To Glory We Steer Page 6

  Now this, he fumed inwardly. No wonder the admiral had asked him to watch young Farquhar's behaviour.

  There was a tap at the door and Evans stepped gingerly into the cabin, his eyes flickering like beads in the lamplight.

  Bolitho gestured impatiently. `Now then, Mr. Eva.ns. Let me have the full story.'

  He turned to stare at the water again as Evans launched into his account. To start with he seemed nervous, even frightened, but when Bolitho allowed him to continue without

  interruption or comment his voice grew sharper and moreoutraged.

  Bolitho said at length. 'The meat that Betts threw at you.

  What cask did it come from?'

  Evans was caught off guard. 'Number twelve, sir. I saw it stowed myself.' He added in a wheedling tone, 'I do my best, sir. They are ungrateful dogs for the most part!'

  Bolitho turned and tapped the papers on his table. 'I checked the stowage myself, too, Mr. Evans. Two days ago when the hands were at drill!' He saw a flicker of alarm show itself on Evans' dark face and knew that his lie had gone home. A feeling of sudden anger swept through him like fire.

  All the things he had told his officers had been for nothing.

  Even the near-mutiny seemed to have made no impression on the minds of men like Evans and Farquhar.

  He snapped, What cask was in the low stowage, was it not? And how many others were down there, do you think?'

  Evans peered nervously around the cabin. 'Five or six, sir. They were some of the original stores which I. .

  Bolitho slammed his fist on the table. `You make me sick, Evans! That cask and those others you have suddenly remembered were probably stowed two years ago before you began the Brest blockade! They most likely leak, and in any case are quite rotten!'

  Evans looked at his feet. 'I-I did not know, sir.'

  Bolitho said harshly, 'If I could prove otherwise, Mr. Evans, I would have you stripped of your rank and flogged!'

  Vibart stirred into life. 'I must protest, sir! Mr. Evans was acting as he thought fit! Betts struck him. There is no way of avoiding that fact."

  'So it appears, Mr. Vibart.' Bolitho stared at him coldly until the other man looked away. 'I will certainly back my officers in their efforts to carry out my orders. But senseless punishment at this time will do more harm than good.' He felt suddenly too tired to think clearly, but Vibart's anger seemed to drive him on. 'In another two weeks or so we will join the fleet under Sir Samuel Hood, and then there will be more than enough to keep us all occupied.'

  He continued more calmly, 'Until then, each and every one of you will translate my standing orders into daily fact. Give the men your leadership and try to understand them. No good will ever come of useless brutality. If a man still persists in disobedience, then flogged he will be. But in this particular case I would suggest a more lenient experiment.' He saw Vibart's lower lip quivering with barely controlled anger. Betts can be awarded extra duties for seven days. The sooner the matter is forgotten, the sooner we can mend the damage!' He gestured briefly, 'Carry on with your watch, Mr. Farquhar.'

  As Evans turned -to follow the midshipman Boll added flatly, 'Oh, Mr. Evans, I see -no reason for me to mention your neglect in the log.' He saw Evans watching him half gratefully, half fearfully. He finished. 'Provided I can show that you purchased the meat for your own purposes, your own mess perhaps?'

  Evans blinked at Vibart and then back to Bolitho's !inpassive face. 'Purchase, sir? Me, sir?'

  'Yes, Evans, you! You can make the payment to my clerk in the forenoon tomorrow. That is all.'

  Vibart picked up his hat and waited until the door had closed behind the other man. 'Do you require me any more, sir?'

  'I just want to tell you one thing more, Mr. Vibart. I have taken fully into consideration that you were under considerable strain during your duty with Captain Pomfret. Maybe some of the things you had to do were not to your liking.' He waited, but Vibart stared woodenly across his shoulder. 'I am not interested in the past, except as a lesson to everyone of what can happen in a badly run ship! As first lieutenant you are the key officer, the most experienced one aboard who can implement my orders, do you understand?'

  'If you say so, sir.'

