Farquhar joined him by the rail. 'A fine young man, sir.' Their eyes met.
Then Bolitho said calmly, 'And I’d be obliged, Captain Farquhar, if we can keep him that way.'
Farquhar smiled and walked forward to watch the men dashing aloft to the yards.
Major Leroux appeared by the poop ladder and touched his hat.
'It sounds like a pair of ships, sir. Probably Nicator or Buzzard getting to grips with a Frenchman.'
Bolitho looked up as the great mainsail billowed free from its yard, the thunder of canvas drowning the distant sound of gunfire.
'I hope you may be right, Major.'
Leroux was watching his own men at the mizzen braces. In
. an almost conversational tone he said, 'My Corporal Cuttler is an excellent marksman, sir. If he earned his living in a fairground he would doubtless be a man of wealth and property by now.'
He walked away as Lieutenant Nepean hurried to him to make his report.
Allday had come on deck and said, 'He's a dark one is Major Leroux, sir.'
Bolitho looked at him. 'In what way?'
Allday gave a lazy smile. 'He had that Corporal Cuttler down in the wardroom lobby. With his long musket he's so proud of.'
'D'you mean that he was ordering Cuttler to be ready to shoot?' He stared at Allday's smiling face.
The coxswain shook his head. 'Not exactly, sir. He asked him if he could shoot a sword out of a man's hand, if necessary like.'
Bolitho walked to the nettings. 'I do not know about you, Allday.'
He saw Leroux watching him, his features expressionless. For that brief moment he felt quite sorry for Gilchrist.
Bolitho leaned back to watch Lysander s towering spread of canvas. Ship of the line perhaps, but Farquhar was driving her with the fanatical demand of a frigate captain.
With the wind coming almost directly astern the ship was forging ahead well, her yards and shrouds creaking and vibrating under the tall pyramids of sails. Every so often her bow would dip and the forecastle would then be drenched in great showers of spray, like slivers of glass in the bright glare.
Bolitho stood halfway up a poop ladder, feeling his hair blowing wildly as he peered ahead of the lifting and plunging bowsprit. The gunfire had ceased, and he could see dark brown smoke drifting along the horizon, the uncertain silhouette of a large ship under reduced sails.
From the mainmast crosstrees he heard Luce yell, 'she's Nicator, sir!'
Farquhar, who had sent Luce aloft with his big signals telescope, paused in his restless pacing and snapped, 'I. should damn well hope so!' He glared at Fitz-Clarence. 'What the hell is she firing at?' Luce called again, his voice excited, and totally unaware of the tensions far below his dizzy perch. 'Nother vessel on her lee side, sir! I think they're grappling!'
Farquhar swung round. 'Mr. Pascoe. If you think it not too undignified for a lieutenant to swarm up the ratlines like a damn monkey, I’d be obliged for a more rational report.' Pascoe grinned and threw off his coat before hurrying to the main shrouds ',
Farquhar saw Bolitho watching and shrugged. 'Luce comes of a good family, but I fear his powers of description would be better suited to poetry than to a man o'war.'
Bolitho raised his eyes to see Pascoe hanging out and down as he pulled himself around the futtock shrouds and up beyond the maintop. How easy he made it look. He turned his attention to the distant ships, unable to torture himself with his hatred of heights.
'A glass, please.'
He felt one handed to him and trained it through the angled rigging. Yes, it was easy to recognise Nicator' s bluff outline, the dull yellow paint of her figurehead. Beyond her hull he could see three masts, only one of which was square-rigged, as far as he could tell.
He heard Pascoe shout. 'Barquentine, sir! I can see her flag!' A pause while Farquhar stared up at the swaying. masthead until his eyes watered. 'A Yankee, sir!'
Farquhar turned and looked at Bolitho. He said sourly, 'As if we, haven't troubles enough!'
Bolitho tried to hide his disappointment from those who were watching his reactions. An American merchantman. Going about her affairs. There was nothing they could do about that, even if she was trading with the enemy. Blockade was one thing, but to provoke another war with the new United States would receive no praise from King and Parliament.
Bolitho said, 'signal the rest of our ships to remain in the patrol area.' He watched an out-thrust spur of land, almost hidden mist and haze. 'We have enough risk as it is, to be standing so close to the Isles of Hyeres, without leading the whole squadron ashore.
Farquhar nodded. 'Bosun's mate! Call Mr. Luce to the deck!'
Minutes later, in response to Luce's signals, Osiris and the prize tacked heavily away from their leader to begin the long beat back to more open waters.
Bolitho said, 'Make to Nicator that we are joining her directly.'
What was Probyn doing? It was natural enough to feel resentment at the' sight of an American flag, especially to those, like Probyn, who had been taken prisoner during the revolution. But it was over and done with, and time for it to become a part of history. If a war was provoked by some act of stupidity, England would be worse off than ever. Fighting France and Spain, and an America which was now far more powerful than she had been those fifteen
