a fine officer, sir.”
Herrick jerked upright in the chair. “Must have been!” He saw the youth recoil and added hastily, “Yes, Mr Stirling, he was. But better than that, boy, he was a man. The best.”
The midshipman replaced the sword very carefully and said, “I’m very sorry, sir. I meant no hurt.”
Herrick shook his head. “None taken, Mr Stirling. Because others hoped and believed, so too did I. I forgot that Lady Luck can only do so much, miracles are harder to come by.”
“I-I see, sir.”
Stirling backed to the door, his mind grappling with Herrick’s words, not wanting to forget a single second of what had occurred.
Herrick watched him leave. You don’t see at all. But one day, if you are one of the lucky ones, you will understand.
Minutes afterwards the goblet dropped from his fingers and broke in pieces on the deck.
Ozzard stared at the sleeping captain, his hands opening and shutting at his sides. He stooped to gather up the broken glass but then stood away again, his pinched features suddenly hostile.
The captain’s own servant could do it. Ozzard glanced at the pantry door and tried to shut Herrick’s words from his mind. He was wrong. They all were, damn them.
Ozzard went to the pantry and sat down in one corner while the ship shivered and groaned around him.
He was Rear-Admiral Bolitho’s servant, and would be here when he returned, and that was an end to it!
Herrick hurried across the quarterdeck, half blinded by spray as he looked for Wolfe’s tall shape by the nettings.
Wolfe shouted, “There, sir! Hear it?”
Herrick licked his lips and ignored the shadowy figures and staring faces. There it was again. No doubt about it.
He said hoarsely, “Gunfire.”
Wolfe nodded. “Light artillery, sir. Probably Ganymede and another craft of the same ilk.”
Herrick strode up the tilting deck, his eyes straining into the feeble grey light and the panorama of tossing wave crests.
“Well, Mr Grubb?”
The master pouted and then nodded his ruined face. “Right bearing, sir. Not likely to be any other King’s ship thereabouts.”
Herrick glared at the tossing sea like a trapped animal. “Any of our vessels in sight yet?”
Wolfe replied, “I’ve already warned the masthead lookouts, sir. But nothing reported so far.”
Herrick heard it again, rolling downwind like staccato thunder. Two ships right enough. Fighting in the gale. Probably stumbled on one another by accident.
Wolfe asked, “Orders, sir?”
“Until we sight Nicator we shall continue to hove to, Mr Wolfe.” He looked away. “Unless…”
Wolfe grimaced. “That’s a powerful big word, sir.”
Herrick squinted, as if by doing so he would see the lay of the French coast as he had so many times on Grubb’s charts. It would take an eternity to beat inshore against this easterly wind, but Ganymede might already be in desperate need of support. When full daylight broke, just the sight of Benbow’s canvas on the horizon would give them heart and throw uncertainty amongst her attackers.
Captain Keen would know what to do. As soon as he realized that the convoy was scattered he would set-to with his Nicator and chase them into formation again.
But suppose Keen could not collect all the ships and some arrived at Gibraltar unescorted? Herrick had no illusions as to what might happen. His time as commodore would be short-lived, and any sort of promotion would remain as one of Dulcie’s dreams.
And if peace was to be signed between the old enemies, for no matter how short a respite, Herrick knew that when the drums beat to quarters once again his services would be shunned. It had happened to far better men with the background and influence he had never known.
He glanced at Wolfe, at Grubb’s great lump of a figure in his shabby watchcoat, at the youthful Midshipman Stirling who had unknowingly touched his heart with his admiration for Bolitho, a man he had never met. His eyes moved on past them, unblinking despite the heavy droplets of spray, as he looked at his command, the Benbow and all her tightly-sealed world of people and memories. His ship. He would certainly lose her too.
Wolfe watched him, knowing it was important to all of them without understanding why.
Grubb, the sailing-master who had played the old Lysander into battle with his tin whistle while all hell had exploded around him, did understand.
He said gruffly, “If we brings ’er about now, sir, and lays ’er on th’ larboard tack…”
Herrick turned and faced him. Once the decision was made, the rest was simple.
“I agree.” He looked at his gangling first lieutenant. “Call all hands, Mr Wolfe. We shall make sail at once. Hands aloft, if you please, and loose tops’ls.” He stared abeam as more gunfire followed the wind. “We will go and see what Ganymede has uncovered, eh?”
Herrick walked aft to the poop as calls shrilled and seamen and marines bustled to obey the pipe.
He paused by the wheel as Grubb gestured with a great fist to his master’s mates to be ready to alter course. Young Midshipman Stirling was scribbling on a slate beside the chart table and waiting for a ship’s boy to swing the half-hour glass. He looked up from his writing as Herrick drew near, and could not restrain a smile.
Herrick eyed him with a calmness he did not feel. “What amuses you, Mr Stirling? May I share it?”
Stirling ’s smile faded as Grubb glared at him threateningly for disturbing the captain.
Then he said, “You spoke of Lady Luck, sir. Perhaps she is still with us after all?”
Herrick shrugged. “We shall see. In the meantime, take yourself to the foremast crosstrees and carry a glass with you. Let us see if your eyes are as sharp as your wits!”
Grubb watched the midshipman run for the weather gangway, a telescope bobbing across his shoulder like a quiver.
“Gawd, sir, I really don’t know! These young varmints ’ave got no respect, no understandin’ of facts an’ responsibilities.”
They faced each other gravely, and Herrick said softly, “Not like us, eh, Mr Grubb? Not like us at all.”
Grubb grinned broadly as Herrick moved away. Then he saw the nearest helmsman watching him and roared, “Stand by, you idle bugger! Or I’ll be about yew with a pike, so ’elp me Gawd!”
Moments later, with her yards braced almost fore and aft, her lee gunports awash as she tilted heavily to the wind, Benbow came slowly about.
Herrick smiled with quiet satisfaction as topmen dashed about the upper yards, whilst on the deck below others ran to assist, to throw their weight on braces and halliards to make their ship turn deliberately towards the land.
It would be a slow and wearing process, with miles of tacking this way and that to gain a cable’s advance.
But as Herrick watched his men, and studied the set of each sail, the strain of each piece of standing rigging, he was glad he had acted against his saner judgement.
“Full an’ bye’ sir!” A master’s mate shouted excitedly, as if he too was sharing Herrick’s mood. “South by east!”
Herrick looked across at Wolfe who was directing his men through his long speaking trumpet. With his wings of bright red hair poking beneath his salt-stained hat he looked more like a Viking warrior than a King’s officer, Herrick thought.
Perhaps it would be too late, or all a waste of time. But if they could capture a French ship, or even seize a few of her people, they might learn something of Styx’s survivors. Just a hint, the tiniest shred of information, would make it all worthwhile.
Wolfe lowered his speaking trumpet and called, “We’ll shake out another reef if the wind allows, sir.”
Herrick nodded. Wolfe understood now. “Aye. And to hell with the consequences.”
Wolfe raised his eyes to the men working high above him and glanced at the scarlet broad-pendant which streamed from the masthead.
The captain had spoken of consequences. And there was the biggest one of all.
Bolitho pressed his shoulders against the frigate’s timbers and winced as the ship yawed and plunged deeply
