With All Despatch

Bolitho watched the oars rising and falling, the way some of the seamen glanced quickly at him, then looked away when he saw them. Experienced, strong hands, every one.

He asked quietly, 'You have a good company, Mr Triscott?'

'Aye, sir. Most were volunteers. Fishermen and the like-' His voice trailed away.

Bolitho rested his chin on his sword hilt. Triscott was about nineteen at a guess. Another young hopeful, glad to serve in a lowly cutter rather than spend his most precious years on the beach.

He watched the tall, solitary mast rising to meet them. Well built, with her name in scrollwork across her counter. He noticed that a carved dolphin appeared to be supporting the name; a fine piece of craftsmanship, he thought.

Then he remembered. Telemachus, in legend, the son of Ulysses and Penelope, had been rescued from drowning by a dolphin.

The cutter might not be grand enough to warrant a proud figurehead in her bows, but the unknown carver had made certain she would be honoured all the same.

As they made for the chains Bolitho glanced at the closed ports. The sides were pierced for fourteen guns, originally only six-pounders, with a pair of swivels mounted aft by the tiller. But there were now two powerful carronades up forward, 'smashers' as the Jacks called them, a match for any vessel which drifted under their lee in a fight.

There was a bark of commands as the boat hooked on to the chains and Bolitho stood up to seize a small ladder. At any other time he would have smiled. Standing in the boat he was almost level with the entry port itself, where a tall lieutenant with a press of figures behind him waited to receive the post-captain.

Small fragments stood out like pieces of a partly cleaned painting. The lieutenant's grim expression, Allday rising from a thwart in case Bolitho should slip or feel suddenly faint. And the boy, Young Matthew Corker, with his round, open face shining with sheer pleasure at this moment when his fourteen years had suddenly changed.

Calls shrilled and then Bolitho found himself on deck. As he raised his hat towards the narrow poop where the White Ensign streamed out to a lively breeze, he said shortly, 'I am sorry for this lack of warning.'

Lieutenant Jonas Paice bit back a retort and said gruffly, 'I thought, sir, that is-'

He was a powerful man in every way. Bolitho knew the essentials about him. Paice was old for his rank, perhaps two years younger than himself, but had once commanded a collier-brig out of Sunderland before entering the King's service as a master's mate. It would be sufficient to begin with. Later, Bolitho intended to know the man behind every face in his small flotilla of three cutters.

'You imagined I might be spying on you.'

Paice stared at him as if he could scarcely believe it. 'I did think that you intended to take us unawares, sir.'

'I am glad to hear it.' Bolitho glanced over and beyond the silent figures. 'The flag stands out well from Beacon Hill, Captain. May I suggest you up-anchor and get under way without fuss.' He gave a slight smile. 'I can assure you I will attempt not to get under your feet.'

Paice tried again. 'You'll find this somewhat different from a fifth-rate, sir. A wild animal if she's not handled to her liking.'

Bolitho eyed him calmly. 'I served in a cutter years ago. The Avenger. She was commanded by my brother.'

A few seconds and he saw it all. The sudden prick of memory, the mention of his brother. Something like relief too. As if Paice was glad to know, or think he knew, why Bolitho had been given this humble appointment. Perhaps it was even true. Dead or not, Hugh had made too many enemies to be forgotten, or his family forgiven.

He looked forward along the deck again. It was full of people. They probably resented his arrival. He said, 'We will join Wakeful and Snapdragon without delay.'

Paice stared at Allday and then at the boy as if he could still not accept what was happening.

'But, sir, don't you need any others to assist you?'

Bolitho watched some gulls rising to circle lazily around the mainmast truck, their wings straight and motionless.

'I have all I need, thank you.' He grimaced at Allday. 'I fear the first lesson has begun.'

They all stared at Young Matthew. In those few minutes his face had changed to a startling green.

Paice cupped his hands. 'Man the capstan! Prepare to break out the anchor! Mr Hawkins, hands aloft, loose tops'l!'

Bolitho walked aft as the crowded figures surged into a new and ordered pattern. He half-listened to the squeal of blocks as men hauled on halliards and braces, while from the capstan the stamp of bare feet, accompanied by the groan of incoming cable, seemed to rouse him from a deep sleep.

Like hearing the sea calling to him without pain or mockery. He removed his hat and felt his hair ruffle in the damp air.

He recalled Rear-Admiral Drew's dry comment: 'Were a frigate captain.'

A last show of pride would have cost him even this. He would still be haunting the corridors of the Admiralty, or returning beaten and sick to the grey house at Falmouth.

Allday said, 'I'll show you to the cabin, Cap'n.' He chuckled. ' Falmouth rabbits have more room!'

He watched as Bolitho groped his way to the small companion ladder near the tiller, beside which a master's mate and two helmsmen were already pointedly at their stations.

Once at sea things might seem better, he thought.

Allday heard the boy's desperate retching and hurried to find him. Once he paused, his chin just level with the deck coaming, and watched the land sway over as the anchor tore free from the ground.

Sails banged and thundered in confusion and he saw the great shadow of the boomed mainsail slice overhead like a banner.

They had done with the land. This was their place. It was enough.

Allday tapped on the cabin door and had to bend almost double to peer inside. He saw Bolitho with his back to the bulkhead, the three commanding officers of the anchored cutters packed in around the table as best they could.

'All secure, Cap'n.' Just a brief exchange of glances, but Bolitho understood that he would be outside the door and make sure that nobody should hear what he was not intended to. Allday knew from experience. Little ships had the biggest ears, and Bolitho needed his first meeting to be undisturbed.

Before he withdrew, Allday also noticed that Bolitho was wearing his old seagoing coat, with its tarnished buttons, displaying no epaulettes on the shoulders. A coat stitched and repaired so many times that, when his sister Nancy had held it up with dismay and tried to persuade him to get rid of it, Allday had realised just how close he had become to the family.

Nancy had been helping to pack two chests for Bolitho's journey to London to plead for an appointment. During the long illness which they had shared in their various ways Allday had stood firm, knowing it was his strength which Bolitho depended on. But the mention of the coat, such a simple thing, had broken his defences, taken him by surprise like boarders in the night.

'No, Miss Nancy! Leave it be!' Then in a defeated voice, his eyes downcast, he had explained, 'It was what the Captain's Lady wore in the boat, afore she-' He had been unable to go on.

Get rid of that coat? It would have to fall apart first.

The door closed and Bolitho glanced around at their various expressions.

On the short passage to this anchorage he had spoken to Paice as much as he could without interfering with his duties of shiphandling. A tall, powerful figure, but one who rarely raised his voice when passing commands. He did not seem to need it. The combined wardroom and cabin had no headroom at all, and only directly beneath the skylight was it possible to stand upright. But Paice had to stoop even there.

He was an excellent seaman, with a master's eye for wind and current. He seemed to feel the moods of his sturdy command even before the helmsmen who stood on either side of the long tiller bar. But he was slow to answer questions; not resentful, more defensive. As if he searched for any possible criticism, not of himself but of his Telemachus.

It was a perfect evening after all. Pink clouds as dusk moved across the headland which sheltered the anchorage, with the first lamps already glittering like fireflies from the homes of Queenborough.