gave up the fight and drifted on the tide with the rest of the flotsam.
Bolitho waited for a few more dazed and bleeding men to be dragged into the quarter-boat, then he climbed in and stood beside Allday, with Neale slumped unconscious between them.
Midshipman Kilburne, who had changed from youth to manhood in the last few moments, called, “Stand quietly, lads! Easy, all!”
Like the other boat, this one was so crammed with men it had barely ten inches of freeboard. Each had run out just two oars to keep them stem on to the waves, which such a short while before had been their allies, and now seemed determined to capsize and kill them.
“She’s going!”
Several men cried out, shocked and horrified, as Styx rolled over and began to slide into the water. Some of the older hands watched her in silence, moved and too stunned to share their sense of loss. Like all ships, she meant much more to the seasoned hands. A home, old faces, familiar ways. Those too were gone for ever.
Browne whispered, “I’ll not forget this. Not ever.”
Styx dived, but the sea was so shallow that she struck the bottom and reappeared as if still fighting for life. Water streamed from her gunports and scuppers, and a few corpses, caught in the broken shrouds, swayed about as if waving to their old shipmates.
Then with a final lurch she dived and stayed hidden.
Allday said dully, “Boats shoving from the shore, sir.”
He sensed Bolitho’s complete despair and added firmly, “We’ve bin prisoners afore, sir. We’ll get through this time, an’ that’s no error.”
Bolitho was looking for the Phalarope. But, like Neale’s ship, she had disappeared. It was over.
6. Ready For Sea
THOMAS HERRICK, acting-commodore, sat with his elbows on the polished table in Benbow’s great cabin and ran his eyes once more over his painstakingly worded report.
He should have been proud of what he had achieved, when even the most optimistic shipwrights and carpenters had prophesied that his ship would be another month at least undergoing repairs. Tomorrow was the first day of August, far ahead of anything he had dared to hope.
Those words he had waited impatiently to write in his report to their lordships-Being in all respects ready for sea, etc, etc -were right there, waiting for his signature, and yet he could summon little jubilation or enthusiasm.
It was not the news, but the lack of it. He suspected it had all started when the shot-torn frigate Unrivalled, one of Bolitho’s new squadron in the Bay, had anchored in Plymouth, her pumps clanking to keep her afloat until help arrived. Even then it should not have upset Herrick more than any other such wartime event. He had seen too many ships go, too many dead and wounded being landed as were the Unrivalled’s casualties, to display his inner and private emotions.
But ever since Bolitho had shifted his flag to Styx, and had sailed away on what Herrick had considered to be a very doubtful mission, he had been troubled.
Phalarope’s name in the signal book, and the bald announcement that she was being appointed to Bolitho’s command, had done little to ease his apprehension. Dulcie, who was ever near and staying at the Golden Lion Inn in Plymouth, had done everything to comfort him. Herrick’s mouth softened at the thought. It made him feel almost guilty to be so lucky. But Dulcie did not understand the ways of the sea or the Navy. If he had any say in it, nor would she, Herrick had firmly decided.
He heard footsteps in the adjoining cabin. Ozzard, Bolitho’s servant, like a lost soul since his master had gone without him. There were several like him in Benbow’s fat hull. Yovell, Bolitho’s clerk, who had written this report in his round hand. Round, like the man and his Devonshire accent.
The deck moved very slightly, and Herrick stood up to walk to the open stern windows. There were fewer ships being repaired now, and less din of hammers and creaking tackles aboard the masting-craft.
He could see Keen’s seventy-four, Nicator, swinging to her cable, her awnings and windsails spread to make life between decks as easy as possible in this sultry heat. And Indomitable, their other two-decker, whose new captain, Henry Veriker, had already made something of a reputation for himself in the small squadron. He was almost deaf, an injury inflicted at the Nile, common enough after hours of continuous firing. But his deafness came and went, so that you were never sure what he had heard or misinterpreted. It must be difficult for his lieutenants, Herrick thought. It had been bad enough on the one night they had dined together.
He leaned over the sill and saw the new frigate, the one he had seen shortly after her launching when he had rejoined his own ship. Lower in the water, a black muzzle at each open port, and all three masts and standing rigging set up. Not long now, my beauty. Who was her lucky captain to be, he wondered?
Seeing the new frigate reminded him yet again of Adam Pascoe. Young devil to take the appointment without a thought of what it could mean. Phalarope. Bolitho had made that ship, given her life. But Herrick still remembered her as she had been when he had stepped aboard as her junior lieutenant. Bitter and desperate, with a captain who had looked upon any sort of humanity as a sin.
He heard the sentry’s muffled voice and turned to see the first lieutenant striding beneath the deckhead beams, bent right over to save his ginger head from a collision.
“Yes, Mr Wolfe?”
Wolfe’s deepset eyes flitted briefly to the written report and back to his captain. He had worked harder than most, but had still found time to knock some sense into his youthful and barely trained lieutenants.
“Message from the officer of the guard, sir. You can expect the port admiral in half an hour.” He bared his uneven teeth. “I’ve already passed the word, sir. Full side party an’ guard of honour.”
Herrick considered the news. The port admiral, a rare visitor. But what he had seen he had liked. A portly, comfortable man, now better used to the ways of dockyards and chandlers than to a fleet at sea.
He replied, “Very well. I don’t think there’s anything to fear. We’ve even beaten Captain Keen’s Nicator to a state of readiness, eh?”
“Orders, d’you think, sir?”
Herrick felt uneasy at the prospect. He had not even had time to select himself a flag-captain for, no matter how temporarily his broad-pendant might fly above Benbow, select one he must. Maybe it was too final, he thought. Severing the last link with his rearadmiral and true friend when he still knew nothing of what was happening.
More feet clattered, and after the marine’s announcement from the outer lobby, the fifth lieutenant stepped smartly inside, his cocked hat jammed beneath one arm.
Wolfe scowled at him and the youth flinched. Actually, the first lieutenant was quite pleased with the young officer, but it was far too early to show it. Wait until we get to sea, he usually said.
“A-a letter, sir. From the Falmouth coach.”
Herrick almost snatched it from him. “Good. Carry on, Mr Nash.”
As the lieutenant fled, and Wolfe settled himself in another chair, Herrick slit open the envelope. He knew the handwriting, and although he had been hoping for a letter, he had been dreading what she might say.
Wolfe watched him curiously. He knew most of it, and had guessed the rest. But he had come to accept the captain’s strange attachment for Richard Bolitho, even if he did not fully understand it. To Wolfe, a friend at sea was like a ship. You gave to each other, but once parted it was best to forget and never go back.
Herrick put down the letter carefully, imagining her chestnut hair falling over her forehead as she had written it.
He said abruptly, “Mrs Belinda Laidlaw is coming to Plymouth. My wife will take good care of her during her visit.”
Wolfe was vaguely disappointed. “Is that all, sir?”
Herrick stared at him. It was true. She had sent her warmest greetings to him and to Dulcie, but there it had ended. But it was a step in the right direction. Once here, amidst Bolitho’s world, she would feel free to speak, to ask his advice if she ever needed it.
Voices echoed alongside and Wolfe snatched up his hat and exploded, “The admiral! We forgot all about
