years back.
'Nicator has acknowledged, sir.' Luce sounded breathless from his hasty descent down a backstay.
'Very well.'
It took another half-hour to manoeuvre close enough to heave-to. By that time Nicator had ungrappled the American vessel, but as she had drifted downwind Bolitho had seen her poop spotted with the scarlet coats of Probyn' s marines.
He snapped, 'Call away my barge.' He looked at Farquhar. 'It’ll save time, if nothing else.'
The barge was swayed up and over the lee gangway, the crew tumbling into her almost before she had touched the water alongside. Allday's voice pursued the bargemen like a trumpet, and by the time Lysander was hove-to and Bolitho had reached the entry port, all was ready.
He said quietly, 'Keep a weather-eye open for Buzzard. She should be beating round from the east'rd shortly.' He looked grimly at Farquhar's handsome features. 'I will send her to the admiral with my despatches.' Farquhar shrugged. 'I am sorry. I’d hoped for something of value.'
But Bolitho was already climbing down the entry port stairs, trying not to lower his head to watch the sea sluicing along the rounded hull and lifting the barge towards his legs. He paused, counting seconds, and then as the barge swam up beneath him he jumped out and down, Allday's order to cast off coming before he had taken a proper breath.
He sat in the sternsheets with as much dignity as he could manage and said, 'To Nicator, Allday.'
He watched the other seventy-four's crossed yards towering above him, the slackness of some of her running- rigging. Like the man, he thought, untidy.
Allday steered the barge around the ship's great counter and towards her entry port. Bolitho was too busy watching the barquentine to care for Probyn's feelings or the inconvenience of a visit from his commodore
She was a lean, graceful vessel, and her name, Santa Paula, stood out in rich gold against a completely black hull. 'Toss your oars!' Allday swung the tiller as the bowman hooked on to Nicator's main chains.
Bolitho said, 'Return to the ship, Allday.' He saw the sudden doubt. 'It is all right this time. Nicator is still an English vessel, I trust!'
Allday touched his. forehead and grinned. 'I’ll watch for your signal, sir.'
Bolitho scrambled up to the entry port, noticing how scarred were the wooden stairs, while the chain plates of the main shrouds were badly dappled with red rust.
He found Probyn waiting with the side-party, his portly figure doused with spray.
He said, 'I fear the reception is short-handed, sir, but my marines are aboard the Yankee.'
'so I see.' Bolitho began to walk aft, away from the curious faces by the port. 'Now tell me. What happened?'
Probyn stared at him. 'We ran down on the barquentine at noon, sir. I guessed she was a runner trying to pass through our patrol, so I signalled her to heave-to.' He nodded, sensing Bolitho's mood. 'I know we are not supposed to get involved with American neutrality, but-'
'There is no but about it. '
Bolitho glanced at the ship's two helmsmen. They looked as if they were dressed in the same clothes as when they had been caught by the press. All the captains knew his opinion about that. He had put it in his written orders to ensure that every man, pressed or volunteer, should begin life aboard ship in a proper issue of slop clothing. It was such a cheap but vital thing that he was amazed at the stupidity of some captains who were so miserly they issued nothing until their wretched seamen were almost in rags. Probyn knew it well enough, and had outwardly complied. But out of sight, out of mind apparently. He would deal with that later.
He added, 'What was your true reason?'
Probyn led the way aft to his quarters. 'I am badly short of hands, sir. I had to sail from England before I was given a fair chance of recruitment, otherwise… '
Bolitho stared at him. 'And you sent a party into an American ship to press some of her people?'
Probyn paused and regarded him resentfully. 'It is well known that hundreds, many hundreds, of our seamen desert to the American flag each year. '
Bolitho did know it, and it was a very sore point indeed on both sides of the Atlantic. The British Government had stated that they considered any seamen to be fair-game for a short-handed naval vessel, unless the American captains in question carried certificates of citizenship for all their people who were so entitled.
The American President, on the other hand, was equally firm. He had demanded that once a man was signed into an American ship that was evidence enough the man was American. Documents could be destroyed or ignored. The American flag could not.
He said, 'We heard gunfire, too.'
Probyn thrust past a marine sentry and answered, 'The Yankee refused to heave-to even after a warning shot. I’ll not take that from anyone.' He hesitated in the small lobby to the cabin. 'I have her master aboard, under guard, sir.' He sounded suddenly apprehensive. 'Now that you are here, I suppose I had best hand him over to you?'
Bolitho watched him coldly. 'Take me to him.'
The barquentine' s master was seated in the stern cabin with one of Probyn's senior midshipmen for company. He stood up and eyed Bolitho with obvious surprise.
'so there is some higher authority, eh?' He had a soft accent', but it failed to conceal his anger.
I am Richard Bolitho, Commodore of this British squadron.' He walked to the windows, adding, 'I have been hearing about your refusal to heave-to.'
