wonder she had played no part in the final attack on Las Mercedes. One more broadside and she would likely have keeled over and sunk.
It was good to know Quince had received a reward for his unfailing efforts, and as Bolitho had watched the Indomitable's shape melting into the sea haze, her torn sails and shattered topmasts somehow symbolic of the pain and death within her hull, he had thought of Winstanley, and how pleased he would have been to know his ship was in such good hands.
But now they were sailing eastward again, with no apparent thought for chasing the two French ships which had escaped the attack, and no intimation at all of what Pelham-Martin intended to do next.
During his brief visit Quince had said, 'It seems that our commodore is well pleased with the results, sir. Two French sail of the line destroyed and the others put to flight.'
Bolitho had replied coldly, 'We could have destroyed them alll'
Quince had been watching him soberly. 'You did all that you could, sir. I think the whole squadron knows that, and rightly.'
Bolitho had merely shrugged. 'I cannot be content with half measures.'
He laid the razor on the desk and sighed, 'Have you sworn in the new men, Mr. Inch?'
'Aye, sir. I have questioned some of them too, just as you instructed.'
Bolitho walked restlessly to the opposite side and shaded his eyes to stare at the empty horizon. It was like a bright gold line in the late afternoon sunlight. He had wanted to meet and question these released men himself, but had been unable to face anyone as yet. Like the moment he had returned aboard, the cheers and yells of welcome ringing in his ears as he and the others had climbed from the sloop's jolly boat, the noise and force of the greeting making him more aware of his own complete fatigue.
And Inch most of all. Bobbing and grinning, his anxiety giving way to an almost incoherent flood of pleasure which even Bolitho's false harshness could not dispel.
Inch said suddenly, 'All of them are prime seamen, sir. They were survivors of a merchantman, Bristol Queen, which was wrecked a while ago in a storm while bound for Caracas. Some of the crew managed to get away in the boats, and eventually reached Las Mercedes es where they were thrown into prison.' He grimaced angrily. 'The damned Dons have no feeling for shipwrecked seamen, it seems.'
Bolitho rested his hands on the desk and stared absently at the uppermost chart. 'There were no officers saved, I take it?'
'None, sir.' Inch slapped one hand against his thigh. 'But there was one strange piece of good fortune, sir. There is a master's mate amongst them.' He nodded cheerfully in response to Bolitho's unspoken question, 'Aye, sir, a Navy man!'
'Well, do not keep me in suspense, Mr. Inch.'
'It seems he and another were picked up a few months back. They had been washed overboard from the Cornelia, seventy-four, and were clinging to an upturned quarter boat, at least the master's mate was. The second man had already died, sir.'
Bolitho nodded thoughtfully. 'Saved from death to be imprisoned, eh? Well, he will be both welcome and useful aboard, Mr. Inch. I trust you made sure they were all able to send messages to their homes by way of the Indomitable before she left the squadron?'
'Lieutenant Quince assured me that was so, sir. But the master's mate sent neither letter nor message. Unlike the others, I suspect he has no life other than shipboard.'
Bolitho listened to the shrill of pipes and the patter of feet overhead as the watch went about its business.
'What is his name?'
'Selby, sir.'
'Well, send Mr. Selby to me now. He might have seen or heard something at Las Mercedes. And I am not satisfied we know half enough that is happening there.' He frowned, unaware of Inch's puzzled expression. 'All those Spanish soldiers in French uniforms, the readiness of the ships and careful siting of a field battery.' He shook his head firmly. 'No, Mr. Inch, I am not at all pleased with our lack of knowledge.'
As Inch departed he returned once more to examining the chart. Where was Lequiller now?
He thought suddenly of Lieutenant Lang, now aboard the Indomitable with all the other maimed and wounded, en route for Antigua, and thence to England. What would become of him? The surgeon had been brief and without hope. Lang was completely blind. Having neither private means nor influence he was being sent home to certain oblivion. To join the wretched flotsam which you saw in every port, in every place where the sea was a constant reminder of their uselessness and rejection.
This master's mate was very welcome now. Bolitho would have to promote Gascoigne to acting lieutenant, experienced or not, and one more professional in the afterguard would be worth his weight in gold.
There was a rap on the door and Inch stepped into the reflected sunlight. 'Mr. Selby, sir.' He stood aside as the other figure moved into view. 'There is a signal from the Telamon, sir. To reduce sail and retain close station in readiness for the night.'
Bolitho leaned back against the desk, his fingers locked around its edge in an effort to control his limbs. 'Thank you, Mr. Inch.' His voice seemed to come from a great distance. 'Carry on, if you please.'
Inch opened his mouth and then shut it again. With a brief glance at the master's mate he left the cabin and closed the door quietly behind him.
Bolitho could hear his own breathing, yet could feel nothing of his limbs at all but for the pressure of his fingers on the edge of the desk.
The figure across the cabin was badly stooped, and the hair which was pulled back to the nape of his neck was almost completely grey. But there was no mistaking the firm chin, the steady eyes which watched him now with something like resignation.
Bolitho's reeling mind seemed to register incredulity and despair, just as he understood the forces of luck and circumstance, of coincidence and fate which had at last drawn them together once again. As if in a dream he could recall exactly his father's tired face when he had told him of Hugh's disgrace, of his desertion from the Navy, and of his final disappearance in the Americas.
He could remember, too, that meeting when he had been Hugh's prisoner aboard the American privateer, Andiron, and later, nearly two years ago now, when he had been within yards of him during the collapse of the campaign in St. Clar and Cozar, yet had not seen him.
He said tonelessly, 'I suppose our meeting again is inevitable.' He gestured to a chair. 'Sit down if you will.
His brother lowered himself into the chair, his eyes still on Bolitho's face.
He replied, 'I did not want to come, Dick. I thought I was being kept aboard the Hermes. I did not even know your ship was in the Caribbean.'
Bolitho reached out and poured a glass of red wine. 'Drink this. Then tell me why you were here.' He gestured to his clothes. 'How you came to be in the King's service.'
Hugh Bolitho drank deeply and ran his fingers through his hair. 'Two years back when I was bound for New Holland as a convict you gave me, albeit unknowingly, another chance. They took most of the convicts back to Gibraltar to await deportation after we left St. Clar.' The deep lines around his mouth softened slightly. 'I was put aboard a man-o'-war bound for Botany Bay, and during a storm I decided to try and escape. I managed to reach the quarter boat, but was seen and chased by the master's mate of the watch. He climbed down after me.' He shrugged, his eyes dreamy as he relived the moment. 'There was a fight and the boat came adrift. We both realised the ship had sailed on without knowing we were missing, so we made the best of it. The storm got worse and the boat capsized. We had no water, nothing: When we were picked up, Selby, that was his name, had died. I was almost ready to follow.'
Bolitho passed his hand across his forehead. The fatigue and strain of the past days were taking their toll, and he had to think carefully before each word.
'But why did you take the other man's identity?' He felt the sweat running down his chest. 'You must have known you would be collected by a King's ship in due course?'
Hugh nodded, the gesture both familiar and yet strange.
'I was, and am tired of running, Dick. Changing names, and always looking over my shoulder. So I thought, where better to hide than in a King's ship?' He smiled wearily. 'But it seems I was wrong even about that.'
