his mind. Pelham-Martin. The name had been instantly familiar, yet at the same time he had been unable to recall any sea officer, commodore or otherwise, who had distinguished or shamed himself enough to warrant this special visit by the flag captain.
The other man had said abruptly, 'I do not like deceit, especially with a fellow captain. Things have been very bad between my admiral and the commodore. PelhamMartin, as you will discover, is a difficult man to serve in some ways.'
'This bad feeling? How did it come about?'
'It all happened a long while ago really. During the American Revolution…'
Bolitho's mind had suddenly cleared. 'I remember now. A British colonel of infantry surrendered to the Americans – with all his men, and when some of our ships arrived with reinforcements they sailed right into a trap.'
The flag captain had grimaced. 'The colonel was Pelham-Martin's brother. I do not have to tell you who the officer was who commanded the ships, eh?'
A midshipman had appeared at that moment. 'Signal from flagship, sir! Captain to return on board forthwith.'
Bolitho had understood fully at that moment what the visit had really meant for him and his ship. No admiral could voice a lack of confidence to a captain newly joining his command. But through a fellow captain it was just possible to show his displeasure and his uncertainty.
The flag captain had paused by the cabin door, his eyes searching.
'I know your record, Bolitho, and so does Sir Manley Cavendish. When news was received that you were joining the squadron he told me that you were to be sent to Pelham-Martin's sector to the south-east. You. are well remembered for your part in the St. Clan invasion last year, although you got precious little credit for it. The commodore's squadron is a small one, but its work and vigilance could prove to be vital. Your viewpoint and presence there could help to break this stupid feud.' He had shrugged heavily. 'This is between ourselves naturally. If a word is voiced to me that any suggestion of mistrust or incompetence was made I will of course deny it!' Then with another quick handshake he had left the ship.
Now, sitting at his littered desk, Bolitho found it hard to believe such bitterness could have been allowed to jeopardise the efficiency of the hard-pressed ships and their weary companies. That meeting with the flagship had been four days ago, and while the Hyperion had plunged further to the south-east and her company had fought half-heartedly against seasickness and bad weather alike Bolitho had studied his orders carefully, and during his lonely walks on the quarterdeck had tried to estimate their true meaning.
It seemed that Pelham-Martin had three ships of the line and three frigates under his command, as well as two small sloops-of-war. One of the former would be sent to England for overhaul and repairs as soon as she was replaced by Hyperion, so it was a very small force indeed.
But properly deployed it could be well placed to watch over any sudden movement by enemy vessels. It was known that several large French ships had slipped past Gibraltar and had already found their way into the Bay of Biscay. It was equally well known that although Spain was now an ally of England, it was more from necessity than any real friendship or co-operation. Many of those French ships must, have sailed close inshore around Spain, and some might even have hidden in Spanish ports to avoid being attacked by British patrols. To join the bulk of the French fleet any such ships would probably make first for the Gironde or La Rochelle to receive their orders overland, and then take the first opportunity to follow the coastline to Lorient or Brest.
There was a tap at the door and Midshipman Gascoigne stepped over the coaming. 'Mr. Stepkyne's respects, sir, and we have just sighted a sail to the east'rd.'
'Very well. I shall come up.'
Bolitho watched the door close and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Whatever the rights or wrongs of the matter, he would not have long to wait now.
He stood up slowly and reached for his hat. He felt the locket rubbing against his chest and thought suddenly of Cheney. He had written a letter to her and sent it across with the flagship's captain for the first homebound sloop. There had not been time to change any of it and she would still believe him to be off Lorient. Not that another two hundred miles made much difference, he thought vaguely.
As he walked to the quarterdeck he saw the officers stiffen into awkward attitudes of attentiveness, and guessed that prior to his appearance they had probably been in deep discussion about the distant ships.
Bolitho looked up at the hard-bellied sails and the whipping tongue of the masthead pendant. The canvas was stiff with rain and salt, and he felt a moment's pity for some of the men who were working high above the swaying hull. The wind was almost directly astern and the sea had changed to an angry panorama of short, steep crests which gleamed like yellow fangs in the harsh light. There was no horizon to speak of, and although he estimated they were within twenty miles of the coast there was nothing to be seen.
He took a glass from a midshipman and trained it slowly across the nettings. He knew the others were watching him as if to gauge his reactions, and perhaps their own fate, but kept his face impassive as he picked out the first misty pyramid of sails. He shifted the glass very slightly and waited as the Hyperion sidled into a deep trough and then smashed indifferently across another cruising bank of wavecrests. There was a second ship, and possibly a third.
He closed the glass with a snap. 'Lay her on the larboard tack and prepare to shorten sail, Mr. Stepkyne.'
Stepkyne touched his hat, 'Aye, aye, sir.' He rarely said much, unless to use his tongue on some clumsy or careless seaman. He seemed unwilling or unable to share either confidence or casual conversation with his brother officers, and Bolitho knew as little about him now as the first day he had met him. For all that, he was a very capable seaman, and Bolitho had been unable to find fault with any task he had carried out.
Even now he was rapping out orders, his hands on his hips as he watched the men being roused once more to man braces and halyards.
Bolitho shut Stepkyne's cold efficiency and Inch's bumbling efforts from his mind. If the weather moderated, just for a few days, even Inch would get a chance to drill the hands to better results.
He said curtly, 'Steer east by south, Mr. Gossett.'
The masthead lookout's voice called faintly above the cracking canvas, 'Three sail o' th' line, sir!' A pause while every unemployed eye peered aloft at the tiny figure outlined against the racing clouds. 'Leadin' ship wears a broad pendant, sir!'
A shoe scraped on the deck and Bolitho saw Inch hurrying towards him, some biscuit crumbs clinging to his coat.
He touched his hat. 'I am sorry to be late on deck sir.' He glanced round anxiously. 'I must have fallen asleep for a moment.'
Bolitho studied him gravely. He would have to do something about Inch, he thought. He looked desperately tired, and there were dark shadows under his eyes.
He said quietly, 'You, may call all hands now, Mr. Inch. We will be up with the squadron directly and may have to wear ship or heave to.' He smiled. 'Commodores are no different from admirals when it comes to immediate requirements.'
But Inch merely nodded glumly. 'Aye, aye, sir.'
Slowly but surely the other ships grew out of the tossing murk until they stood in line, hulls shining with spray, their reefed topsails straining and gleaming like pressed steel in the blustering wind.
They were all seventy-fours like Hyperion, and to a landsman might look as much alike as peas in a pod. But Bolitho knew from hard experience that even ships launched side by side in the same dockyard could be as unalike as salt from wine, just as their individual captains might choose to make them.
Gossett, who had been studying the leading two-decker, said absently, 'I know the commodore's ship well enough, sir. She's the Indomitable, Cap'n Winstanley. I fought alongside 'er in '81.' He glanced severely at Midshipman Gascoigne. 'You should 'ave seen 'er and reported earlier, young gentleman!'
Bolitho studied the leading ship through narrowed eyes as flags broke from her yards, and after what seemed like mere seconds the whole line tacked slowly round until the Indomitable was running almost parallel with Hyperion and barely two cables distant. Even without a glass it was possible to see the great streaks of caked salt and sea slime around her beakhead and bows, while as she plunged heavily into a shallow trough her lower gunports were momentarily awash. But her sail drill and manoeuvring were impeccable, and behind him Bolitho heard Gosset murmur, 'Cap'n Winstanley 'as the feel of the old lady well enough.' From him that was praise of the
