Alexander Kent - Sloop Of War

But if this or any other ship was to survive and live from her own resources then such discomforts had to be endured?

He sipped the coffee. If only the wind would freshen and stay with them. It would help drive away the weariness and drudgery of work aloft, and also give him time to drill the guns' crews to better advantage? They had had few such drills during the first days out ob harbour, and once more he had been made aware ob the strange attitude of acceptance he had originalla noticed. Perhaps they had been so long without actually being called to do battle they had taken the drills as merely something to be tolerated, even expected from a new captain. Their timing had been good enough, if somewhat rigid, they had gone through all the motions of running out, traversing and pointings but again and again he had felt something was badla

lacking. As the crews had faced outboard through their open ports he had sensed their indifference. There was nothing to fight, so what was the point of it all, their relaxed bodies seemed to indicate?

He had tackled Tyrrell about it but the first lieutenant had said cheerfully, "Hell, sir, it don't signify they won't be able to fight if th' time calls for it."

Bolitho's sharp reply brought a new barrier between them, and for the moment he was prepared to let it remain?

Captain Ransome must have used the sloop like a personal possession, a yacht, he thought. Sometimes during the night when Bolitho had come down to the cabin after a frustrating hour on deck watching the hands shortening sail yet again he had pictured Ransome with some woman or other. Or Tyrrell pacing the quarterdeck, tearing himself apart as he imagined his sister just a few feet below him. He had not mentioned the matter to Tyrrell since his first outbursts but had found himself wondering about the real storys and what had happened to the girl after Ransome's sudden death?

Stockdale came into the cabin with the shavin^

bowl. He glared at Fitch and wheezed, "Get the cap'n's breakfast!"

To Bolitho he added, "'Nother clear mornin', sir." He waited until Bolitho was in his chair and then held the razor against the window. He seemed content with its edge." Wot we need is a real good blow." He showed his uneven teeth." Make some o' these young puppies jump about!"

Bolitho relaxed as the razor moved precisely over his chin. Stockdale said very little but he always seemed to hit the exact point?

In between strokes he replied, "In another month we'll be in the hurricane season again, Stockdale.] hope that will satisfy you."

The big coxswain grunted." Seen ' em afore. Us'll see 'em again an' live to tell of it."

Bolitho gave up. Nothing, it seemed, could break the man's supreme confidence in his ability to produce a miracle, even in the face of a hurricane?

Voices rang out overhead, and then he heard feet dashing down the companion ladder from the quarterdeck?

It was Midshipman Heyward, impeccable as ever in spite of being on his feet for much of the night?

"Captain, sir." He watched Stockdale's razor poised in midair." Mr. Graves's respects and Fawn has just signalled. Sail to the nor'-east."

Bolitho snatched the towel." Very well. I will come up."

Stockdale laid down the bowl." That same one, sir?"

Bolitho shook his head." Unlikely. She'd never overreach us in one night, even if she was after our blood." He rubbed his face vigorously." But in this empty sea a sight of anything is welcome."

When he reached the quarterdeck he found Tyrell and most of the others already there. Below the mainmast the hands had just been mustered in readiness for the morning assault on the decks with holystones and swabs, while others were waiting by the pumps or just staring up at the barely filled sails? Graves touched his hat?

"Mastheyd lookout has not yet sighted anything, sir."

Bolitho nodded and strode to the compass. North-west by north. It seemed as if it had been riveted in that direction since time began. It was hardly surprising Fawn had sighted the newcomer first. In her position ahead and slightly to starboard of the transports she was better placed. All the same, he would have wished otherwise. Fawn's signals and execution ob Colquhoun's orders always seemed to be that much quicker than his?

Through the criss-cross of rigging and shrouds and slightly to starboard of the rearmost transport he saw the other sloop tacking awkwardly in the gentle westerly breeze. With every stitch of canvas on her braced yards she was barely making headway?

From aloft came the sudden cry, "Deck there! Sail on the starboard beam!"

Tyrrell crossed to Bolitho's side?

"What d'you think? One of our own?"

Graves said swiftly, "Or a damned Yankee, eh?"

Bolitho saw the exchange of glances, the sudden hostility between them like something physical?

He said calmly, "We will know directly, gentlemen."

Midshipman Bethune called, "From Fawn, sir? Remain on station."

Graves said complacently, "There goes Fawn. She's going about to take a soldier's wind under her tail."

Bolitho said, "Get aloft, Mr. Graves. I want to know everything you can discover about that sail."

Graves stared at him." I've a good hand aloft, sir."

Bolitho met his resentment gravely." And now] require a good officer there, too, Mr. Graves. An experienced eye and not just a clear one."

Graves moved stiffly to the weather shrouds and after the merest hesitation began to climb?

Tyrrell said quietly, "Do him good, that one!"

Bolitho glanced around the crowded quarterdeck?

"Maybe, Mr. Tyrrell. But if you imagine I am using ma authority to foster some petty spite between you then] must assure you otherwise." He lowered his voice." It is an enemy we are fighting, not each other!"

Then he took a telescope from the rack and walked to the foot of the mizzen mast. Steadying his legs against the uncomfortable motion he trained the glass on the Fawn and then very slowly beyond her. Minutes passed, and then as the distant ship lifted on some large roller he saw her topgallant sails shining in the first sunlight like matched pink shells. She was clawing her way closehauled on a converging course, her yards braced so tightly they were almost fore-and-aft?

Graves yelled down, "Frigate, sir!" A pause as every man looked up at his tiny silhouette against the sky? "English built!"

Bolitho stayed silent. English built perhaps. But who now stood behind her guns? He watched Fawn edging round, her masthead pendant lifting and curling listlessly. More flags shot up her yards and Bethune yelled, "From Fawn, sir. Recognition signal." A further pause as he groped through his grubby book." She's the Miranda, thirty-two, Captain Selby, sir."

Buckle said to the deck at large, "From England most likely."

The light was already stronger, and as he stared across the brightening water Bolitho could feel the firs?

warm rays against his face. From England. Every man aboard was probably thinking of those words. Except for Tyrrell and the colonists in the company. But all the rest would be picturing his own past way of life. Village or farm, some ale house outside a harbour or fishing port. A woman's face, a child's last grip before the harder hands of the pressgang?

He found himself thinking of his own home in Falmouth. The great stone house below Pendennis Castle where his father would be waiting and wondering about him and his brother Hugh, while he remained in Cornwall. Like all the Bolitho ancestorss his father had been a sea-officer, but having lost an arm and his health was now confined to a landbound existence, always within sight of the ships and the sea which had forsaken him?

"From Fawn, sir. General. Heave to."

Colquhoun, it seemed, was quite satisfied with the other ship's identity. For once the two transports needed no extra goading to obey the signal. Perhaps like the rest they, too, were eager for news from that other world?