Eventually Inch crossed the quarterdeck and touched his hat. 'Permission to dismiss the watch below, sir?'
Bolitho nodded. Then he said, 'In future, Mr. Inch, be firm when you are giving your orders. Whether it be to those who know better or merely think they know better. Then they will have confidence in you.' The words stuck in his throat as he added, 'Just as I have confidence in you.' He turned on his heel and walked to the weather side, unable to watch Inch's pathetic determination.
Inch gripped the quarterdeck rail and stared blindly at the milling seamen around the foot of the foremast as they were relieved from duty. He had been dreading Bolitho's return, not because he was going to be told of his failures, for he was better aware.of them than anyone. But because he had caused Bolitho displeasure and disappointment, and that he could not bear. To Inch's simple mind Bolitho was more like a god than a captain. If hero-worship was a driving force then Inch possessed it more than a will to live.
He pointed suddenly and called, 'That man! Come now, you can do better than that!'
The seaman in question looked up guiltily and then turned back to his work. He did not know what he had done wrong, and in any case he was doing his task the only way he knew. Nor could he possibly realise that to the first lieutenant he was just a misty blur, an outline amongst many as Inch stared along the length of the labouring ship seeing his own future come alive once more.
Gossett, writing on his slate beside the helmsman, glanced across at him and then at the captain as he strode up and down, head lowered in thought, his hands behind him, and gave a slow nod of understanding. Poor Inch, he thought. Some captains he had known would never have bothered with an officer like him. But Bolitho seemed to care about everyone. When they failed him he seemed to feel the blame himself, yet when he succeeded he always appeared to share the rewards with them. The old master smiled to himself. Equality, that was the word. It suited Bolitho right well. Equality Dick. His features split into a broad grin.
Bolitho paused at the end of his walk and said sharply, 'Mr. Gossett, there are six midshipmen aboard this ship whose instruction in the arts of navigation was due to commence some fifteen minutes ago to my reckoning.'
Gossett touched his battered hat, but could not, stop grinning. 'Aye, aye, sir! I will attend to it immediately!'
Bolitho stared after him. It was not like Gossett to daydream.
He recommenced his pacing and returned to his thoughts. No doubt they would all have time for daydreaming under Pelham-Martin's broad pendant, he decided.
3. DECEPTION
As days dragged into weeks it seemed to Bolitho as if there was no limit to the merciless cruelty of wind and sea, and the whole world appeared to have shrunk to the inner confines of the ship's hull and the wave-dashed upper deck. Neither was there any let-up in the commodore's orders. Day after day the three ships tacked back and forth in every conceivable kind of weather which the Bay of Biscay could offer. Short, gusty winds would change to the full force of an Atlantic gale within minutes, and as seamen struggled aloft again and again to fight the icy, frost-hardened canvas station-keeping became a nightmare. For days on end the three ships might ride out a storm under reefed topsails, and when visibility returned they would be greeted by a whole stream of urgent signals from the Indomitable to regain formation and begin all over again.
There was no longer any seasickness aboard the HI yperion, and when they were released for brief spells from work on deck the hands slumped into their cramped hammocks like dead men, grateful only for the warmth of the other bodies swinging around them as the ship smashed on through the angry offshore currents and screaming winds.
But hardly an hour seemed to pass before the pipes
I were shrilling again and the cry, 'All hands! All hands! Aloft and reef tops'ls!' would be passed from hatch to hatch.
To prevent the ship's company from giving way completely to despair Bolitho used every available opportunity to keep them occupied. Gun drill was carried out whenever possible, with the starboard side competing against the larboard. The gunners from the lower battery had to take turns on the main deck for as yet the weather had been too rough to open the lower ports.
When Bolitho made his regular weekly inspections throughout the ship he was moved by the wretched conditions of the men who lived on the lower gundeck beside and between the thirty' twenty-four pounders they would service in action. With the ports sealed and the ship rolling heavily it was like a scene from hell. Some three hundred men lived, ate and slept there, and even allowing for one watch being on deck, the atmosphere was sickening. The foul stench of bilge mixed with packed humanity and clothing which was never able to dry was more than enough for the most hardened `seaman.
Three weeks after joining Pelham-Martin's command they lost a man overboard, a young seaman who had been pressed in Devon. He had been working on the forecastle with the bosun's party when a great wave had reared high above the jib boom and had hurled him clean over the rail like a piece of canvas. For a few moments he had clung, kicking to the nettings before another bursting wave had torn him away and carried him screaming down the ship's side.
It had been blowing a gale at the time and it was impossible to heave to without danger of dismasting the ship. Not that there would have been any point. By the time a boat could have fought its way clear of the side there would have been no chance of finding the man in that tossing wilderness. But it made a great impression throughout the ship which even the toughened acceptance of more seasoned men could not dispel.
It had been the ship's first death since leaving Plymouth, and with the weather driving the ship inwards upon her own resources it seemed to hang on the crowded messdecks like a threat. There had been much the same atmosphere over the first flogging, too. A seaman had somehow managed to break into a spirit store, and without telling any of his companions had found a quiet corner deep in the ship's hull and got raving drunk. He had emerged during the first watch, stark naked and had capered around the darkened deck like an insane ghost screaming taunts and curses at anyone who tried to overpower him. He had even managed to fell a petty officer before others succeeded in hurling him to the deck.
The next day, while the ship wallowed heavily in a rain squall Bolitho had the hands called aft to witness punishment, and after reading the Articles of War ordered the bosun's mates to carry out the award of thirty lashes. By any standard it was a lenient punishment in the Navy's harsh code of discipline. Breaking into the spirit store was bad, but striking -a petty officer was liable to court martial and hanging, as everyone knew well enough.
Bolitho had found no comfort in awarding the minimum punishment. Even the fact that the petty officer had agreed to say he had not in fact been struck at all was no compensation for the flogging. Punishment at any other time was necessary, but it had seemed to him as he had stood by the rail with his officers and the marine drummer boy's sticks had beaten a slow roll between each swishing crack of the cat-o'-nine-tails across the man's naked back, that the whole ship had enough to bear without any extra misery. It had somehow been made worse by the rain, with the watching ship's company huddled together for warmth, the scarlet line of marines swaying to the deck's uneven roll, and the writhing figure spread-eagled on the gratings, gasping and sobbing as the lash rose and fell in time with the drumbeats.
Occasionally a sloop would seek out the small squadron with despatches from the fleet or stores brought from Vigo, and when weather permitted the commodore would summon his captains aboard the flagship while he read out his own formal report in their presence before signing it, and then to Bolitho's astonishment, asking each of the three captains in turn to sign it also.
He had never heard of such a thing before, but he could tell from the wooden faces of his two companions that they were quite used to Pelham-Martin's strange whim. It was increasingly obvious that the commodore had no intention of leaving a single flaw in his plan to keep the vice-admiral's criticism or possible displeasure at bay by causing his three captains to be implicated in everything he did. So far of course he had done nothing at all, except abide by the letter of his orders. Patrol and blockade, and nothing more.
Whenever Bolitho was called aboard the Indomitable he found Pelham-Martin to be a lavish entertainer. The sloops which came and went from Vigo apparently kept him well supplied with choice wines, and what was more important as far as Bolitho was concerned, a small link with the outside world.
