The midshipman of the watch hurried across the deck and touched his hat nervously.
Keen looked at him. He was new to the ship as well.
The boy stammered, 'Sir, there is a boat putting off from the yard.'
Keen shaded his eyes again and stared across the nettings. One of the shipyard's own boats was already pulling towards the anchored two-decker. Keen saw the sunlight glint on the gold epaulettes and cocked hat and felt something like panic.
Trust Bolitho not to wait for his barge to be sent across. So he was that eager to get on with the mission, right or wrong.
He kept his face impassive as he said, 'My compliments to the officer of the watch, Mr er… er…'
'Puxley, sir.'
'Well, Mr Puxley, pipe for the side-party and guard.' He stopped the boy as he made to run for the ladder. 'Walk, Mr Puxley!'
Pascoe turned aside to hide a smile. Bolitho had probably said as much to Keen when he had been a grubby midshipman. He certainly did to me.
As the boatswain's mates ran between decks and their calls shrilled like trapped birds, the marines stamped to the entry port, their scarlet coats and white cross-belts in stark contrast to the bustling seamen.
Keen beckoned to the officer of the watch and said curtly, 'And Mr Mountsteven, I would trouble you to keep a weather-eye open for your betters in future.'
Pascoe straightened his hat and tucked some of his rebellious hair beneath it. Bolitho had probably said that too.
Keen walked to the entry port and looked towards the boat. He could see Bolitho sitting in the stern-sheets, that old sword clasped firmly between his knees. To see him join any ship without the family sword would be like sacrilege, he thought.
There was Allday too, massive and watchful as he eyed the boat's crew with obvious displeasure. What had Pascoe's predecessor, the Hon. Oliver Browne, called the squadron? We Happy Few. There were very few of them now. Keen glanced at the big red ensign which flapped only occasionally from the poop. But there were enough.
Achates' first lieutenant, Matthew Quantock, a tall, heavy-jowled Manxman, watched the boat and then said, 'All ready, sir.'
'Thank you, Mr Quantock.'
In his few weeks aboard while the overhaul was completed and he had gone through every list, log and book which concerned the ship, Keen had felt his way with care. It was not as if he was new to command. But to this ship's company he was different. A stranger. Until he had won their respect he would take nothing and nobody for granted.
The first lieutenant glanced at the signals midshipman by the foremast and said almost to himself, 'I'll lay odds Old Katie never expected to be a flagship, sir.'
Keen smiled. He had learned something new. Old Katie. A ship with a nickname was usually a happy one.
The boat hooked on to the main chains and Captain Dewar of the Royal Marines drew his sword. The thin rasp of steel never failed to touch Keen. Like a memory. A chord of battle.
Keen looked at his command. All the idlers had drawn away from the entry port, and even the hands working on the yards high above the deck were motionless as they peered at the little scene below.
The small marine fifers raised their instruments, the boatswain's mates moistened their silver calls on their tongues.
Keen stepped forward, proud, nervous, apprehensive; it was all and none of these things.
Bolitho's cocked hat appeared above the scrubbed grating and as the calls shrilled and twittered Captain Dewar roared, 'Royal Marines! Present arms!’
On the last command, as the pipe-clay hovered in a pale cloud above the slapped musket-slings, the fifers broke into Heart of Oak.
Bolitho removed his hat to the quarterdeck and then smiled at Keen.
Together they turned to watch as the Union Flag broke smartly from the foremast.
Bolitho gripped Keen's hand. 'They do you credit.'
Keen answered, 'And you us, sir.'
Bolitho looked at the stiff faces of the marine guard, the nervous watchfulness of some midshipmen. In time he would know most of them, and they him. He was back, and the green swathe of coastline was only part of a memory.
*
Bolitho tugged his shirt away from his skin and then put his signature to yet another letter which Yovell, his plump clerk, had prepared for him.
He glanced around the spacious stern cabin. It was larger than he had expected in a ship of some thirteen hundred tons.
Ozzard, his little servant, poured some fresh coffee and bustled away to the adjoining pantry. If he was sorry to be leaving the security of the Bolitho house in Falmouth he did not show it. He was an odd bird, who had once been a lawyer's clerk before he had chosen the uncertain life in a King's ship. Some said he had done so to avoid the gallows, but he was worth his weight in gold to Bolitho.
He looked at Keen who was standing by the open stern windows. His good looks and elegant manner revealed nothing of the competent sea officer he really was.
'Well, Val, what do you make of it?'
Keen turned towards him, his face in shadow from the hard sunlight.
'I have studied the chart and appreciate the value of San Felipe in time of war. Whoever commands there is in a strong position.' He shrugged. 'A great lagoon, a fortress on high ground which can control the approaches, the town too if need be. I can see no sense in giving it to the French.'
He thought Pascoe was smiling at his words and added, 'But I assume their lordships know more than I do.'
Bolitho chuckled. 'Do not rely on it, Val.'
The coffee was good. Bolitho felt surprisingly fresh and rested after his first night aboard. The journey had been tiring, the many pauses along the way to take refreshment, to sleep or to change horses had been even more so as he had thought of Belinda and what she had come to mean to him.
But the feel of a ship around him had awakened him also.
The smells of tar and fresh paint, cordage and the packed world of Achates' five hundred officers, seamen and marines was something he could not ignore, nor did he wish to.
Achates was a well-found ship, and from what he had already discovered held a record second to none. Perhaps
Admiral Sheaffe's choice had been the right one after all. A small sixty-four instead of a proud squadron which might intimidate the Americans and the French alike.
He said, 'I have already sent word to Captain Duncan at Plymouth. He will sail direct to San Felipe in his Sparrow-hawk without delay.'
It was easy to picture Duncan 's bluff red face as he read his orders. He too would be glad to get away before his frigate was paid off into oblivion. Duncan had also been with Bolitho's squadron. It was like knowing Keen in some ways, he thought. They were extensions of his own mind and ideas.
That was something which he still found hard to accept. No longer did he have to wait for the written word from his flag-officer. No more did he need to fret over the uncertainty or unfairness of his place in affairs. Now the decision as to when and how to act was his. So too the final responsibility.
He added, ' Duncan 's presence at San Felipe may lessen the shock for the inhabitants there. I doubt if the governor will see it in the same way as Parliament.'
Ozzard tiptoed across the cabin and waited for Bolitho to notice his mole-like figure. Even his hands dangled at
