'My cox'n told me, sir. Old Hogg is a solid fellow and cares for little in this world but himself and, I believe, for me. Also Allday confides in him occasionally.' Water laced the stern windows and Bolitho tried not to think of Inch being swayed down into a lively boat for the crossing. A sudden shock could kill a man in his condition.
Keen said, 'It seems that young Bankart believed Allday would soon quit the sea after being wounded so badly at San Felipe. He had learned of his life in Falmouth with you, sir, of his security there. He wanted to share it. He had had enough of farm work, and a life at sea didn't appear to satisfy him even though he is a volunteer.' He watched Bolitho's profile and asked, 'Can we be certain that Bankart is his son, sir?'
Bolitho smiled. 'If you had known Allday when he first came aboard my ship, Phalarope, that was twenty years ago, remember, you'd not need to ask. He is exactly like him, in looks anyway.'
Keen stood up as the bell chimed out from the forecastle. 'As his captain I shall deal with it, sir. It might be better if he is discharged when we reach England.'
They stared at each other, startled by the word. England.
Bolitho looked away. It seemed likely they might never see green fields again.
'I shall speak to Allday myself, Val. A troubled man is often the first to fall in battle.'
Keen raised his head to listen to the sounds on deck.
He said, 'You brought the squadron together today, sir. I watched the others and saw the pride coming back to them.'
Bolitho shrugged. 'I should have been with them, with Inch. But recriminations will not give him back an arm.'
He heard a sudden wave of cheering and said, 'We'll go on deck. This will be an ordeal for Inch.'
Keen hurried beside him. 'I'll tell Mr Paget to stop the hands from doing it!'
Bolitho shook his head. 'No. Let them.'
On the quarterdeck Bolitho saw Big Harry Rooke, the boatswain, supervising the tackle on a chair to sway Inch's cot over the side. Across the water the listing Helicon was pitching heavily in the swell, her gangway lined with tiny faces as they watched the slow-moving boat which approached the flagship with such care. Bolitho adjusted his swordbelt and tugged his hat down over his forehead.
Another familiar face, broken with pain. Another of the Happy Few, who even if he defied death would never be the same again.
Paget looked at his superiors. 'Ready, sir.'
Bolitho stepped forward, 'Man the side, if you please.' He walked to the entry port and leaned out to watch the approaching boat. He did not hold on, and knew the risk he took for such a small gesture.
He heard the Royal Marines guard picking up their dressing from Sergeant Blackburn, the hiss of steel as Captain Bouteiller drew his spadroon.
He saw the boatswain's mates moistening their silver calls on their tongues while the tackle took the strain and all cheering stopped dead.
Keen looked at Bolitho, framed against the heavy swell. He knew what this moment was costing him. But Keen's voice was steady as he called, 'Stand by on deck!' He saw Bolitho turn to look at him, their eyes understanding as they had in the cabin. 'Prepare to receive Helicons captain!'
After the din of calls and commands, as the cot was manhandled towards the poop, Bolitho took Inch's hand and said quietly, 'Welcome aboard, Captain Inch.'
Inch tried to grin but looked very pale and suddenly older. He said in a hoarse whisper, 'Please let me see my ship.'
They carried him to the gangway and Tuson himself cradled Inch's shoulders so that he could look at the distant seventy-four with her pathetic scraps of sail.
Inch said slowly, 'I'll not see that old lady again.'
Tuson wanted to look away, surprised that he could still be moved by such men and such moments.
Bolitho watched as the little procession was swallowed up in the poop and then said, 'And we'll not see his like again, either.'
He swung away and added bitterly, 'Get the ship under way. Signal the squadron to take station on the flag as ordered.'
If anything, Keen thought, Inch's presence aboard would be a reminder and a warning to them all.
On the larboard side of Argonautes orlop deck, in the tiny berth which he shared with Mannoch, the sailmaker, Allday moved a flickering lantern closer to his handiwork. Allday was big and powerfully built, and his fists made a cutlass look like a midshipman's dirk, but the model which he had half completed was as delicate as it was perfect. Wood, bone, even human hairs had been used to fashion it, but Allday was ever critical of his work. He had made models of every ship in which he had served with Bolitho, and on occasions he had produced more than one.
He cradled the little ship in one palm and turned it slowly before the lantern. It was a seventy-four, and he grunted with grudging approval as the ship it represented quivered and murmured around him.
Down on the orlop, which never saw the light of day, the air was always thick. In the small berth it was still heavy from the sailmaker's rum. He was a marvel at his work and could run up a sail or a suit of clothes with equal skill. But he loved his tot and was known by his crew as Old Grog Mannoch.
Allday shifted his buttocks on his hard sea-chest and thought of Bolitho, two decks above his head. It had been painful to watch him when the bandages had first come off; now it was hard to tell the extent of his injury and he rarely mentioned it any more. He heard Tuson laugh, and his assistant Carcaud say something in return. The sickbay was just a few yards away on the opposite side. A place to avoid at all costs. They were playing chess by the sound of it. Inch had been given an empty cabin elsewhere. The air down on the orlop could kill a man in his state, Allday decided.
He recalled the girl as he had last seen her with her shorn hair and borrowed clothes. There had been a nasty moment when they had headed for the Falmouth packet at Malta: one of the guard-boats had passed almost directly alongside. He had threatened his boat's crew with a quilting if one of them had said a word about it. Some of them had not even noticed. One midshipman was much like another in the dark.
It had made Allday think seriously about getting married himself. He grinned silently. Who would want an old bugger like me?
There was a tap on the narrow door and he looked up, surprised to see Bankart looking at him. 'Yes?'
'I'd like to talk a spell, if it's all right?'
Allday shifted along the chest to make room. 'What about?'
He looked at the youngster's features and remembered his mother. A clean, fresh girl. He had even thought of wedding her at the time. There had been so many of them, different faces, in many ports. The landlord's daughter of the inn near Bolitho's home was the only one who still held a firm place in his thoughts. He had thought her too young, but after what had happened to Captain Keen, well, you never know.
Bankart blurted out, 'I don't want bad blood between us.' He would not look at him. Like Allday, he was stubborn, and surprised that he had come to this place at all.
'Spit it out then.' Allday watched him sternly. 'An' no lies.'
Bankart doubled his fists. 'You may be me father, but-'
Allday nodded. 'I know. I'm not used to it. Sorry, son.'
The youth stared at him. 'Son,' he repeated quietly.
Then he said, 'You was right about me. I wanted to get ashore, to come to where you was.' He looked at him, his eyes bright. 'I wanted a 'ome, a real one.' He shook his head despairingly. 'No, don't stop me or I'll never get it out. I wanted it 'cause I was sick of bein' chased an' cheated. I'd always sort of looked up to you, 'cause of what me Mum said an' told me 'bout you. I joined up as a volunteer 'cause it seemed the proper thing to do, like you, y'see?'
Allday nodded, the model ship forgotten.
'Then Mum died. Best thing for 'er, it was. They wore 'er out, the bastards. I wanted somethin' of me own, so I got a mate to write to you. We was told you were leavin' the sea.' He looked at the deck. 'It was a 'ome I wanted more'n a father.' When he looked up again he exclaimed, 'I can't 'elp bein' afraid. I'm not like the others! I never seen men killed like that afore!'
Allday gripped his wrist. 'Easy, son. The sawbones'll be comin' to see what's up.' He groped behind the chest and brought up a stone bottle and two mugs. ''Ave a wet.'
