He said distantly, "You know my standards. Clear for action in ten minutes or less. Then three broadsides every two minutes." He eyed him calmly. "You know it. Make sure they know it, too!" He walked back to the weather side adding casually, "I suggest you give one gun to the midshipmen this morning. It will keep 'em out of mischief, and more to the point will make our people all the more keen. It does them good to know they can beat an officers' crew in timing and efficiency."
Inch nodded. "I'll attend to it directly…" He flushed with embarrassment. "I-I mean at once, sir!"
Bolitho continued his pacing, his jaw aching as he tried to stop the grin from spreading across his face. It was just as if Inch was trying to mould himself on his captain, even to the way he spoke.
At two bells precisely he left the quarterdeck and made his way aft to the cabin. Much as usual he found PelhamMartin seated at the table, a silk napkin under his chin while he consumed a final cup of coffee after his late breakfast.
He said, "I have sent the hands to gun drill, sir."
Pelham-Martin dabbed his small mouth with a comer of the napkin and frowned as the deck trembled to the rumble of gun trucks and stamp of feet.
"So it would appear!" He shifted his bulky frame on the chair. "Is there anything else to report?"
Bolitho eyed him impassively. It was always the same. "We are steering west-south-west, sir, and the wind is steady as before. I have set the royals on her,. and with luck we should reach St. Kris in three weeks."
Pelham-Martin grimaced. "You sound very confident. But of course you know these waters well." He glanced towards the litter of papers and charts on the desk. "I hope to God there is some news awaiting us at St. Kruis." He scowled. "You can never can tell with the Dutch, of course."
Bolitho looked away. "It cannot be easy when you know your own homeland is being conquered, sir."
The commodore grunted. "That is not my concern. The point is, will they help us?"
"I believe so, sir. The Dutch have always been good friends, just as they have been honourable and courageous foes."
"Maybe." Pelham-Martin pulled himself on to his short legs and moved slowly up the tilting deck. At the desk he fiddled with the papers and then said bitterly, "My orders give me no real indication of what I am to expect. No sort of guide…" He broke off and swung round as if expecting criticism. "Well? What do you think?"
Bolitho said slowly, "I think we must try and inspire some confidence, sir. Be one move ahead of Lequiller's ships and foresee whatever he tries to do. He will use his strength whenever he can to force others to help and supply him. But at the same time he must realise that his squadron is vulnerable and will want to use it without delay and to the best effect." He crossed to the charts. "He will know that he is being chased, and will therefore have the advantage."
Pelham-Martin leaned heavily on the desk. "I know that, dammit!"
"It will be necessary to seek him out, to prevent him from carrying out his intentions, before he can act."
"But in the name of heaven, man, do you know what you're saying?" He sounded shocked. "You are suggesting that I should sail to some mark on a chart and merely sit and wait?"
Bolitho replied calmly, "A chase is always a chase, sir. I have rarely known one group of ships to overhaul another without some piece of extreme luck. To catch a shark you must have a suitable bait, one so rich that even the wiliest cannot resist it."
Pelham-Martin rubbed his chin. "Treasure ships. You are speaking of those?" He walked unsteadily across the cabin. "It is a terrible risk, Bolitho. If Lequiller intended to attack somewhere else, and we were watching over some ships at the other end of the Caribbean," he shuddered, "it would be my responsibility!"
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."