The realisation helped to steady him, and he was suddenly ashamed.
He said quietly, 'Thank you, Ozzard, I can manage now.' The man regarded him nervously, 'If you're sure, sir?' He backed away, as if still expecting Bolitho to turn on him. By the door he hesitated and then said, 'I’ve had some education, sir. If you like I could come back and read to you. It might help to pass the time. And you wouldn't have to say anything.'
Bolitho turned away from him, hiding his face. 'No, not just now, Ozzard. But I appreciate the thought. 'He saw the man's reflection in the sloping windows as he moved silently from the cabin. 'More than I can tell you.'
4. The Captives
RICHARD BOLITHO stood by the quarterdeck rail and watched the sunset. It painted the sky in great rust- coloured patterns. and gave a sharp edge to the western horizon. Lysander moved comfortably under forecourse and topsails, her broad hull tilting hardly at all to the west wind which had followed her for most of the day.
He stared along the length of the ship, through stays and shrouds and beyond a greasy plume of smoke from the galley funnel. He could just make out the tiny outline of Harebell's sails as she moved ahead of her flagship, her yards holding the dying sun like uplifted crosses.
The rest of his ships had disappeared to the south that afternoon, and under Farquhar's command would even now be making more sail to beat their way around and ahead of Lysander's point of attack. He pictured the chart in his mind, collecting the scraps of information which had formed into a loose strategy. He could almost see the line of the shore, the hills behind the bay, the depths of the sea and places where there was no depth at all. Against that he had another list of items he did not know. What the enemy were doing there, or if indeed they were there for any purpose which warranted risking his ships. The main topsail billowed and flapped noisily as the wind dropped and then gathered strength again. The master's mate of the watch relaxed and made some joke with the helmsmen, and, at the lee side of the deck Lieutenant Fitz-Clarence readjusted his vigilant pose.
Bolitho tried not to let his mind drift from what he had to do. But with the ship so quiet, and with no questions to answer or problems to solve, he was unable to stay aloof from his anxiety.
Two days since he had returned on board, two further days since Javal's men had taken the schooner. She would be at Gibraltar by now, opposing winds or not, unless she had run foul of an enemy. She would be sold in a prize court, maybe taken into the King's service. Her few remaining crew members would either be sent to a prison hulk or offered an alternative fate, that of signing on aboard a British man o'war. After five years of conflict you' heard a dozen languages and dialects in any king's ship.
And Adam? He walked slowly to the nettings and stared 'hard at the sea. The land was beyond even a lookout's vision, and the sky was already so dark that it was difficult to see the horizon's division, which moments ago had glowed like hot copper.
Another lieutenant had appeared on deck and was murmuring with Fitz-Clarence, while from forward and deeper in the fat hull he heard the shrill of a call, the pad of bare feet as the next watch prepared to take over the ship until midnight.
A freak breeze fanned the stench aft from the galley, and he realised just how empty his stomach was. But the thought of oatmeal gruel and greasy lumps of boiled meat, left-overs from the midday meal, were enough to revolt him against eating anything.
Herrick appeared through the cabin hatch and crossed the deck.
'I’ve told Mr. Gilchrist to muster all officers and senior warrants in the wardroom after eight bells, sir. 'He hesitated, seeking out Bolitho's mood in the gloom. 'They're looking forward to meeting you very much. '
'Thank you, Thomas.'
He turned slightly as a bosun's mate ran along the starboard gangway, followed by various other members of his watch.
A ship's boy was inspecting the flickering compass light, another the hour-glass nearby. Two stiff marines swayed gently at attention as they suffered a close scrutiny by their corporal. How black their red coats looked in the darkness, Bolitho thought. Made more so by their gleaming crossbelts and breeches. They were the sentries. One for* Herrick's quarters. One for his own.
The master was rumbling away to a midshipman. The latter seemed bent almost double to write something on his slate, the pencil very loud in the clammy stillness…
The newly arrived lieutenant straightened himself away from the rail and touched his hat formally.
'The watch is aft, Mr. Fitz-Clarence.'
Fitz-Clarence nodded. 'Relieve the wheel, if you please, Mr. Kipling.'
More grunts and shuffles, and then a helmsman called, 'Course east-be-north, sir! Steady as she goes!'
Grubb sniffed noisily. 'And so it should be! I’ll be back on deck afore the glass is turned!' It sounded like a threat.
Bolitho shivered. 'I’m ready, Thomas.'
He heard the bell chime out from forward, a gust of laughter as a topman slithered down a backstay nearly knocking another to the deck.
They walked to the cabin hatch and Herrick said, 'The fact that the wind has backed to the west'rd makes me think Mr. Grubb is right. We will have an easier task to drive inshore than I’d thought possible.'
Down the ladder and past a seaman carrying a biscuit sack from the wardroom. He pressed his shoulders against a cabin door as if afraid he might hinder or touch either commodore or captain.
Bolitho saw the lantern light playing across the breeches of the nearest guns. Some of the ship's twenty-eight eighteen-pounders, yet they managed to look at peace. It was hard to picture them enveloped in smoke and powder, bursting in- board on their tackles as their cheering, noise-crazed crews sponged-out for another broadside.
Further aft he saw the bright rectangle of the wardroom door, and beyond it the movement of Lysander's
