which had been shattered by a stray cannon-ball. The grim business of sea burials, of answering questions and maintaining contact with the other captains, all had taken a brutal toll of his resources.
'Never'mind that.' He calmed his tone with an effort. `How is he today?'
Loveys looked at his strong fingers… `The wound is very inflamed, sir. I have repeatedly changed the dressings, and am now using a dry stupe on it.' He shook his head. 'I'm not certain, sir. I cannot smell gangrene as yet, but the wound is a bad one.' Loveys made a gesture like scissors with his fingers. 'The enemy ball was flattened on impact with flesh acid bone, but that is normal enough. The button was split like a claw and, I fear there may be fragments left in the wound, even pieces of cloth which could encourage rotting.'
'Is he bearing up well?'
Loveys gave a rare smile. 'You will know that better than I, sir.' The smile vanished. 'He needs proper care ashore. Each jerk of his cot is agony, each movement could be the one to start gangrene. I give him an opiate at night but I cannot weaken him further.' He looked Herrick in the eyes. 'I may have to probe again, or worse, take off the leg. That can kill even the strongest, or a man given power by the lust for battle.'
Herrick nodded. 'Thank you.' It was as he had expected, although he had searched for hope, for his 'Lady Luck'.
Loveys made to leave. 'I suggest you send Mr Pascoe to his normal duties, sir.' He silenced Herrick's unspoken protest by adding, 'Our admiral might die, but young Mr Pascoe will have to fight again. He is wearing down his very soul by staying aft with him.'
'Very well. Ask Mr Wolfe to attend to it for me.'
Alone once more, Herrick tried to decide what he should do. With Styx away from the squadron he could not spare Relentless to carry Bolitho to England. Relentless had amazed everyone. By harrying the heavy transport, which Captain Peel had confirmed to be packed with French soldiers, she had drawn off Ropars' frigates from the real fight. That, plus Benbow's unexpected challenge, had turned the tables. In spite of all that, Relentless had been barely marked.
Herrick had thought of detaching Lookout from the squadron. After Loveys' discouraging report there seemed no alternative.
He would get no thanks from Bolitho. He had always put duty before personal involvement, no matter what hurt it had caused him. But in this case…
Herrick started as someone tapped at the door and Lyb, who had taken over from Aggett as senior midshipman, peered in at him.
`Mr Byrd's respects, sir, and Lookout has just reported a sail to the west'rd.'
Herrick stood up, uncertain and reluctant. 'Tell the fourth lieutenant I will be on deck shortly, and inform the squadron. Is Relentless in sight?'
Lyb frowned at the unexpected question. He was a pleasantlooking youth of sixteen with hair the same colour as Wolfe's. He must have had to take some cruel comments on that, Herrick thought.
'Aye, sir. She is still to the nor'-west of us.'
'My compliments to Mr Byrd. Tell him to repeat the signal to Relentless. Just in case.'
Lyb stared. 'In case, sir?'
'Dammit, Mr Lyb, do I have to repeat every word?'
He gripped the chairback and steadied himself. Just in case.
It had been unthinkable to voice his caution aloud. It gave some
hint of the strain which held him like a vice. He called, 'Mr Lyb! '
The youth came back, trying not to look frightened. 'Sir?'
'I had no cause to abuse you just then. Now please carry my message to the fourth lieutenant.'
Lyb backed away, mystified. At the sudden outburst, which was quite unlike the captain, but more so at the apology, which was unlike any captain.
Herrick picked up his hat and made his way aft. Every day he had tried to act out his part, to pretend for Bolitho's sake that all was as before. Even when he had found Bolitho drowsing, or barely aware of what was happening, he had made his report, his comments about the ship and the weather. It was his own way of offering something which might break through the barrier of anguish, might also help to remind Bolitho of the world they shared.
He found Allday sitting in a chair and Ozzard collecting some soiled dressings from the sleeping cabin.
He waved Allday down as he made to rise. 'Easy, man. These are bad times for us all. How does he seem?'
Allday saw nothing unusual in being asked the question by a captain. Herrick was different. A true friend.
Allday spread his big hands. 'He's so weak, sir. I gave him some soup but he couldn't keep it down. I've tried brandy, an' I asked Ozzard to read to him, him being an educated man, so to speak.'
Herrick nodded, touched by Allday's simplicity.
'I'll make my report.'
He entered the small sleeping compartment and walked hesitantly to the swinging cot. It was always the same. The horrifying dread of gangrene, of what it could do to a man.
He said, 'Good morning, sir. Lookout has just sighted a sail to the west'rd. Likely a Dane, or some other lucky neutral. I have ordered Relentless to be ready to run down and intercept.'
Herrick watched Bolitho's strained face. He was sweating badly and the lock of black hair which usually hid the terrible scar on his temple was plastered aside. Herrick looked at the scar. That must also have been a close thing. But Bolitho had been a youthful lieutenant when it had happened, younger than Pascoe or even the wretched Lieutenant Courtenay.
With a start he realized that Bolitho had opened his eyes. They were like the only things alive in the man.
'A sail, you say?'
Very carefully Herrick answered, 'Aye. Probably nothing important.'
'Must get word to the admiral, Thomas.' The words were hurting him to utter. 'Tell him about Ropars and the big transport. As soon as we sight a scouting frigate from the fleet you must…'
Herrick bent over the cot, feeling his friend's despair, his suffering.
'I will attend to all that. Have no fear.'
Bolitho tried to smile at him. 'I am in hell, Thomas. At times
I am afire. Sometimes I can feel nothing at all.'
Herrick wiped Bolitho's face and neck with a flannel. 'Rest
now.'
Bolitho gripped his wrist. 'Rest? D'you see yourself? You look worse than I do!' He coughed, and then groaned as the movement awakened the pain.
Then he asked; 'How is the ship? How many did we lose?'
Herrick said, 'Thirty killed, sir, and about four to follow them, I fear. Throughout the squadron we have lost a hundred dead and seriously wounded.'
'Too many, Thomas.' He was speaking very quietly. 'Where is Adam?'
'I put him to work, sir. He has a lot on his mind.' Herrick was amazed that Bolitho could manage a smile. 'Trust you to think of that.'
'Actually, it was the surgeon.'
'That man.' Bolitho tried to move his arm. 'He is like the Reaper. Waiting.'
`A better surgeon than some, sir.' Herrick stood up. 'I must go and attend to this newcomer. I shall return soon.'
Impetuously he reached down and touched Bolitho's shoulder. But he had drowsed off into semi-consciousness again. Very gently Herrick pulled down the blanket and after some hesitation laid his hand on Loveys' carefully prepared stupe. He withdrew it swiftly and left the cabin. Even through the dressing Bolitho's thigh had felt like fire. As if his body was being consumed from within.
Allday saw his face. 'Shall I go to him, sir?'
'Let him sleep.' Herrick studied him sadly. 'He spoke to me quite well, but…' He did not finish and went straight out to the quarterdeck.
In the dull light of the forenoon he saw that most of the lieutenants who were discussing the strange sail were careful to avoid his eye as he appeared.
