Napier was completely lost. For hours he had rehearsed what he would say to Bolitho. He had had time to put on his best uniform. Now it had all shattered. Like opening a door to greet a friend and finding oneself confronted by a madman.
He managed to nod. 'Aye, sir. He is a good officer.'
'Just as well.' Bolitho looked at Keen. 'First opportunity tomorrow we will weigh and put to sea. In the meantime I shall endeavour to glean what I can from the gallant commodore's despatches. But before that…' He crossed to the table and poured Napier another glass of hock. 'We shall all drink a toast. You too, Allday.'
Allday took a glass from Ozzard and watched the transformation in looks and tone.
Bolitho felt his mouth lift to a grin.
'A toast.' He raised his glass. 'To Mr Napier, the new acting-governor of San Felipe!'
'Sou'-west by south, sir! Steady she goes!'
Bolitho half listened to the helmsman's report but concentrated on the sprawling purple blur on the larboard horizon. It was afternoon and the sun still beat down on the slow-moving ship with relentless ferocity. But after the oppressive hostility in San Felipe it was like a tonic.
Bolitho could feel it in the ship around and beneath him, the cheerful banter of the seamen on deck. Mountsteven, who was officer of the watch, barely raised his voice as he supervised the final resetting of the fore- course.
Bolitho steadied his telescope and watched the vague suggestion of land, Haiti, which lay some fifteen miles to larboard. Despite the distance it had an air of menace. Whenever possible sailors avoided its shores with their tales of witchcraft and horrifying rites.
Achates had been delayed a further day in San Felipe for want of wind, but now with the prevailing north- easterly filling her topsails and courses she was standing down the Windward Passage as if she was enjoying it. Here the Passage between Cuba and Haiti was barely seventy miles wide, its narrowest part. In time of war it would be hard to force a convoy through, with San Felipe in enemy hands. The more he considered it, the less Bolitho could understand the reason for his orders.
He handed the glass to one of the midshipmen and began to pace slowly up and down the quarterdeck. He hoped he had not been too hard on Commander Napier. The latter appeared to be relishing his new, if brief, appointment as temporary governor. With his fourteen-gun brig anchored below the powerful battery, and a smart platoon of the Sixtieth Foot, or the Royal Americans as they were still known, in the fortress, he was able to present a show of strength.
He saw some marines having their muskets and equipment inspected by Lieutenant Hawtayne. He was glad they were back on board where they belonged. It seemed very likely they would soon be needed again.
He hid a smile as the marine lieutenant said in his piping voice, 'Smarten yourself up, Jones! You've had your rest ashore!'
Bolitho knew that the picture of the dead drummer-boy would last a long time in his memory.
He heard Adam's light step nearby and saw him waiting to speak.
'How is my flag-lieutenant today?' Adam smiled. It was the moment.
'Miss Robina is a fine girl, Uncle. I've never met anyone like her…'
Bolitho let it pour out without interruption. So that was the trouble. But for his own worries he would have realized that the ride to Newburyport would be a beginning rather than an ending.
'Have you asked her father for her hand in marriage?'
Adam blushed. 'It's far too soon, Uncle, that is, I hinted perhaps sometime in the future, that is, not the too distant future… His voice trailed away and he stared at the dark water abeam. Then he said, 'I know she won't have me, of course. Her uncle knows. He was glad to get rid of me aboard one of his vessels.'
Bolitho looked at him. Vivid was owned by Chase. It was strange that Tyrrell had not mentioned it.
'Let us walk awhile, Adam.'
They paced back and forth for several minutes while the ship moved and worked around them.
Bolitho said, 'You have a future in the Navy, Adam. A good one, if I have any say in the matter. You come of fine sea-going stock, but so have many others. Whatever gain you make, and whatever achievements you have won, you will have done so without the use of privilege, remember that. Yours will be a better Navy, or should be when young officers like you have positions of authority. We're an island race. We shall always need ships and those brave enough to fight them.'
Adam glanced at him. 'It is what I want. Have wanted since I joined your Hyperion as midshipman.'
Bolitho looked down at the gun-deck and saw the seaman who had lost an eye being greeted by some of his messmates as he swayed uncertainly past an eighteen-pounder. He was still unused to it. But with his black eye- patch to conceal the oakum which filled the empty socket he looked every inch a hero, and they were treating him as such.
Adam tried to find the words. 'Men like that one, Uncle. They mean a lot to you. They're not just ignorant hands, they matter, don't they?'
Bolitho faced him. 'They most certainly do. We must never take them for granted, Adam. There are plenty of others who do that!'
Adam nodded. 'When I sat in my father's old chair…'
Bolitho asked quietly, 'At Newburyport? Where his ship was once sheltered?'
Adam looked away. He had not meant it to slip out quite like that, or so soon.
'They showed me, Uncle. It was the family name, you see. Not common in New England.'
'I'm glad. You've seen more than I.'
He heard Keen approaching and was suddenly thankful. It was not just Hugh's memory, what he had done to their father when he had deserted to fight for the American rebels, not because of that or the shame which-even Rivers had been quick to mention. Bolitho tried to face it. He was jealous. Hurt, even though it was ridiculous.
Keen touched his hat. 'Mr Tyrrell is in the chartroom with the master, sir. I think we should examine the next chart.' He glanced professionally at the clear sky. 'Should be able to maintain a fair speed all night at this rate.' He seemed oblivious to the awkward silence.
'Good, I'll come directly.' He nodded to his nephew. 'You too. It's all experience for whatever you intend.'
He hesitated outside the chartroom and said abruptly, 'Take charge, Val. I'm going aft. You can explain it all later.'
Adam asked anxiously, 'Are you feeling unwell, sir?'
Bolitho said, 'Just tired.'
He strode away and was soon lost in the shadows below the poop deck.
He was unable to face all of them crammed together in the small space of the chartroom. Knocker, the master, Quantock, Captain Dewar of the Royal Marines, and their assistants as well.
Bolitho had left another letter with Napier at San Felipe, and a copy to be sent by any other vessel which might happen to call at the harbour for supplies or water.
Not knowing about Belinda was tearing at him like claws. He had not realized how brittle his reserves had become. Not until Adam had reminded him of Hugh. My father's old chair.
Before, Hugh had remained misty and obscure. Now he was here amongst them. Fighting for his place.
Bolitho slumped down on the stern seat and stared at the glistening froth left by Achates' rudder.
Allday padded in from the dining space. 'Can I fetch you a glass, sir?' He was careful to keep his voice level.
'No, but thank you.' Bolitho twisted round to look at him. 'You are the only one who really knows me, do you understand that?'
'Sometime I do, an' then again sometime I don't, sir. By an' large I think I sees the man more'n others do.'
Bolitho lay back and breathed in the damp air. 'God, Allday, I am in hell.' But when he looked again Allday had vanished.
He watched a fish jumping astern. Who could blame Allday? He was probably ashamed of seeing his secret despair.
But Allday, as was his wont, had gone to his tiny, screened-off mess which he shared with his two friends, Jewell, the Achates' sailmaker, and the boatswain's mate Christy whom he had known in the Lysander at the Nile.
