Bolitho also thought about his new flagship for this special commission which would take him to America and the Caribbean.
There was comfort in knowing that her new captain was also a good friend. Valentine Keen, who had once been one of Bolitho's midshipmen, who had shared excitement and sorrow in very different circumstances. Achates' previous captain had died of a fever even as his ship had sailed home from Antigua to the yard where she had been built to undergo a much needed overhaul and refit.
It would be good to have Keen as his flag-captain, he thought. He watched Allday's head fall to his chest and remembered it had been he who had once saved Keen's life, had personally cut a jagged splinter from his groin because he had not trusted the ship's drunken surgeon.
Bolitho watched a group of farm workers by a field gate as they paused to drink rough cider from great earthenware jugs.
A few glanced at the carriage, one even raised his arm in salute. The word would soon be around Falmouth. A Bolitho was leaving again. Would he return?
He thought of Belinda in that big, quiet house. If only…
Bolitho looked at the new gold lace on his coat and tried to settle his thoughts on the months ahead. He was not the first sea officer to leave home when a wife or family most needed him.
Nor would he be the last.
The peace could not endure, no matter what the politicians and experts proclaimed. Too many had already died, too many scores were still unsettled.
With sixty of England 's one hundred ships of the line laid up and out of commission, and some forty thousand seamen and marines discharged, the French would be stupid to ignore such complacency.
He tried to concentrate on Achates' eventual destination, the island of San Felipe which lay across the Windward Passage between Cuba and Haiti like a rugged sentinel. The island's history was as wild and bloody as some others in the Caribbean. Originally Spanish, it had been occupied and held by France until the American Rebellion when it had been seized by Britain after a series of attacks at great cost to both sides.
Now, as part of the agreement with France, the island was to be handed back as a sign of good faith. But when Admiral Rodney's ships had taken the island in 1782, just a year after Achates' keel had first slipped into salt water, it had been a barren, hostile place. Now, according to all the information Bolitho had obtained from the Admiralty, it was both prosperous and thriving.
The present governor was a retired vice-admiral, Sir Humphrey Rivers, Knight of the Bath. He had made his life on San Felipe, had even named the port Georgetown to mark the island's permanent place under the British flag.
There was an excellent harbour, and the island's trade thrived on sugar, coffee and molasses, the growing prosperity owing much to a secondary population of slaves which had been brought originally from Africa.
Admiral Sheaffe had explained that whereas in war San Felipe had provided an excellent outpost to command the routes to Jamaica and a strategic base for hunting down enemy privateers, in peace it was a liability, unnecessary to the British Crown.
It had made no sense at the time, and as the carriage gathered speed down a steep incline and the sea reappeared on Bolitho's right, it made even less now.
Surely if the island was worth dying for it was worth keeping?
It seemed like a betrayal, more callous than Bolitho would have believed possible. Why then had he been chosen for the task instead of a skilled politician?
A man of tact as well as a man of action, Sheaffe had said.
Bolitho smiled grimly. He had heard that kind of explanation many times. If you were proved right others received the praise. If you made the wrong move you took all the blame.
He shut his orders from his mind. It was useless to plan beyond the written word. Everything might have changed by the time his ship next dropped anchor.
It would be strange not to have Browne as his flag-lieutenant. Intelligent, skilled with the ways of admiralty and government, Browne had been a tower of strength since he had been appointed as his aide. Now Browne was the lord and master of estates and property Bolitho could only guess at, his father having died in the last few months.
Browne had come to Cornwall to say his farewell. It had been a wrench for both of them. Bolitho had decided then and there he would ask his nephew, Adam Pascoe, to take his place. With so many young officers being put ashore it seemed right to offer him the post, even though it went against Bolitho's instinct to use his authority to grant a favour. But he loved his nephew as if he had been his own son, and they had come through many hazards together. The experience would do him good.
Browne had raised a doubtful eyebrow at the idea. Perhaps he had been trying to warn him against having one so close as an aide, one who is supposed to stand aside and remain impartial when required.
But to be without a ship at the age of twenty-one, when he most needed a chance to further his career, had seemed a more weighty argument.
Bolitho rested his head on the warm leather seat.
Valentine Keen, Adam and Allday. They would sustain each other. There would be no other familiar faces this time, or would there?
Achates had originally commissioned at the Nore, whereas Bolitho was more used to West Country ships or those from Spithead.
Belinda had been so pleased at his sudden and advanced promotion, when all he had wanted was to be with her when their first child was born.
Vice-Admiral of the Red. It barely seemed to matter. Some had even compared him with Nelson! Curiously enough, this made Bolitho uneasy, as if he were merely playing a part. It was indeed odd to realize that Achates was almost a twin of Nelson's favourite and his last command before his own promotion to flag-rank. His famous Agamemnon had been laid down and built in the same yard, that of Henry Adams of Bucklers Hard on the Beaulieu River.
The dwindling number of sixty-fours had one sure advantage. Bigger than anything faster. Faster than anything bigger. No wonder captains of heavier vessels looked on them with begrudging admiration.
Nelson had once said of his little Agamemnon that she was an excellent sailer and even when running close to the wind under storm-staysails could match many a frigate.
Bolitho wondered if Keen was equally agreeable with Achates. After his recent command of a powerful seventy-four he might already be regretting his decision to accept the role of Bolitho's flag-captain.
The horses slowed to a gentle trot while some sheep crossed the narrow road and bustled their way into an adjoining field.
A young woman with a child on her hip, her husband's midday meal carried in a red handkerchief, stared at the carriage as it moved past. She bobbed her head to Bolitho and flashed him a white smile.
Bolitho thought of Belinda, how she would manage when their child was born. A son to follow the tradition, to walk the deck of a new generation of King's ships. A daughter perhaps, to grow up and win the heart of a young man in a world he might never know.
Bolitho had confided little of his mission to Belinda. He wanted to keep her free of worry. Also she might resent the reason for his leaving her when she had time to think about it.
He tried to think about San Felipe's governor, the man who would have to hand over his tiny kingdom to their old foe.
He glanced at Allday, now rolling gently to the carriage's motion and fast asleep. He had known all about Sir Humphrey Rivers, Knight of the Bath.
Bolitho smiled. Allday gathered information about the comings and goings in the fleet and hoarded it as a magpie guards its treasure trove of coloured glass and beads.
Rivers had captained a frigate named Crusader during the American Revolution at about the same time when Bolitho had been given his first command, the little sloop-of-war Sparrow.
He had made quite a name for himself hunting French privateers and taking prizes of every shape and size. One day near the Chesapeake he had misjudged the danger in his eagerness to run down an American brig. His Crusader had ploughed into some shallows and had become a total wreck. Rivers had been taken prisoner but had been returned to Britain after the war.
