remaining ships it seemed as if the whole world was confined to this small arena of noise and drenching seas. For the visibility dropped. with the hours, and it was hard to tell spray from rain, or from which direction the wind would attack next.
For Bolitho, the endless days made him feel remote from Osiris's own struggle. The faces he met whenever he went on deck were unfamiliar, shouted opinions as yet carried no weight. He saw Farquhar in a different light as well. Several times he had given way to displays of anger which had made even the urbane Outhwaite quail, and once he had reprimanded a bosun's mate for not striking a man hard enough when he protested at being sent aloft in a full gale. The bosun's mate had tried to explain that the culprit was not a proper seaman, but a cooper's assistant. So many hands had been hurt in the storm that, like the officers, the bosun's mate was trying to gather as much extra muscle as he could.
Farquhar had shouted, 'Don’t you dare argue! You’ve had to flog men! You know what it will feel like if you cross words with me again!'
The man had been driven aloft, and had fallen outboard without even a cry as he had lost his hold on the futtock shrouds.
Bolitho wondered how Herrick was managing to ride out the storm, and where he was during each sickening day.
Farquhar had said, 'But for this bloody weather, I’d have caught up with Lysander!'
'I doubt it.' Bolitho had reached beyond empty agreement. 'Lysander is a faster ship. And she is well handled.'
It was unfair on Farquhar, but he had shown such indifference to Herrick's possible fate that it was all he could do to restrain some more biting comment. Like a nagging con- science, a small voice seemed to repeat, It was your decision. You drove Herrick too hard, too soon. It was your fault.
And then, a week after leaving Syracuse, the gale eased and backed to the north-west, but as the sky cleared and the sea regained its deep blue, Bolitho knew it would take several more days to recover lost ground. To beat back through time and distance which they had surrendered to the storm.
Whenever he went on deck he was aware that the officers on duty were careful to avoid his eye, and stayed well clear of his lonely pacing on the poop. His chosen solitude gave him time to think, although without fresh information it was like re-ploughing old land with nothing to sow.
During the forenoon on the ninth day he was in the cabin, studying his chart and drinking a tankard of ginger beer, something which Farquhar had stored in some quantity for his personal use.
How Farquhar would laugh, if after all there was nothing in Corfu to sustain his theories. He would not show it, of course, but it would be there just the same. It would not merely prove Farquhar correct in his actions, but also that he was far more suited to hold this or some other command.
Sir Charles Farquhar. It was strange that he should be so irritated by the man's title. He was getting like Herrick perhaps. No, it went deeper than that. It was because Farquhar had not earned it, and now would never want for anything again. You only had to look at the Navy List to see* where the promotion went. He thought of Pascoe's words and smiled. The 'Nelsons' of this world gained their rewards and even titles on the battlefield, or facing an enemy's broadside. Their precarious advancement was often admired but rarely envied by those more fortunate ashore.
Bolitho walked restlessly around the cabin, hearing the seamen working on deck and in the yards above it. Splicing and re-rigging. After a storm each job was doubly essential. He smiled again. Those more fortunate ashore. In his heart he knew he would fight with all his means to avoid a post at the Admiralty or in some busy naval port.
He returned to the chart and stared at it once more. Corfu, a long, spindly island which seemed about to lock itself snugly to the Greek mainland. A narrow approach from the south, about ten miles across for a ship under sail. From the north, much less. Inviting self-destruction if the French had shore batteries along the high ground. Although the island was separated from the mainland by what was to all intents a small, private sea, some twenty by ten miles in size, the two real hazards were the narrow channels north and south. Also, the one good anchorage was on the eastern shore, so any sort of surprise there was out of the question. Herrick would know it, too. He was stubborn and determined, but he was no fool, and never had been.
He thought suddenly of the young widow, Mrs. Boswell.
Strange he had never pictured Herrick being married. But she was exactly right for him. She would not stand by and let others step on his good nature. She would never have allowed hL.'11 to admit that he could not sustain the posting of flag captain.
Bolitho straightened his back and marvelled that he could even consider such things. He had two ships, and might never find Lysander at all. But whatever happened, he was about to penetrate the enemy's defences in a sea area which was almost unknown to him beyond his charts and available hints on navigation.
There was a tap at the door and the sentry called cautiously 'Midshipman of the watch, sir!'
It was the red-headed Breen.
'Well, Mr. Breen?' Bolitho smiled at him. It was the first time he had spoken with him since being rescued by Harebell.
'The captain sends his respects, sir. The lookout has reported a sail to the nor'-west. Too far off to recognise.' 'I see.'
Bolitho glanced at the chart. Even allowing for their drift and loss of way during the storm, they could not be that far out in their calculations. Osiris's beakhead was pointing approximately north-east, and with luck they would sight the highest range of hills to the southernmost end of Corfu before
. nightfall. Buzzard had run with the storm, and although Javal would be quick to rejoin the squadron, and might appear even today, he would come from the south and not the north-west where this newcomer had shown herself.
He asked, 'How d'you like being temporarily attached to Osiris's gunroom?'
The boy looked past him towards Nicator's tall outline some three cables astern.
'N-not much, sir. They treat me well enough, but…' Bolitho watched him gravely. Like the lieutenants, most of the midshipmen in this ship were of good family stock. Farquhar had evidently planned his wardroom and his
