He stopped suddenly and pointed below the opposite gangway. No wonder she had seemed changed. Instead of her original nal lines of twelve-pounders, each gunport was filled by a bluntmuzzled carronade. The carronade, or “smasher” as it was respectfully termed by the sailors, was carried in almost every man-of-war. Normally mounted on either bow, it could throw an enormous ball which burst on impact and discharged a murderous hail of grape through an enemy’s unprotected stern with horrifying effect. But as a ship’s armament, never. It had been tried experimentally some years back in another frigate, the Rainbow, but had proved unsuccessful and not a little dangerous in close combat.
Emes said quickly, “They were already mounted before I took charge of the refit, sir. I understand that they were taken into consideration when Phalarope was selected for this sector.” He waved his hand to the quarterdeck. “I still have eight 9-pounders as well, sir.” He sounded defensive.
Bolitho looked at him. “Admiral Sir George Beauchamp had been doing more planning than I realized.” When Emes did not even blink, he imagined he as yet knew nothing of his orders.
A midshipman called, “ Styx is signalling, sir!”
Emes grunted, “I shall come aft.” He sounded relieved. “If you will excuse me, sir?”
Bolitho nodded and walked slowly along the gangway, his ears searching for lost voices, his eyes catching brief pictures of almost forgotten faces on the strangers around him.
A clean, smart ship, with a captain who would stand no nonsense. It seemed incredible that Pascoe should be the senior lieutenant. His nephew’s dream had come true. Bolitho tried to find comfort there. He would have been the same, or was there still the other memory, the stain which had left a lasting mark in this ship?
Allday murmured, “All these smashers, sir. She’ll shake her innards on to the sea-bed if she’s called to give battle.”
Bolitho paused on the forecastle, his palm resting on a worn handrail.
“You were here at the Saintes, Allday.”
Allday glanced around the pitching deck. “Aye, sir. Me an’ a few others.” His voice strengthened and he seemed to rise from his depression. “God, the Frenchies were at us that day, an’ that’s no error! I saw the first lieutenant fall, an’ the second. Mr Herrick, young Mr Herrick he was in them days, took their place, and more than once I thought my time had come.” He watched Bolitho’s grave features. “I saw your coxswain fall too, old Stockdale.” He shook his head affectionately. “Protecting your back from the Frog marksmen, he was.”
Bolitho nodded. The memory was still painful. The fact he had not even seen Stockdale die in his defence had made it worse.
Allday grinned. But it made him look sad. “I determined right then, that if you was alive at the end o’ the day, I’d be your coxswain in his place. Mind you, sir, I’ve regretted more’n once since then, but still…”
Pascoe clattered up a ladder from the gun-deck. “Captain Emes has released me to act as your guide, sir.” He smiled awkwardly. “I suspect she is little altered.”
Bolitho glanced aft and saw Emes outlined against the bright sky. Watching him, wondering if they were exchanging secrets he could not share. It was wrong and unfair, Bolitho thought. But he had to know.
“Did you see Mrs Laidlaw, Adam?”
“No, sir. I had gone before she returned.” He shrugged. “I left her a letter, of course, Uncle.”
“Thank you.”
He was glad now that he had told Pascoe about his father. If he had not…
As if reading his thoughts, Pascoe said, “When my father fought against us during the American Revolution he attacked this ship. I’ve thought about it such a lot, and have tried to see how it was for you and him.” He watched Bolitho anxiously and then blurted out, “Anyway, Uncle, I wanted to join her. Even as the most junior lieutenant I’d have come.”
Bolitho gripped his arm. “I’m glad.” He looked at the tilting deck. “For both of you.”
A midshipman ran forward and touched his hat. “Captain’s respects, sir, and there is a signal for you.”
But on the quarterdeck once more Emes seemed unruffled by the news.
“ Styx has sighted a brig to the south’rd, sir.” He looked up with sudden irritation as his own masthead called that he had sighted a strange sail. “Must be blind, that one!”
Bolitho turned to hide his face. He knew that Neale often trusted a lookout or a midshipman aloft with a powerful telescope when the visibility made it worthwhile.
Emes contained his anger. “Would you care to come below, sir? Some claret perhaps?”
Bolitho looked at him calmly. Emes was afraid of him. Ill at ease.
“Thank you. Signal Styx to investigate, if you please, while you and I share a glass.”
The cabin, like the rest of the ship, was neat and clean, but with nothing lying about to show something of its owner’s character.
Emes busied himself with some goblets while Bolitho stared aft through the salt-smeared windows and allowed his mind to grapple with old memories.
“Young Mr Pascoe is performing well, sir.”
Bolitho eyed him across the claret. “If he were not, I would expect no favour, Captain.”
The directness of his reply threw Emes into confusion.
“I see, sir, yes, I understand. But I know what people say, what they think.”
“And what am I thinking?”
Emes paced across the cabin and back again. “The fleet is so short of experienced officers, sir, and I, as a post-captain, have been given command of this old ship.” He watched Bolitho for a sign that he might have gone too far, but when he remained silent added forcefully, “She was a fine vessel, and under your command one of great distinction.” He looked around, deflated and trapped. “Now she is old, her frames and timbers weakened by years of harbour duty. But I am glad to command her for all that.” He looked Bolitho straight in the eyes. “Grateful would be a better word.”
Bolitho put down the goblet very carefully. “Now I remember.”
He had been so full of his own worries, so affected by the return of his old command, he had barely thought of her captain. Now it came like a fist in the darkness. Captain Daniel Emes of the frigate Abdiel, who had faced a court martial about a year ago. He should have remembered. Emes had broken off an engagement with a larger enemy force not many leagues from this very position, but by so doing had allowed another British ship to be captured. It had been rumoured that only Emes’s early promotion to post-rank, and his previously excellent record, had saved him from oblivion and disgrace.
There was a tap at the door and Browne peered in at them, his face suitably blank.
“My pardon, sir, but Styx has signalled that she is in contact. The brig is from the southern squadron with despatches.” He glanced swiftly at Emes’s strained features. “It would seem that the brig is eager to speak with us.”
“I shall return to Styx directly.” As Browne hurried away Bolitho added slowly, “Phalarope was a newer ship when I took command, but a far less happy one than she is today. You may think she is too old for the kind of work we have to do. You may also believe she is not good enough for an officer of your skill and experience.” He picked up his hat and walked to the door. “I cannot speak for the former, but I shall certainly form my own judgement on the latter. As far as I am concerned, you are one of my captains.” He looked at him levelly. “The past is buried.”
Every inch of the surrounding cabin seemed to throw the last words back in his face. But he had to trust Emes, had to make him return that trust.
Emes said thickly, “Thank you for that, sir.”
“Before we join the others, Captain Emes. If you were faced tomorrow with the same sort of situation as the one which led to a court martial, how would you act?”
Emes shrugged. “I have asked myself a thousand times, sir. In truth, I am not sure.”
Bolitho touched his arm, sensing his rigidity and wariness outwardly protected by the bright epaulettes.
He smiled. “Had you said otherwise, I think I would have requested a replacement for your command by the next brig!”
Later, as the two frigates tacked closer together, and the far off brig spread more sail to beat up to them, Bolitho stood by the quarterdeck rail and looked along the length of the upper deck.
So much had happened and had nearly ended here. He heard Emes rapping out orders in his same crisp tones. A difficult man with a difficult choice if ever he had to make it again.