He added briskly, 'There is much to accomplish, and I will expect each one of you to do his best at all times to become proficient at whatever task he is given.' Here, some of the older men grimaced. They knew it would be gun and sail drill under an officer's pocket-watch until their captain was satisfied. In this sort of weather it would not be comfortable work, especially for the men who had never been afloat before.
Bolitho let his eye stray to the opposite side of the quarter-deck where Inch and the other four lieutenants stood in line by the rail. In the hectic days leading up to and following the Hyperion's recommissioning he had had less time than he would have wished to get to know his new officers. The three junior ones seemed keen enough but were very young and with little experience. Their uniforms shone with newness and their faces were as pink as any midshipman's. The second lieutenant, however, a man named Stepkyne, had qualified as a master's mate aboard an East Indiaman and had found his way in the King's service when appointed to a cumbersome storeship. It must have cost him much hard work and bitter experience to attain commissioned rank, and as he stood swaying easily on the Hyperion's deck Bolitho could see the tense lines around his mouth, an expression bordering on resentment as he glanced sideways at young Inch.
Beyond the lieutenants were the ship's six midshipmen, again very young, but obviously excited at the prospect of what was for most of them a first voyage.
Captain Dawson stood with his marines, heavy-jowled and unsmiling, with his lieutenant, Hicks, an incredibly smart but vacant-looking young man, by his elbow. Bolitho bit his lip. The marines were excellent for forays ashore or the cut and thrust of close action. But they offered little help in the matters of driving a ship of the line under full sail.
He felt the wind swirling damply around his legs and added shortly, 'That will be all for now.' He nodded to Inch. 'Prepare to get the ship under way, if you please.'
Bolitho caught sight of Joshua Tomlin, the boatswain, by the entry port, his sharp eyes moving quickly across the men nearest him. Tomlin was another of the original company, a squat, massively built man, almost as broad as he was tall, and extremely hairy. When he smiled, which was often, he displayed a fearsome and maniac grin, having had both front teeth knocked out by a falling block many years before. He was known for his patience and his rough good humour, and Bolitho had never yet seen him strike a man in anger, which was unusual in his trade. But it would take more than his store of tolerance to remain calm with his new collection of hands, he decided grimly.
Pipes shrilled again and the decks came alive with stampeding feet as the men ran to their stations, urged on by kicks and curses from harassed petty officers who had not yet had time to memorise the names of their own divisions.
Bolitho touched Inch's arm and drew him aside. 'The wind has backed a point.' He glanced meaningly at the masthead pendant. 'Break out the anchor at once and send the hands aloft.' He saw his words causing havoc on Inch's horseface and added quietly, 'It will be better to get the new people aloft now and have them spaced on the yards before you pass your orders. We do not want to have half of them dropping to the deck with the port admiral's glass on us, eh?' He smiled and saw Inch nod doubtfully.
He turned his back as Inch hurried to the quarterdeck rail, his speaking trumpet at the ready. He wanted to help him, but knew that if Inch could not take the ship to sea from a wide and comfortable anchorage he might never have the confidence to move alone again.
'Stand by the capstan!'
Gossett crossed to Bolitho's side and said impassively, 'We'll have snow afore the week's out, sir.' He winced as one of the men at the capstan bars skidded and fell in a welter of arms and legs. A petty officer lashed out with his rattan, and Bolitho saw the lieutenant in charge turn away with embarrassment.
Bolitho cupped his hands. 'Mr. Beauclerk! Those men will work together if they have a shanty to bite on!'
Cosset hid a grin. 'Poor fellows, they must find it strange, sir.'
Bolitho breathed out tightly. Inch should have seen to it earlier. With Hyperion's sixteen-hundred-odd tons tugging on the cable it needed more than brawn to turn the capstan. The fiddle's plaintive notes were almost lost in the wind, but as the first pawl clinked home on the capstan Tomlin roared, 'Now, me little sweethearts! Let's give them soft-bellied buggers in Plymouth a sight and sound to remember, eh!'
He threw back his head and opened his mouth, so that one of the watching midshipmen gasped with awe, and then broke into a well-tried shanty.
Bolitho looked up to watch the men spreading out along the massive yards, black and puny against the sky like so many monkeys.
Then he took a glass from Gascoigne, the signal midshipman, and trained it towards the shore. He felt a lump in his throat as he saw her green cloak framed in the distant window, a patch of white as she waved towards the ship. In his mind's eye he could picture what she was seeing. The two-decker, swinging already on- her shortening cable, the figures clinging to the yards, the activity around the forecastle where already more men were standing by the headsails.
'Anchor's hove short, sir!'
Bolitho met Inch's eye and nodded. Inch lifted his trumpet. 'Loose heads'ls!'
A quick glance at Gossett, but there was no need to worry there. The master stood by the big double wheel, his eyes moving between the helmsmen and the first strips of canvas which even now were flapping and cracking in the wind.
'Lay a course to weather the headland, Mr. Gossett. We will lie as close to the wind as we can in case it backs again directly.'
'Up an' down, sir!' The cry almost lost in the wind. Inch was nodding and muttering to himself as he moved restlessly across the quarterdeck.
He yelled, 'Loose tops'ls!'
The great sails billowed and thundered wildly as the cry came from forward, 'Anchor's aweigh, sir!'
Bolitho gripped a swivel gun for support as freed from the land the Hyperion swung dizzily into a deep trough. There were a few nervous cries from a lot, but nobody fell.
'Lee braces there!' That was Stepkyne's voice carrying without effort above the din of wind and canvas. 'Jump to it, that man!' He was pointing angrily. 'Take his name!'
Clank, clank, clank went the capstan, the hidden anchor swinging below the surface like a pendulum. But the Hyperion seemed to care nothing for the confusion and frantic activity about her decks and yards. She showed a strip of bright copper as she tilted heavily in to the choppy water, throwing the spray high above her beakhead so that the gleaming Titan seemed to be rising from the sea itself.
Inch came back wiping his face. 'Sir?'
Bolitho eyed him gravely. 'Get the courses on her.' He looked up at the masthead pendant as it streamed almost abeam and as stiff as a lance. 'We'll have the t'gallants on her directly once we've cleared Rame Head.'
The helmsman intoned, 'Sou'-west by south, sir! Full an' byel'
Bolitho felt the deck tilting steeply as the old ship gathered the wind into her spreading canvas. She must make a fine sight now, he thought vaguely. Topsails and courses set and hard-bellied like pewter in the dull light, the yards braced round to take maximum advantage of the wind which was ruffling the blurred headland like wet fur.
The anchor was clear of the water now and already being hauled towards the cathead.
And still the men sang, some glancing across their shoulders as the green headland sidled so quickly into the mist of rain and spray.
'I knew a lass in Portsmouth town,
Heave, my bullies, heave!'
How many sailors had sung as their ships had slipped into the Channel, how many on the shore had watched moist-eyed or grateful, or just thankful for being spared similar hardship?
When Bolitho raised his glass again the land had lost all individuality. Like its memories and hopes it was now so distant as to be unreachable. He saw some of the younger men staring across the gangway, one of them actually waving, although the ship must be all but invisible by now.
He thought suddenly of Herrick. When he had been his first lieutenant in the little frigate Phalarope. Bolitho frowned, when was that? Ten, no twelve years ago! He started to pace slowly along the weather side as his mind went back over the years. Thomas Herrick, the best subordinate he had ever had, and the best friend. He had said
