He heard Rooke snap, 'hey're under oars, my God! Big sweeps too by the look of 'em!'
Bolitho shut the glass and handed it to Midshipman Caswell. But before he could speak he heard Quarme's voice right by his ear, sharp and insistent, and only barely controlled.
'Boats under sweeps, sir! They'll be oared galleys. My God, I've seen them in the Indies. A big gun right in the bow and
able to row round under a ship's counter and pound her to boxwood without her being able to turn fast enough to hit back!'
His voice must have carried to the other side of the quarterdeck and Bolitho saw several faces turned towards him and heard a sudden buzz of alarm.
`Control your voice, Mr. Quarme! Do you want our people to panic?'
But Quarme seemed unable to stop himself. 'I knew this would happen! You wouldn't listen! You don't care about anything but your own glory!' He was sobbing now, as if he neither knew nor cared what he was saying.
Bolitho said harshly, `Keep silent, man! Get a grip on yourself!'
Rooke's voice cut through the darkness like a knife. 'I heard that, sir!' He seemed to have forgotten about the approaching boats. About everything but the fact that by speaking up he had killed Quarme's career as surely as if he had shot him with a pistol.
Quarme turned and stared at him, his body suddenly limp and swaying with the deck. like a drunken man.
It was a tableau. An unmoving collection of statues, none of whom could control events any more.
Gossett, massive and unmoving beside the wheel. The gunners by the quarterdeck nine-pounders, crouching and watching like disturbed animals. Caswell and Piper too shocked to move or speak, and Rooke by the rail, hands on hips, head on one side, his face pale against the night sky.
As if from the sea itself a voice suddenly shattered the silence. 'Hyperion ahoy! Permission to board!'
Bolitho looked away. It was Lieutenant Inch. Quietly he said, 'Heave to, if you please, and signal Mr. Inch's boat alongside. Open the boarding nets for him, but watch the other craft in case of tricks.'
Quarme broke from his trance and made as if to carry out the orders, his movements automatic, the products of discipline and training.
Bolitho's words halted him in his tracks. 'You are relieved, Mr. Quarme. Go to your quarters.' To Rooke he added, 'Carry on, if you please.'
Quarme said, 'I only meant to say…: Then he turned on his heel and walked to the ladder, the men parting to let him pass. Ashamed for him, yet unable to take their eyes from his misery.
Bolitho-walked aft to the poop ladder and stood for several long minutes while his anger and disappointment gave way to dull acceptance. If Rooke had stayed quiet he might have been able to overlook Quarme's insubordination. If Quarme had retained his self-control for just a moment longer, inch's unexpected return -might have saved him. But in his heart he also knew that he would never have been able to trust Quarme again, no matter what Rooke had said or done. Quarme had been afraid, and later his fear might have cost lives other than his own. Bolitho knew that every man but an idiot was afraid. But showing it was unforgivable.
Lieutenant Inch clattered up the quarterdeck ladder and groped his way breathlessly past the silent onlookers. 'I'm back, sirl' His long face was split in an excited grin. 'We found the mayor of St. Clar. He's coming up the side now.'
`And those other boats, Mr. Inch, what are they?'
Inch became aware of the heaviness in Bolitho's tone and of the tension around him. He swallowed hard. 'I brought the water lighters, sir. I thought it would save time.'
Bolitho stared at him impassively. 'Save time?' He thought of Quarme below in his private prison. Of Rooke and all the others who depended on him, right or wrong.
Inch nodded awkwardly. 'Aye, sir. They were all jolly decent about it really…' He looked down aghast as something long and dark fell from his coat and rolled to Bolitho's feet.
'And what is,that, Mr. Inch? Bolitho could feel the tension of his mind like a vise.
Inch said in a small voice, 'A loaf of fresh bread, sir.'
From the darkness a voice broke into a helpless burst of laughter. It was taken up by the midshipmen and by the men at the guns, some of whom had not heard a word. It was relief, despair and gratitude all mixed together.
Bolitho said slowly, 'Very well, Mr. Inch. You have done a good piece of work tonight.' He felt the same nervous excitement plucking his words like strings. 'Now pick up your loaf and attend to your duties.'
As Inch fled past the chuckling seamen he added, 'Prepare to anchor, Mr. Rooke. As the fifth lieutenant has just told us, it will save time!'
He turned on his heel adding, 'Pass the word for Lieutenant Charlois and his mayor. I will see them in my cabin.'
As he ducked his head unnecessarily beneath the poop he allowed his guard to drop. Nothing which happened now could or would surprise him. Taking on water within gunshot of an enemy port. A loaf of bread on the quarterdeck. And an officer who -broke, not under fire, but under the pressure of his own doubts.
He heard the clatter of blocks and the flapping protest of canvas as the ship heeled heavily into the wind to drop anchor.
He found Allday waiting beside his desk, a glass of brandy poured and ready.
'What are you gaping at, Allday?' He glared angrily at his own reflection in the stern windows. Even in the poor light from the two swinging lanterns he looked strained to the point of exhaustion.
'Are you all right, Captain?' Allday watched him gravely.
'It's not my body which is sick this time!' He sat down wearily on the bench seat and stared at the hilt of his sword.
The coxswain nodded. 'It will come right in the end, Captaro' He swung round angrily as feet clattered in the passageway beyond the door. 'Shall I send them away?'
Bolitho looked at him with sudden affection. 'No, Allday. If it is all to come right, as you predict, then we must help it along a little!'
Midshipman Piper stepped briskly into Bolitho's cabin and then faltered as he saw his captain staring astern through the great windows.
'Mr. Rooke's respects, sir.' Piper's eyes dropped hopefully towards an untouched tray of food on the table. 'The masthead lookout has just sighted Cozar on the lee bow.'
Bolith did not turn. 'Thank you.' Half to himself he added, 'We will enter harbour in about three hours, all being well.'
Piper seemed surprised by this display of confidence and nodded with sudden gravity. 'Aye, sir, with the t'gallants and royals drawing so well we shall have no difficulty.'
Bolitho turned and eyed him emptily. 'There is something you can- do for me, Mr. Piper.' He had not even heard the boy's comment. 'Would you go below and tell Mr. Quarme to join me right away.'
'Aye, aye, sir.' Piper scurried away, his mind busy as to how he would describe his intimate conversation with the captain to the less informed members of the gunroom.
Bolitho slumped down on the bench seat and stared at his untouched meal with something like nausea. He was hungry, yet the thought of food sickened him.
It was strange that after all that had happened he could find no joy, no sense of achievement. In the fresh northwesterly the ship seemed to be ploughing across the whitecapped sea with new life, and even the harsh sunlight lacked its earlier feeling of danger and foreboding. With all sails set and every shroud and stay humming like a part of a finely tuned instrument, the Hyperion sounded as if she was pleased with herself, even grateful for her fresh chance. There were other shipboard noises too which should have given him confidence. Some of the men were singing and calling to one another as they worked high aloft on the swaying yards, their cares momentarily dispersed by the knowledge that there was fresh water in plenty to drink, that the sailor's terror of thirst was moved back in time to become merely another possibility.
Bolitho stared at the frothing wake and at the handful of swooping gulls which had followed the ship all the way from St. Clar. Even now it was hard to believe what had happened. The furtive boats, and alien French voices in the darkness. Inch's excitement, and the interview with Lieutenant Charlois and the mayor of St. Clar. The latter had been a small, leathery man in a velvet coat, a vital little being of quick gestures and a disarming laugh.
While every man had worked with a will to sway the fresh water casks aboard, the mayor, whose name was