  Bolitho dropped his eyes in case Vibart should see the rising anger there. He had offered Vibart his due share of responsibility, even his confidence, and yet the lieutenant seemed to accept it like a sign of weakness, of some faltering uncertainty. The contempt was as plain in his brevity as if he had shouted it to the ship at large.

  It could not be easy for Vibart to take orders from a captain so junior in age and service. Bolitho tried once more to soften his feeling towards Vibarts hgstility.

  The latter said suddenly, 'When you have been aboard the Phalarope a little longer, sir, then maybe you will see, it different.' He rocked back on his heels and watched Bolitho's face with-a flat stare.

  Bolitho relaxed his taut muscles. It was almost a relief that Vibart had shown him the only way to finish the matter. He eyed him coldly. 'I have read every log and report aboard this ship, Mr. Vibart. In all my limited experience I have never known a ship so apparently unwilling to fight the enemy or so incapable 'of performing her duty.' He watched the expression on Vibart's heavy features altering to shocked surprise. 'Well, we are going back to war, Mr. Vibart, and I intend to seek out and engage the enemy, any enemy, at every opportunity!' He dropped his voice. 'And when that happens I will expect to see every man acting as one. There will be no room for petty jealousy and cowardice then!'

  A deep flush rose to Vibart's cheeks, but he remained silent.

  Bolitho said, 'You are dealing with men, Mr. Vibart, not things! Authority is invested with your -commission. Respect comes later, when you have earned it!'

  He dismissed the first lieutenant with a curt nod and then turned back to stare at the creaming wake below the windows.

  As the door closed the tension tore at his body like a whip, and he gripped his hands together to prevent their shaking until the pain made him wince. He had made an enemy of Vibart, but there was too much'at stake to do otherwise.

  He slumped down on the bench seat as Stockdale pattered into the cabin and began to spread a cloth across the table.

  The coxswain said, `I've told your servant to bring your supper, Captain.' There was mistrust in his tone. He disliked Atwell, the cabin steward, and watched him like a dog with a rabbit. 'I don't suppose you'll be havin' any officer to dine with you, sir?

  Bolitho glanced at Stockdale, battered and homely like an old piece of furniture, and thought of Vibart's seething bitterness. 'No, Stockdale. I will be alone.'

  He leaned back and closed his eyes. Alone and vulnerable, he thought.

  Lieutenant Thomas Herrick tightened the spray-soaked muffler about his neck and shrugged his shoulders deeper into his watchcoat. Above the black, spiralling masts the stars were small and pale, and even in the keen air he could sense that the dawn was not far away.

  The labouring ship herself was in darkness, so that the shapes around the deserted decks were unreal and totally unlike they appeared in daylight. The lashed guns were mere shadows, and the humming shrouds and stays seemed to go straight up to the sky, unattached and endless.

  But as Herrick paced the quarterdeck deep in thought, he was able to ignore such things. He had seen them all too often before, and was able to pass each watch with only his mind for company. Once he paused beside the ship's big double wheel where .the two helmsmen stood like dark statues, their faces partly lit in the shaded binnacle lamp as they watched the swinging compass or stared aloft at the trimmed sails.

  Three bells struck tinnily from forward, and he saw a ship's boy stir at the rail and then creep, rubbing -his eyes, to trim the compass lamp and adjust the hour-glass.

  Time and again he found his eyes drawn to the black rec

  ,IlI tangle of the cabin hatch, and he wondered whether Bolitho had at last fallen asleep. Three times already during the morning watch, three ti
mes in an hour and a half the captain had appeared momentarily on deck, soundless and without warning. With neither coat nor hat, and his white shirt and breeches framed against the tumbling black water, he had seemed ghostlike and without true form, with the restlessness of a tortured spirit. On each occasion he had paused only long enough to peer at the compass or to look at the watch-slate beside the wheel. Then a couple of turns up and down the weather side of the deck and he had vanished below.

  At any other time Herrick would have felt both irritated and resentful. It might have implied that the captain was too unsure of his third lieutenant to leave him to take a watch alone. But when Herrick had relieved Lieutenant Okes at four o'clock Okes had whispered quickly that Bolitho had been on deck for most of the night.

