Alexander Kent - ENEMY IN SIGHT

Perhaps the commodore was only now beginning to realise the full implication of his task, Bolitho thought. Reaching St. Kruis without delay was not even a beginning. There were countless islands, some almost unknown except to pirates and renegades of every kind. And Lequiller's past experience would have taught him about many of them, of places to hide and water his ships, where he could glean information and sow unrest, and always he had the vast sea areas at his disposal in which to vanish at a moment's warning.

Bolitho could almost feel sorry for Pelham-Martin's dilemma. It was likely that Cavendish had already been reprimanded for his failure to contain the French ships in port. It was even more likely he would soon use PelhamMartin as a ready scapegoat if anything further went wrong.

And yet there was equally great scope in the neatly worded orders. Given the same chance, Bolitho knew he would have jumped at the opportunity of conquering Lequiller and defeating him on his own terms.

There was a tap at the door and Inch stepped over the coaming, his hat under his arm.

"Well?" Bolitho sounded irritated. In another minute it was possible, even likely that Pelham-Martin would have confided in him further.

Inch swallowed. "I am sorry to disturb you, sir." He looked at Pelham-Martin.

The commodore sank on to a chair and waved one hand. "Please carry on, Mr. Inch." He sounded almost relieved at the interruption.

Inch said, "Mr. Stepkyne wishes to award punishment, sir. But under the circumstances…" He looked at his feet. "It is Mr. Pascoe, sir."

Pelham-Martin said mildly, "Hardly an affair for your captain, I would have thought?"

Bolitho knew there was much more behind Inch's words. "Send Mr. Stepkyne aft, if you please."

Pelham-Martin murmured, "If you would rather dispense judgement elsewhere, Bolitho, I shall of course understand. It is difficult when one has a relative, no matter how harmless, aboard one's own ship. It is sometimes necessary to show bias, eh?"

Bolitho looked_ down at him but the commodore's eyes were opaque and devoid of expression.

"I have nothing to hide, thank you, sir."

Stepkyne entered the cabin, his dark features unsmiling but composed.

Inch said, "It was nothing really, sir." He added firmly, "During gun drill one of the seamen got his foot crushed when they were running out a twelve-pounder. All the midshipmen had taken turns as gun captain, and Mr. Pascoe refused to run out his gun until the man on the other team was replaced. He said it would be an unfair advantage, sir."

Stepkyne kept his eyes on a point above Bolitho's shoulder. "I ordered him to carry on with the drill, sir. There is no room for childish games in matters of gunnery." He shrugged, as if it was too trivial to discuss. "He was unwilling to attend my order and I took him off the gun." His lips tightened. "He will have to be punished, sir."

Bolitho could feel the commodore watching him, even sense his amusement.

"Is that all that happened?"

Stepkyne nodded. "Yes, sir."

Inch stepped forward. "The boy was provoked, sir. I am sure he meant no real harm."

Stepkyne did not flinch. "He is no boy, sir, he is to all intent an officer, and I'll have no insolence from him or anyone else who is my junior!"

Bolitho looked at Inch. "In your opinion, did Mr. Pascoe show any insubordination?" His tone hardened. "The truth, Mr. Inch!"

Inch looked wretched. "Well, sir, he did call the second lieutenant a damned liar."

"I see." Bolitho locked his fingers behind his back. "Who heard these words, apart from you?"

Inch replied, "Mr. Gascoigne and, I think, your coxswain, sir."

Bolitho nodded coldly. "Very well, Mr. Inch, you may award punishment."

The door closed behind them and Pelham-Martin said cheerfully, "Well, that was no threat of mutiny, eh? Anyway, a few cuts with a cane never hurt anyone, did it? I lay odds that you kissed the gunner's daughter across the breech of a gun in your youth."

"Several times, sir." Bolitho eyed him coldly. "But I do not recall that it did me any good either!"

Pelham-Martin shrugged and got to his feet. "That's as may be. Now I am going to lie down for a while. I have a lot of thinking to do."

Bolitho watched him go, irritated with himself for displaying his concern, and with Pelham-Martin's lack of understanding.

Later as he sat in the small chartroom toying with his midday meal he tried to concentrate his thoughts on the French ships, to go over what he had gleaned from the commodore's brief confidences and then place himself inside the mind of the enemy commander.

There was a rap on the bulkhead and he heard the marine sentry call, "Midshipman of the watch, sir!"

"Enter!" Without turning Bolitho knew it was Pascoe. In the small cabin he could hear his quick breathing, and when he spoke, the pain in his voice.

"Mr. Roth's respects, sir, and may he exercise the quarterdeck nine-pounders?"

Bolitho tamed in his chair and studied the boy gravely. Six strokes of the bosun's cane would always be hard to take. Tomlin's arm was like the branch of a tree, and Pascoe's slim body was more bones than flesh. In spite of his better judgement Bolitho had been unable to stay away from the cabin skylight when the brief punishment had been carried out, and between each swish of the cane across the boy's buttocks he had found himself gritting his teeth, and had discovered a strange sense of pride when there had been not one cry of pain or complaint.

He looked pale and tight-lipped, and as their eyes met across the chart table Bolitho could almost feel the hurt like his own. -

As captain he had to stay aloof from his officers, but was expected to see and know everything about them. They must -trust and follow him, but he should in no way interfere with their duties when it related to matters of discipline. Unless _… The word hung in his mind like a rebuke.

"You must understand, Mr. Pascoe, that discipline is all important in a ship-of-war. Without it there is no order and no control when it really counts. At this moment you are at the bottom of a long and precarious ladder. One day, perhaps sooner than you realise, it will be your turn to award punishment, maybe decide upon a man's very life."

Pascoe remained silent, his dark eyes fixed on Bolitho's mouth.

"Mr. Stepkyne was right. Gun drill is a contest, but it is no game. The whole survival of this ship and every man aboard will depend on her guns. You can navigate a ship from Plymouth to the ends of the earth, and some may say you have done well. But until you have laid her beside the ship of an enemy and the guns are calling the tune, you will know` how thin is the margin between success and failure."

Pascoe said quietly, "He said my father was a traitor and a rebel, sir. That he'd suffer no argument from another one in his own ship." His mouth quivered and his eyes filled with angry tears. "I-I told him that my father was a King's officer, sir. But-but he just laughed at me." He dropped his eyes. "So I called him a liar!"

Bolitho gripped the edge of the table. It had happened, and it was his fault. He should have guessed, have remembered that Stepkyne was also from Falmouth, and would certainly have heard about his brother. But to use his knowledge to get his own back on a boy too young and

too ignorant of life at sea to understand the full importance of drill was despicable.

He said slowly, "You took your punishment well, Mr. Pascoe."

"Can I ask you, sir?" Pascoe was staring at him again, his eyes filling his face. "Was it true what he said?"

Bolitho stood up and walked to the racks of rolled charts. "Only partly true." He heard the boy sob behind him and added, "He had his own reasons for acting as he did, but of one thing I can assure you. He was a brave man. One you'd have been proud to know." He turned and added, "And I know he would have been proud of you, too."