They all stood up, knowing it was over. Bolitho added, 'God be with you.'
They filed out in silence, then Bolitho heard Farquhar shouting for someone to recall the captains' boats.
Allday entered the cabin by the other door and asked, 'Can't I get you a uniform coat from somewhere, sir?' He sounded more worried by Bolitho's appearance than the prospect of battle.
Bolitho walked to the quarter windows and saw Probyn's barge pulling strongly away. He thought of this ship, Osiris, the men who would work her up that channel. Would fight and, if need be, die. It was not a happy ship. He frowned. Nicator. Judge of the Dead. He felt suddenly chilled.
He answered, 'No matter, Allday. Tomorrow they may look aft, as you insist they do in action.' He saw him nod. 'I want them to see me. More like one of themselves than as one more oppressive uniform. This ship has no warmth about her. She carries all the marks of discipline and efficiency, but… ' He shrugged.
Allday said, 'They’ll fight well enough, sir. You’ll see.' But Bolitho could not shake off his feeling of foreboding. 'If anything should happen.' He did not turn from the windows but heard Allday tense. 'I have made provision for you in Falmouth. You will always have a home there, and want for nothing. '
Allday could not restrain himself. He strode aft to the gallery and exclaimed, 'I’ll hear none of it, sir! Nothing will happen, nothing can.'
Bolitho turned and looked at him. 'You will prevent it?'
Allday stared at him wretchedly. 'If I can.'
'I know.' He sighed. 'Perhaps, like Thomas Herrick, I am here too soon after that other time.'
Allday insisted, 'The surgeon was right, sir. Your wound is not properly healed yet, your health more set back by the fever than you’ll allow for.' He added meaningly, 'Cap'n Farquhar's surgeon is no butcher. He's a proper doctor. Cap'n Farquhar took good care of that!'
Bolitho smiled gravely. He would. 'Ask Mr. Pascoe to lay aft. I have some signals to prepare.'
Alone again, he sat down at the table and stared unseeingly at his chart. He thought of Catherine Pareja, and wondered what she was doing now in London.
Twice a widow, yet with more life in her than most young girls just free of their mother's arms. Never once had she mentioned marriage. Not even a hint. Something seemed to hold it back. An unspoken agreement.
He opened the front of his Spanish shirt and examined the tiny locket which hung around his neck. Kate had never even shown resentment for that. He opened it carefully and examined the small lock of chestnut-coloured hair. It caught the sunlight from the stem windows and shone as brightly as the day he had met her. An admiral's bride-to-be. Cheney Seton. The girl he had won and had married. He closed the
'Jacket and rebuttoned his shirt. It never changed. No wonder he had cried her name.
Pascoe entered the cabin, his hat beneath his arm, a signal-book in one hand.
Bolitho faced him, concealing his sudden despair as best he could.
'Now, Adam, let us see what other ideas we can invent, shall we?'
'Course nor'-east by north, sir! Full an' bye!'
Bolitho heard the master whispering with his helmsmen but hurried to the nettings, now packed with neatly stowed hammocks and starkly pale in the moonlight.
Farquhar joined him and reported, 'Wind's steady, sir. We are about twenty miles south-west of the island. Buzzards to windward, you can just make out her tops'ls in the moon's path.'
'No sign of a boat?'
'None. I sent the other cutter away under sail three hours back. If Veitch saw it he made no signal with either lantern or pistol-shot. '
'Very well. How long does the master think we can remain on this tack?'
'An hour more at the most, sir. Then I’ll have to recall my cutter, and by that time I’ll be ready to come about. Otherwise, we’ll be too close to lie-to, and if we continue round in another great circle we’ll be further away from the southern channel than I care for when dawn comes.'
'I agree.' Bolitho added reluctantly, 'Another hour then.' Farquhar asked, 'Are you certain you did right by sending Nicator to the northern channel, sir? It will be a disaster if Probyn fails to engage in time.'
'The channel is narrow, I know, but with favourable winds Nicator will be able to manage. '
'I was not referring to the channel or the danger, sir.' Farquhar's face was in the moon's shadow, his epaulettes very bright against his coat. 'I have to admit, I feel no faith in Nicator's captain.'
'When he sees our dependence on his support, Captain Farquhar, he will do his duty.'
He recalled Probyn's reddened features, his indirect manner. His caution. But what could he do? If things happened as he had predicted, Osiris would take the worst of it, and would need the most tenacity. He could not ask Javal to thrust his frail ship into the teeth of a bombardment, although his part in the attack was bad enough anyway. Without Lysander's support, the surprise would have to be left to Nicator. There was no other way. He wondered if Farquhar was cursing himself now for letting Herrick go unaided, for failing to act as a squadron against the enemy when he believed himself in overall command.
'Deck there! Light on th' weather bow!'
Bolitho ran to the larboard gangway and peered above the painted canvas.
He heard Farquhar snap, 'The signal, by God! Mr. Outhwaite! Heave-to, if you please, and prepare to hoist boats inboard!'
The ship came alive, the hurrying seamen like phantoms in the eerie moonlight as they ran without hesitation to halliards and braces.
