In Gallant Company (26 page)

Fort Exeter was no more. He hoped it had all been worthwhile, but secretly doubted it.

He nodded grimly to his clerk. ‘Very well, Teakle. I'll sign the damn things.' He glanced at Cairns. ‘Must have been a bloody business. Our people did well, it seems.'

Pears glared through the dripping windows at the blurred shape of the flagship, close-hauled on the same tack, her courses and topsails filling to the wind.

‘Now
this
, blast his eyes!'

Cairns followed his glance, knowing better than most how his captain felt.

It had taken six days for the ponderous ships of the line to rendezvous with
Vanquisher
and
Spite
. Then a further two while their admiral had interviewed the senior officers of his little squadron, watched an interrogation of the disarmingly cheerful French prisoner and had considered the information which Paget had gleaned at the fort.

Now, instead of returning to New York for further orders, and to obtain replacements for the dead and wounded,
Trojan
was to proceed further south. Pears' orders were to seek out and finally destroy an island base which, if half of the intelligence gathered from the prisoners was to be trusted, was the most important link in the supply chain for arms and powder for Washington's armies.

At any other time Pears would have welcomed it as the chance to use his ship as he had always wanted. To make up for the humiliating setbacks and delays, the months of patrol duty or the boredom of being at anchor in harbour.

The flagship
Resolute
would be leaving them shortly and would return to Sandy Hook, taking Coutts' impressive reports to the commander-in-chief, along with the prisoners and most of the badly wounded seamen and marines.

The youthful rear-admiral had taken the unprecedented step, in Pears' view, of appointing his flag captain, Lamb, as acting officer-in-charge of the inshore squadron, while he, Coutts, transferred his flag to
Trojan
to pursue the attack in the south.

Coutts probably guessed that if he returned with his own flagship the commander-in-chief, in connivance with or under direct orders from the government ‘expert', Sir George Helpman, would be ordered elsewhere before he could see his strategy brought to a successful end.

There was a tap at the door.

‘Enter.'

Pears looked up, watching Bolitho's face from the moment he walked into the great cabin, his cocked hat tucked under one arm.

He looked older, Pears decided. Strained, but more confident in some way. There were lines at the corners of his mouth, but
the grey eyes were steady enough. Like those battered marines. Defiant.

Pears noticed how he was holding his shoulder. It was probably stinging badly from that sabre's quick touch, more so from the surgeon's attentions. But in his change of clothing Bolitho appeared restored.

Pears said, ‘Good to see you in one piece.' He waved to a chair and waited for his clerk to leave. ‘You'll hear soon enough. We're to stand further south, to seek out and destroy an enemy supply headquarters there.' He grimaced. ‘French, to all accounts.'

Bolitho sat down carefully. His body clean, his clothes fresh and strangely unfamiliar, he was just beginning to feel the slackening of tension.

They had been good to him. Cairns, the Sage, Dalyell. All of them. And it felt free to be here, in this groaning, overcrowded hull.

He had no idea what was happening, until now. After the swift passage aboard the sloop, the sadness of seeing more survivors die and be buried over the side, he had found little time, other than to scribble his own version of what had happened. Apart from a few quiet words with Pears as he and the others had been helped aboard, he had not spoken with him at all.

Pears said, ‘The war makes great demands. We were short of experienced officers, now we are even shorter.' He stared at the empty table where the report had been lying. ‘Good men killed, others maimed for life. Half my marines gone in the blink of an eye, and now, with two officers taken prisoner to boot, I am feeling like a clergyman with an empty church.'

Bolitho glanced at Cairns, but his face gave nothing away. He had seen a brig speaking with the flagship that morning, but he knew nothing further.

He asked, ‘
Two
officers, sir?' He must have missed something.

Pears sighed. ‘Young Huyghue, and now the flagship has told me about Probyn. He was apparently run down by a privateer, one day after leaving you at Fort Exeter.' He watched Bolitho's face. ‘Shortest command in naval history, I'd imagine.'

Bolitho thought of the last time he had seen Probyn. Angry,
triumphant, bitter. Now it had all been taken away. His hopes dashed.

