Except that he could see nothing. It was noon when the frigate had fired, but he was standing in darkness, hands touching him, voices all round him in wild confusion.
'I'm here, sir.' It was Stayt.
Bolitho covered his eyes as the pain increased. 'I'm blind. Oh, dear God, I can't see!'
He groped out and found Stayt's arm. 'Get me below. Don't let them see me like this.' He gasped as the pain mounted. I were better killed.
6. SUPREME
CAPTAIN Valentine Keen clung to the weather netting, his eyes raw from staring into sea and wind. Even his palms felt torn from gripping the tarred nettings to keep his balance.
All night long the gale had lashed the sea into a fury of leaping crests and great torrents of water which had boiled over the gangways and hurled men from their feet like flotsam. Now, as silver-grey streaked the sky, the motion was easier; dawn had come to mock their puny efforts.
There had been no point in trying to keep station on Icarus. Like the little brig Rapid, she had been out of sight throughout the onslaught. Argonaute had laid into the wind, hove-to under a reefed maintopsail for most of the time. If the ships had attempted to remain under sail they would have been scattered miles apart before dawn.
The first lieutenant staggered towards him. 'I can get her under way again, sir.'
Keen glanced at the sailing-master in his sodden tarpaulin coat. Old Fallowfield said nothing, but it looked like a shrug.
'Very well. Pipe all hands. Change the masthead lookouts too. We'll need good eyes today if we are to re-form the squadron.'
Paget had done well, he thought, and his voice had kept the men at it from nightfall until now.
'All hands! All hands aloft to make sail!'
The yells of the petty officers and here and there the slap of a rope's end drove the battered, weary men back to the braces and yards.
Keen tugged at his neckcloth. Like the rest of him, it was sodden from spray and perhaps rain. The ship had responded better than he had expected. She was, as claimed, an excellent sailer.
He was vaguely pleased with his own efforts. He had controlled his ship throughout and the men and discipline which drove her. The deck trembled as the fore-topsail and jib were set and, flapping wetly, brought the helm under control again. Tuson would be busy. Keen had seen several hands injured. Worse, one seaman had been swept overboard, a terrible death for anyone, to watch the wind driving your ship away, your friends unable to help while you drown alone.
'Steady she goes, sir! Nor'-east by east!'
The sky was already clearing; it might even be a fine day after the night's fury. It was a strange sea, Keen thought.
'Take over the watch, Mr Paget.' Keen rubbed his sore eyes. 'As soon as the galley fire is alight, send the hands to breakfast by divisions. Tell the purser to break out a tot per man. They've earned it.'
Paget grinned. 'That'll rouse them, sir!' He turned away, obviously pleased to be left in charge with a big sea still running. Keen decided to mention him in his report; he needed a good first lieutenant, but the fleet needed those who could command.
Keen walked beneath the poop, his figure swaying in the darkness. He had not realized he was so tired and under so much strain. A scarlet coat loomed through the shadows and he saw Captain Bouteiller of the ship's Royal Marines waiting for him.
'Morning, Major.' Keen never really understood the marines although he admired them. Even the term 'major' for the officer-in-charge seemed odd.
Bouteiller said, 'I thought I should tell you myself, sir.' He had a clipped way of speaking, like a piece of equipment. 'The, er, passenger wishes to speak with you.'
Keen nodded. 'I see. When was this?'
The marine considered it. 'Two hours back, sir. You were very busy at the time.'
It was too dark to see his face, not that Bouteiller would give anything away. What was he thinking?
'Very well. Thank you.'
Keen groped his way to the small door and could almost hear the sentry holding his breath. For once guard duty would have been most welcome, he thought. Every other man and boy, even the after-guard, had been on deck fighting their natural enemy.
A lantern, shuttered low, swung from the deckhead and he saw the girl lying on the cot, one leg hanging over the side and swaying with the ship, as if it was the only part of her alive. Keen closed the door. Tuson would definitely not approve, he thought.
Very gently he took her ankle and raised her leg towards the cot. She was still wearing her shirt and breeches, and as a beam of light swung across her face Keen thought she looked incredibly young.
Then her eyes were wide open and she stared at him with terror, her fingers gripping the shirt to her throat.
Keen did not move and waited. The fear, like a stormcloud, was slowly departing.
He said, 'I am sorry. I only just heard you were asking for me. You were asleep. I would have gone-'
She pulled herself into a sitting position and peered at him. Then she reached out and touched his coat and shirt.
She whispered, 'You are soaking, Captain.'
Even the simple formality tore at Keen's heart.
He replied, 'The storm has passed over.' He watched her fingers on his lapels and wanted to seize them, to press them to his lips. Instead he said, 'Were you frightened?'
'Not as much as the other thing.' Ozzard had told him how he had found her cowering, hands pressed to her ears, while a seaman had been flogged for insubordination.
She said, 'Such a big ship and yet there were times I thought she would break apart.' She played with a lapel, her lashes lowered. 'I thought you might be worried for me. I wanted to tell you I was safe.'
Keen said, 'Thank you.' Once during the storm he had imagined her beside him in the gale, her hair streaming, her teeth white while she had laughed, had ridden the storm with the ship.
'Yes, I was worried. You are not used to this life.'
Despite his guard he pictured the convict ship, what she would be like in a storm. He knew at once the girl had read the same thought.
She said, 'I still cannot believe I am safe.' She looked up, her eyes bright and dark in turns as the lantern pivoted round. 'Am I safe?'
He saw his hands take hers and hold them. She did not protest or pull away, nor did she take her eyes from his face. 'Tell me, please.'
Keen said, 'I had hoped to put you ashore at Gibraltar as you know. Now it seems I must wait. I sent word with the courier brig, the one commanded by Sir Richard's nephew. Letters will be sent as soon as mine reaches the City. Maybe you will have to remain aboard until my ship is ordered to Malta. Part of our work here is to protect the convoys. In Malta I have friends too.' He found he was pressing her hands in time with his words. 'One thing I do know, Zenoria,' he let his voice linger over her name, 'you will not be put aboard any convict vessel. I shall see to that.'
She asked quietly, 'All this, you do it for me? You do not know me, sir, only what others have told you. You have seen me stripped and beaten like some whore.' Her chin lifted. 'But I am not.'
He said, 'I know that.'
She looked past him into the leaping shadows. 'Would you care if we were somewhere else? In London maybe, or where your wife might see us?'
Keen shook his head. 'I have never married. Once I-' She responded by holding his fingers in hers. 'But you loved somebody?'