  Herrick frowned. Deep dowli he had the feeling that Bolitho had acted more by instinct than design. As if he was driven like the ship, by mood rather than inclination. He seemed unable to stand still, as if it took physical force to hold himself in one place for more than minutes at a time.

  A figure moved darkly at the quarterdeck rail and he heard Midshipman Neale's familiar treble inn the darkness.

  `Able Seaman Betts has just reported, sir.' He stood staring up at Herrick, gauging his mood.

  Herrick had to tear his thoughts back to the present with a jerk. Betts, the man who had apparently escaped -a flogging or worse only at Bolitho's intervention, had been ordered to report at three bells for the first part of his punishment. Vibart had made it more than clear what Would happen if he failed to execute the orders.

  He saw Betts hovering behind the small midshipman and called, `Here, Betts. Look lively!'

  The man moved up to the rail and knuckled his forehead. `Sir?'

  Herrick gestured upwards towards the invisible topmast. 'Up you go then!' He kept the harshness from his tone. He liked Betts, a quiet but competent man, whose. sudden flare of anger had surprised him more than he cared to admit. 'Get up to the main topmast, Betts. You will stand lookout until the first lieutenant orders otherwise.' He felt a touch of pity. One hundred and ten feet above the deck, unsheltered from the cold wind, Betts would be numb within minutes. Herrick had already decided to send Neale up after him with something warm to eat as soon as the galley fire was lit for breakfast.

  Betts spat on his hands and replied flatly, 'Aye, aye, sir. Seems a fair mornin'?' He could have been remarking on something quite normal and unimportant.

  Herrick nodded. 'Aye. The wind is dropping and the air is much drier.' It was true. Betts' instinct had grasped the change as soon as he had emerged from the packed, where eighteen inches per man was the accepted hammock space.

  Herrick added quietly, `You were lucky, Betts. Ybu could have been dancing at the gratings by eight bells.'

  Betts stood staring at him, unmoved and calm. `I'm not sorry for what 'appened, sir. I'd do it again.'

  Herrick felt suddenly annoyed with himself for mentioning the matter. That was his trouble, he thought angrily. He always wanted to know and understand the reason for everything. He could not leave matters alone.

  He snapped, `Get aloft! And mind you keep a good lookout. The dawn'll be awake soon.' He watched the man's shadow merge with the main shrouds and followed him with his eye until he was lost in the criss-cross of rigging against the stars.

  Again he found himself wondering why Bolitho had acted as he had over a man like Betts. Neither Vibart nor Evans had mentioned the matter, which seemed to add rather than detract from the importance of the affair. Perhaps Vibart bad overstepped his authority again, he pondered. Under Pomfret the first lieutenant's presence had moved over the ship, controlling every action and day-today happening. Now he seemed hampered by Bolitho's calm authority, but the very fact that their disagreement was close to showing itself openly only made things worse. The ship seemed split in two, divided between the captain and Vibart. Pomfret had remained a frightening force in the background, and Herrick had found his work cut out to stay impartial and out of trouble. Now it appeared as if such neutrality was impossible.

  He thought back to the moment he had gone to the big house in Falmouth. Before he had imagined he would find only envy there. His own poor beginnings were hard to shake free. He recalled Bolitho's father,, the great pictures along the walls, the air of permanence and tradition, as if the present occupants were merely part of a pattern. Compared with his own small house in Rochester, the house had seemed a veritable palace.

  Herrick's father had been a clerk in Rochester, working for the Kentish fruit trade. But Herrick, even as a small child, had watched the ships stealing up the Medway, and had allowed his impressionable mind to build his own future accordingly. For him it was the Navy. Nothing else would do. It was odd because there was no precedent in his family, all of whom had been tradesmen, sprinkled with the occasional soldier.

  His father had pleaded in vain. He had warned him of the pitfalls, which were many. Lack of personal standing and financial security made him see only too clearly what his son was attempting to, challenge. He even compromised by suggesting a safe berth aboard an Indiaman, but Herrick was quietly adamant.

  . Quite by chance a visiting warship had been laid up near Rochester while repairs had been carried out to her hull. Her captain had been a friend of the man who employed Herrick's father, a grave senior captain who showed neither resentment nor open scorn when the eleven years old boy had waylaid him and told him of his desire to go to sea in a King's ship.