All he could find in his heart was pity.

‘
So
,' Pears' voice brought him back with a jerk, ‘you are hereby appointed as second lieutenant of this ship,
my
ship.'

Bolitho stared at him dazedly. From fourth to second. He had heard of it happening, but had never expected it like this.

‘I – that is, thank you, sir.'

Pears eyed him flatly. ‘I am glad you did not crow over Probyn's fate. But I think I could have understood even that.'

Cairns nodded, his lips parted in a rare smile. ‘Congratulations.'

Pears waved his large hands. ‘Save them for later and spare me, Mr Cairns. Be about your affairs. Appoint another midshipman to Huyghue's duties, and I suggest you consider the master's mate, Frowd, as acting lieutenant. A promising fellow, I think.'

The marine sentry opened the door gingerly. ‘Beg pardon, sir, midshipman o' th' watch is 'ere.'

It was little Forbes, somehow grown in stature to his title.

‘S-sir. Mr Dalyell's respects, and the flagship has just signalled us to heave to.'

Pears glanced at Cairns. ‘See to it. I'll be up presently.'

As the two lieutenants hurried after the midshipman, Bolitho asked, ‘Why is this?'

Cairns stared at him. ‘You
are
out of touch, Dick!' He pointed to a petty officer with a flag neatly rolled under his arm. ‘Today we will hoist the flag to our mizzen. Rear-Admiral Coutts is to be our very present help in trouble!'

‘Flagship?'

‘Acting.' Cairns straightened his hat as they strode forward to the quarterdeck rail. ‘Until Coutts reaps his reward, or lays his head on the block.'

Seamen were already running to their stations, and Bolitho had to make himself look at the massive trunk of the mainmast, where he had once taken so many orders and goads from Lieutenant Sparke.

Now he was second lieutenant. With still two months between him and twenty-one years.

He saw Stockdale watching him and nodding. It was thanks to Stockdale, and some missing faces, that he was here at all.

‘All hands! Stand by to wear ship!'

Cairns' voice found him with the speaking trumpet. ‘Mr Bolitho, sir! Hurry those men at the braces! They are like old cripples today!'

Bolitho touched his hat and kept his face straight.

Across the scrambling seamen he saw Quinn staring at him, still uncertain at his new station. He smiled at him, trying to break the strain that was still there.

‘Lively, Mr Quinn!' He hesitated, holding another memory. ‘Take that man's name!'

THE DAY AFTER
Rear-Admiral Coutts had shifted his flag to
Trojan
found Bolitho pacing the quarterdeck, keeping an eye on the forenoon watch and enjoying a fresh north-west breeze. During the night the big ninety-gun
Resolute
with the frigate in company had vanished astern, and would now be beating back towards New York, the wind making every mile a battle of its own.

For the
Trojan
things were different, as if Coutts' unexpected arrival had brought a change of circumstances. She must make a fine sight, Bolitho thought as his feet took him up and down the windward side without conscious effort. In her fair-weather canvas, and under courses, topsails and topgallants, she was leaning her shoulder into the blue water, throwing curtains of spray high above her beakhead.

The compass held steady at south, south-east, taking the powerful two-decker well away from the land, down towards the long chain of islands which separated the Atlantic from the Caribbean.

The wind held back the heat, and allowed the less badly wounded and injured men to move about the decks, to find themselves again in their own way. The remainder, some of whom might die before they reached Sandy Hook, had gone with the flagship, as had the prisoners, and Coutts' report of the attack.

Only one captive remained aboard, the Frenchman, Contenay. He took regular walks on deck without an escort, and seemed completely at home in a King's ship.

Bolitho had discovered that he still knew little about his own captain. The brief moments of contact, even warmth, upon his
return to the ship had been replaced by Pears' usual stern, remote demeanour. Bolitho thought that the admiral's presence had a lot to do with it.

Coutts had appeared on deck this morning. Youthful, relaxed and apparently interested, he had strolled along the weather gangway, pausing to watch the bare-backed seamen at their work, the carpenter with his crew, the sailmaker and the cooper, the ship's tradesmen who daily changed a man-of-war into a busy street.

