Pascoe sipped the wine. "They are saying in the squadron that this command would have been Nelson's had he not lost his arm." He watched him questioningly.
Bolitho smiled. There were few secrets in the fleet. "Perhaps. "
Pascoe nodded, his eyes distant. "A great honour, Uncle, but-"
"But what?"
"A great responsibility also."
Herrick reappeared at the door. "May I ask what time you would wish the other captains to return aboard, sir?"
He looked from one to the other and felt strangely moved. About twenty years between them, yet they looked like brothers.
Bolitho replied, "I will leave it to you."
When Herrick had gone Pascoe asked simply, "Is anything between you and Captain Herrick, Uncle?"
Bolitho touched his arm. "Nothing that can harm our friendship, Adam."
Pascoe appeared satisfied. "I’m glad."
Bolitho reached for the decanter. "Now, tell me what you have been doing since I last saw you."
2. Small Beginning
BOLITHO moved restlessly around his day cabin, one hand reaching out to touch objects not yet familiar. Around and above him the Lysander's seventeen hundred tons of timbers and spars, artillery and men creaked and groaned to the pressure of a rising north-westerly wind.
He had to forcibly restrain himself from peering from one or other of the quarter windows to see how the rest of his squadron were getting on with preparations for weighing. He heard occasional shouts and the thump of bare feet as seamen raced in all directions to complete last minute tasks, and he could picture Herrick as he, too, fretted over each delay. It was all Bolitho could do to leave Herrick alone on the quarterdeck.
As a captain, Bolitho had been made to take his ships to sea in every sort of condition. From a lively sloop to the towering three-decker Euryalus in which he had been flag captain he had experienced the anxious moments before the anchor broke from the sea bed.
For Herrick it would be much the same, if not worse. To look at a captain on his own quarterdeck, remote and aloof from the bustle and confusion all around him, protected from criticism by his authority and his gleaming epaulettes, any idler might think he was beyond ordinary fears and feelings.
Bolitho had thought much in that way when he had been a junior lieutenant, or for that matter a midshipman. A captain had been a sort of god. He had lived an unreachable existence I beyond his cabin bulkhead, and had but to scowl to have every officer and seaman quaking.
But now, like Herrick, he knew differently. The greater the responsibility the greater the honour. Equally, you had I further to fall from grace if things went badly.
Allday came into the cabin and rubbed his large hands.
There were droplets of spray on his blue jacket, and he had a kind of wildness in his eyes. He too, was feeling it. Eager to quit the land again. Like a hunter who goes to pit his strength against the unknown. Needing to do it, but never knowing if each time was the last.
The coxswain grinned. "They"re doing well, sir. I’ve just been up to the boat tier to watch over your barge. There's a fair breeze from the nor"-west. The squadron will make a goodly sight when "we beat clear of the Rock."
Bolitho tensed, his head to one side as something clattered and dragged along the deck above. A voice bellowed harshly, "Belay that line, you bugger!"
He bit his lip, imagining all manner of things going wrong. Allday watched him thoughtfully. "Cap"n Herrick will see us clear, sir."
"I know." He nodded as if to seal the conviction. "I know. " "He’ll not be wanting to let you down."
Allday removed the sword from its rack on the bulkhead and waited for Bolitho to lift his arms while he buckled it round his waist.
He said softly, 'same old sword, sir." He touched the worn hilt. "We’ve come a few leagues together."
Bolitho looked at him gravely. "Aye." He let his fingers run over the sword's guard. "And I dare say it will-outlast the both of us."
Allday grinned hugely. "That's better, sir! You sound just like a flag officer!"
The door opened silently and Herrick stepped into the cabin, his hat under One arm.
"The squadron is ready to weigh, sir." He sounded very calm. "Anchors hove short."
"Very well, Captain Herrick." He kept his tone formal. "I will come up directly. "
Herrick hurried out and his footsteps could be heard clattering quickly up the ladder to the poop above the stern cabin. He would be taking into" account the position of other shipping, which mercifully was sparse. The strength of the wind and the nearness of shoals. He would be aware that there were more eyes than Bolitho's on him this forenoon. The other captains who had appeared so relaxed and jovial around the cabin table last night at dinner would be gauging his skill as a " sailor, measuring it in Lysander's sail drill, the smartness of getting under way. There would be glasses trained on the ships from the garrison, too, and from the enemy defences at Algeciras.
Bolitho said quietly, "I am ready, Allday."
Allday hung back below the cabin skylight and gestured above him. "Up there, sir."
Bolitho stood beside him and stared up towards the black mass of rigging, and beyond it to the towering main mast with its whipping broad pendant at the truck.
"Yes, I see it."
Allday studied him gravely. "That pendant is yours by right, sir. There's many watching it this day who"d have it off you if they had the chance. But while it flies, they will obey. So leave the worrying to others, sir. You’ve got fatter-fish to Cook."
" Bolitho faced him with surprise. "Admiral Beauchamp said much the same. If not in the same words, then in the I" same sense." He slapped Allday's arm. "And thank you."
As he strode beneath the poop and out past the big double wheel he was very conscious of the watching men all around him. Once on the quarterdeck, with the wind throwing beads of spray above the nettings and gangway, he saw the press of figures at halliards and braces, the scarlet coats of the marines in the afterguard where they waited to add their weight to that of the seamen.
"Attention on the quarterdeck!"
That would be Gilchrist, the first lieutenant, and Herrick's right hand man. Tall and lean like a bean pole, with a permanent frown, he looked much like a disapproving schoolmaster.
Beyond him were some of the lieutenants, the midshipman "of the watch and numerous other nameless faces.
Bolitho touched his hat to the deck at large, comparing, despite his determination to avoid it, all this with what he had known and loved as a captain. He would have made certain that he had met and memorised the features and name of every officer aboard just as soon as was possible. The first lieutenant especially. He glanced at Herrick's stocky figure by the quarterdeck rail and wondered if he, too, was making a I comparison.
A voice at Bolitho's elbow said thickly, "A fine day, sir, if I may make so bold. "
Bolitho turned and saw a broad, red-faced lump of a man who seemed to fill the space of three. Not so much in height but in beam and depth, he stood with his fat legs straddled as if for a sudden gale, his heavy; mournful features studying Bolitho with unmasked curiosity.
He added, "I’m Grubb, sir. Sailing master."
Bolitho smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Grubb."
He should have known. There had been many tales lingering in the ship about Ben Grubb, Lysander's master at St. Vincent. He had, it was said, played on a tin whistle as the seventy-four had nudged through the enemy formation and after the marine drummer boys had been cut down by grapeshot.