'Any officers?' He barely recognized his own voice.
'None, sir. Just a midshipman. First commission too.'
Bolitho eyed him bitterly. Duncan had perished with his ship. He could picture him without effort. Duncan had even been to his wedding at Falmouth. A good man, strong and reliable.
It was impossible. A nightmare.
The commander took his silence for displeasure and hurried on, 'The midshipman said that the third lieutenant was in another boat but was badly wounded in the face and neck by splinters. During the night the boats drifted apart, and then the sharks came.' He looked at the deck.
'Bring the midshipman to me.' He saw his hesitation. 'Is he wounded?'
'No, sir.'
Keen said shortly, 'See to it.'
As the commander hurried away Bolitho said, 'Send word to my flag-lieutenant. He must return at once. Fast horse, anything.'
Keen stared at him. 'It was the same ship, wasn't it, sir?'
'I'm certain of it.' He eyed him steadily. 'Ask the surgeon to help with the wounded. The rest of Sparrowhawk's people can be signed on to your books. I want them to be with us when we run that butcher to earth!'
Bolitho strode aft to the cabin. He knew he must look different in some way. Chase had a glass poised in the air, Ozzard was frozen in the act of refilling it. Fane's eyes followed him to the stern windows before he asked, 'Bad news, Admiral?'
Bolitho looked at him and tried to fight the sudden all-consuming anger which coursed through him like fire.
'I am leaving harbour as soon as all my people are aboard.'
Chase shifted in his chair as if to see him better.
'Not waiting for your frigate after all?'
Bolitho shook his head.
'I'm heartily sick of waiting.'
He saw the brig's boat going alongside again. It was cruel to send for the young midshipman after what he had endured. But he had to know everything the boy could tell him.
He said quietly, 'Sparrowhawk's been sunk.'
He heard Chase's quick intake of breath.
Bolitho added, 'So you see, gentlemen, there may be thunder before we can settle things to everyone's satisfaction.'
6. No Easy Way
Captain Valentine Keen sat with legs crossed on one of Bolitho's chairs and watched his superior as he read through a despatch for the Admiralty. It would be put aboard the brig Electra and eventually be transferred to a fleet-courier so that it would be completely out-of-date by the time Admiral Sheaffe was able to examine it.
Keen glanced through the open stern windows and silently cursed the oppressive heat. It seemed to pin the whole ship down so that even the smallest movement was uncomfortable.
Bolitho signed the last page where Yovell had indicated and looked questioningly at his flag-captain. 'Well, Val, are we ready for sea?'
Keen nodded and instantly felt a trickle of sweat run down his spine.
'The water-lighters have cast off, sir. There's just your – ' Bolitho stood up as if pricked by a thorn and strode to the windows.
'My nephew. He should be back on board by now.'
He was thinking aloud. The ship was waiting to weigh anchor. Boats were hoisted, and all hands accounted for. He stared hard at the little brig which had brought the news of Sparrowhawk's loss. Napier, her young commander, would be glad to rid himself of his responsibility to an admiral other than his own. His tiny command would soon be free of Bolitho and hurrying to Antigua to pass the news of the mysterious assassin, the ship which bore no name and showed no colours. Bolitho would have given a lot to hold on to the Electra, but the need to spread the word of the unknown attacker was paramount. Other ships might be lost in the same fashion.
Keen watched the emotions as they chased each other across Bolitho's features. They had seen and done so much together in every kind of action. Now, supposedly in peacetime, they were faced with something which was both baffling and terrible.
Feet thudded overhead, and calls trilled as the watch on deck was ordered to some new task under the first lieutenant's eye.
Bolitho did not see Keen's sympathetic scrutiny. His mind kept swinging from tack to tack, as if he was imprisoned by his own thoughts. Wait in Boston or set sail for San Felipe? It was his decision alone, just as his decision had cost Duncan his life. Keen had spoken with the one surviving midshipman, Evans, but had got little out of him. Bolitho had asked Allday to speak with the boy in his own way and the result had been startling. Allday had that casual, effortless way of talking to people, especially youngsters like Evans, and as he had described what Evans had told him Bolitho had been able to relive that brief, savage encounter which had ended with Sparrowhawk's total destruction.
It was a wonder a boy like Evans had not collapsed completely, Bolitho thought. It was not like going to war with the fear of death a constant companion. It was Evans' very first commission, his only voyage in a man-of-war. He did not even come from a naval family but was the son of a tailor in Cardiff.
To see his best friend, a fellow midshipman, smashed down like a slaughtered animal, to be the last one to speak with the mortally wounded Duncan while the ship exploded around him was more than most could have withstood. Perhaps later, months later, the shock would show itself.
Allday had explained how Evans had sensed an explosion even as his boat had pulled away from the sinking frigate.
The gallery fire had not been doused. Flames had probably spread to the magazine or powder-room, so that for many of the ship's company the end had been quick and the horror of the sharks held back for the others.
Another of the survivors, an experienced gunner's mate, had told Allday that the cannon fire had sounded flatter and louder than he would have expected. She was carrying far heavier weapons, he thought, even though the numbers had been reduced.
Bolitho glanced at the eighteen-pounder near his desk. Probably thirty-two-pounders. But why?
The door opened cautiously and the clerk, Yovell, peered in at them.
Bolitho said, 'Despatches are ready to go.'
What did they matter anyway? He knew it, and so did Keen. Words, words, words. The facts were plain as they were brutal. He had lost a fine ship with most of her people. And there was Duncan and his pretty widow. He had been a good friend. A brave officer.
Yovell remained hovering in the screen doorway.
'There is a mail-packet coming to anchor, sir.' He hesitated. 'From England.'
Bolitho stared at him and was shocked to see the anxiety on Yovell's round features.
My God. he's afraid of me. The shock hit him like a fist. He's terrified because there may be no word from Belinda.
The realization did more to steady his apprehension and doubts than anything. He recalled how only yesterday, as he had waited for Adam to return on board, Yovell had said something to put him at ease. Bolitho had exploded and had cursed him roundly for his interfering. Yet Bolitho had always hated martinets who used their rank and authority to terrorize their subordinates. And it was all too easy. A captain was like a god, so an admiral could do no wrong at all in his own eyes.
He said, 'Thank you, Yovell. Take the quarter-boat and pass my despatches to the Electra. Also any letters from our people.' He watched the man's uncertainty and added, 'Then go over to the mail-packet, will you? There may be something, eh?'
As the clerk made to leave he said quietly, 'I treated you badly. There was no cause for that. Loyalty deserves
