While the Hyperion took full advantage of the friendly trades so she, too, altered her appearance accordingly. Now in a full suit of light sails to replace the thick heavyweather canvas, she seemed to lean forward and down across the endless panorama of glittering whitecaps, as if she was glad to be throwing off the bleak monotony of blockade duty and eager to reach beyond the sea's edge, and beyond that.
He lifted his telescope and moved it slowly above the nettings until he found the tiny pyramid of sails far out on the starboard bow, a mere flaw on the horizon to show that the frigate Abdiel was on her proper station. The other frigate, Spartan, was some twenty miles ahead of her and quite invisible. He closed the glass and handed it to the midshipman of the watch.
At moments like these it was hard to believe he was not still in sole command. Pelham-Martin rarely seemed to come on deck, and remained aloof and unreachable in the stern cabin for most of the time. He would grant Bolitho a brief audience every morning, listen to his comments or ideas, and then confine his comments to, 'That seems quite a good plan.' Or, 'If you consider that to be in the best interest, Bolitho.' It was as if he was saving himself for the real task which still lay ahead, and was content to leave local affairs to his captain.
Up to a point it suited Bolitho, but as far as the true depth and meaning of Pelham-Martin's orders were concerned, he was in complete ignorance.
The commodore still seemed unwilling to place any value on the selection of captains for certain tasks, and left it completely to Bolitho's own judgement, even though he was a stranger to the squadron. Bolitho thought about the far off Spartan and how Pelham-Martin seemed almost surprised to learn that he already knew her young captain. But it was only mild surprise and nothing more. He appeared to hold personal relationships at arm's length, as if they were of no importance at all.
Bolitho started to pace slowly up and down, thinking back over the years, to all the faces and memories which made up his service at sea. The Spartan's captain for instance. Charles Farquhar had once been a midshipman under him, and he had been the first to see his value and promote him to acting lieutenant. Now, at twenty-nine, he was a post-captain, and with his aristocratic family background and a long line of naval connections, it was likely he would end his career as an admiral and a very rich man. Curiously, Bolitho had never really liked him, but at the same time had recognised right from the start that he was both shrewd and resourceful, just as he was now said to be something of a tyrant when it came to running his own command.
But the Spartan was the leading ship, and upon her captain's first quick judgement could depend the success or failure of whatever Pelham-Martin might intend.
When he had mentioned to Pelham-Martin that Farquhar had once been a fellow prisoner aboard an American privateer the commodore had merely said, 'Very interesting. You must tell me about it sometime.' As he paced busily back and forth Bolitho found time to wonder what Pelham-Martin's reaction would be if he ever discovered that Bolitho's captor had been his own brother!
Inch hovered nearby, trying to catch his eye.
'Well?' Bolitho faced him abruptly, shutting the commodore's strange attitudes from his mind. 'What can I do for you?'
Inch said, 'Gun drill, sir?' He pulled out his watch. 'I am hoping we may do better today.'
Bolitho hid a smile. Inch was so serious these days, but a great improvement as a first lieutenant.
He replied, 'Very well. They still take too long to clear for action. I want it done in ten minutes and not a second more. And there are also too many delays in loading and running out.'
Inch nodded glumly. 'I know, sir.'
Bolitho half turned as a burst of laughter floated down from the main shrouds. He saw three midshipmen racing each other for the top, one of them he recognised as his nephew. It was strange that in a crowded ship they rarely seemed to meet. It was even harder to enquire of his welfare without appearing to show favouritism, or worse, mistrust.
He said distantly, 'You know my standards. Clear for action in ten minutes or less. Then three broadsides every two minutes.' He eyed him calmly. 'You know it. Make sure they know it, too!' He walked back to the weather side adding casually, 'I suggest you give one gun to the midshipmen this morning. It will keep 'em out of mischief, and more to the point will make our people all the more keen. It does them good to know they can beat an officers' crew in timing and efficiency.'
