her. She was watching him now, her eyes partly amused, partly questioning. Probably two or three years older than himself, he thought. Not beautiful, but with the aristocratic presence which commanded instant attention. She had fine, even teeth, and her hair, which she had allowed to flow loosely across her shoulders, was the colour of autumn. While he and the rest of his officers had found difficulty in keeping cool, or finding a clean shirt after the sun's tyranny or some fierce squall in the South Atlantic, she had always managed to remain perfect. As she was now. Her gown was not merely worn, it was arranged, so that he and not she looked out of place against the stern windows. Her earrings were heavy, and he guessed their value would pay most of his marines for a year or more.
She smiled. 'Do you enjoy what you see, Captain?'
Bolitho started. 'I am sorry, ma'am. I am tired.'
She exclaimed, 'How gallant! I am sorry it is only weariness which makes you look at me.' She held up the fan and added, 'I am mocking you, Captain. Do not look so depressed.'
Bolitho smiled. 'Thank you.'
He thought suddenly of that other time. In New York, three years ago. Another ship, his first command, and the world opening up just for him. A woman had shown him that life was not so kind, nor was it easy.
He admitted, 'I have had a lot on my mind. I have been used to action and sharp decisions for most of my life. Merely ~to make sail and face an empty sea day by day is something alien to me. Sometimes -I feel more like a grocery-captain than that of a man-o'-war.'
She watched him thoughtfully. 'I can believe it. I should have realised earlier.' She gave a slow smile, her lashes hiding her eyes. 'Then maybe I would not have offended you.'
Bolitho shook his head. 'Much of it was my fault. I have been so long in ships of war that I have become used to expecting others to share my dedication. If there is a fire I expect all close by to quench it. If a man tries to overrun authority by mutiny or in an enemy's name I would call for others to strike him down, or do so myself.' He faced her gravely. 'That is why I expected you to aid the men injured in the wreck.' He shrugged. 'Again, I expected it. I did not ask.'
She nodded. 'That admission must have surprised you, as much as it did me, Captain.' She showed her teeth. 'It has cleared the air a little?'
'Yes.'
He touched his forehead unconsciously, plucking at the rebellious lock of black hair which clung to the skin with sweat.
He saw her eyes widen as she caught sight of the livid scar beneath and said quickly, 'Forgive me, ma'am. I must go and examine my charts before we dine.'
She watched him as he stood up and said, 'You wear your authority well, Captain.' She glanced at her sleeping husband..'Unlike some.'
Bolitho did not know how to reply. 'I am afraid that is hardly for me to discuss, ma'am.'
He looked up as feet thudded across the deck and shadows flitted above the open skylight.
She asked, 'What is it?'
He did not see the annoyance in her eyes.
'I am not sure. A ship perhaps. I gave orders I was to be informed so that I can take avoiding action.'
Noddall paused, two forks in his hand. 'I 'eard no 'ail from th' mast'ead, sir.'
There was a rap at the door and Herrick stood in the entrance, his chest heaving from exertion.
'I am sorry to burst in.' He looked past Bolitho towards the woman. 'It would be better if you came with me, sir.'
Bolitho stepped from the cabin and pulled the door behind him. In the doorway which opened on to the ship's wardroom he saw a small group waiting for him. They looked confused. Stricken. Like strangers. There was Bellairs, accompanied by his towering sergeant. Triphook, his horse teeth bared as if to snap at an unseen attacker, and cowering just behind him was the ship's cooper, a small hunched petty officer named Joseph Duff. He was the second oldest man aboard, and wore steelrimmed spectacles at his work, although he usually managed to hide
