Honour This Day

doing so would also face punishment.

They had been in several single-ship actions with privateers and blockade runners, and Sinclair's unyielding discipline had, on the face of it, worked well enough to satisfy any admiral.

The master joined him at the rail and said in a low voice, 'This mist can't last much more, Mr Wright.' He sounded anxious. 'We could be miles off course by now. I'm not happy about it.'

They both looked at the gundeck as a low groan made the men on watch glance uneasily at each other.

Like all the other ships in the squadron La Mouette was short of fresh water. Captain Sinclair had ordered it to be severely rationed for all ranks, and two days ago had cut the ration still further. Wright had suggested they might call at some island provided there was no sign of an enemy, if only to replenish a portion of the water supply. Sinclair had studied him coldly. 'I am ordered to seek information about the French, Mr Wright. I cannot spare any time for spoonfeeding the people merely because their lot is not to their taste!'

Wright stared at the man by the larboard gangway. He was quite naked, his legs braced apart by irons, his arms tied back to a gun so that he looked as if he had been crucified. The man occasionally rolled his head from side to side, but his tongue was too swollen in his blistered mouth to make sense of his pleas.

Aboard any King's ship a thief was despised. The justice meted out by the lower deck against such an offender was often far harsher than that of a proper authority.

The seaman McNamara had stolen a gallon of fresh water one night, when a Royal Marine sentry had been called away by the officer-of-the-watch.

He had been caught by a boatswain's mate, drinking the rancid water in secret while his messmates had slept in their hammocks.

Everyone had expected his punishment to be severe, especially as McNamara was a regular defaulter, but Sinclair's reaction had taken even the most hardened sailor aback. For five days he had been in irons on the upper deck, in blazing sunlight, and in the chill of the night. Naked, and in his own filth, he had been doused with salt water by other hands under punishment, to clean up the deck rather than afford him any relief from his torment.

Sinclair had turned up the hands to read the relevant sections of the Articles of War, and had ended by saying that McNamara would be awarded three dozen lashes when the example of his theft was completed.

Wright shivered. It seemed unlikely that McNamara would live long enough to face the flogging.

The master hissed, 'Cap'n's comin' up, Mr Wright.'

It was like that. Whispers. Fear. Smouldering hatred for the man who ruled their daily lives.

Sinclair, neatly dressed, his hand resting on his sword hilt, strode first to the compass, then to the quarterdeck rail to study the set of any visible sails.

'Nor'-west-by-west, sir!'

Sinclair waited as Wright made his report, then said, 'Direct a boy to fetch your hat, Mr Wright.' He smiled faintly. 'This is a King's ship, not a Bombay trader!'

Wright flushed. 'I'm sorry, sir. This heat -'

'Quite.' Sinclair waited until a ship's boy had been sent below for the hat and remarked, 'Deuced if I know how much longer I can waste time like this.'

The wretched man on the gundeck gave another groan. It sounded as if he was choking on his tongue.

Sinclair snapped, 'Keep that man silent! God damn his eyes, I'll have him seized up and put to the lash here and now if I hear another squeak from him!' He looked aft. 'Bosun's mate! See to it! I'll have no bleatings from that bloody thief!'

Wright wiped his lips with his wrist. They felt dry and raw.

'It is five days, sir.'

'I too keep a log, Mr Wright.' He moved to the opposite side and peered down at the water as it glided past. 'It may help others to think twice before they follow his miserable example!'

Sinclair added suddenly, 'My orders are to rendezvous with the squadron.' He shrugged, the dying seaman apparently forgotten. 'The meeting is overdue, thanks to this damnable weather. Doubtless Rear-Admiral Herrick will send someone to seek us out.'

Wright saw the boatswain's mate merge with the swirling mist as he hurried towards the naked man. It made him feel sick just to imagine what it must be like. Sinclair was wrong about one thing. The anger of the ship's company had already swung to sympathy. The torture was bad enough. But Sinclair had stripped McNa-mara of any small dignity he might have held. Had left him in his own excrement like a chained animal, humiliated before his own messmates.

The captain was saying, 'I'm not at all sure that our gallant admiral knows what he is about.' He moved restlessly along the rail. 'Too damn cautious by half, if you ask me.'

'Sir Richard Bolitho will have his own ideas, sir.'

'I wonder.' Sinclair sounded faraway. 'He will combine the squadrons, that is my opinion, and then -' He looked up, frowning at the interruption as a voice called, 'Mist's clearin', sir!'

'God damn it, make a proper report!' Sinclair turned to his first lieutenant. 'If the wind gets up, I want every stitch of canvas on her. So call all hands. Those idlers need work to keep their fingers busy!'

Sinclair could not restrain his impatience and strode along the starboard gangway, which ran above a battery of cannon and joined quarterdeck to forecastle. He paused amidships and looked across at the naked man. McNamara's head was hanging down. He could be dead.

Sinclair called, 'Rouse that scum! You, use your starter, man!'

The boatswain's mate stared up at him, shocked at the captain's brutality.

Sinclair put his hands on his hips and eyed him with contempt.

'Do it, or by God you'll change places with him!'

Wright was thankful as the hands came running to halliards and braces. The muffled stamp of bare feet at least covered the sound of the rattan across McNamara's shoulders.

The second lieutenant came hurrying aft and said to the master, 'Lively, into the chartroom. We shall be expected to fix our position as soon as we sight land!'

Wright pursed his lips as the master's mate of the watch reported the hands ready to make more sail.

If there was no land in sight, God help them all, he thought despairingly.

He watched some weak sunshine probing through the mist and reaching along the topsail yards, then down into the milky water alongside.

The leadsman cried out again, 'No bottom, sir!'

Wright found that he was clenching his ringers so tightly that he had cramp in both hands. He watched the captain at the forward end of the gangway, one hand resting on the packed hammock nettings. A man without a care in the world, anyone might think.

'Deck there! Sail on the weather bow!'

Sinclair strode aft again, his mouth in a thin line.

Wright ran his finger round his neckcloth. 'We'll soon know, sir.' Of course, the lookout would be able to see the other ship now, if only her topgallant yards above the creeping mist.

The lookout shouted again, 'She's English, sir! Man-o'-war!'

'Who is that fool up there?' Sinclair glared into the swirling mist.

Wright answered, 'Tully, sir. A reliable seaman:'

'Hmph. He had better be.'

More sunlight exposed the two batteries of guns, the neatly flaked lines, the pikes in their rack around the mainmast, perfectly matched like soldiers on parade. No wonder the admiral had been impressed, Wright thought.

Sinclair said sharply, 'Make sure our number is bent on and ready to hoist, Mr Wright. I'll have no snooty post- captain finding fault with my signals.'

But the signals midshipman, an anxious-looking youth, was already there with his men. You never fell below the captain's standards more than once.

The foretopsail bellied out from its yard and the master exclaimed, 'Here it comes at last!'

'Man the braces there!' Sinclair pointed over the rail. 'Take that man's name, Mr Cox! God damn it, they are like cripples today!'

The wind tilted the hull, and Wright saw spray lift above the beakhead. Already the mist was floating ahead,