Alexander Kent - Command a King`s Ship

Bolitho took his hand, suddenly moved by Puigserver's obvious sincerity.

The latter asked slowly, 'How many have you in this little ship?'

Bolitho pictured the riffraff brought aboard at Spithead. The ragged men from the prison hulks, the smartly-dressed ones fleeing from some crime or other in London. The gun captain with only one hand. All of them.

He said, 'They have the makings, Senor. Two hundred, all told, including my marines.' He smiled, if only to break the tension. 'And I will sign on those of your men who have survived, if I may?'

Puigserver did not seem to hear. But his grip was like iron as he said, 'Two hundred, eh?'

He nodded grimly. 'It will be sufficient.'

Bolitho watched him. 'We go on, Senor?'

'You are ey Capitan now. What do you say?'

Bolitho smiled. 'But you know already, Senor.'

Puigserver gave a great sigh. 'If you will send that fool Raymond in to me, and your clerk, I will put my seal on this new undertaking.' His voice hardened. 'Today I saw and heard many men die in fear and horror. Whatever made that foul deed necessary, I intend to set the record right. And when I do, Capitan, I will make it a reckoning which our enemies will long remember.'

There was a tap at the door and Midshipman Armitage stood outlined by the swinging lantern in the passageway.

'Mr. Herrick's respects, sir. The wind's freshening from the nor'-east.' He faltered, like a child repeating a lesson to his tutor.

'I will come up directly.'

Bolitho thought suddenly of Mudge, how he had prophesied a better wind. He would be up there with Herrick, waiting for the night's orders. Armitage's message told him all that and more. Whatever was decided now might settle the fate of the ship and every man aboard.

He looked at Puigserver. 'It is settled then, Senor?'

'Yes, Capitan.' He was getting more drowsy. 'You can leave me now. And send Raymond before I sleep like some drunken goatherd.'

Bolitho followed the midshipman from his cabin, noting how stiffly the sentry at the door was holding his musket. He had probably been listening, and by tonight it would be all over the ship. Not merely a voyage to display the Navy's reach in foreign parts, but one with a real prospect of danger. He smiled grimly as he reached the quarterdeck ladder. It might make gun drill less irksome for them in future.

He found Herrick and Mudge near the helm, the master with a shaded lantern held over his slate, upon which he made his surprisingly neat calculations.

Bolitho walked up the weather side, looking aloft at the bulging canvas, hearing the sea creaming along the hull like water in a mill sluice.

Then he returned to where they were waiting and said, 'You may shorten sail for the night, Mr. Herrick. Tomorrow you can sign on any of the Nervion's people you find suitable.' He paused as another frantic cry floated up from the orlop deck. 'Though I fear it may not be many.'

Herrick asked, 'We are not going about then, sir?'

Mudge exclaimed, 'An' a good thing, too, if I may say so, sir.' He rubbed his bulging rump with one hand. 'Me rheumatism will sheer off when we gets to a 'otter climate.'

Bolitho looked at Herrick. 'We go forward, Thomas. To finish what was begun back there on the reef.'

Herrick seemed satisfied. 'I'm for that.'

He made to walk to the rail where a bosun's mate awaited his orders, but Bolitho stopped him, saying, 'From this night on, Thomas, we must keep our wits about us. No unnecessary pauses for fresh water if prying eyes are nearby. We will ration every drop if necessary, and stand or fall by our own resources. But we must stay clear of the land where an enemy might betray our course or intentions. If, as I now believe, someone is working against us, we must use his methods against him. Gain ourselves time by every ruse we can invent.'

Herrick nodded. 'That makes good sense, sir.'

'Then I hope it may seem so to our people.' He walked to the weather side. 'You may carry on now.'

Herrick turned away. 'Call the hands. We will shorten sail.'

As the shouts echoed between decks and the seamen came dashing on to the gangways, Herrick said, 'I almost forgot, sir. Mrs. Raymond is worried about her accommodation.'

'It is arranged.' He paused and watched the hands scampering to the shrouds. 'Don Puigserver will sleep in the main cabin. Mrs. Raymond can retain her own cot with the maid.'

Herrick sounded cautious. 'I doubt she will like that, sir.'

Bolitho continued his pacing. 'Then she may say so, Mr. Herrick. And when she does I will explain what I think of a woman so pampered she will not lift a finger to help a dying man!'

A master's mate strode along the gangway. 'All mustered, sir!'

Herrick was still watching the pacing figure, the open white shirt clearly etched against the nettings and the sea beyond. In the next few weeks Undine would get much smaller, he thought.

'Very well, Mr. Fowlar. Get the to'gan's'ls off her. If the weather freshens up we may have to reef tops'ls before the night's done.'

Old Mudge rubbed his aching back. 'The weather is a fool!' But nobody heeded him.

Bolitho saw the topmen sliding down to the deck, with barely a word to each other as they were checked again by their petty officers. Around the vibrating bowsprit the spindrift rode in the wind like pale arrows, and high above the deck he saw the topsails hardening and puffing out their bellies to a combined chorus of creaking rigging and blocks.

'Dismiss the watch below.' Herrick's voice was as usual. He took Bolitho's word as he would a rope to save himself from drowning.

In the darkness Bolitho smiled. Perhaps it was better to be so.

In the cabin Don Puigserver sat at the desk and watched the clerk's quill scraping across his written orders. Raymond was leaning against the quarter windows, his face expressionless as he peered into the darkness

Then across his shoulder he said, 'It is a great responsibility, Don Puigserver. I am not sure I can advise in its favour.'

The Spaniard leaned painfully against the chair-back and listened to the regular footsteps across the deck overhead. Up and down.

'It is not mine alone, Senor Raymond. I am in good company, believe me.'

Above and around them the Undine moved and murmured in time with sea and wind. Right forward below the bowsprit the golden nymph stared unwinkingly at the darkened horizon. Decision and destiny, triumph and disappointment meant nothing to her. She had the ocean, and that was life itself.

Bolitho stood loosely by the quarterdeck rail, his body partly shaded from the harsh glare by the thick mainmast trunk, and watched the routine work around him. Eight bells chimed from the forecastle, and he could hear Herrick and Mudge comparing notes from their noon sights, while Soames, who was officer of the watch, prowled restlessly by the cabin hatch as he awaited his relief.

Just to watch the slow, lethargic movements of the men on the gangways and gun deck was enough. Thirty-four days since they had seen Nervion's destruction on the reef, and nearly two months since weighing anchor at Spithead. It had been hard work all the way, and from the moment the Spanish ship had foundered the atmosphere aboard had been compressed and strained to the limit.

The last few days had been the worst part, he thought. For a while his company had gained some excitement at crossing the Equator, with all its mysteries and myths. He had issued an extra ration of rum, and for a time he had observed some benefit from the change. The new hands had seen the linecrossing as a kind of test which they had somehow managed to pass. The old seamen had grown in stature as they had recounted or lied about the number of occasions they had sailed these waters in other ships. A fiddler had emerged, and after a self-conscious overture had brought some music and scratchy gaiety to their daily lives.