He knew that the comparison was an illusion, but after the convict ship's air of decay and hopelessness the Hyperion seemed to shine like part of another world. Her tall, spray-covered side and the purposeful movements of figures above and around her upper deck helped to steady him and ease the turmoil in his thoughts.
He climbed swiftly through the entry port and touched his hat briefly to the assembled side party. To Lieutenant Inch he said, 'Secure the boats at once and report when you have done so.' Then it dawned on him that something was wrong. At any other time he would have sensed it immediately, but he had been too busy thinking about the convicts. He saw Inch staring aft, and as he followed his gaze he realised what had caused his expression of apprehension.
Allday had just climbed up through the port and was unable to restrain himself. 'Bless me! A woman on the quarterdeck!'
Bolitho asked quietly,, `Would you be so good as to explain the meaning of this, Mr. Inch?' His voice was dangerously calm.
Inch swallowed unhappily. 'She came aboard in one of the
boats, sir. F'rom the Rock, and she -had this letter… Bolitho pushed him aside. 'I will deal with it myself, since
you seem to have taken leave of your senses!' He strode aft and up the quarterdeck ladder, his sudden anger beating time with his heart.
He got a swift impression of Lieutenant Rooke, his face frowning and apprehensive, and Midshipman Seton, who was surprisingly smiling in spite of Bolitho's bleak expression.
Then he saw the girl. She was dressed in dark green velvet, and by contrast had a wide Spanish sun hat tied round beneath her chin by a length of bright red ribbon. She was endeavoring to hold the hat still in the whipping wind and at the same time trying to keep her long hair from blowing free across her face.
'May I have some sort of explanation?' Bolitho looked from one to the other.
Rooke made to speak, but the girl said calmly, 'I am Cheney Seton, Captain. I have a letter from you from Sir Edmund Pomfret.' She dropped one hand to her dress and withdrew an envelope, all the time keeping her eyes on Bolitho's frowning face. Her eyes, were large and blue-green like the sea, and very grave, and like her voice gave nothing away.
Bolitho took the letter and stared at it, his mind grappling with her words. 'Seton did you say?'
'S-Sir, she's m -m-my s-sister.' Midshipman Seton fell silent under Bolitho's flat stare.
The girl said evenly, 'I am sorry to have caused so much distress, Captain.' She gestured towards a small pile of luggage. 'But, as you can see, it is no mistake!'
Bolitho glared. 'Did you know about this, Mr. Seton?'
'He did not.' She spoke almost sharply, and had Bolitho been less angry he might have seen past her pretence of easy self-control. 'I was with the convoy from New Holland.' She shrugged as if it was of little importance. 'Now I am to sail with you to this island of yours:
'Kindly do not interrupt me when I am addressing one of my officers, Miss, er, Seton!' Bolitho was already out of his depth, and from the comer of his eye saw a growing group of watching seamen below the quarterdeck.
She replied just as crisply. 'Then kindly do not discuss me as if I was a piece, of furniture on your boat, Captain!'
Dalby, the third lieutenant, who had been hovering nearby said helpfully, 'Not boat, miss! We call her a ship in the Navy!'
Bolitho shouted, 'And who asked you, Mr. Dalby?' He swung round angrily. 'Mr. Rooke, be so good as to call all hands for getting under way, and make a signal accordingly to the convoy!'
Then he turned back to the girl. Her arms were hanging at her sides now and her hair, which he noticed was of a deep chestnut colour, blew in the wind as if she no longer cared.
'If you will come aft, Miss Seton, I will hear this matter more fully.'
With Allday and Gimlett hurrying ahead Bolitho followed the girl below the poop, conscious of her slim figure and the defiant tilt of her head. Damn Pomfret to hell, he thought savagely. Why couldn't he have told him about the girl? The thought of Hyperion being despatched to Gibraltar at a time when the chance of real action was no longer a remote supposition was bad enough. To find Seton's sister waiting to be collected like one more piece of personal luggage was almost more than his mind could accept.
She stepped into the cabin and stared round with the same expression of grave interest.
Bolitho said more calmly, 'And now perhaps you could explain?'
'Do you mind if I sit down, Captain?' She eyed him quietly, her mouth set firmly against compromise.
'Please do.' Bolitho tore open the letter and walked to the windows. It was all there right enough. He said at length, 'I still do not understand the purpose of your visit?'
'I am not really sure it concerns you, Captain.' She gripped the arms of the chair. 'But since it will soon be generally known, I am going to Cozar to marry Sir Edmund Pomfret.'
Bolitho stared at her. 'I see.'
She leaned back in the chair, the defiance gone out of her. Almost wearily she said, 'I think not. But if you will be kind enough to tell me where I can rest, I will try and keep Gut of your way.'
Bolitho looked round the cabin helplessly. 'You may keep these quarters. I will have a cot rigged for myself in the chartroom. You will be more than comfortable.'
For a brief instant her eyes filled with quiet amusement. 'If you are sure, Captain?'
Bolitho seized Allday's sudden reappearance like a drowning man grasping a straw. 'Take my gear to the chartroom, Allday! I will change into my seagoing clothes immediately.' Damn the girl, too. She was mocking him for making such a fool of himself. 'Then get Gimlett and instruct him on the new arrangements.'
Allday looked quickly at the seated girl. But his face was expressionless as he answered, 'Looks like a fair wind, Captain.' Then he vanished.
Minutes later, when Bolitho strode on to the quarterdeck, all conversation amongst the assembled officers stopped instantly, as if he had shouted some terrible obscenity at them.
Rooke said formally, 'The transports have their cables hove short, sir.' He was very tense, and Bolitho guessed that he was not enjoying the prospect- of handling the ship under the glass of every captain anchored in Gibraltar. It gave him a small sense of cruel pleasure.
He snapped, 'Very well, Mr. Rooke. Get the ship under way, if you please.' He saw Gossett watching him, his expression like that of a sad mastiff. 'Lay a course to weather the headland and put two good hands on the wheel.'
Controlling his irritation with real effort he walked to the rail and looked slowly along the length of his command. The men already poised at the capstan bars, the marines at the mizzen braces, the topmen waiting for the order to move.
He said, 'Make to escorts 'weigh when ready'.' He took a telescope and studied the transports as they prepared to follow suit.
As the flags soared aloft Rooke lifted his speaking trumpet and shouted, 'Ready at the capstan!'
Tomlin, the bosun, showed his two fangs and waved his fist in acknowledgement.
Rooke moistened his lips. 'Loose the heads'ls! Hands aloft and loose tops'ls!'
Bolitho watched in silence as the topmen swarmed up the ratlines in a human tide, the rattans of the petty officers and master's mates urging on the laggards with more than their usual enthusiasm. It was as if they realised their captain's angry mood and were taking no chances.
'Man the braces!'
As the men strained and groaned at the capstan bars and the great anchor tore itself from the silt and sand of the harbour the Hyperion bowed heavily to the rising wind. Then as the full force struck her she tilted even further, the men on the yards fighting and kicking to control the great billowing folds of canvas beneath them. Further and further, and then with the wheel hard over and the yards creaking and bending like huge bows the Hyperion paid off to the wind and gathered way. As the anchor was seized and catted by the nimble forecastle hands she settled on a course towards the blown waste of broken wave crests, showing the watchers ashore that she at least was an experienced warrior, and as proud as her name.
Caswell called, 'All ships have weighed, sir!'
'Very well. Signal them to take station as ordered.' He tugged his hat firmly across his forehead and stared up at the masthead pendant. It was stiff and pointing like a spear. `Signal them to make all sail conformable with
