Williams opened his little book. He was angry, but naval officers often made him feel stupid.
The days of man are but as grass: for he flourisheth as a flower of the field…"
He looked up, caught off guard as the masthead lookout yelled, "Deck there! Sail on the larboard quarter! "
Herrick glanced at the men around him and down on the gangway. Thinking much the same as their captain.
Prince Henry had the Indian Ocean to herself. The Cape of Good Hope was about three hundred miles astern, and there were nearly six thousand miles stretching away into infinity before they could reach land again and their final destination.
Williams cupped his hands. "What ship?"
The lookout shouted down, "Small, sir. Two masts mebbe! "
Williams said, "Perhaps she's one of yours, sir?"
Herrick thought of the beautiful telescope in his cabin, Dulcie's last present to him.
He tightened his jaw and tried to shut it out. He often held it before he turned in, just to imagine her finding it for him. He felt a lump in his throat. He would not interfere. Anyway, Williams was probably right.
If she were an enemy she was well off any station where she might be expected. He looked at the seamen who were still standing with the canvas-sewn corpse.
Williams came out of his thoughts. "Get the royals on her, Mr. Spry! I think she'll stand it! " He seemed to see the burial party for the first time. "What the hell are you waiting for? Tip the bugger over! "
Herrick heard the splash and pictured the bundle twisting and turning, sinking eventually into total darkness. But how did they know that? Many strange things had been witnessed at sea. Maybe there was another world down there beyond the depths.
Calls shrilled and men scampered to halliards and braces as the yards were trimmed until the wind was trapped and the deck tilted slightly to the extra pressure.
Williams said, "Get aloft, Mr. Spry, and take a glass. The lookout is a good hand, but he'll see only what he wants to."
Herrick turned to watch a great fish leap from the gentle water, only to fall again into the waiting jaws of a hunter.
He had heard Williams' remark. The voice of a true sailor. Take nothing for granted.
Some guards appeared from a hatchway and twenty or so prisoners were pushed roughly into the sunshine.
Herrick saw one of the swivels move slightly, its gunner waiting to drag the lanyard which could turn a group of men into bloody gruel. They were a poor-looking lot, he thought. Dirty, unshaven, blinking like old men in the blinding sunlight. One wore leg-irons and lay down by the scuppers, his pallid face turned away from the others.
He heard someone say, "Save yer pity, Silas! They'd spit you soon as look at you! "
Herrick thought of Bolitho again. I should have remembered to ask about his eye. How was he managing? Did the others notice that something was wrong?
The mate arrived on deck with a thud. He had slithered down a backstay, something which would have torn any land-man's palms like a knife-blade.
He said, "Brigantine, sir. Small enough." He glanced astern as if he expected to see her sails on the horizon. "She's overhauling us."
Williams looked thoughtful. "Well, she can't be a slaver out here. Nowhere for her to go."
The mate hesitated. "Suppose she be a pirate?"
Williams grinned hugely and clapped him on the shoulder. "Even a pirate wouldn't be fool enough to want two hundred extra bellies to fill, an' we've precious little else."
Herrick said, "If she is an enemy you can still drive her off."
Williams looked worried again. "It's not that, sir. It's the prisoners. If they ran wild we'd never be able to hold them." He looked at his mate. "Fetch the gunner and tell him to stand by. We've six twelve-pounders, but they've never had to fight since I took command."
The mate said unhelpfully, "Nor before that neither, by the looks of 'em! "
A seaman who was splicing near the companionway stood up and pointed astern. "There she be, sir! "
Herrick took a telescope from the rack by the compass-box and walked aft with it in both hands.
The other vessel was overhauling them fast. With the extended telescope he soon found her bulging fore course and jibs, her topsails completely hiding the other mast from view. End on, making full use of the same wind which was helpless to move the Prince Henry fast enough to maintain her distance away.
"She wears Brazilian colours, sir! "
Herrick grunted. Flags meant very little. His professional eye built up a picture in the telescope's lens. Fast and handy, a maid for all work. But Brazilian, out here? It seemed unlikely.
Spry asked, "Will we fight if she tries her chances, sir?"
Williams licked his dry lips. "Maybe they want stores, water even." Then he said, "We've barely enough for ourselves." He made up his mind. "All prisoners below. Tell the gunner to open the weapons chest, then arm yourselves." He turned to speak to the sea-officer with the greying hair, but Herrick had gone.
A seaman said, "She's a smart 'un! " A sailor's respect for a well-handled vessel, hostile or not.
In his cabin Herrick stood by one of his sea-chests, and after some hesitation opened it, so that his rear-admiral's dress coat shone in the reflected sunshine as if it were coming to life. He pulled out the metal box that contained his best epaulettes, the ones Dulcie had loved to see him wear. He grimaced. The same ones he had worn at his court-martial. He threw his plain black coat and breeches aside and dressed slowly and methodically, the pursuing brigantine still fixed in his mind. He thought of having another shave, but his sense of discipline and what was right made him reject the idea. The water ration was the same for everyone in this pitiful relic, from captain to the lowest felon, even the one who by now might have reached the end of his journey to the seabed.
He sat down and wrote a few words in a letter and sealed it, and then he placed it carefully inside the long leather telescope case. His hand touched it, and the gold-stamped address in London of the people who had made it. He glanced at himself in the mirror, at the undreamed-of epaulettes, each with its silver star. He even smiled without bitterness. A surprising journey it had been for the son of a poor clerk in Kent.
Something moved in the thick glass windows and he saw the other vessel flying up into the wind, the manoeuvre perfectly timed even as she shortened sail.
He heard shouts on deck as the green Brazilian flag was hauled down from the peak, and replaced instantly by the Tricolour.
Herrick picked up his sword and slipped it into his belt. Unhurriedly he took a last glance around the cabin and then made his way to the companion ladder.
"She's a Frenchie! "
Williams' jaw dropped as he stared at Herrick, so calm in his uniform.
"I know."
Williams was suddenly enraged. "Give the bastards a ball, Mr. Gunner! "
The crash of a twelve-pounder brought shouts of alarm from between decks and screams from the women.
Herrick snapped, "Belay that! "
Two flashes spurted from the brigantine's low hull and a mixture of grape and cannister exploded into the poop, bringing down the two helmsmen. Spry the first mate was on his knees, staring with disbelief at the blood pumping out of his stomach even as he fell over and died.
"They're heaving-to! Repel boarders, sir?"
Williams shouted at Herrick, "What shall I do?"
Herrick watched the boat being cast off, the rough-looking oarsmen already pulling lustily towards the convict transport. As the brigantine pitched up and down, her sails aback, he saw the guns, their crews already sponging out in readiness for another attack.
He said, "Heave-to, Captain. You made your point, but men have died for it."
The captain's hand was on his pistol. "They'll not take me, God damn them! "
Herrick saw a white flag being held up by one of the boat's crew. He could even see the other vessel's name in gold letters on her counter, Tridente.
He said, "Stay your hand, Captain. Do as they ask and I think they'll not harm you."