Bolitho felt the brandy burning his lips. It seemed as if his brother's memory, his disgrace to the family name would never be allowed to die. And now Pelham-Martin was using it as a comparison with some stupid feud caused by his own brother's cowardice, or whatever it had been which had caused him to surrender without first warning the ships coming to relieve and sustain his soldiers.
The commodore nodded gravely. "Of course, my brother did not actually desert his country, but the end result is the same. He was trying to save his men from useless slaughter." He sighed deeply. "But history only judges results and not intentions."
Bolitho said flatly, "I am sure that neither the viceadmiral nor you would jeopardise efficiency over this matter, sir."
"Quite so." Pelham-Martin was smiling again. `But as his junior I have to be doubly careful, you understand? His tone hardened. "And that is why I obey my orders, and nothing more." He paused before adding, "And so will you!"
The interview was over, but as Bolitho rose to his feet Pelham-Martin said easily, "In any case, this tiresome duty will give you ample opportunity to drill your people into shape." He shook his head. "The sail handling was, to say the 'least, very poor indeed."
Bolitho stepped from the cabin and breathed out very slowly. So this was how it was to be. Outwardly everything perfect, but as far as initiative and closing with the enemy were concerned, their hands were to be well tied.
On the quarterdeck Winstanley greeted him with a relieved smile. "Sorry about the warning, Bolitho. Should have told you earlier. The commodore likes to get officers in their cups before he starts his interviews. A nasty little habit which has cost more than one of 'em a quick passage home." He grinned. "Not me of course. He needs a good old salthorse to run his ship." He gripped Bolitho's arm. "Just as he'll need you before we're done, my friend!"
Bolitho smiled. "I am afraid I needed no drink to irritate him."
Winstanley followed him to the quarterdeck rail and together they stared across at the Hyperion as she swayed heavily on the steep offshore swell.
He said, "I agree with everything you said about the frigates. I have told him my views repeatedly, yet he still believes the real threat is from the south." He shook his head. "But if he is indeed wrong then he will have more than an enraged admiral to contend with." He added grimly, "And so will we!"
The wind had eased slightly during the interview and Bolitho had little difficulty in boarding his barge. On the way back to his ship he thought back over every word Pelham-Martin had uttered, and over those he had not spoken.
As he climbed through the entry port he found Inch waiting for him and realised with a start that while he had been contemplating the commodore's strategy the small drama of Inch's clash with Stepkyne had faded from his mind.
He said curtly, "Get the barge inboard and prepare to wear ship, Mr. Inch." He unclipped his swordbelt and handed it to Petch, his servant. Then he dropped his voice and added, "I would suggest that you go around the upperdeck yourself while you have time." He held Inch's eyes with his own. "Better to be sure now than sorry later."
Inch nodded, his face so full of gratitude that Bolitho felt ashamed for him, and for himself. He had fully intended to give Inch the greatest reprimand he could muster, and in his heart he knew that it was probably doing him a disservice by not doing it. But after the commodore's attitude to his superior and the danger it could entail for all of them, he could not bring himself to break Inch's last strand of self-confidence.
Even as the barge swung dizzily above the larboard gangway Gascoigne called, "Flag to Hyperion! Take station astern of column!"
"Acknowledge!" Bolitho clasped his hands behind him. Astern of column, he thought bitterly. Vectis had already slipped away into the drizzle and mist, and now there were just three ships, and they too distant from the enemy to do much good. Somewhere, far beyond the flagship was one solitary frigate. He could pity her captain.
The pipes shrilled and men swarmed to their stations, as if each one was fully aware of the flagship's nearness, more so perhaps of their own captain's displeasure.
But in spite of the clumsiness and expected confusion amongst some of the hands the manoeuvre was completed without further incident. The Hyperion went about, and showing her copper in a steep swell tacked round to take station astern of the other seventy-four, Hermes, so that to an onlooker, had there been one, there was nothing to show that a new sentinel had arrived, nor that one was already making full sail for England and a momentary rest from blockade.
Eventually Inch crossed the quarterdeck and touched his hat. "Permission to dismiss the watch below, sir?"
Bolitho nodded. Then he said, "In future, Mr. Inch, be firm when you are giving your orders. Whether it be to those who know better or merely think they know better. Then they will have confidence in you." The words stuck in his throat as he added, "Just as I have confidence in you." He turned on his heel and walked to the weather side, unable to watch Inch's pathetic determination.
Inch gripped the quarterdeck rail and stared blindly at the milling seamen around the foot of the foremast as they were relieved from duty. He had been dreading Bolitho's return, not because he was going to be told of his failures, for he was better aware.of them than anyone. But because he had caused Bolitho displeasure and disappointment, and that he could not bear. To Inch's simple mind Bolitho was more like a god than a captain. If hero-worship was a driving force then Inch possessed it more than a will to live.
He pointed suddenly and called, "That man! Come now, you can do better than that!"
The seaman in question looked up guiltily and then turned back to his work. He did not know what he had done wrong, and in any case he was doing his task the only way he knew. Nor could he possibly realise that to the first lieutenant he was just a misty blur, an outline amongst many as Inch stared along the length of the labouring ship seeing his own future come alive once more.
Gossett, writing on his slate beside the helmsman, glanced across at him and then at the captain as he strode up and down, head lowered in thought, his hands behind him, and gave a slow nod of understanding. Poor Inch, he thought. Some captains he had known would never have bothered with an officer like him. But Bolitho seemed to care about everyone. When they failed him he seemed to feel the blame himself, yet when he succeeded he always appeared to share the rewards with them. The old master smiled to himself. Equality, that was the word. It suited Bolitho right well. Equality Dick. His features split into a broad grin.
Bolitho paused at the end of his walk and said sharply, "Mr. Gossett, there are six midshipmen aboard this ship whose instruction in the arts of navigation was due to commence some fifteen minutes ago to my reckoning."
Gossett touched his battered hat, but could not, stop grinning. "Aye, aye, sir! I will attend to it immediately!"
Bolitho stared after him. It was not like Gossett to daydream.
He recommenced his pacing and returned to his thoughts. No doubt they would all have time for daydreaming under Pelham-Martin's broad pendant, he decided.
3. DECEPTION