The last occasion Bolitho visited the flagship was on Christmas Day. Curiously enough the weather moderated to a slow north-westerly breeze and the sea eased out its lines of cruising wavecrests into a deep, sullen swell. The Hyperion's upper deck became crowded with figures as they stared at the grey, undulating water and at the other ships as if for the first time. As well they might, for during the eight weeks since joining Pelham-Martin's command the weather had never eased for more than an hour at a time.
Bolitho was irritated at having to visit the flagship. Christmas under these conditions would be wretched enough for his company without his leaving as if to enjoy himself at the commodore's lavish table. The Hyperion's fresh food had long since gone and the Christmas dinner for the lower deck was a strange concoction of hot beef hash well laced with rum, and doubtful-tasting duff, which Gilpin, the one-eyed and villainous-looking cook, assured Bolitho 'would set their hearts all aflame.'
But Bolitho knew that the visit to the flagship was not merely for good cheer. A sloop had appeared at first light, using the light airs to dash down on the slow moving twodeckers like a terrier after three ponderous bullocks. She was not one of Pelham-Martin's sloops, but from the main squadron of Lorient, and by the time Bolitho had thrown on his dress coat and called away his barge he saw the sloop's gig already alongside the flagship.
Upon arrival aboard the Indomitable he found PelhamMartin in a very jovial mood. In the great cabin Winstanley was quite expressionless, and Captain Fitzmaurice of the Hermes looked openly dismayed.
The news from Lorient was unsettling. Vice-Admiral Cavendish had despatched two frigates to patrol close inshore to check upon any sign of change or movement amongst the mass of anchored shipping within the port. It was a routine task, and one to which both frigate captains were well accustomed. But as they closed the shore their masthead lookouts had reported the startling news that instead of being in ordinary as before, the French ships of the line had their yards crossed, and to all appearances seemed fewer in number. So some must have slipped out through the blockade.
The sloop's commander had not been prepared to add much to this news until Pelham-Martin insisted he should take some of his brandy. The young officer's tongue, thus loosened, told the commodore that in addition to all this both frigates had only just missed being overwhelmed by four French ships which had apparently dashed out of Bell lie and had almost caught the two scouts on a lee shore.
Pelham-Martin's eyes glistened with tears as he laughed, 'You see, Bolitho! I told you this would happen! These hit and miss affairs are no use for blockade. Patience and a show of strength is all we need.'
Bolitho asked quietly, 'Did the sloop bring any new orders, sir?'
Pelham-Martin was still chuckling. It seemed he could have not been more pleased if the fleet had won a great victory, instead of his old enemy having allowed the French to prepare for sea without being discovered.
He said between chuckles, 'Sir Manley Cavendish requires a full report of French men-o'-war in this area,. their state of readiness and so forth.' He made it sound so trivial that Bolitho imagined for an instant he had missed something. But Fitzmaurice's grim face told him otherwise.
Pelham-Martin laid one hand on Bolitho's sleeve. 'Never fear, we will send a report in good time.' He cocked his small head on to one shoulder and smiled gently. 'You can close inshore tomorrow, Bolitho, and make contact with Ithuriel. How does that suit you, eh?'
The commodore had arranged a grand meal in his own cabin for the three captains, after first writing a brief acknowledgement for the sloop to carry back to ViceAdmiral Cavendish. He had obviously been sorely tempted to add something in the nature of a sarcastic condolence, but even he knew that such wording would be taken as what it was, an open sneer at Cavendish's misfortune.
All through the meal Bolitho fretted and fumed at the delay. There might be a few ships near the Gironde Estuary, and again there could be a possibility of taking some action against them. If there was nothing of value he might even use his brief freedom from Pelham-Martin's apron strings to sweep further along the coast, for information if nothing better was at hand.
Pelham-Martin was obviously well connected, he thought. Throughout the meal he tossed off names and titles of people he knew, of affairs at Court and in Parliament, and if only half true it was no wonder to Bolitho he had been able to survive his admiral's hostility.
