Raymond looked up dully. 'Quakers?'
'Wooden muzzles. They give an appearance that we are still fully armed.' He forced a smile. 'Quakers having an opposition to war.'
Herrick appeared by the door. 'Sir?'
'We will rig extra screens here, Mr. Herrick. A larger sleeping compartment for our passengers. To larboard, I think.'
Mrs. Raymond said calmly, 'For me and my maid, if you please.' She looked at her husband. 'He will bed elsewhere on this ship.'
Herrick studied her curiously but said, 'Mr. Raymond to starboard then. And what about you, sir?'
Bolitho sighed. 'Chart space.' He looked at the others. 'We will dine together here, if you agree.'
Nobody answered.
Midshipman Keen hovered by the door, his eyes on the woman.
'Mr. Soames's respects, sir, and the captain of Nervion is about to board, us.'
Bolitho swung round and then. gasped as his shin cracked against a heavy chest.
He said between his teeth, 'I will endeavour to be hospitable, Mr. Herrick!'
Herrick kept his face blank. 'I am certain of it, sir.'
It was early morning by the time Bolitho had pulled himself wearily into his cot, his mind still reeling from entertaining Capitan Triarte and some of his officers. He had been made to go across to the Nervion where the captain had again made a point of comparing the spacious comfort with Undine's overcrowded quarters. It had not helped at all. Now the ship lay quiet again, and he tried to picture Mrs. Raymond who was sleeping beyond the newly-rigged screen. He had seen her in the cabin when the Spanish officers had come aboard. Aloof yet tempting, with little to reveal her true feelings for her husband. A dangerous woman to cross, he thought.
How still the ship felt. Perhaps, like himself, everyone was too weary to move. Guns had been trundled away and lowered with difficulty into the holds. More stores and heavy gear had had to be swayed aft to readjust the trim once again. It was surprising how much larger the cabin looked without the guns there.
He groaned as his head found some new ache to offer him. He would not see much of it though. He turned his face to the pillow, the sweat running across his chest with the effort. One thing was certain. He had rarely had better incentive for a fast passage.
He was up and about at first light, eager to get his work done before the heat of the day made thinking more difficult. In the afternoon, to the distant strains of a military band and the cheers of a crowd along the waterfront, Undine weighed anchor, and with Nervion in the lead, her great foresail displaying a resplendent cross of scarlet and gold, worked clear of the roads before setting more canvas to the wind.
Some small craft followed them across the glittering water, but were soon outpaced by the graceful frigates. By dusk they had the sea to themselves, with only the stars for company.
4. Death of a Ship
Ezekiel Mudge, Undine's sailing master, sat comfortably in one of Bolitho's chairs and peered at the chart which was laid across the desk. Without his hat he looked even older, but there was assurance in his voice as he said, 'This wind'll freshen in the next day or so, sir. You mark my words.' He tapped the chart with his own brass dividers which he had just fished from one of his pockets. 'For now, the nor'-east trades will suit us, and we'll be up to the Cape Verde Islands in a week, with any luck.' He sat back and studied Bolitho's reactions.
'Much as I thought.'
Bolitho walked to the stern windows and leaned his hands on the sill. It was hot, like wood from a fire, and beyond the frigate's small, frothing wake the sea was blinding in the glare. His shirt was open to the waist, and he could feel the sweat running down his shoulders, a dryness in his throat like dust.
It was almost noon, and Herrick would be waiting for the midshipmen to report to him on the quarterdeck to shoot the sun for their present position. A full week, but for a few hours, since they had sailed from Santa Cruz, and daily the sun had pinned them down, had defied the light airs which had tried to give them comfort. Today the wind had strengthened slightly, and Undine was ghosting along on the starboard tack with all sails drawing well.
There was little satisfaction in Bolitho's thoughts. For Undine had suffered her first casualty, a young seaman who had fallen overboard just as darkness had been closing in the previous day. Signalling his intention to the Spanish captain, Bolitho had gone about to begin a search for the luckless man. He had been working aloft on the main topsail yard, framed against the dying sunlight like a bronze statue. Had he been a raw recruit, or some heavy-handed landsman, it was likely he would still be alive. But he had been too confident, too careless perhaps for those last vital seconds as he had changed his position. One cry as he had fallen, and then his head had broken surface almost level with the mizzen, his arms beating at the sea as he tried to keep pace with the ship.
Davy had told him that the seaman was a good swimmer, and that fact had given some hope they might pick him up. They had lowered two boats, and for most of the night had searched in vain. Dawn had found them on course again, but to Bolitho's anger he had discovered that the Nervion had made no attempt to shorten sail or stay in company, and only in the last halfhour had the masthead reported sighting her topgallant sails once again.
The seaman's death had been an additional thorn to prod at his determination to weld the ship together. He had seen the Spanish officers watching their first attempts at gun drill through their telescopes, slapping their thighs with amusement whenever something went wrong, which was often. They themselves never drilled at anything. They seemed to treat the voyage as a form of entertainment.
Even Raymond had remarked, 'Why bother with gun drill, Captain? I do not know much about such matters, but surely your men find it irksome in this damned heat?'
He had replied, 'It is my responsibility, Mr. Raymond. I daresay it may be unnecessary for this mission, but I'll take no chances.'
Raymond's wife had kept aloof from all of them, and during the day spent much of her time under a small awning which Herrick's men had rigged for her and the maid right aft by the taffrail. Whenever they met, usually at meal times, she spoke only briefly, and then touched on personal matters which Bolitho barely understood. She appeared to enjoy hinting to her husband that he was too backward, that he lacked assurance when it was most needed. Once he had heard her say hotly, 'They ride right over you, James! How can I hold up my head in London when you suffer so many insults! Why, Margaret's husband was knighted for his services, and he is five years your junior!' And so on.
Now, as he turned to look at Mudge, he wondered what he and the others were thinking of their captain. Driving them all too hard, and for no purpose. Making them turn to and work at those stubborn guns while aboard the Spaniard the offwatch hands sprawled about sleeping or drinking wine like passengers.
As if reading his thoughts, Mudge said, 'Don't mind what some o' the buggers are sayin', sir. You're young, but you've a mind for the right thing, if you'll pardon the liberty.' He plucked at his great nose. 'I've seen many a cap'n taken all aback 'cause he worn't ready when the time came.' He chuckled, his small eyes vanishing into his wrinkles. 'An' as you well knows, sir, when things do go wrong it's no blamed use slappin' yer hip an' blastin' yer eye, an' blamin' all else.' He tugged a watch the size of a turnip from an inner pocket. 'I must away on deck, if you can spare me, sir. Mr. 'Errick likes me to be there when we compares our reckonin'.' It seemed to amuse him. 'As I said, sir, you stand firm. You don't 'ave to like a cap'n, but by God you've got to trust 'un!' He lumbered from the cabin, his shoes making the deck creak as he passed.