  Faced by the captain and his employer, Herrick's father had,given in. To do him full justice he had made the best of it by using his meagre savings to send his son on his way, outwardly at least, a young gentleman as good as any of his fellows.

  Herrick was now twenty-five. It had been a long and arduous journey from that time. He had learned humiliation and embarrassment for the first time. He had faced unequal opposition of breeding and influence. The starry-eyed boy had been whittled away and hardened like the good Kentish oak beneath his -feet. But one thing had not changed. His love of the sea and the Navy stayed over him like a protecting cloak or some strange religion which he only partly understood.

  This timeless thing was the same to all men, he decided. It was far above them. It controlled and used everyone alike, no matter what his ambition might be.

  He smiled at himself as he continued his endless pacing. He wondered what young Neale, yawning hugely by the rail, would think of his grave faced senior. Or the helmsmen who watched the swinging needle and gauged the pull of the sails. Or Betts, high overhead on his precarious perch, his own thoughts no doubt full of what he had done and what might lie in store for him behind Evans' vengeance.

  Maybe it was better to be unimaginative, he thought. To be completely absorbed in day-to-day worries, like Lieutenant

  Okes for instance. He was a married man, and that was obstacle enough for any young officer. Okes spent his time either fretting about his distant wife or treading warily to avoid Vibart's eye. He was a strange, shallow man, Herrick thought, unsure of himself, and afraid to unbend even with his own kind. It seemed as if he was afraid of becoming too friendly, and nervous of expressing an opinion outside the necessities of duty. As if by so doing he might awake suspicion elsewhere or give a hint of misplaced loyalty.

  Herrick moved his stiff shoulders inside his, coat and pushed Okes from his thoughts. He might after all be right. Aboard the Phalarope it often seemed safer to say nothing, to do nothing which might be wrongly interpreted later.

  He stared at the weather rail and noticed with a start that he could see the carved dolphin above the starboard ladder and the fat, ugly carronade nearby. His thoughts had carried him through another half hour, and soon the dawn would show him an horizon once more. Would bring another day.

  Harsh and clear above the hiss of spray he suddenly heard Betts' voice from the masthead. `Deck there! Sail on the starboard bow! Hull down, but it's a ship!'

  Snatching his glass from the rack Herrick scrambled up into the mizzen
shrouds, his mind working on the unexpected report. The sea was already gathering shape and personality, and there was a finger of grey along where the horizon should be. Up there, high above the swaying deck, Betts would just be able to see the other ship in the dawn's cautious approach.

  He snapped, `Mr. Neale! Up you go and see what you can discover. If you give me a false report you'll kiss the gunner's daughter before you're much older!'

  Neale's face split into a grin, and without a word he scampered like a monkey towards the main shrouds.

  Herrick tried to stay calm, to return to his pacing as he had seen Bolitho do. But the newcomer, if there was indeed a ship, filled him with uncertainty, so that he stared at the dark sea as if willing it to appear.

  Betts called again. `She's a frigate, sir! No doubt about it. Steerin' south-east!'

  Neale's shrill voice took up the call. `She's running before the wind like a bird, sir! Under all plain sail!'

  Herrick breathed out noisily. For one brief instant he had imagined it might be a Frenchman. Even out here, alone and unaided, it was not impossible. But the French rarely sailed fast or far by night. Usually they lay to and rode out the darkness. This was no enemy.

  As if to open his thoughts Betts yelled, `I know that rig, sir! She's an English ship right enough!,

  'Very well, keep on reporting!' Herrick lowered the speaking trumpet and peered back along the quarterdeck. Even in minutes the place had taken more shape and reality. The deck was pale and grey, and he could see the helmsmen again as familiar faces.

  There might be new orders in the other frigate. Maybe the American war was already over and they would return, to Brest or England In his heart Herrick felt a sudden twinge of disappointment. At first the prospect of another long commission in the unhappy Phalarope had appalled him. Now, with the thought that he might never see the West Indies at all, he was not so sure.