He had had to send Herrick in the end to interrupt the embraces and the mother's plaintive sobs with a feeble excuse about Armitage being required for duty. Duty; he could hardly move abous the ship without falling headlong over a block or a ringbolt.
Giles Bellairs, the debonair captain of marines, was more like a caricature than a real person. Incredibly smart, shoulders always rigidly squared, he looked as if he had had his uniforms moulded around his limbs like wax. He spoke in short, clipped sentences, and barely extended much beyond matters of hunting, wildfowling and, of course, drill. His marines were his whole life, although he hardly ever seemed to utter much in the way of orders. His massive sergeant, Coaker, took care of the close contact with the marines, and Bellairs contented himself with an occasional 'Carry on, Sar'nt Coaker!' or 'I say, Sar'nt, that fellah's like a bundle of old rags, what?' He was one of the few people in Bolitho's experience who could get completely drunk without any outward change of expression.
Triphook, the purser, appeared very competent, if grudging with his rations. He had taken a lot of care to ensure that the victualling yard had not filled the lower hold with rotten casks, to be discovered too late to take action. That in itself was rare.
Bolitho's thoughts came back to the surgeon. He had been aboard for two weeks. Had he been able to get a replacement he would have done so. Whitmarsh was a drunkard in the worst sense. Sober he had a quiet, even gentle manner. Drunk, which was often, he seemed to come apart like an old sail in a sudden squall.
He tightened his jaw. Whitmarsh would mend his ways. Or else…
Feet scraped across the planks overhead and Herrick said, 'There's a few below decks tonight who'll be wondering if they've done a'right by signing on.' He chuckled. 'Too late now.'
Bolitho stared astern at the black, swirling water, hearing the urgent tide banging and squeaking around the rudder.
'Aye. It's a long step from land to sea. Far more so than most people realise.' He returned his glass to the rack. 'I think I shall turn in now. It will be a long day tomorrow.'
Herrick stood up and nodded. 'I'll bid you goodnight, sir.'
He knew full well that Bolitho would stay awake for hours yet. Pacing and planning, searching for last-minute faults, possible mistakes in the arrangement of watch-bills and delegation of duties. Bolitho would know he was aware of this fact, too.
The door closed and Bolitho walked right aft to lean his hands on the centre sill. He could feel the woodwork vibrating under his palms, the hull trembling all around him in time to the squeak of stays, the clatter and slap of halliards and blocks.
Who would watch them go? Would anyone care? One more ship slipping down channel like hundreds before her.
There was a nervous tap at the door, and Noddall, the cabin servant, pattered into the lantern light. A small man, with the pointed face of an anxious rodent. He even held his hands in front of him like two nervous paws.
'Yer supper, sir. You've not touched it.' He started to gather up the plates. 'Won't do, sir. It won't do.'
Bolitho smiled as Noddall scampered away to his pantry. He was so absorbed in his own little world it seemed as if he had not even noticed there was a change of command.
He threw his new cloak across his shoulders and left the cabin. On the pitch-dark quarterdeck he groped his way aft to the taffrail and stared towards the land. Countless lights and hidden houses. He turned and looked along his ship, the wind blowing his hair across his face, the chill making him hold his breath. The riding light reflected on the taut shrouds like pale gold, and right forward he saw a smaller lantern, where the lonely anchor watch kept a wary eye on the cable.
It felt different, he decided. No sentries on each gangway to watch for a sneak attack or a mass attempt at desertion. No nets to delay a sudden rush of enemy boarders. He touched a quarterdeck six-pounder with one hand. It felt like wet ice. But for how long, he wondered?
The master's mate of the watch prowled past, and then sheered away as he saw his captain by the rail.
'All's well, zur!' he called.
'Thank you.'
Bolitho did not know the man's name. Not yet. In the next hundred days he would know more than their names, he thought. As they would about him.
With a sigh he returned to his cabin, his hair plastered to his head, his cheeks tingling from the cold. There was no sign of Noddall, but the cot was ready for him, and there was something hot in a mug nearby.
A minute after his head was or. the pillow he was fast asleep.
The next day dawned as grey as the one before, but overnight the rain had stopped, and the wind held firm from the southeast.
All forenoon the work went on without relaxation, the petty officers checking and re-checking their lists of names, putting them to faces, making sure seasoned hands were spaced among the untried and untrained.
Bolitho dictated a final report to his clerk, a dried-up man named Pope, and then signed it in readiness for the last boat. He found time to speak with his officers, and seek out Mr. Tapril, the gunner, in his magazine to discuss moving some of the spare gun parts and tackle further aft and help adjust the vessel's trim until she had consumed some of her own stores to compensate for it.
He was changing into his seagoing coat, with its faded lace and dull buttons, when Herrick entered the cabin and reported he had brought fifteen new man from the hulks.
'What was it like?'
Herrick sighed. 'It was a sort of hell, sir. I could have got treble the number, a whole company of 'em, if I'd been able to bring their women and wives, too.'
Bolitho paused as he tied his neckcloth. 'Women? In the hulks?'
'Aye, sir.' I-Ierrick shuddered. 'I hope I never see the like again.'
'Very well. Sign them on, but don't give them anything to do just yet. I doubt they've the strength to lift a marlin spike after being penned up like that.'
A midshipman appeared in the open door.
'Mr. Davy's respect, sir.' His eyes darted around the cabin, missing nothing. 'And the anchor's hove short.'
'Thank you.' Bolitho smiled. 'Next time stay awhile, Mr. Penn, and have a better look.'
The boy vanished, and Bolitho looked steadily at Herrick. 'Well, Thomas?'
Herrick nodded firmly. 'Aye, sir. I'm ready. It's been a long wait.'
They climbed up to the quarterdeck together, and while Herrick moved to the forward rail with his speaking trumpet, Bolitho stood aft, a little apart from the others who were gathered restlessly at their stations.
Clink, clink, clink, the capstan was turning more slowly now, the men's backs bent almost double as the hull pulled heavilyy on the anchor.
Bolitho looked at the master's untidy shape beside the double wheel. He had four helmsmen. He was taking no chances, it seemed. With the helm, or his new captain's skill.
'Get the ship under way, if you please.' He saw Herrick's trumpet moving. 'Once clear of this local shipping we will lay her on the larboard tack and steer sou'-west by west.'
Old Mudge nodded heavily, one eye hidden beyond the headland of a nose.
'Aye, aye, sir.'
Herrick yelled, 'Stand by on the capstan!' He shaded his eyes to peer up at the masthead pendant. 'Loose heads'ls!'
The answering flap and clatter of released canvas made several new men peer round, confused and startled. A petty officer thrust a line into a man's hand and bellowed, ''Old it, you bugger! Don't stand there like a bloody woman!'
Bolitho saw a bosun's mate right forward astride the bowsprit, one arm circling above his head as the cable grew stiffer and more vertical beneath the gilded water-nymph.
'Hands aloft! Loose tops'ls!'
Bolitho relaxed slightly as the nimble-footed topmen swarmed up the ratlines on either beam. No sense in rushing it this first time. The watching eyes ashore could think what they liked. He'd get no thanks for letting her drive ashore.