men and the convict women who served in such places. He had scornfully described the men who enlisted in the Corps as either “blacklegs” or “blackguards,” and none in it for anything but personal gain.
Aboard his own ship again he was able to find some satisfaction and escape from the busy life ashore. Sayer had discovered nothing more of Tempest’s new instructions, which would eventually come from the governor upon his return.
Opposite him, lounging contentedly in another chair, was Herrick. They had dined together on an excellent mutton pie which Noddall, the cabin servant, had obtained specially from an unknown source ashore. They had consumed all of it, and Bolitho realised it was the first meat not taken from a salt cask he had eaten for months.
He said, “I think some claret, Thomas.”
Herrick grinned, his teeth white in the glow of a solitary lantern. They had soon found that to increase the light only encouraged a host of buzzing insects which immediately destroyed the blessing of the cool air.
He said, “No, sir. Not this time.” He beckoned Noddall from the shadows. “I took the liberty of getting some good French wine from the barracks’ quartermaster.” He chuckled. “They may not be much as soldiers, but they live well enough.”
Noddall busied himself at the table with his wine cooler.
Bolitho watched him, recognizing every movement. Noddall was small, like a little rodent. Even his hands, which when not in use he held in front of his body, were like paws. But he was a good and willing servant, and like some of the others had come to the ship from Bolitho’s Undine.
Herrick stood up, his head clear of the deck beams as evidence of Tempest’s generous proportions, and raised his goblet.
He said, “To you, sir, and your birthday.” He grinned. “I know it was yesterday in fact, but it took me a day to discover the wine.”
They continued almost in silence, their long pipes lit, their glasses readily refilled by the watchful Noddall.
Overhead, through the skylight, they could see the stars, very large and close, and hear the regular footsteps of a master’s mate as he paced back and forth on watch, the occasional shuffle of boots from the marine sentry beyond the bulkhead. Bolitho said, “It will be late autumn in Cornwall now.” He did not know why he had said it. Maybe he had been thinking of Sayer. But he could see it all the same. Gold and brown leaves, a keener edge to each dawn. But still fresh and bright. It always held off the winter in Cornwall. He tried to recall the ordinary sounds. The ring of chipping hammers as the farm workers used their time building or repairing the characteristic stone and slate walls which separated their fields and houses. Cattle and sheep, the fishermen tramping up from Falmouth to one of a dozen tiny hamlets at the end of the day.
He thought of his own house below Pendennis Castle. Square and grey, the home of the Bolithos for generations. Now, apart from Ferguson, his steward, and the servants, there was nobody. All gone, either dead or, like his two sisters, married and living their separate lives. He remembered his feelings when he had met the marine captain, Prideaux, for the first time, and his attendant rumours of duels fought and won. It had reminded him of his own brother, Hugh. He had killed a brother officer over a gambling debt and had fled to America. To desert his ship had been a bad enough shock for their father, but when he had joined the Revolutionary Navy and had risen to command a privateer against his old friends and companions it had been more than enough to speed his death. And Hugh was gone, too. Killed, it seemed, by a runaway horse in Boston. Life was difficult to fathom out.
Herrick sensed his change of mood.
“I think I should turn in, sir. I have a feeling we’ll all be up and about tomorrow. Two days in harbour? Tch, tch, someone high-up will say! It’ll never do for the Tempest, and that’s the truth!” He grinned broadly. “I truly believe that if all our people were allowed ashore in this place, we’d never get ’em back!”
Bolitho remained by the stern windows long after Herrick had gone to his cot, or more likely the wardroom for a last drink with the other officers.
Herrick always seemed to know when he needed to be alone. To think. Just as he understood that it only made the bond stronger between them.
He watched the smoke from his pipe curling slowly out and over the black water which surged around the rudder. It was bad to keep thinking of home. But he had been away so long now, and if he was to be banished he would have to do something to change his future.
He heard a violin, strangely sad, from below decks, and guessed it was Owston, the ropemaker, who played for the capstan crew, and entertained the hands during the dog watches.
Tempest would make a fine picture from the shore, if anyone was watching. Gunports open, lit from within like yellow eyes. Riding light and a lantern on the starboard gangway for the officer-of-the-guard to climb aboard without losing his footing in the darkness.
He thought of some of the convicts he had seen. Surely none could be here for serious offences? They would have been hanged if they were hardened criminals. It made him ashamed to think how he had just been brooding on his own separation from home. What would these transported people be suffering if they could see his ship, know that she would eventually weigh anchor and perhaps sail for England? Whereas they…
He looked up, off guard, as there was a rap at the outer door. It was Borlase, the second lieutenant. As officer-of-the-watch he was no doubt the only officer aboard in full uniform. He was twenty-six years old, tall and powerfully built, and yet his features were rounded, even gentle, and his expression was usually one of mild surprise that he should be here. Bolitho guessed it had originally been a guard to hide his feelings, but had since become permanent.
Borlase had been first lieutenant in a small frigate. The ship had run hard aground near the Philippines and had been a total loss. Fortunately, there had been an East Indiaman nearby, and all but three hands had been rescued. At the hastily convened court martial the frigate’s captain had been dismissed from the Navy for negligence. Borlase had been officer-of-the-watch at the time, and his evidence had helped to send his captain into oblivion.
Bolitho asked, “Well, Mr Borlase?”
The lieutenant stepped into the lantern light.
“The guard boat has sent this despatch for you, sir.” He licked his lips, another childlike habit. “From the governor.”
Bolitho saw Noddall hurrying from the dining compartment carrying another lantern, his little shadow looming giantlike against the white-painted screen.
As he slit open the canvas envelope he found time to wonder if Borlase’s part at the court martial had been as much to clear himself as to bring down his captain.
He read swiftly along the neatly written paper. All at once the stresses and anxieties of the past weeks faded, and even Borlase, who was watching him with a gentle smile on his lips, seemed to have vanished.
He said sharply, “My compliments to the first lieutenant, Mr Borlase. I’d like to see him directly.”
The lieutenant opened his mouth as if to put a question, and shut it again.
Bolitho walked to the stern windows and leaned as far out as he could, letting the sea air explore his throat and chest. He wished he had not drunk so much or dined so well on the mutton pie.
He tried to clear his mind, to concentrate on the despatch.
Tempest was to weigh and put to sea as soon as it was prudent to work clear of the harbour limits. He felt the air cooling his hair and cheek. It felt stronger, but would it last? He checked his racing thoughts and heard Herrick coming into the cabin.
“Sir?”
“We are ordered to sea, Thomas. A transport ship is overdue, although she was reported safely on passage three weeks ago by the mail packet. The packet’s master made signal contact with her south-east of Tongatapu.”
Herrick tucked his shirt into his breeches, his face frowning.
“But that’s over a couple of thousand miles from here, sir.”
Bolitho nodded. “But the ship, she’s the Eurotas, is a regular visitor. She supplies the colony and some other islands as required. Her master is well versed with these waters. It is no use deluding ourselves. She should have been here, at anchor, days ago.” He recalled the grog shops and the brazen-eyed girls at the windows. “The governor knew she was expected. He kept it a secret, even from his subordinate. The Eurotas is filled with guns, powder and supplies. And money to pay the military and civil authorities.”