He had a maddening way of simplifying or ignoring any sort of danger from the gathering French ships, but at the same time there was something almost likeable about him. Out of his own pocket he had paid for fresh fruit to be sent from Vigo, enough for every man aboard the three ships under his immediate control.
As Bolitho peeled an orange and listened to Fitzmaurice retelling in detail the last moments of Howe's victory on the First of June, he thought of Falmouth, and wondered
I if Cheney was thinking of him, if the old grey house was covered in snow, if his child would be boy or girl. He did not care which, so long as she, was happy.
Eventually, and thankfully, it was over, and Bolitho returned to his ship without further delay. Surprisingly it seemed very quiet, and but for the duty watch the main deck was completely deserted. Only from the wardroom was there any sound of gaiety, and that merely a deep bass voice raised in some sentimental song beloved of sailors, which obviously belonged to Gossett.
Inch was waiting to receive him, and said in reply to Bolitho's question, 'Most of our people have turned into their hammocks, sir.'
I i Bolitho nodded. After weeks of hardship and wet misery the good hot food and extra rations of spirits would leave little room for further celebrations.
'Good. We will leave them in peace, Mr. Inch, until it's time to call the watch on deck.'
He looked suddenly at Inch's drawn face. 'Have you dined well today?'
Inch shuffled his feet awkwardly. 'I've had a lot to do, sir.'
Bolitho studied him with fresh understanding. Of course Inch would never join in with the others with his captain away in the flagship. He had a sudden picture of Inch bobbing and scurrying from deck to deck, making sure that everything was well. Doing his best.
He said abruptly, 'Come aft, Mr. Inch.' He walked towards the poop adding, 'We will leave the squadron at first light tomorrow and make visual contact with the Ithuriel.' He nodded to the marine sentry and led the way into his cabin where Petch was screwed up into a tight ball against the bulkhead, fast asleep.
Bolitho grinned and unbuckled his sword. 'A drink with me, Mr. Inch.'
Inch took off his hat and clasped it between his hands as he stared round the cabin, probably remembering those other days when he had been a mere fifth lieutenant and Bolitho had come aboard to take command and carry them through one battle after another.
He blurted out suddenly, 'I-I got engaged to be married, sir, when we were at Plymouth.'
Bolitho poured two full measures of claret.4'Then I am glad to drink your health, Mr. Inch.''
Inch dabbed his mouth and held the glass up to a
lantern. 'Daughter of a doctor, sir. A very fine girl.' He nodded. 'I hope to marry when we put back to England.'
Bolitho looked away, remembering suddenly how much a part Inch had played in his life since he had taken command of the old Hyperion. He had even been there in church to see him married to Cheney.
He turned and said quietly, 'I wish you every success. It is another good reason to do well and gain advancement.' He grinned. 'A command of your own, eh?'
Inch looked at his feet. 'I-I hope so, sir.'
Bolitho had already had quite enough to drink and eat aboard the flagship, but at the same time the thought of being alone, cut off from the rest of the ship by the bulkhead and the marine sentry, was more than he could bear. Not tonight, of all nights. He walked across the cabin and shook the servant by his shoulder. As Petch staggered to his feet Bolitho said, 'We will have some more claret. And I think some of that excellent cheese which my wife sent aboard.'
Inch said, 'She'll be thinking of us tonight, sir.'
Bolitho stared at him for several seconds without speaking. Of us. That was what Inch had said, and he was right. He of all people must remember what she had meant to the Hyperion when she had taken passage aboard. When she had served the wounded while the timbers had quaked to the broadsides above her.
He replied quietly, 'I am sure she will.'
As Petch busied himself at the table Inch watched Bolitho, hardly daring to blink in case he should miss something. He could not recall having seen him like this before. He was sitting on the bench seat below the windows plucking absently at the lock of black hair which Inch knew covered the livid scar from some past action,
