He tried to harden his mind, to shut out the pity he could feel and understand.
He said, 'I have sent a despatch to the main squadron. I am ordered here to withdraw certain ships for service in home waters.' He thought he saw a small gleam of hope in Warren 's faded eyes and added gently 'Frigates, not this ship. There has to be a strategy for taking and then defending Cape Town, without prolonging it, into a siege which only the Dutch can win.'
Warren said huskily, 'The army won't like that, Sir Richard. Sir David Baird is said to be a forceful general.'
Bolitho thought of the letter locked in his strongbox aboard Truculent. Not signed by some senior Secretary or Lord of Admiralty; not this time. It was signed by the King, and even though the uncharitable hinted amongst themselves that His Majesty often did not know what he was putting his signature to these days, it still held the ultimate power and opened all doors.
'I shall cross that bridge in due course. In the meantime I would like to shift to this ship.' He held up his hand as Warren made to protest. 'Your broad pendant will still fly. But as someone once said, I need room to bustle in! '
Warren held down another bout of coughing and asked, 'What must I do? You have my word that I will serve you well. And if Captain Varian has told you-'
Bolitho retorted calmly 'I have been in the King's service since I was twelve. Somewhere along the way I learned to form my own opinions.' He stood up and walked to an open port and stared along the false wooden muzzle at the nearest ship, another frigate. 'But I have to tell you, Commodore Warren, I'll not waste anyone's life, because we have not tried to do our best. Throughout the navy, loyal seamen and marines, officers too, will be shocked and disappointed that after Trafalgar, victory is not complete. In my view it will take years before the tyranny of France and her jackals is finally routed! '
He realised that Warren and the silent servant were both staring at him and that he had raised his voice.
He forced a smile. 'Now I must ask you to forgive me. It is just that I have seen so many fine ships lost, brave men dying for the wrong reasons, some cursing those who despatched them in the first place. While I direct what is to be done here, those who forget the hard lessons of war will answer to me.' He picked up his hat.
'Just as one day I will answer to God, I have no doubt.'
'A moment, Sir Richard! ' Warren seized his own hat from the black servant and followed him into the shadows of the halfdeck.
Before they reached the entry port he said in his halting tones, 'I am honoured, Sir Richard.' His voice was suddenly firmer than Bolitho had heard before. 'I am unused to this sort of work, but I will do all I can. So shall my people! '
Jenour saw Bolitho's grave smile as he walked out into the strange sunlight. It gave him a twinge of excitement, like those other times, when up to now he had been expecting a dull and undemanding role for the man he had always looked up to, even before he had laid eyes on him.
When he had told his parents in Southampton that he intended one day to personally serve Bolitho in some capacity, they had chuckled at his innocence. The chuckles had gone now. There was only the concern which was the legacy of all those with young sons away at war.
Commodore Warren walked off to seek his commander; his cut-down Themis did not warrant a flag captain apparently. Bolitho took his flag lieutenant aside.
'We are coming aboard, Stephen.' He saw no surprise on Jenour's open features. 'For the present at least. Fetch the others from Truculent… I fear that Mr Yovell will be writing throughout the night. And find a good signals midshipman aboard this ship-it does not look well to employ strangers. Tomorrow I want all captains on board at eight bells, so warn them before nightfall. Send the guardboat if you will.'
Jenour could barely keep up with him. Bolitho seemed tireless, as if his mind were breaking out of a self-made prison.
Bolitho added, 'The enemy know we are about-they have all day to watch us. I intend to discover what is happening around the Cape where the other anchorage lies. I feel the remedy may be there, rather than a hundred-mile struggle from SaldanhaBay I do not know these captains here, and there is little time to do so. As you. are aware, Stephen, in my despatch to the army I requested that the attack be delayed.'
Jenour watched the eyes, lighter grey now as he turned towards the open sea. Like the ocean itself, he thought.
He said, 'But you do not believe that the general will agree?'
Bolitho clapped him on the arm like a boyish conspirator. 'We will act independently.' His face was suddenly introspective. 'As this is a day for remembering Nelson, let us use his own words. The boldest measures are usually the safest! '
That night Bolitho sat by the stern windows of the cabin-which had once been used by no less than a governor-general, who had fled on board to escape the plague which had broken out amongst the islands he controlled-and watched the ships' riding lights with no inclination to sleep.
The air was heavy and humid, and as a guardboat pulled slowly amongst the anchored squadron, he thought instead of Cornwall, of the bitter wind on the night when she had come to him. Just over a month ago, no more; and now he was here in the shadow of Africa, and they were separated again at the whim of others.
Did they need his skills so much that they could overlook his contempt for them? Or, like Nelson, would they prefer a dead hero to a living reminder of their own failings?
The deck quivered as the anchor cable took the sudden strain of a faster current. Allday had not been very optimistic about shifting to the old sixty-four. The company had been aboard too long, pressed from passing merchantmen in the Caribbean, survivors from other vessels, even pardoned prisoners from the courts of Jamaica.
Like Warren, the ship was worn out, and suddenly thrust into a role she no longer recognised. Bolitho had seen the old swivel-gun mountings on either gangway. Not facing a possible enemy but pointing inboard, from the time when she had carried convicts and prisoners-of-war from a campaign already forgotten.
He thought he heard Ozzard pattering about in his newly-occupied pantry. So he could not sleep either. Still remembering Hyperion's last moments-or was he nursing his secret, which Bolitho had sensed before that final battle?
Bolitho yawned and gently massaged his eye. It was strange, but he could not clearly remember why Ozzard had not been on deck when they had been forced to clear the ship of the survivors and the wounded.
He thought too of his flag captain and firm friend, Valentine Keen, his face full of pain, not at his own injury but for his viceadmiral's despair.
If only you were here now, Val.
But his words went unspoken, for he had fallen asleep at last.
3. The Albacora
AN ONLOOKER, had there been one, might have compared the little topsail schooner Miranda with a giant moth. But apart from a few screaming and wheeling gulls, there was none to see her as she came about in a great welter of bursting spray, her twin booms swinging over to refill the sails on the opposite tack.
She leaned so far to leeward that the sea was spurting through her washports, rising even above her bulwark to surge along the streaming planking, or breaking over the four-pounder guns like waves on rocks.
It was wild and exhilarating, the air filled with the din of sea and banging canvas, with only the occasional shouted command, for nothing superfluous was needed here. Each man knew his work, aware of the ever-present dangers: he could be flung senseless against some immovable object to suffer a cracked skull or broken
limbs, or be pitched overboard by a treacherous wave as it burst over the bows and swept along like a mill- race. Miranda was small and very lively, and certainly no place for the unwary or the inexperienced.
Aft by the compass box her commander, Lieutenant James Tyacke, swayed and leaned with his ship, one hand in his pocket, the other gripping a slippery backstay Like his men he was soaked to the skin, his eyes raw from spray and spindrift as he watched the tilting compass card, the flapping mainsail and pendant while his command plunged again, her bowsprit pointing due south.
