Sheaffe hesitated and then sat on the deck near Bolitho.
He said, 'If this does not disturb you, sir?'
Bolitho looked towards his voice. 'Your company is welcome, believe me.' He leaned against the companion- way and tried not to anticipate the next wave of pain.
Sheaffe had his knees drawn up to his chin and was instantly asleep.
Bankart crouched down and whispered, 'I've brought you some wine, sir.' He waited for Bolitho's fingers to grip the goblet. 'Mr Okes sent it.'
Bolitho sipped it. Strong, rich Madeira. He drank it slowly, let it run through him, restore him. He could not remember when he had last eaten; perhaps that was why the wine seemed so potent. He touched his face below the bandage. Several cuts and some dried blood. He needed a shave badly. He tried to smile. Allday would soon see to that. Big and powerful like an oak, yet he was as gentle as a child when need be. Both Bolitho and Keen had good reason to remember it.
'What is it like to discover your father, Bankart?'
The question seemed to shock him. 'Well, it's fine, sir, it really is, like. My mother'd never tell me, y'see, sir. I always knew 'e were in the Navy, sir.'
'That was why you volunteered?'
There was a long pause. 'I suppose it were, sir.'
Bankart poured him another goblet of wine, and when Sheaffe was roused to take charge of the jolly-boat again and take up the tow Bolitho barely stirred.
Okes left his helmsmen and walked over to the companion-way. He was satisfied with what he saw.
Hallowes asked, 'Is he asleep at last?'
Okes fumbled with a red handkerchief and blew his nose loudly.
'Aye, sir. So 'e should, arter what I put in 'is Madeira!'
Bolitho felt a hand on his arm and twisted round with sudden fear as his senses returned.
Stayt said, 'First light, sir.'
Bolitho touched his bandage and tried not to show his pain. 'How do I look?'
Stayt sounded as if he was smiling. 'I've seen you somewhat better, sir.' He took Bolitho's hand. 'I've got a bowl of warm water and a towel of sorts.'
Bolitho nodded, grateful and ashamed as he dabbed his mouth and face with the wet towel. Such a simple thing and it was unlikely that Stayt realized how it had moved him.
'Tell me what's happening?'
Stayt thought about it. 'I reckon we're about a mile from where we set out, sir.' He sounded neither bitter nor even surprised. 'We're in some shallows at the moment-' He broke off as the leadsman called, 'By th' mark three!'
Bolitho forgot his pain and dragged himself to his feet. Three fathoms of water and a mile from their last anchorage. He felt the wind on his cheek and heard the splash of boats as his head rose above the bulwark. One of the coxswains was calling out the time for the stroke. The oarsmen must be worn out, he thought.
'Is it really light?'
Stayt said, 'I can see that bluff, sir, and just make out the horizon. Sky's a bit angry. Could be in for a blow, I'm thinking.'
Hallowes was calling, 'Rouse the hands! I'm going to make sail.'
Okes replied, 'No choice, sir. Them boats are useless now.'
The deck lifted on a swell and Bolitho felt a catch in his throat. The open sea was waiting for them.
The cranking pumps, the tattered sails, nothing would stop them once they found sea room. Room to bustle in.
Stayt was watching him and saw him give a small smile.
Hallowes said, 'Recall the boats. Be ready to shake out the mains'l! Get the topmen to report on damage now that they can see it!' He was speaking quickly, sharply.
Bolitho had known such moments many times. Covering doubts and uncertainties, to show confidence when there was little.
A call shrilled and someone gave a mocking cheer as the lines to the boats were slacked off and the oarsmen slumped over their looms.
'By th' mark five!'
Hallowes rubbed his hands. 'We'll show 'em!' Who, Bolitho wondered?
Men charged past him hauling on tackles as first one boat and then the other was hoisted into position on the tier.
The cutter seemed to stir herself and Bolitho wished he could watch as men swarmed to their stations. Somewhere overhead a sail cracked out noisily in the damp air.
'Shallows ahead! Fine on the starboard bow!'
'Hell's teeth!' Hallowes yelled. 'Stand by to let go the anchor!'
Okes said in a harsh whisper, 'Belay that, sir! We'll swing round an' strike if we does!'
Hallowes sounded confused, 'If you believe-'
But Okes was already acting and thinking. 'Let 'er come up a point! Steady as she goes!' He must have cupped his hands, Bolitho thought as his voice boomed along the deck, 'Set the jib, Thomas!'
'Here we go again.' Stayt sounded dangerously cool. 'Shallows, the lookout said. I can see breakers, for Christ's sake.' He added, 'Forgive me, sir. I am not used to this.'
Bolitho lifted his chin as if to see some light beneath his bandage. There was only darkness.
'Nor I.'
Okes barked, 'Now, lee helm!'
Bolitho heard several shouts and a clatter of rigging as, with a fierce jerk, Supreme surged into a bar. Gear torn loose in the one-sided fight rolled about the deck and a four-pounder reared up on its trucks as if it had come to life. The grinding, shaking motion continued for what seemed like an age, with Okes coaxing his helmsmen or throwing an occasional instruction to his petty officers.
The shaking stopped and after a while a voice called, 'Pumps are still holding it, sir!'
Stayt said between his teeth, 'A damned miracle. There were rocks an arm's length abeam but we hit only sand!'
'Deep six!' The leadsman must have been nearly hurled from his precarious perch, Bolitho thought. But they were through.
'Loose tops'!!'
Once in open water nothing could catch the cutter even with her damaged hull.
Men were calling to one another, the fear and the danger forgotten or put aside for this moment in their lives.
Stayt said, 'Our surgeon will know what to do, sir. As soon as we sight-'
He broke off and gasped, 'It can't be!'
The lookout called, 'Sail, sir! Fine on th' weather bow!'
Bolitho heard Stayt murmur. 'It's the frigate, sir.'
Bolitho was almost glad he could not see their stricken faces. The French captain had not been so overconfident that he had waited around the headland. While Hallowes' men had toiled at their oars, the Frenchman had spent his night clawing to windward and towards the bluff where he had first appeared. Now he held the wind- gage and was sweeping down on them, with only his braced topsails visible against the dawn horizon.
Bolitho did not need Stayt to describe it. He could see the hopelessness of it as if he were seeing it through Hallowes' eyes.
Another mile and they could have lifted their coat-tails and run from the frigate's guns. But they were still on a lee shore despite the change of wind, and the two vessels were converging on some invisible rendezvous. No escape this time.
Hallowes shouted, 'Run up the Colours, Thomas! Have the guns loaded and run out!'
As men ran to obey Bolitho was conscious of the other silence. No yells or threats, certainly not a cheer. Men facing certain death could still work well, but their minds would be elsewhere, seeking refuge with a memory, which
