Bolitho walked to the weather side and steadied his body against the nettings. He must get hold of himself. To show resentment at such an innocent remark was pointless and stupid. Roth was more intent on showing pride in his own ship than deriding the weed-encrusted Hermes. He thought suddenly of his own fretting impatience in the Mediterranean when like Hermes this ship had been dragging with sea-growth and barnacles, left behind the fleet and with little sympathy from his admiral. But it was useless to think along those lines.
He said, 'Make a signal to Hermes, Mr. Carlyon!' He frowned, remembering too Fitzmaurice's brave gesture to support him. 'Make more sail.' He hesitated. 'That is all.' Fitzmaurice would not appreciate any sympathetic addition to the signal, any more than he would have done. He was as committed as any of them now, and must do more than his best to keep up with the squadron, if it meant knocking the wedges from the masts.
'She's acknowledged, sir.' Canyon sounded surprised.
Shouts and curses came from the main deck as the larboard studding sail flapped and billowed like a snared sea monster. It was not filling too well, but was better than nothing. In any case it kept the men busy, and they had a long way to go yet.
Inch said, 'I have never seen her sail like this, sir.'
'We may find less favourable winds to the north'rd.' Bolitho was thinking aloud. 'We must push her all we can and take every advantage of the trades.'
The topmen were already sliding back to the deck, their voices loud, even jubilant at the great display of power which they had released and mastered.
Bolitho said shortly, 'I will be in the chartroom, Mr. Inch. You may dismiss the watch below.'
In the small cabin he sat at the table and stared fixedly at the chart. Everything was ready, but there seemed nothing to add to his careful calculations. He flicked the pages of his worn log book, each one a small record of miles sailed, ships sighted. Men killed or injured. He closed it with a snap and stood up. He must stop thinking back. Stop remembering, when there was nothing left to hold on to.
There was a rap at the door. 'Enter.'
Fee looked round and saw his brother standing inside the chartroom, watching him with expressionless formality.
Bolitho said, 'Shut the door.' Then quietly, 'You may speak your mind. There is no one to hear you.'
'I wanted to talk with you about…' He faltered and then added flatly, 'I heard about your wife. I am sorry. What more can I say?'
Bolitho sighed. 'Yes. Thank you.'
'When I was at Cozar with the other convicts I used to see her walking by the old fortress. I think I fell in love with her also.' He smiled sadly. 'Do you think you will find the French this time?'
Bolitho looked at him. 'Yes.'
'If you do, and the fates are kind, what will you do about me?'
'I have not decided.' Bolitho sat down wearily and massaged his eyes. 'If we succeed in finding and beating Lequiller…'
His brother lifted an eyebrow. 'Beating him?'
'To cripple him will be sufficient.' It was strange how Hugh could see what others had not even suspected. A sea fight, perhaps one hundred miles out in the Bay, could mean as much destruction for victor as for vanquished.
He continued abruptly, 'I can hand you to the authorities with a plea for pardon. In view of your work in the Spartan I do not see how it could be refused.' He held up his hand. 'Hear me and then speak. But if you wish, I will have you sent ashore on some duty.' He looked away. 'Then you can desert and make your own way.'
'Either course leaves you open to criticism and real danger, Dick. The latter more so, because you will have to live with the knowledge that you have at last been influenced from your plain duty by personal bias-'
Bolitho stared at him. 'For God's sake, do you think I care about that any more?'
'I do. You are offering me the chance to desert, not only because in your heart you mistrust the leniency of any court martial, but also because you fear the effect on my son if he sees me tried and hanged for treason.' He smiled gently. 'I know you, Dick!'
'Well?' Bolitho stood up and walked to the chart rack.
'I will take your offer and run.' Hugh sounded suddenly tired. 'Not to Cornwall where I might be recognised.' He paused. 'But it will be England and not some poxy jail at the other end of the earth.'
Bolitho faced him. 'Perhaps we will speak again later.'
'I think not.' His brother eyed him calmly. 'By the way, I think you are foolish to act as you are now. You should have let Pelham-Martin take the blame and stay at anchor in St. Kruis. Now, whichever way it goes, he may be the victor.'
'Maybe.'
Hugh nodded. 'And perhaps I'd have done the same. All Cornishmen are said to be slightly mad, and it seems we are no, exception.'
Feet clattered in the passageway and Midshipman Pascoe thrust his head around the door.
'Mr. Roth's respects, sir, and may he take in a reef? The wind has freshened slightly.' His eyes moved from Bolitho to Hugh. 'Sir?'
Bolitho said, 'No, he may not take in a reef, Mr. Pascoe. Not now, not at any time, unless we are faced with a hurricane.'
Pascoe nodded. 'Aye, aye, sir, I'll tell him at once.' Then he asked, 'Would. it be all right for Mr. Selby to
continue with the sextant instruction, sir? I seem to be slower than the others.'
Bolitho studied him gravely. 'Not slower, Mr. Pascoe. Just younger.'
Then he looked at his brother. 'If you find that convenient with your other duties, Mr. Selby, you have my permission.' He added quietly, 'In view of our recent conversation, I imagine you can be trusted to make good use of the time?'
Hugh nodded, his eyes suddenly bright. 'The time'll be well spent, sir. You have my word on it.'
When they had gone Bolitho rested his head in his hands and stared blindly at the chart. Once he had felt sorry for his brother, and the pointlessness of his future. Now he felt only envy. For even though the boy remained ignorant of his instructor's identity, Hugh would have him to himself, and could cherish the memory and the knowledge that his son would be safe from shame and live to be the extension of the life he had thrown away.
While he had nothing. He found his fingers touching the locket again. Only memories, and over the years they too would be as elusive as the wind and offer no comfort.
With a jerk he stood up and reached for his hat. Here was a bad place to be alone. On deck he at least had the ship, and for this mission he would try and make that suffice.
18. AT LAST, THE SIGNAL
As Bolitho had anticipated, the first infectious excitement of heading out into the Atlantic soon gave way to strain and long days of backbreaking work for every man aboard. Once clear of the friendly trade winds and into the Horse Latitudes they were beset by maddening and frustrating delays, for in that vast, empty expanse of ocean the winds backed and veered, sometimes twice in a single watch, with all hands fighting to trim and then re-trim the yards so that not even a cupful of power should be lost.
Once the wind fell away altogether and the Hyperion idled uncomfortably in a steep swell, her sails flapping and limp for the first time since leaving St. Kruis. Most of the ship's company had been grateful, when at any other time they might have cursed the wind's perversity and the helplessness they felt under such conditions. But any hope for a rest was soon dispelled when Bolitho had ordered Inch to turn them to again and use the lull to bend on heavy weather canvas for the change he knew would soon be upon them.
Sixteen days after weighing anchor they picked up a stiff south-westerly and beneath leaden skies tacked and.headed eastward for the final leg of the voyage.
Bolitho knew that many of the seamen cursed his name whenever the cry, 'All hands! All hands aloft and reef tops'ls!' drove their weary bodies to the shrouds and up to the vibrating yards once more. Theirs had become a world of shrieking wind and drenching spray, where they fisted and grappled sodden canvas high above the decks,
