fire that last lot, I wonder?'
Bolitho felt the tiredness sweeping over him. 'Wouldn't you have done so?' He turned to Inch again. 'Does Spartan have her prize secure?'
'Aye, sir.' Inch watched him worriedly. 'She is passing a tow across to her boarding party now.'
'Very well. Get the hands aloft and shorten sail. Then have a signal made to Hermes and Spartan.' He frowned, trying not to remember the sounds of the ship dying on the reef, the pointlessness of the last gestures. 'We will return to St. Kruis. Make all sail conformable with weather and report when ready to proceed.'
He looked round as Trudgeon came beneath the poop wiping his hands. 'Well?'
The surgon was a grimfaced, taciturn man who never wasted words. 'A splinter, true enough, sir. Pierced his side under the right armpit. In very deep, I'd say.'
'Can you remove it?'
'If he were a common seaman I'd not hesitate, sir.' He shrugged. 'But the commodore seems unwilling to let me touch him.'
'Stay with him until I am free to come aft.' As Trudgeon made to leave he added coldly, 'And if I catch you treating a common seaman with less care than one of my officers, I can assure you it will be the last time for you!'
Inch hesitated until the surgeon had departed. 'Must we return to St. Kruis, sir?'
'The Telamon will never survive unaided.' He thought of the cheers, the destruction and the unquestioning courage of the Dutch sailors. 'De Ruyter would have been proud of them,' he added quietly. 'And I'll not leave them now!'
He walked to the quarterdeck rail and rested against it, feeling the ship trembling through his body as if, they were linked together._ Below him the seamen were relashing their guns and swabbing the decks free of powder stains, chattering and calling to each other, probably quite unaware their commodore had been wounded. The irony of it was made harder to understand, as he had been their only casualty.
Inch watched the topmen shinning down the backstays and said, 'This means that you will command the squadron now, sir.'
Bolitho smiled. 'Not while that pendant flies, Mr. Inch.'
He thought suddenly of all those who had died or been maimed for life since the ship had sailed from Plymouth Sound. 'I doubt that the commodore will be laid low for long. Once we are in more sheltered waters Mr. Trudgeon will be better placed to remove the splinter.'
Canyon said, 'Signal from Hermes, sir. Both tows secured and ready to proceed.'
'Acknowledged.' Bolitho looked at Inch. 'You may wear ship now. Take station to windward of the others. We will be able to keep an eye on them to better advantage.' He glanced up at the set of the sails. 'I shall inform the commodore.'
He found Pelham-Martin lying in his cot, his body well cushioned and protected against the ship's uneasy movements, and a great wad of dressing wound around his chest and shoulder. His eyes were closed, and in the faint sunshine from the skylight his skin looked like wax.
Trudgeon crossed the cabin and said dourly, 'I have examined the wound again, sir.' He shifted beneath Bolitho's gaze. 'The fact is, there's so. much fat it's hard to tell the depth or extent of the splinter.'
Bolitho glanced down at the commodore's face. 'I see. Very well, wait outside.' When the door had closed he bent over the cot and was immediately aware of the overpowering smell of brandy. A half empty decanter was propped by one of the pillows.
'Sir?' He heard the distant shouts and the rumbling creak of steering gear, and knew that Inch was already turning the ship as he had instructed. It would be a slow haul back to St. Kruis, and even if it was unlikely they would meet an enemy, they had to be prepared to defend their battered charges at a moment's notice. He said more urgently, 'We are on course for St. Kruis, sir. Do you have any further orders?'
Pelham-Martin opened his eyes and looked at him glassily for several seconds. Then he said faintly, 'Lequiller was not there! He has slipped from our hands again!' His head lolled and he peered down at the decanter. 'I must rest. I do not wish to talk any further.'
Bolitho stood up. 'I would suggest that we hand over the prize to de Block when we reach St. Kruis, Sir. The Telamon will be useless except for what they can salvage. With the frigate they will at least be able to defend themselves.'
'Do what you like.' Pelham-Martin closed his eyes and sighed. 'I am far from well.'
'When we enter the bay I have told Trudgeon what he must do, sir.'
The effect of his words was staggering. Pelham-Martin struggled on to his elbow, the sweat pouring down his face and neck in a small flood.
'I'll not have him touch me, do you hear? You'd like that, wouldn't you? To see me cut about by that blundering fool while you take over my command?' He sank back breathing hard. 'We will return to St. Kruis. I have yet to decide what to do.'
Bolitho studied him gravely. 'We still do not know of Lequiller's whereabouts. He has the San Leandro and most of his squadron intact. I would think it likely he is ready to proceed with his plan.' He hardened his voice. 'We cannot wait any longer, sir.'
But Pelham-Martin turned his face away and remained silent.
Bolitho walked to the door. 'I will keep you informed, sir.' As he stepped into the passageway he heard the clink of glass behind him.
On the quarterdeck Inch was waiting, his horseface anxious as Bolitho looked at the compass and then the set of the sails.
He said, 'South by west, sir.'
Bolitho nodded absently, his mind still grappling with Peiham-Martin's strange manner. He had expected him to show dismay at being wounded, at the very unfairness which had singled him out from all the rest of the ship's company. It was almost as if he had found his excuse at last. One which nobody could dispute or question. He had been wounded. In his own view, not badly enough to be relieved of his command, but sufficient to deprive him of any active part in the vital decisions which now confronted him.
Inch said, 'I was wondering what we might be asked to do next, sir?'
Bolitho walked past him. 'We tread warily, Mr. Inch.'
'Sir?'
'Before, we had very little to use for information.' He glanced towards the captured frigate as she yawned astern of the Spartan, a bright red ensign flying above her Tricolour. 'Now we have some prisoners. We may yet learn something of Lequiller's intentions.' He shifted his gaze upwards towards Pelham-Martin's broad pendant. 'And when we do, Mr. Inch, we will have an edge on him for a change.'
He walked to the lee side and peered across the starboard quarter. The sunlight was forcing steadily through the layers of cloud and he could feel the warmth returning to his tired body as he studied the small islands fading into a growing haze. There was much to do, and Farquhar would have more information which might be useful. But it was essential to get the crippled ships and their wounded back to St. Kruis first.
There would be many grieving hearts there when the Telaman returned, he thought sadly. It was to be hoped that their great sacrifice was not to be in vain.
By noon the following day there was little sign of the threatening sky and wind which had' hastened their departure. As the slow procession of ships entered the bay and dropped anchor the sun blazed down on the clear 'water as if eager that nothing should be left hidden from the silent watchers on the shore.
Bolith stood on the poop shading his eyes from the glare as the Telamon was warped, listing and with- her lower ports under water, to rest on a strip of sand at the foot of the headland. Every available boat had been lowered to take off her wounded, and Bolitho could see tiny figures, mostly women, wading through the shallows to peer into each incoming craft, their grief made no less terrible by distance.
Anchored below the hilltop battery the captured frigate was already seething with activity as Farquhar prepared to land the prisoners and make good the damage with whatever facilities were still available. Hugh would be returning soon. Bolitho bit his lip. It was strange how his own personal troubles had deserted him in the anxiety of the chase. And there was still the commodore to be roused from his unreachable torpor.
He swung round as a gun boomed dully from the hillside.
Inch clattered up the poop ladder. 'They have sighted a ship, sir!'
