With All Despatch

content.

He said, 'Like me, you grieve. Some think it leaves you vulnerable.' He gripped a swivel gun on the bulwark as the deck slanted down again and added sharply, 'But I believe it makes you-care, as you put it.'

Paice swallowed hard. It was like being stripped and made defenceless. How did he know? What memory did he carry to distress him?

He said gruffly, 'Never fear, sir, I'm with you-'

Bolitho touched his arm and turned away. He seemed to hear the admiral's words in his brain. Use them as you will within the scope of your orders. Spoken words, not written ones. Valueless if things went wrong.

He said, 'You may live to regret that, Mr Paice, but I thank you.

Allday appeared from the companionway, a tankard held carefully in one fist while he waited for the deck to rear upright again.

He held it out to Bolitho, his eyes swiftly examining the men nearby, Chesshyre the master, with his mate Dench who was shortly taking over the watch. Luke Hawkins the boatswain, a great cask of a man. It was hard to see him at the tender age of seven when he had been packed off to sea as a ship's boy. Telemachus carried no purser as she did not rate one. The clerk, Percivale Godsalve, a reedy little man whose pale features had defied all the months at sea, did duty as purser too. Evans, a tough gunner's mate, had said to Allday, 'No passengers in this ship, matey! We all does a bit of everythin'!'

Allday knew most of what was said about Bolitho being aboard. They saw him as a threat, something from the other navy that only a few of the petty officers knew anything about.

Deep in his heart Allday thought Bolitho, a man he had nearly died for and would do so again without a second's thought, was wrong to press on with this task. He should take things quietly-hell's teeth, he had earned it ten times over. Let others take the risks and the blame, which, unlike prize money, were equally shared out.

Allday would never have returned to the sea but for Bolitho. But Bolitho loved the navy; it was his whole life. Only once had Allday seen that love waver, but now the Captain's lady was gone. Only the sea was left.

He watched Bolitho swallow the steaming coffee gratefully. They had seen so much. Allday stared out at the frothing yellow wave crests. They'd get another ship together. If only…

'Deck there! Sail ho!'

Paice stared up at the two waving lookouts, his face creased with disbelief.

The voice pealed down again. 'Fine on the lee quarter, sir!'

Bolitho saw the instant change in the tall lieutenant as he snatched a telescope from its rack and swung himself on to the weather ratlines with the agility of a cat.

Bolitho tried to contain the shiver of excitement as it coursed through him like icy water.

It was probably nothing, or a ship, alone and running for shelter before darkness closed in. The Channel was a treacherous place on any night, but in these times it was a blessing to hear the anchor safely down.

Bolitho recalled his own desperate efforts to go aloft without the awful fear of it. Many were the times he had had to force himself up the madly shaking ratlines, clinging to stay and trying not to peer down at the deck and the creaming water far below.

Paice had no such qualms. But he was soon clambering on to the deck again, and his face, masklike in the dying sunlight, was composed by the time he had strode aft.

He said, 'She's the Loyal Chieftain, sir. A Deal vessel. Know her well.' He spat out the words. 'Loyal-the last word I'd use for that pig!'

There was no time for further discussion. At any moment the other vessel would see Telemachus's sails.

Bolitho said, 'Bring her about, Mr Paice. As fast as you will.'

'Hands aloft and loose tops'l!'

'Stand by to come about!'

Feet padded over the streaming planks, and more figures crowded up from between decks as the calls shrilled through the hull,

'Let go an' haul!' Hawkins's thick voice made the men lie back on the braces and halliards to bring the boom over.

'Helm alee!'

Bolitho gripped a stanchion and watched the sails flapping like insane banners as the rudder was heaved over, the helmsmen backed up by two more hands as the ship fought against sea and wind. Then all at once they were round, and running with the breakers, the spray bursting beneath the stem so that they seemed to be flying.

Paice mopped his face and shouted above the thunder of more canvas as the topsail filled and hardened from its yard like a breastplate. ''Nother minute and the bugger would have slipped across our stern!' He saw Bolitho's expression and said, 'Her master is Henry Delaval, a known smuggler, but he's never been taken with any evidence, God rot him! His vessel's a brig, well found and armed,' Here was the bitterness again. 'That's no crime either, they say!'

'There she is, sir, larboard bow!' It was Lieutenant Triscott, who had been preparing to take over the watch, and had run on deck with some butter and crumbs sticking to his lapel.

Paice thrust his big hands behind him. His eyes spoke volumes, but all he said was, 'Got you!'

Bolitho wedged his hip against the companion hatch in an attempt to keep steady enough to train a telescope on the other vessel.

Above the leaping wave crests, broken here and there into ragged spectres by stronger gusts of wind, he saw the brig's topsails, now copper-coloured against the evening sky. Her hull was still hidden and he guessed that Paice had recognised her only after climbing aloft. Never before had he seen Paice show so much emotion, hatred even, and he guessed that the memory of his young wife was linked in some way with the man Delaval.

Hawkins bellowed, 'She's settin' 'er forecourse, sir!'

Bolitho nodded, oblivious to the spray which was soaking him from head to toe. The brig was using the wind to full advantage and was already standing away, her two masts seeming to draw closer together above the tumbling water.

Paice glanced at him, his eyes in shadow. 'Sir?' He could barely conceal his eagerness.

Bolitho lowered the glass. 'Aye, give chase.' He was about to add that the brig's master might have taken Telemachus for a French privateer, and was heading away to safety. But seeing Paice's intent expression killed the thought instantly. Paice knew this man, so Delaval would know him and his cutter equally well.

'Alter course, Mr Chesshyre! Let her bear up two points and steer South-West by West!'

As the men ran to braces to haul the long boom further out above the water, Dench the master's mate was already crouching by the compass box, his hair plastered to his forehead while the rudder went over.

One helmsman lost his footing on the tilting deck, but another took his place at the long tiller bar, his bare toes digging for a grip.

'Steady she goes, sir! Sou'-West by West!'

'Damn his eyes, he's making a run for it, Cap'n.' Allday seemed the calmest one on the deck as he watched the other vessel's blurred topsails with apparently little more than professional interest.

Bolitho knew him too well to be deceived. Like me, perhaps? Holding it all inside, showing just a mask to others who looked to you for hope or fear.

Paice heard Allday's comment and snapped, 'God, I'll not lose the bastard now.'

Bolitho said, 'Put a ball across her, Mr Paice.'

Paice looked at him, unused to anyone's methods but his own.

'We're supposed to fire well clear, sir, as a signal.'

Bolitho smiled briefly. 'As close as your gunner can arrange it. In a long chase we might lose her when the night finds us, eh?' From the corner of his eye he saw one of the seamen grinning and nudging his companion. Was it because they thought him mad, or because they were beginning to discover their true role as a man-of-war, albeit a small one?

George Davy the gunner supervised the foremost six-pounder personally, one horny hand on the gun-captain's shoulder while the crew worked with their handspikes and tackles until he seemed satisfied.