To Glory We Steer (13 page)

Now de Grasse was testing the strength of individual British bases with the same sure strategy which had made him his country's most valuable commander. Using Martinique to the south as his main base, he could attack every island at will or, the thought brought a chill to Bolitho's mind, he could speed to the west and fall upon Jamaica. After that there would be nothing to sustain the British. They would have the Atlantic behind them, and nothing to keep them from complete destruction.

The admiral was saying smoothly, “I will require you to carry out patrols to the westward, Bolitho. I will draft my orders immediately. The enemy may try and transport more troops down from the American mainland to the Leeward Islands, or even further south to the Windward Islands. You will keep contact with the rest of my squadron, and with Admiral Hood at St Kitts
only if absolutely necessary!
”

Bolitho felt the cabin closing in on him. The admiral had no intention of trusting
Phalarope
with the fleet. Once again the frigate seemed doomed to isolation and suspicion.

He said, “The French will be reinforced by privateers, sir. My ship would be well employed closer inshore, I would have thought.”

The admiral smiled gently. “Of course, Bolitho, I had almost forgotten. You are no stranger out here. I think I read somewhere of your little exploits.” His smile vanished. “I am sick and tired of hearing stories of privateers! They are nothing but scavengers and pirates, and no match for one of
my
ships! You will do well to remember that, too!
Andiron
's capture was a disgrace which should have been forestalled! If you meet her again, I would suggest you summon help to avoid another lamentable failure to capture or destroy her!”

Bolitho stood up, his eyes flashing. “That is unfair, sir!”

The admiral studied him bleakly. “Hold your tongue! I am tired of young, hot-headed officers who cannot understand strategy and discipline!”

Bolitho waited for his breathing to return to normal.

“Privateers are just one part of the pattern. The French are the real danger!”

There was a long silence, and Bolitho heard the distant thud of marines' boots and the muted blare of a bugle. The two-decker was like a small town after a frigate, but Bolitho could not wait to get away from it and the admiral's insulting remarks.

The latter said offhandedly, “Keep a close watch on your patrol, Bolitho. And I would suggest you watch your fresh water and supplies very closely. I cannot say exactly when you will be relieved.”

“My men are tired, sir.” Bolitho tried once more to get through the admiral's cold rudeness. “Some of them have not been ashore for years.” He thought of the way they had watched the green hills and gasped at the sight of the smooth, deserted beaches.

“And I am tired of this interview, Bolitho.” He rang a small bell on the desk. “Just do your allotted duty, and remember that I will brook no deviation from it at any time. Foolhardy schemes are useless to me. See that you do not allow your apparent sense of self-importance to mar your judgement.” He waved his hand and the door opened silently behind Bolitho.

He stood outside in the passageway, his hands shaking with suppressed anger and resentment. By the time he had reached the entry port his face was again an impassive mask, but he hardly trusted himself to reply to the quiet words of the
Cassius
's captain as the latter saw him over the side.

The older man said softly, “Watch your step, Bolitho! Sir Robert lost his son aboard the
Andiron.
He will never forgive you for letting her get away,
whatever
the reason, so you must try and ignore his words, if not his warning!”

Bolitho touched his hat to the guard. “I have had a lot of warnings of late, sir. But in an emergency they are rarely of any use!”

The flagship's captain watched Bolitho step into the gig and move clear of the
Cassius
's long shadow. In spite of his youth, Bolitho looked as if he might make trouble for others as well as himself, he thought grimly.

“Deck there! The cap'n's returnin'!”

Herrick moved out of the shade of the mizzen mast and hurried towards the entry port. He brushed some crumbs from his neckcloth and hastily tugged his crossbelt into position. He had always been able to tolerate the dull and badly prepared food aboard ship in the past, but with the
Phalarope
riding at her anchor and the ample provisions of English Harbour lying within cannon shot, it had been all that he could do to swallow his lunch. He squinted across the glittering water, his keen eyes immediately picking out the returning gig, its small crew clean and bright in their check shirts, the oars rising and falling like gulls' wings. Herrick stiffened as Vibart joined him by the rail.

The first lieutenant said, “Well, now we shall see!”

“I'll wager the admiral was delighted to see our captain.” Herrick darted a hasty glance to make sure that the side party was properly fallen in. “It will do a power of good for our people.”

Vibart shrugged. “What do admirals know about anything?” He seemed unwilling to talk and unable to drag his eyes from the approaching gig.

Herrick could see Bolitho's square shoulders in the sternsheets, the glitter of sunlight on his gold lace.

A master's mate said suddenly, “Two water lighters shovin' off from the shore, sir. Deep laden by the looks of 'em!”

Herrick glanced in the direction of the man's arm and saw the two ugly craft moving clear of the land. They crawled ponderously towards the frigate, their great sweeps making heavy work of the journey.

Herrick muttered, “I thought we would wait until we warped through into the harbour?”

Vibart slammed his hands together. “By God, I knew this would happen! I just
knew
it!” He moved his heavy body violently and pointed towards the blue sea. “That's for us, Mr Herrick. No cream for the
Phalarope,
either now or ever!” He added angrily, “Not until the ship is used as she was meant to be used!”

