'Forgive me.'
As Jenour began to follow the two flag officers aft, Keen thrust out his arm. 'Not this time, Stephen. Later perhaps.' He hesitated. 'I have just seen something I thought had died. But it's still there… like a bright flame.' The words seemed to be printed on his mind. Forgive me.
Jenour did not completely understand, and he had never been intimately acquainted with Herrick. If anything he had felt only jealousy when his name had been mentioned, because of his relationship with Bolitho, and the experiences they had shared. But like Keen, he knew he had witnessed a rare moment, and wondered how he might describe it in his next letter.
Allday was standing in the poop's shadow when Bolitho led the way to the companion ladder; around him the ship was settling down for the dog-watches and their first night at anchor. He could smell the land, and felt the same restlessness he always knew on these occasions.
But all he thought about was Herrick, and how hard it was to believe that he was the same man. Just for those few seconds when they had passed him, it had all come back: Bolitho as the young captain and Herrick the first lieutenant who had believed so passionately in his sailors' rights.
Allday shook himself and watched the first squad of marines splitting up into sentry pickets at the ship's vantage points. Poop and forecastle, and the gangways which joined them to one another, where additional heavy shot would be kept handy if some native trader or bumboat came too close during the night watches. One ball dropped through a boat's hull would soon discourage the others. The sentries were to prevent those tempted by the island from deserting. But even the fear of a flogging or worse would not put some off, he thought.
He rubbed his chest as the wound came alive again. Like the sea itself, it was always a reminder.
Always the pain.
Thomas Herrick stood by the stern windows and stared across the water towards the lights of the port.
Ozzard waited with a tray, his eyes opaque as he watched the visitor, preparing for the worst or the best, as fortune dictated.
'A drink, Thomas? We are presently well stocked, so you can have what you will.' Bolitho saw the indecision.
Herrick sat down carefully, his body still held at a stiff angle.
'I would relish some ginger beer. I've almost forgotten what it's like.'
Bolitho waited for Ozzard to bustle away and then tossed his heavy coat on to the stern bench seat.
'How long have you known, Thomas?'
Herrick's eyes moved slowly around the great cabin, remembering other visits perhaps, or the days when his own flag flew above his Benbow.
'Two days-a fast packet from England. I could scarcely believe it, and even when your ship was reported offshore I thought some fool might have made a mistake.' He lowered his head and rested it on his hand. 'When I think of all we went through…' His voice almost broke. 'I still believe it all part of a nightmare.'
Bolitho walked to his chair and rested one hand on his shoulder, as much to steady Herrick as to conceal his own sudden emotion from the returned Ozzard.
Herrick made another effort, and held the fine goblet critically to the lanterns. 'Ginger beer.' He watched the clear bubbles. 'No wonder they call these the Islands of Death. They try to pretend this is a part of England, and if they don't drink themselves into early graves, then they fall to a list of fevers that are more than a match for most of our surgeons.' He drank deeply and did not protest when Ozzard refilled the goblet.
Bolitho sat down and took a glass of the hock Catherine had had sent aboard. Ozzard had a knack of keeping such wines cool in the spacious bilges, but it was still something of a miracle how he managed-the hock tasted as if it had been lying in some icy Highland stream.
'And Lord Sutcliffe?' He spoke with care, and could feel Herrick's uncertainty and discomfort like a part of himself.
Herrick gave a shrug. 'Fever. He has been moved up to St John's-the air is better, they say, but I fear for his life. He placed me in command here until the new squadron was formed… then I was to be at the disposal of its flag officer.' The blue eyes lifted and fixed on Bolitho, regarding him steadily for the first time since he had stepped aboard. 'You, in fact, Sir Richard.'
Bolitho said, 'Richard. I'd prefer it.'
It was hard to come to grips with this new, remote Herrick, difficult to see him in either of his past guises: the earnest lieutenant, or the defiant rearadmiral who had been within a hair's breadth of death at his own court martial. There was something of each still remaining, but nothing of both as a single person.
Herrick gazed through the cabin's dimness again as from somewhere in the ship they heard the far-off calls and the thud of bare feet as watchkeepers rushed to right a wrong above or below deck.
Herrick said, 'I never thought I would miss all this after what happened. I've had a bellyful of transports- vessels under warrant with masters I personally would not trust to scrub out the heads!'
'And you have had all this to carry on your shoulders, as well as your other work here?'
Herrick did not seem to have heard. 'Your eye, Richard. Is it still as bad?'
'You've told nobody, Thomas?'
Herrick shook his head, the gesture so familiar that it turned a knife in Bolitho's heart.
'It was 'twixt friends-I've said nothing. Nor would I.' He hesitated, turning over another thought which had troubled him since Black Prince's arrival. 'The Golden Plover.' He faltered. 'I saw Keen and Jenour just now. Was- your-lady saved? Forgive me-I must ask.'
'Yes.' One wrong word or mistimed memory might break this contact forever. 'In truth, Thomas, I think that but for her we would all have been lost.' He forced a smile. 'After Golden Plover I take your point about transports under warrant!'
Herrick was on his feet, moving beneath the lanterns to throw his shadow across the tethered guns and leather-covered furniture like some restless dancer.
'I've done what I can. Without authority I have commandeered twenty schooners and cutters from here and from St Kitts. Without further authority I have swept the dockyard and barracks of lieutenants and ancient mariners, and packed them off on patrols which we cannot otherwise sustain.'
It was like watching someone coming back to life. Bolitho said quietly, 'You have my authority, Thomas.'
Herrick, reassured, reeled off all the things he had introduced to give early warning of enemy men-of-war, blockade runners or any suspicious vessel, be it slaver or genuine neutral trader.
'I've told them to stand no nonsense. If any master defies our flag he will not move freely in these waters again!' He smiled, and again his whole being changed. 'You will remember, Richard, I was in a merchantman myself between wars. I know a few of their tricks!'
'Is our frigate in harbour?'
'I sent her to Port Royal with some additional soldiers on board-another slave revolt. It was best to act with all haste.'
'So we have the squadron, seven sail of the line. And your flotilla of smaller 'eyes.''
Herrick frowned. 'Six, for the present anyway. The 74 Matchless is in dock. She was caught in a storm two weeks back and lost her foremast. It's a marvel she didn't drive ashore.'
He sounded suddenly angry, and Bolitho asked. 'Captain Mackbeath, is it not?'
'No, he was replaced after Copenhagen.' His eyes clouded over. Remembering Benbow again, all those who had died that day. 'She has a new captain now, more's the pity-the Lord Rathcullen, who seems unable to take advice about anything. But you know what they say about Irishmen, peers or otherwise.'
Bolitho smiled. 'About we Cornishmen too, on occasions!'
Herrick's eyes crinkled, and he gave a brief laugh. 'Aye, damme, I asked for that!'
'Will you sup with me tonight, Thomas?' He saw Herrick's immediate caution. 'I mean with me alone. I would take it as a favour… the land can bide awhile. We are sailors again.'
Herrick shifted in his chair. 'I had it all prepared…' He seemed, again, embarrassed and ill at ease.
'It is done. I cannot say what it means to me. We have each had our own reefs to cross, but others will look to us, and care little enough for our troubles.'
Herrick said after a silence, and rather uncertainly, 'I shall tell you my ideas if I may. When I return to my residence…' He smiled at some recollection. 'The yard-master's house in fact-frugal and without pretence-I shall work on the plan I was going to present to our new flag officer.'
