He walked to the lee gangway and leaned on the handrail, his eyes on Gilchrist below him and at the opposite side.
'Mr. Pascoe, dismiss those ragamuffins!' He reached without turning his head as a worried looking bosun's mate hurried towards him. 'I believe you lost your sword in some reckless scheme with the Dons, Mr. Pascoe.' He drew his own from its scabbard and held it against the sky, eyeing it critically. 'This is a fair blade. It was presented to me by my late uncle.' He looked up at Bolitho's grave features and added, 'Although I gather that Sir Henry preferred something' heavier, sir?' He added sharply, 'With your permission, sir. ' Then he flung the sword straight at Pascoe. 'Catch!'
Bolitho tried not to flinch as the youth reached out and caught it in flight.
Farquhar sounded very relaxed and composed. 'And now, Mr. Gilchrist. If you will be so good as to cross swords with our junior lieutenant, maybe the midshipmen will learn something, eh?'
Gilchrist stared from him to Pascoe, his eyes wild. 'Fight a duel, sir?' He could barely get the words out. 'Not a duel, Mr. Gilchrist.' Farquhar returned to the quarterdeck. 'An instruction, if you like.'
As he reached Bolitho's side he said quietly, 'Have no fears for Mr. Pascoe, sir.'
Gilchrist had been handed his sword by the wardroom servant and was holding it before him as if he had never set eyes on it in his life.
He said, 'At the first contact… '
He stared desperately at the midshipmen. Luce was grimfaced, and at the end of the line Saxby stood with his mouth wide' open, his eyes like saucers.
Gilchrist seemed to realise the absurdity of his position and snapped, 'On your guard, Mr. Pascoe!'
The blades touched, wavered and flashed over the pale planking like steel tongues.
Bolitho watched, feeling the dryness in his throat as he saw Pascoe's slim figure moving around an eighteen- pounder's breech, his shoes feeling the way, his right leg forward to keep his balance. He wanted to tear his eyes away and look at Farquhar. Was he really trying to demolish Gilchrist's arrogance, or was he using it and Pascoe's skill to remind Bolitho of his dead brother?
Perhaps Farquhar was remembering at this very moment. How they had-been taken prisoner by Hugh Bolitho in his American privateer. He was not likely to forget it, or the fact that Hugh's downfall had begun when he had killed a brother officer when he had been in the King's service. In a duel.
He heard Gilchrist's sharp breathing, saw the concentrated stare of anger and hatred as he parried Pascoe's guard and forced him back a few paces before he could recover.
Farquhar said quietly, 'see how his skill with a sword gives way to anger.' He was speaking almost to himself. 'Watch him. Pushing on, using up his strength.' He nodded with silent appreciation. 'He has a longer reach, and is a harder man than Mr. Pascoe, but…'
Bolitho saw Pascoe's hilt dart up and under the other man's blade, twisting it aside and making it fly across the deck.
Gilchrist stepped back, his eyes fixed on the sword point which was motionless, in line with his chest.
'Good.' Farquhar sauntered to the rail. 'Well done.' He looked at Gilchrist. 'Both of you.' He turned to the spellbound midshipmen. 'I think that was quite a lesson, eh?'
Bolitho took a slow breath. A lesson indeed. For all of them.
The master's mate of the watch, who had been following the spectacle with the others, suddenly looked up, his hands cupped around his ears.
'Gunfire, sir!'
Bolitho wrenched his thoughts from the sword-play. 'Where away?'
He heard it then, like surf on a rocky shore. Muffled, but plain for what it was.
The master's mate said, 'To the east'rd, sir.' He pointed across the starboard bow. 'sure of it.'
Farquhar hurried past him. 'That was well said, Mr. Bagley. He reached the compass and peered at it for several seconds. 'I’d like permission to investigate, sir.' He watched Bolitho, his mouth half smiling. 'Before the wind leaves us with more time to 'er, fill.'
Bolitho nodded. 'signal the squadron to make more sail. Harebell, too, if you can attract Commander Inch's attention.'
Farquhar strode to the rail as Gilchrist appeared on the larboard ladder.
'Pipe all hands!' His voice was crisp,. indifferent to Gilchrist's confusion. 'Get the maincourse on her, and the stuns'ls, too, if need be.' He paused, his head cocked to listen to the shrill of calls between decks. 'We will let her fall off a couple of points.' He glanced at the master's mate. 'And let us all hope Mr. Bagley's estimate is correct.'
As the men poured to their stations at the braces and at the foot of each mast, Pascoe hurried across the quarterdeck to supervise Luce' s signal party.
Bolitho barred his way. 'I am glad you are spared another cut, Adam.'
The youth's sunburned features split in a smile. 'It was easy, Uncle.'
Bolitho snapped, 'That time perhaps. It was not of your making, I know that, too.'
The smile vanished. 'I am sorry, er, sir.'
'If you want to cross swords again, then please ask me, Adam.'
Pascoe hesitated and then smiled awkwardly. 'Yes, sir.' 'Now be off with you. I want our ships to see the signals today.'