A boatswain's mate called, “Stand by!”

Again the pipes shrilled their salute and the sweating guard slapped their muskets to the present.

Herrick touched his hat and watched Bolitho's face as he climbed up through the port. His features were calm and empty of expression, but his eyes as he glanced briefly along the main deck were cold and bleak, like the North Atlantic.

Vibart said stiffly, “Water lighters making for us, sir.”

“So I see.” Bolitho did not look round, but stared instead at the newly scrubbed decks, the quiet atmosphere of order and readiness. He added after a moment, “Carry on with immediate loading, and tell the cooper to prepare extra casks.”

Herrick asked cautiously, “Are we to sea again, sir?”

The grey eyes fixed him with a flat stare. “It would appear so!”

Vibart stepped forward, his eyes hidden in shadow. “It's damned unfair, sir!”

Bolitho did not answer, but seemed entirely preoccupied in his thoughts. Then he said sharply, “We will be making sail within two hours, Mr Vibart. The wind seems light, but good enough for my purpose.” He looked round as Stockdale padded on to the quarterdeck. “Oh, tell my servant I will require some food as soon as possible. Anything will do.”

Herrick stared at him. Bolitho had been away for the best part of two hours, yet the admiral had not even bothered to entertain him or offer him lunch. What the hell could he be thinking of? A young, courageous captain, fresh from England with news, as well as a fine addition to the fleet, should have been welcomed like a brother!

He thought of his own feelings while he had eaten his meagre meal in the wardroom. Each mouthful had nearly choked him as he had imagined Bolitho dining with the admiral and enjoying the full fare which a flagship could provide in harbour. Poultry, fresh lean pork, even roast potatoes perhaps! The climate was unimportant to Herrick where good, familiar food was concerned.

Now he realised that Bolitho had received nothing. The same feeling of shame and pity moved through him that he had earlier felt for Okes. A slur on Bolitho was an insult to every man aboard, yet the captain carried the full brunt of it. It was so unfair, so calculated in its cruelty that Herrick could not contain himself.

“But, sir! Did the admiral not congratulate you?” He fumbled for words as Bolitho shifted to watch him. “After all you have done for this ship?”

“Thank you for your concern, Herrick.” For a brief moment Bolitho's expression, softened. “Things are not always what they first appear. We must be patient.” There was not a trace of bitterness in his answer, nor was there any warmth either. “But in war there is little time for personal understanding.” He turned on his heel adding. “We will have gun drill as soon as we get under way.” He disappeared down the cabin hatch and Herrick looked round in dull amazement.

So Vibart had been right.
Phalarope
was a marked ship, and would remain one.

The master's mate came aft. “Boat shovin' off from the
Cassius,
sir!”

Herrick felt suddenly angry. It was all so pointless, so stupid. “Very well. It will be bringing despatches. Man the side, if you please.”

He was still angry when a debonair lieutenant climbed up through the port and after removing his hat stood and stared curiously around the deck, as if expecting to see some sort of spectacle.

“Well?” Herrick scowled at the visitor. “Have you had a good look?”

The officer blushed and then said, “My apologies, sir. I was expecting something rather different.” He held out a bulky canvas envelope. “Orders for Captain Bolitho from Sir Robert Napier, Rear-Admiral of the Red.”

It sounded so formal after their first exchange that Herrick could not help smiling. “Thank you. I'll take 'em aft in a moment.” He studied the officer's tanned face. “How goes the war out here?”

He shrugged. “A hopeless muddle. Too much sea and too few ships to cover it!” He became serious. “St Kitts is under siege, and the rebels are consolidating up in the north. Everything will depend on how much the French can bring to bear.”

Herrick turned the heavy envelope over in his hands and wondered if he would ever be opening his own orders. In command of his own ship.

“If the privateers are as good as the one we fought then the battle will be a hard one.” Herrick studied the man's face intently, just waiting for some sign of doubt or amusement.

But the lieutenant said quietly, “We heard about the
Andiron.
A bad business to lose her so. I hope you get a chance to even the score. What with that renegade John Paul Jones playing hell with our communications, it is only to be expected that others will follow his example.”

Herrick nodded. “I don't see why it should be a disgrace for Captain Masterman to lose his ship in combat.”

“You have not heard?” The officer dropped his voice. “She fought two French frigates at once. At the height of the battle the
Andiron
was hailed by some American officer aboard one of the enemy ships. He called on the
Andiron
's people to go over to his side!”

Herrick's jaw dropped. “And you mean that is what happened?”

He nodded. “Exactly! They would never surrender to Frogs, but this American made it sound like a new life, so what did they have to lose? And of course they will fight all the better
against us!
Every man-jack knows it will be flogging round the fleet and the gibbet if they are caught now.”

Herrick felt sick. “How long had
Andiron
been in commission?”

“I'm not sure. About ten years, I believe.” He saw Herrick's mind working and added grimly, “So
watch
your own people. Out here, thousands of miles from home and surrounded by the King's enemies, emotions play a big part in a man's loyalty.” He added meaningly, “Especially in a ship where trouble has already felt its way!”