He twisted round as feet pattered along the deck overhead, and the boatswain's hoarse bellow chased some of the crew to their stations for altering course.
Segrave said simply, "I'm glad I came, sir."
He did not cringe as Tyacke pushed his face nearer and said, "Well spoken! "
They went on deck together, and after the foul stench below the air tasted like wine.
Tyacke glanced at the streaming masthead pendant, then at the compass. The wind was as before, but as the youth had noticed, it was less violent in the shelter of the land.
As he removed a telescope from a rack beside the compass box he glanced quickly at the men on deck. Including himself there were twelve of them aboard. He saw the seaman named Swayne, the deserter, hauling on a halliard to take out some slack. He moved quickly and easily a proper Jack, Tyacke thought. Now that he, had accepted what he had done by coming here with the others, he even looked cheerful. While there was life there was still hope. Aboard the flagship an award of two hundred lashes or more, with the only other alternative being an agonising dance at the yardarm, left no room for hope.
Tyacke stared at the other volunteer, a Royal Marine named Buller, under a similar sentence for striking a sergeant after getting fighting drunk on pilfered rum. When it came to such matters the "Royals" could be merciless with one of their own.
The other faces he knew well. He saw the squat figure of George Sperry the Miranda's boatswain, calling to two hands who were working with chain slings on the foreyard. Once the fire was started, the tarred rigging would ignite in seconds, the sails too if the deed were done too soon. Chain would keep their sails in place just, that much longer. Tyacke's face twisted into a grimace. Or so he had been told. Like all sailors Tyacke hated the danger of fire more than anything. He touched his burned face and wondered if he would break at the last moment; knowing in the same breath he would not.
He looked at Segrave, his hair ruffling in the wind, and thought of his faltering voice as he had stammered out his story. Tyacke had found his rage mounting to match the boy's shame. Those others should be the ones to feel shame, he thought. There would always be scum like that, but only where their cruelty was condoned.
Tyacke raised his glass and trained it past the midshipman's shoulder. The land was hard abeam, the very tip of the point which guarded the entrance to the bay reaching out rocky and green in the pale sunshine. He felt the deck planking growing warm again; very soon the whole schooner would be as dry as tinder. God help them if the enemy had sited some long-range guns as far out as the point. He doubted it; it was an impossible place for a landing party to scale or even disembark. But the doubt remained. No ship was a match for land artillery especially those with heated shot. Tyacke forced his mind away from the picture of a red-hot ball, slamming into the crammed hull beneath his shoes.
"Deck there! " The lookout was pointing astern. "Miranda's tackin' to the point, sir! "
Tyacke turned his glass towards the open sea, where the water was a deeper blue as if unwilling to give up the night.
He felt a lump in his throat as he saw Miranda's huge courses swinging above the waves, her single topsail flapping wildly as she began to change tack. To all appearances it might well look as if she was in pursuit of the shabby Albacora.
"Shake out all reefs, Mr Sperry! Lively there! " He saw the boatswain give his broken-toothed grin as he added, "We don't want a King's ship to catch us! " But he turned away in case Sperry saw, and understood, the lie.
He said to Segrave, "Lend a hand at the helm. As far as I can calculate we shall have to make good some ten miles before we can attempt a final approach."
Segrave watched him as he voiced his thoughts aloud. He found he could do it now without revulsion. There was something compelling about the tall lieutenant, and something frightening too.
Tyacke waved the telescope towards the full breadth of the bay as the point of land appeared to slide across the larboard quarter, like the opening of a giant gateway.
"We shall beat up to the nor'-east where the bottom shelves to a few fathoms. The sort of thing any ship's master might do if he was being chased by a man-o'-war. Then we'll come about and lay her on the starboard tack and run straight for 'em." He glanced at Segrave's sensitive features. "That's if they're still there, of course."
Tyacke rubbed his chin and wished he had had a shave. The idea made him smile. As if it mattered now! He recalled the viceadmiral's coxswain, Allday with the morning ritual. He thought also of his own private talks with Bolitho. Such an easy man to speak with, to share confidences. Like the time when Bolitho had asked him about his face and the Nile, when he had found himself answering without his usual defence and resentment.
And it was all true. There was no falseness in Bolitho, no using men as mere tools to complete some plan, or hiding indifference behind his rank.
"Stand by to alter course, Mr Segrave." He saw him start with surprise. "In a minute or so we shall steer nor'-east, so watch the mains'l no less than the compass! "
Segrave swallowed hard then joined the helmsman who acknowledged him almost shyly. Segrave saw that it was the young seaman named Dwyer, the one who had tried to tie up his wound in the cabin beneath them.
Dwyer said, "We'll manage well enough, eh, Mr Segrave?"
Segrave nodded and discovered he could even offer a smile. "We shall."
Tyacke turned as a shot echoed across the water, and was in time to see a faint puff of smoke shred away from Miranda's bows. Simcox had started to play his part. It was to be hoped he did not overplay it and outrun the Albacora as Miranda had done before.
Then he returned attention to the sailing of the fireship; but even as he signalled for Sperry to put two of his hard-pressed men on the foremast boom, he found himself thinking of the girl he had known in Portsmouth. Marion. He dashed the sweat from his eyes with his grubby shirt sleeve and believed for an instant that he had said her name aloud. If only… Another shot echoed over the glittering water, and from a corner of his eye Tyacke saw the four-pound ball jag into the sea a good cable astern.
"Steady she goes, sir! Nor'-east it is! " It was strange to hear Segrave call out when he was usually so quiet and withdrawn.
Tyacke glanced at him sadly. We are both scarred, inwardly or out.
Spray dashed over the side and swept over the patched and dirty deck like a tide. Tyacke saw the boatswain blink as another shot banged out astern, and the ball ploughed down a bit closer than the previous one. He glanced at the skylight and Tyacke knew he was thinking about the woman he had satisfied his lust with in the cabin. We all have only memories now.
Tyacke gazed along the busy deck as the schooner leaned over still further under her full press of sail.
Perhaps Marion would read about it someday. He gave a bitter smile. My last command.
Captain Daniel Poland remained a little apart from Bolitho as he stood by the cabin table, and used some dividers to measure off the calculations on his chart.
Bolitho said, half to himself, "As far as we know, there have been no new arrivals in the bay. If there had been, either you or Captain Varian in Zest would likely have sighted them. Likewise, the big ships and frigate must still be at anchor." He looked up in time to see Poland 's doubtful expression. "Don't you agree?"
Poland responded, "It is a big area, Sir Richard. Four times the size of Table Bay." He faltered under the grey stare. "But as you say, it is perhaps unlikely."
Bolitho watched the sunlight fanning through Truculent's stern windows, swinging across the cabin like fiery bars as the frigate changed tack yet again.
Poland bit his lip with annoyance as someone or something fell heavily on the deck above. "Clumsy oafs! "