He had spoken to the officers and some of the senior hands. The Sage had been impressed by his knowledge of Arctic exploration, and Midshipman Forbes reduced to blushing incoherence by a few well-aimed questions.

If he was troubled at the doubtful prospect of running another enemy supply cache to earth, or at what the commander-in-chief might say at his behaviour, he certainly did not show it. His plans he kept to himself, and only Ackerman, his urbane flag lieutenant, the one Bolitho had seen in a cabin with a half-naked woman, and his personal clerk shared his confidences.

Bolitho decided that would also irritate Pears beyond measure.

A step fell on the deck nearby and Cairns joined him at the rail, his eyes taking in the working parties and the set of each sail with practised authority.

He said, ‘The admiral is with our captain. I sense an air of grapeshot close by.' He turned and glanced meaningly at the poop skylight. ‘I was glad to leave the great men.'

‘No news yet?'

‘Not much. Like D'Esterre, the admiral plays a taut hand. He will rise like a comet.' He gestured at the deck. ‘Or fall like one.'

With Coutts aboard, Cairns also faced changes. The main result was that he shared more of his thoughts with his second lieutenant.

He added slowly, ‘The captain was wanting to know why this ship and not
Resolute
was selected for the mission.' He smiled grimly. ‘The admiral explained, as cool as you please, that
Trojan
is the faster vessel, and her company deserving of reward for their work.'

Bolitho nodded. ‘I suppose so.
Resolute
has been out here
far longer and has had few refits, I believe. She must be foul with weed.'

Cairns eyed him admiringly. ‘We'll make a politician of you yet.' He waved Bolitho's confusion aside. ‘You see, the backhanded compliment. Coutts lays on treacle with talk of reward and the better ship for the task, then in the next breath he gently reminds Captain Pears that his own flagship is in truth the more deserving.'

Bolitho pursed his lips. ‘That is clever.'

‘It takes a rogue to recognize one, Dick.'

‘In that case, what
is
the real reason?'

Cairns frowned. ‘I suspect because he wants the flagship on her proper station. That would make sense. Also, he despatched
Vanquisher
as escort, and because
she
will be sorely needed elsewhere with the growth of privateers everywhere.'

He dropped his voice as Sambell, master's mate of the watch, strolled past with elaborate indifference on his tanned face.

‘He will want to follow this plan to the end. Reap the reward, or cover the flaws as best he can. He would not trust our captain to act alone. And if things go disastrously badly, then he will need a scapegoat other than his own flag captain.' Cairns watched Bolitho's eyes. ‘I see that
you
see.'

‘I'll never understand this kind of reasoning.'

Cairns winked. ‘One day, you'll be teaching it!'

More feet thudded on the sun-dried planking, and Bolitho saw Pears and the sailing master leaving the chart room, the latter carrying his leather satchel which he used to stow his navigational notes and instruments.

He looked much as usual, turning briefly to examine the compass and the two helmsmen, his eyes glittering in the sunlight beneath the great black brows.

Pears, by comparison, appeared tired and in ill humour, impatient to get whatever it was over and done with.

‘We'll soon know where this blessed spot is to be, Dick.' Cairns loosened his neckcloth and sighed. ‘I hope it is not another Fort Exeter.'

Bolitho watched the first lieutenant continue on his daily rounds, wondering if Cairns was still brooding over the chances of leaving
Trojan
and getting a ship of his own.

So far,
Trojan
's lieutenants had not fared very well away from her protection. Sparke killed, Probyn a prisoner of war, while Bolitho had returned each time like a wayward son.

He saw Quinn without his coat, his shirt sticking to his back like another skin, stepping between the busy sailmaker and his mates, his face still pale and strained. Eighteen years old, he looked far more. Bolitho thought. The savage slash across his chest still troubled him. You could see it in his walk and the tightness of his mouth. A constant reminder of other things, too. That moment at the fort when his nerve had failed, and by the guns when he had almost gone mad because of Rowhurst's scorn.