Honour This Day

navy of over-imbibing. That could so often lead to disgrace at the court martial table.

It was too easy to see himself in those first black days at Falmouth, where he had returned there expecting – expecting what? How could he plead dismay and bitterness when truthfully his heart had remained m the church with Cheney?

How still the house had been as he had moved restlessly through the deepening shadows, the candles he held aloft in one hand playing on those stern-faced portraits he had known since he was Elizabeth's age.

He had awakened with his forehead resting on a table amidst puddles of spilled wine, his mouth like a birdcage, his mind disgusted. He had stared at the empty bottles, but could not even remember dragging them from the cellar. The household must have known, and when Ferguson had come to him he had seen that he was fully dressed from the previous day and must have been prowling and searching for a way to help. Bolitho had had to force the truth out of Allday, for he could not recall ordering him out of the house, to leave him alone with his misery. He suspected he had said far worse; he had later heard that Allday had also drunk the night away in the tavern where the innkeeper's daughter had always waited for him, and hoped.

He glanced up and realised that the other officer was speaking to him.

Commodore Aubrey Glassport, Commissioner of the Dockyard in Antigua, and until Hyperion's anchor had dropped, the senior naval officer here, was explaining the whereabouts and dispersal of the local patrols.

'With a vast sea area, Sir Richard, we are hard put to chase and detain blockade-runners or other suspect vessels. The French and their Spanish allies, on the other hand -'

Bolitho pulled a chart towards him. The same old story. Not enough frigates, too many ships-of-the-lme ordered elsewhere to reinforce the fleets in the Channel and Mediterranean.

For over an hour he had examined the various reports, the results which had to be set against the days and weeks of patrolling the countless islands and inlets. Occasionally a more daring captain would risk life and limb to break into an enemy anchorage and either cut out a prize or carry out a swift bombardment. It made good reading. It did little to cripple a superior enemy. His mouth hardened. Superior in numbers only.

Glassport took his silence for acceptance and rambled on. He was a round, comfortable man, with sparse hair, and a moon-face which told more of good living than fighting the elements or the French.

He was to have been retired long since, Bolitho had heard, but he had a good rapport with the dockyard so had been kept here Judging by his cellar he obviously carried his good relations to the victualling masters as well.

Glassport was saying, 'I am fully aware of your past achievements, Sir Richard, and how honoured I am to have you visit my command. I believe that when you were first here, America too was active against us, with many privateers as well as the French fleet.'

'The fact we are no longer at war with America does not necessarily remove the threat of involvement, nor the increasing danger of their supplies and ships to the enemy.' He put down the chart. 'In the next few weeks I want each patrol to be contacted. Do you have a courier-brig here at present?' He watched the man's sudden uncertainty and astonishment. The upending of his quiet, comfortable existence. 'I shall need to see each captain personally. Can you arrange it⁵'

'Well, er, ahem – yes, Sir Richard.'

'Good.' He picked up the glass and studied the sunlight reflected m its stem. If he moved it very slightly to the left – he waited, sensing Yovell's eyes watching, Jenour's curiosity.

He added, 'I was told that His Majesty's Inspector General is still in the Indies?'

Glassport muttered wretchedly, 'My flag lieutenant will know exactly what -'

Bolitho tensed as the glass's shape blurred over. Like a filmy curtain. It had come more quickly, or was it preying on his mind so much that he was imagining the deterioration?

He exclaimed, 'A simple enough question, I'd have thought. Is he, or is he not''

Bolitho looked down at the hand in his lap and thought it should be shaking. Remorse, anger; it was neither. Like the moment on the jetty when he had turned on Jenour.

He said more calmly, 'He has been out here for several months, I believe' He looked up, despairing that his eye might mist over once more.

Glassport replied, 'Viscount Somervell is staying here in Antigua.' He added defensively, 'I trust he is satisfied with his findings.'

Bolitho said nothing. The Inspector General might have been just one more burden to the top-hamper of war. It seemed absurd that someone with such a high-sounding appointment should be employed on a tour of inspection in the West Indies, when England, standing alone against France and the fleets of Spam, was daily expecting an invasion.

Bolitho's instructions from the Admiralty made it clear that he was to meet with the Viscount Somervell without delay, if it meant moving immediately to another island, even to Jamaica.

But he was here. That was something.

Bolitho was feeling weary. He had met most of the dockyard officers and officials, had inspected two topsail cutters which were being completed for naval service, and had toured the local batteries, with Jenour and Glassport finding it hard to keep up with his pace.

He smiled wryly. He was paying for it now.

Glassport watched him sip the hock before saying, 'There is a small reception for you this evening, Sir Richard.' He seemed to falter as the grey eyes lifted to him again. 'It hardly measures up to the occasion, but it was arranged only after your, er, flagship was reported.'

Bolitho noted the hesitation. Just one more who doubted his choice of ship.

Glassport must have feared a possible refusal and scampered on, 'Viscount Somervell will be expecting you.'

'I see.' He glanced at Jenour. 'Inform the Captain.' As the lieutenant made to excuse himself from the room Bolitho said, 'Send a message with my cox'n. I need you with me.'

Jenour stared, then nodded. He was learning a lot today.

Bolitho waited for Yovell to bring the next pile of papers to the table. A far cry from command, the day-to-day running of a ship and her affairs. Every ship was like a small town, a family even. He wondered how Adam was faring with his new command. All he could find as an answer to his thought was envy. Adam was exactly like he had been. More reckless perhaps, but with the same doubtful attitude to his seniors.

Glassport watched him as he leafed through the papers while Yovell stooped politely above his right shoulder.

So this was the man behind the legend. Another Nelson, some said. Though God alone knew Nelson was not very popular in high places. He was the right man to command a fleet. Necessary, but afterwards? He studied Bolitho's lowered head, the loose lock above his eye. A grave, sensitive face, he thought, hard to picture in the battles he had read about. He knew Bolitho had been badly wounded several times, that he had almost died of a fever, although he did not know much about it.

A Knight of the Bath, from a fine old seafaring family, looked on as a hero by the people of England. All the things which Glassport would like to be and to have.

So why had he come to Antigua' There was little or no prospect of a fleet action, and provided they could get reinforcements for the various flotillas, and a replacement for – He wilted as Bolitho touched on that very point, as if he had looked up quickly to see right into his mind with those steady, compelling grey eyes.

'The Dons took the frigate Consort from us?' It sounded like an accusation.

'Two months back, Sir Richard. She drove aground under fire. One of my schooners was able to take off most of her company before the enemy stood against her. The schooner did well, I thought that -'

'The Consort's captain?'

'At St. John's, Sir Richard. He is awaiting the convenience of a court martial.'

'Is he indeed.' Bolitho stood up and turned as Jenour re-entered the room. 'We are going to St. John's.'

Jenour swallowed hard. 'If there is a carriage, Sir Richard -' He looked at Glassport as if for guidance.

Bolitho picked up his sword. 'Two horses, my lad.' He tried to hide his sudden excitement. Or was it merely trailing a coat to draw him from his other anxiety? 'You are from Hampshire, nghtr

Jenour nodded. 'Yes. That is -'

'It's settled then. Two horses immediately.'