Richard…' He made as if to reach out, then suddenly screwed his eyes tightly shut and said quietly, 'I'll lose my hand, won't I?'
Bolitho saw the surgeon nod. It was almost curt, as if he had already decided. He looked at Minchin. 'Well?'
The surgeon sat down on a chest. 'It has to be done, sir.' He faltered. To the elbow.'
Herrick gasped. 'Oh, my God! '
'Are you certain?' Bolitho glanced at the surgeon's reddened features.
Minchin nodded. 'As soon as possible, sir. Otherwise…' He did not need to continue.
Bolitho put his hand gently on Herrick's shoulder. 'Is there anything I can do?'
Herrick opened his eyes and said, 'I have failed you.'
Bolitho tried to smile. 'No, Thomas. Think of yourself. Try to hold on.'
Herrick stared up at him. He had been washed and shaved and to a stranger would appear quite normal. He peered at the blood-stained bandages on his broken hand.
'Send the telescope to my sister… if I can't fight it, Richard.'
Bolitho looked back from the door. 'You will fight it. And win, too.'
The walk to the cabin seemed endless. To Allday he said, 'I have a favour to ask, old friend.'
Allday nodded his shaggy head, and rolled up the leather cloth in which he carried his knives and the sail maker twine he used for rigging his ship models.
'Never fear, Sir Richard, I'll stay with him.' He watched the pain in Bolitho's eyes. 'I'll tell you if anything happens.'
'Thank you.' He touched his powerful arm but was unable to say more.
Allday watched him approach the door, where the sentry was already as stiff as a rammer in spite of the heavy motion.
Once through the door, face to face with his assembled captains, he would show nothing of his private despair. Allday was certain of it. What did they know? All they wanted was glory and someone to lead and protect them.
Ozzard came through the door and Allday said roughly, 'You got some brandy, Tom? The best stuff?'
Ozzard studied him. Not for himself then. This was different.
'I'll fetch it for you, John.'
'I'll have a wet me self afterwards.'
Afterwards. The finality of the word seemed to linger long after Allday had gone below.
Captain Adam Bolitho glanced at his reflection in the cabin mirror and frowned as he tugged his waistcoat into place and adjusted the sword at his hip. Anemone was plunging badly in the quarter-sea, and the cabin's heavy humidity warned of rain quite soon. Not rain as over the fields and villages of Cornwall, but heavy, mind-dulling deluges which could often pass away from a ship before any worthwhile drinking water had been saved. But he could leave that to his first lieutenant.
Adam Bolitho hated the ritual of a flogging, although to most sailors it was something that could never be permanently avoided. Perhaps this one had been the result of the endless patrols, sighting nothing unless it was a courier-brig or some trader trying to stay friendly. with both sides in a war he did not understand. Boredom, disappointment after losing their prizes to the enemy when before they had cheered, a close company at least until the news had been passed to them by a naval cutter on the anti-slavery patrol: Anemone's people were restless and surly. Sail and gun drills could no longer contain their frustration, and their eager expectation of close combat with the real enemy had given way to a sullen resentment.
The man in question had struck a petty officer after an argument about a change of duties. At other times Adam would have demanded an enquiry into the incident, but in this case the petty officer was an experienced and unusually patient seaman. Adam had known the reverse many times, when authority was abused even by officers, and the resulting discipline was unjust although administered in the name of duty.
The sailor was a land man one of those pressed off Portsmouth Point who, despite several threats, had remained a rebel, a lower-deck lawyer as Adam had heard his uncle describe such men.
There was a tap at the door and the first lieutenant looked into the cabin, his expression vaguely surprised, as if he had almost forgotten what his captain looked like in full uniform.
'Yes, Aubrey, what is it?' He regretted his curtness immediately. 'Are you ready?'
Martin said uncertainly, 'I believe this was my fault, sir. As the senior aboard I should have foreseen it. Nipped it in the bud.'
As if to mock his words they heard the trill of calls, the sudden scamper of bare feet.
'All hands! All hands lay aft to witness punishment! '
Adam answered, 'In a way I can understand how they feel, but empathy is a luxury in which no captain should indulge for long. We are always at risk, Aubrey, even with those we think we know. I have heard of it many times. When the ship is a tinderbox for whatever reason, even understanding can be mistaken for weakness.'
Martin nodded, and guessed the captain had learned much of what he said from Richard Bolitho.
He asked, 'Any further orders, sir?'
Adam looked away. He was showing that same weakness even by discussing it. He said, 'Both watches at six bells this afternoon. We will alter course again, the next leg of our patrol.' He tried to smile but the effort was too much. 'In two days, maybe three, we should sight the commodore's convoy. There will be plenty to do for all of us then! ' He was conscious that he had not mentioned Keen by name. Was that all part of his guilt?
They went on deck together, the sun high overhead making each set sail appear transparent against the taut black rigging.
The Royal Marines were lined up across the quarterdeck with their lieutenant, Montague Baldwin. The curved sabre he favoured was already drawn and resting across his shoulder. Lieutenant Dacre was the officer-of-the- watch and stood beside Partridge the sailing master, youth and old age together. The midshipmen and other warrant ranks stood by the quarterdeck rail, while on the gun deck, the gangways, and clinging to the shrouds the bulk of Anemone's company watched in silence.
Martin saw the captain nod and give his own signal for the ritual to begin. The prisoner was brought up, a tall erect figure, head upheld like some well-known felon going to the gallows, flanked by Gwynne the boatswain and one of his mates, and followed by McKillop the surgeon and by the master-at-arms. Then there was complete silence, and even the bellying canvas seemed still.
'Uncover! ' The few present wearing hats removed them.
Some men watched the prisoner, who had been generally disliked until now; the rest kept their eyes on the slim, dark-haired figure with the gleaming epaulettes, surrounded by his officers, protected by the double rank of marines, and yet completely alone.
Adam removed his hat and tugged the Articles of War from his coat. As he did so he looked at the prisoner. Of one company, he thought, yet a thousand miles apart.
His voice was steady and without emotion, so that many of the assembled seamen and marines barely heard him. Not that it mattered: the old Jacks at least knew the relevant articles by heart. Adam even imagined that he saw the carpenter nudge one of his mates when he reached the last line… Or shall suffer death as is hereinafter mentioned.' He shut the folder and added, 'Given under my hand in His Britannic Majesty's Ship Anemone.' He replaced his cocked hat. 'Carry out the sentence.'
The grating had already been rigged against the gangway, and before he could resist the prisoner was stripped to the waist and seized up, arms apart, with further lashings to hold his legs so that he was spreadeagled.
Adam saw the youngest midshipman closing and opening his fists, but not out of pity. His eyes were fixed on the man's muscular back with the expression of a stag-hound approaching a kill.
Adam snapped, 'Carry on, Mr. Gwynne.'
Somebody shouted, 'You show 'em, Toby! '
Lieutenant Baldwin said calmly, 'Steady, marines.'
It reminded Adam of Keen when he had served under him. He had used the same tone in moments of great tension, like a groom calming a nervous mount.
'Take that man's name! '
Gwynne the boatswain, who was completely deaf in one ear after close action with a French man-of-war, called, 'How many, sir?'