Inch nodded. 'I'll attend to it directly…' He flushed with embarrassment. 'I-I mean at once, sir!'
Bolitho continued his pacing, his jaw aching as he tried to stop the grin from spreading across his face. It was just as if Inch was trying to mould himself on his captain, even to the way he spoke.
At two bells precisely he left the quarterdeck and made his way aft to the cabin. Much as usual he found PelhamMartin seated at the table, a silk napkin under his chin while he consumed a final cup of coffee after his late breakfast.
He said, 'I have sent the hands to gun drill, sir.'
Pelham-Martin dabbed his small mouth with a comer of the napkin and frowned as the deck trembled to the rumble of gun trucks and stamp of feet.
'So it would appear!' He shifted his bulky frame on the chair. 'Is there anything else to report?'
Bolitho eyed him impassively. It was always the same. 'We are steering west-south-west, sir, and the wind is steady as before. I have set the royals on her,. and with luck we should reach St. Kris in three weeks.'
Pelham-Martin grimaced. 'You sound very confident. But of course you know these waters well.' He glanced towards the litter of papers and charts on the desk. 'I hope to God there is some news awaiting us at St. Kruis.' He scowled. 'You can never can tell with the Dutch, of course.'
Bolitho looked away. 'It cannot be easy when you know your own homeland is being conquered, sir.'
The commodore grunted. 'That is not my concern. The point is, will they help us?'
'I believe so, sir. The Dutch have always been good friends, just as they have been honourable and courageous foes.'
'Maybe.' Pelham-Martin pulled himself on to his short legs and moved slowly up the tilting deck. At the desk he fiddled with the papers and then said bitterly, 'My orders give me no real indication of what I am to expect. No sort of guide…' He broke off and swung round as if expecting criticism. 'Well? What do you think?'
Bolitho said slowly, 'I think we must try and inspire some confidence, sir. Be one move ahead of Lequiller's ships and foresee whatever he tries to do. He will use his strength whenever he can to force others to help and supply him. But at the same time he must realise that his squadron is vulnerable and will want to use it without delay and to the best effect.' He crossed to the charts. 'He will know that he is being chased, and will therefore have the advantage.'
Pelham-Martin leaned heavily on the desk. 'I know that, dammit!'
'It will be necessary to seek him out, to prevent him from carrying out his intentions, before he can act.'
'But in the name of heaven, man, do you know what you're saying?' He sounded shocked. 'You are suggesting that I should sail to some mark on a chart and merely sit and wait?'
Bolitho replied calmly, 'A chase is always a chase, sir. I have rarely known one group of ships to overhaul another without some piece of extreme luck. To catch a shark you must have a suitable bait, one so rich that even the wiliest cannot resist it.'
Pelham-Martin rubbed his chin. 'Treasure ships. You are speaking of those?' He walked unsteadily across the cabin. 'It is a terrible risk, Bolitho. If Lequiller intended to attack somewhere else, and we were watching over some ships at the other end of the Caribbean,' he shuddered, 'it would be my responsibility!'
Perhaps the commodore was only now beginning to realise the full implication of his task, Bolitho thought. Reaching St. Kruis without delay was not even a beginning. There were countless islands, some almost unknown except to pirates and renegades of every kind. And Lequiller's past experience would have taught him about many of them, of places to hide and water his ships, where he could glean information and sow unrest, and always he had the vast sea areas at his disposal in which to vanish at a moment's warning.
Bolitho could almost feel sorry for Pelham-Martin's dilemma. It was likely that Cavendish had already been reprimanded for his failure to contain the French ships in port. It was even more likely he would soon use PelhamMartin as a ready scapegoat if anything further went wrong.
And yet there was equally great scope in the neatly worded orders. Given the same chance, Bolitho knew he would have jumped at the opportunity of conquering Lequiller and defeating him on his own terms.
There was a tap at the door and Inch stepped over the coaming, his hat under his arm.
'Well?' Bolitho sounded irritated. In another minute it was possible, even likely that Pelham-Martin would have
