10. A GOOD OFFICER
Sir Edmund Pomfret stood at one side of the great stem windows in his day cabin, being careful to avoid the rectangle of hard sunlight thrown back from the harbour beyond. He had maintained the same stance throughout Bolitho's report, with his feet apart, arms folded across his chest and his back turned so that it was impossible to see his face or gauge his mood.
Hyperion had dropped anchor below the hill fortress in the darly morning after waiting until the transports and the battle-scarred Harvester had preceded her into the sheltering arms of the natural harbour. Bolitho had half- expected to be summoned aboard the Tenacious immediately, but for reasons best known to himself Pomfret had waited until seven bells of the forenoon watch before issuing his curt signal, 'Captain repair on board forthwith.'
Now as he concluded his description of the battle to defend the convoy Bolitho could feel the tiredness sapping his strength like a drug, and was able to listen to his own words with something like disinterest, as if. they concerned someone else entirely.
Pomfret had not asked him to sit down, and he was conscious the whole time of the cabin's other occupant, a floridfaced army colonel whom Pomfret had briefly introduced as Sir Torquil Cobban, the officer commanding the soldiers encamped on Cozar. But Pomfret had remained standing also, and in spite of his straddled legs and unmoving shoulders he seemed edgy and irritable.
The admiral said suddenly, 'So you lost the Snipe, did you?'
It sounded like an accusation, but Bolitho replied wearily, 'If I had had another escort things might have been different, – sir.'
Pomfret's head bobbed impatiently. 'If, if! That's all I hear these days!' In a calmer tone he added, 'And your own losses?'
'A total of sixteen dead and twenty-six wounded, sir. Most of the latter seem to beholding their own.'
'Hmm.' Pomfret turned slowly and walked to his table where lay a huge coloured chart. He said offhandedly, 'I would have waited a few more days for you, but after that I intended to sail with or without these supplies.' He shot Bolitho a searching glance. 'I have received news from Lord Hood. His forces have landed at Toulon, and my orders are to proceed with the capture of St. Clar.'
'Yes, sir.' Bolitho had been waiting for this news, but now that it had come it seemed like an anticlimax. He knew Pomfret and the colonel were studying him and made an effort to control his thoughts. He asked, 'Do you wish me to make another parley with the town, sir?'
Pomfret frowned. 'Certainly not. I have not been' idle while you have been away. Everything is in hand, I can assure you.' He smiled quickly at the soldier. 'The Frogs will have to watch their manners now, eh?'
Colonel Cobban spoke for the first time. He had a thick, resonant voice, and had a habit of tapping his fingers on his impeccable scarlet tunic with each word.
'God, yesl With General Carteau marching on Toulon, our new 'allies' in St. Clar had no choice but to support us.' He seemed to be enjoying the idea.
Pomfret nodded. 'Now, Bolitho, I want you to get your ship ready for sea without delay.'
'The repairs are well in hand, sir. In the four days following the battle we have set all the damage to sails and cordage to rights, and most of the internal repairs are almost completed.'
Pomfret was peering at his chart and did not see the sudden change in Bolitho's expression. Four days. In spite of a constant guard it was all coming back to him. He had hoped that the safe return with his transports, the sudden prospect of action, even the efforts to ensure that his ship was ready and able to fight again, all these things would push the memory of those four short days to the back of his mind until time and distance made them too blurred to hurt him. Without effort he could recall the girl's face as she had listened to him talking about his ship, while together at the quarterdeck rail they had watched the seamen and carpenters working to put right the damage and to clean away the scars and stains of battle.
On the second evening just before sunset Bolitho had walked with her along the weather gangway, pointing out something of the complex maze of rigging and halyards, the very sinews of the ship's strength.
Once she had said quietly, `Thank you for explaining it to me. You have made the ship live with your words.'
She had not been bored or amused. She had been really interested, even though he had spoken as he had simply because it was the only thing he knew, the only life he understood.
He had realised at that moment that she had unwittingly touched on the truth. He had replied, 'I am glad you see her like that.' He had gestured to the shadowy guns below the gangway. `People see a ship like this pass far out to sea, but they rarely think of those who serve and live in her.' He had stared at the deserted forecastle and had found himself wondering about all those other men who had gone before him, and those who might follow. 'Here a man died. There another wrote poetry maybe. Men join ships like these as boys, as wide-eyed infants, and grow to be men beneath the same suits of sails.' He had touched the rail at his side. 'You are right, she is not just wood!'
And another evening they had dined together for the first time in the cabin, and again she had drawnhim out, had listened to him speaking of his home in Cornwall, of his voyages and the ships he had seen and served.
But as the miles rolled away under the Hyperion's keel they seemed both to sense that the strange feeling of comfort and understanding was becoming something more. Neither spoke of it, yet during the last two days they appeared to draw apart, even to avoid meeting other than in company.
Within minutes of the anchor splashing down a boat had come alongside, and with it Lieutenant Fanshawe, Pomfret's aide, to collect her. She had come on to the quarterdeck wearing that same green dress as when he bad first seen her, and had stared across at the grim fortress and the barren hills beyond.
Bolitho had seen many of his men standing on the gangways or watching from aloft, and had sensed the feeling of sadness which hung over the ship. Even the petty officers seemed unable or unwilling to drive the hands back to work, and had watched with the rest as the girl had gravely shaken hands with the assembled officers and had kissed her brother on the cheek.
Bolitho had kept his voice as formal as he knew how. 'We shall miss you. We all will.' He bad seen Gossett nodding in agreement. 'I am sorry that you were made to suffer as you did…' Then his words had run out.
She had looked at him with something like bewilderment in her eyes, as if the sight of Cozar had at last made her realise that the voyage was at an end. Then she had said, `Thank you, Captain. You made me very comfortable.' She had looked around the silent faces. 'It is something I will never forget.' Then without another glance she had gone down to the boat.
With a start he realised that Pomfret was saying, '… and I trust you will make good the depletions in your company from Snipe's survivors, and any spare hands you can obtain from the transports.'
`Yes, sir.' He forcibly made himself concentrate on the many details yet to be settled. Dalby was dead, and he had promoted Caswell to acting lieutenant to fill the gap in his officers. That was how it went. A man died. Another moved up the ladder.
Some of the more badly wounded must be taken ashore or to one of the transports where they could be properly looked after. There was fresh shot and powder to take on board, and countless other matters as well.
Cobban stood up, his high polished boots squeaking noisily. He was a tall man and on his feet seemed to dwarf Pomfret. He said, 'Well,. I'll be off. I must instruct my officers to make final preparations. If we are to take St. Clot on the fifth we must make sure of everything.' He readjusted his sword and frowned. 'But then, September will be a mite cooler. for marching, eh? Either way my troops will do as they are told.'
Bolitho, watching the colonel's tight mouth, knew it was unlikely that he would show much concern for his officers, let alone his private soldiers.
Pomfret waited until Cobban had departed and then said irritably, 'Very tiresome having to deal with the military, but I suppose under the circumstances…' He touched the chart vaguely and then asked, 'I trust that Miss Seton was in a place of safety during the, er, battle?'
Perhaps it had been uppermost on Bolitho's mind, or maybe his tiredness was playing tricks, but Pomfret sounded on edge, even suspicious.
He replied, 'She was, sir.' He dropped his eyes as the picture of the naked, screaming figures on the orlop, the swinging lanterns, and the girl in her blood-spattered jacket and breeches moved back into his thoughts.
'Good.' Pomfret nodded. 'Very good, I am glad to hear it. I have had her taken to quarters in the fortress. They
