Grace since childhood. Allday had nobody to call his own.
He said, "Come and tell us all about it, John. We've heard a few rumours, but not much else."
"I was thinking about RearAdmiral Herrick. Takes you back, don't it, Bryan? Phalarope, the Cap'n, us an' Mr Herrick. Come a long way. Now he's lost his wife. Full circle, that's what."
Ferguson opened the door of his little house and glanced round to make sure Grace had retired at long last.
"Here, I'll fetch some grog from the pantry."
Allday gave a sad grin. Like them up there in that great bedroom. A sailor's woman. "I'd relish that, matey! " All of us, holding things at bay, knowing it must end, but making the best of it.
He coughed on the rum and spluttered, "God, this is the stuff to fill the sails! "
Ferguson smiled. "Got it off a trader from Port Royal." He saw the shadow lifting from Allday's face, and held up his glass.
"Welcome home, old friend! "
Allday's eyes crinkled. What Bolitho called him. "An' here's to those who won't never come home." He laughed, and the cat sleeping by the fire opened one eye with irritation. "Even the officers-well, some of 'em! "
As Ferguson went away to open another bottle, Allday added quietly, "An' to you both over yonder. May God protect you! "
When he looked out, their window was in darkness and only the distant boom of the sea gave him an answer. Always waiting.
16. The Squadron
HIS BRITANNIC Majesty's Ship Black Prince seemed to hesitate for a moment before plunging her massive one thousand eight hundred tons into the next procession of troughs.
Aft in his spacious day cabin, Bolitho looked up from his final cup of coffee before starting the new day, and was surprised how easily the big second-rate took even the heaviest sea.
It was eight o'clock in the morning, and he could vaguely hear the muffled movements of the forenoon watchkeepers as they relieved the men on deck. Unlike Hyperion or any other two-decker, there was a sense of protected remoteness in Black Prince. Bolitho's quarters with their own private sternwalk were sandwiched between the wardroom beneath his feet and Keen's own domain directly above.
He shivered and looked at the leaping patterns of salt spray on the stern windows, frozen there like the ramblings of some insane artist. The day cabin was finely painted and moulded with carved panels, the stern bench seat and chairs finished with dark green leather. Catherine could have chosen it herself, he thought. But now it was bloomed with damp, and he could picture without effort the discomfort and as yet unfamiliarity endured by the flagship's company of eight hundred souls, including one hundred Royal Marines. Bolitho had once been a flag captain in a big first-rate, the Euryalus, renamed after being taken as a prize from the French. Twelve years ago. At the worst time for England 's embattled shores, when the fleet had mutinied at the Nore and Spithead. If ever Napoleon had missed his chance, it had been then. They could be thankful a hundred times over that he was a land-creature and not a sailor.
Allday entered the cabin and regarded Bolitho impassively. "First day o' February, Sir Richard." He did not sound very enthusiastic about it. "Like ice on deck."
"How are things, Allday?" My eyes and ears.
Allday shrugged his broad shoulders and winced. He felt his wound more in cold weather.
"Things? I think most o' the people are in irons about the new ship." He glanced around the magnificent cabin with neither dislike nor contentment. "You can't find nothing when you needs it. All different from Hyperion." His eyes gleamed momentarily and he added, "I'll say one thing, Sir Richard, she's a good sailer for a big 'un.
A few months' drill and who knows what Cap'n Keen will make her do."
Bolitho understood. It was often so in a brand new vessel.
Everything to be learned from the beginning again. Black Prince was no frigate, and with her towering hull and three lines of ports for her total firepower of ninety-four guns and two carronades, she would need firm handling.
"I heard a pipe just now." Bolitho saw Ozzard pause beside the beautiful wine cooler and cabinet which he had found waiting on board when he had hoisted his flag at the fore. Catherine had made no mention of it. A gift like the previous one which now lay on the bottom with his old flagship. She had taken great care; the mahogany cabinet was perfectly matched, and on the top was an inlaid shield-the Bolitho coat of arms.
Ozzard wiped some of the damp bloom from it with his cloth and nodded approvingly. He had no need for words.
Allday watched him warily. "It was a pipe to witness punishment in the forenoon watch, Sir Richard."
Bolitho eyed him steadily. Keen would hate that, even when there was no other obvious solution. Bolitho had known too many captains who had flogged first and sought explanations only when it was too late.
There were voices at the outer screen door and Bolitho heard the marine sentry tap the deck with his musket. Keen, reporting at his usual time after he had checked the log, seen the new watch take over, and discussed the day's work with his first lieutenant.
He entered the cabin and said, "Fresh nor'westerly, Sir Richard." He nodded to Allday. "But the decks are dry. She takes it well." He looked strained, and there were shadows beneath his eyes. "I am assured we will make contact with the squadron by noon if the weather holds."
Bolitho noticed that Allday and Ozzard had quietly departed.
"Be seated, Val. Is something wrong?" He forced a smile. "Is there ever a time in a sailor's life when there is not?"
Keen stared through the spray-dappled glass. "There are several familiar faces in the company." He shot him a quick glance. "I thought you should know before you have cause to meet them."
Bolitho watched the sea, silent beyond the thick windows, leaping and breaking, so dark it was almost black. There were always old faces. The navy was like that. A family, or a prison. With faces went memories. It could not be otherwise.
He answered. "That was thoughtful of you, Val. I have deliberately kept out of your way since I stepped aboard." He saw a big roller break astern and felt the responding shudder of the tiller-head one deck below. He had been at sea for four days. But for Catherine, it might have seemed that he had never left it.
He asked, "How has my nephew settled down? With his H.E.I.C. experience he should soon prove ready for a lieutenant's examination, eh?"
Keen frowned. "I have to speak my mind, Sir Richard. I think I know you too well to do otherwise."
"I would expect nothing but honesty, Val. Despite demands on our authority, we are friends. Nothing can change that." He paused, seeing the uncertainty on Keen's handsome features. "Besides which, you command here, not I."
Keen said, "I am obliged to order another flogging. A seaman named Fittock, who was allegedly insolent to Mr Midshipman Vincent. The lieutenant of his division is young, perhaps too much so in experience if not in years, and maybe…"
"And maybe, Val, he thought better than to dispute Midshipman Vincent's testimony. The viceadmiral's nephew might do him harm."
Keen shrugged. "It is not easy. A new ship, a larger proportion of landsmen than I would wish, and a certain listlessness amongst the people-any kind of weakness would be seen as something to exploit."
"In other words, Vincent provoked the seaman?"
"I believe so. Fittock is a skilled hand. It's foolish to berate such a man in front of pressed landsmen."
Bolitho thought of Hyperion's captain before Keen had taken his place. He had been driven mad, and had tried to shoot his first lieutenant. He thought also of the sick and overworked commodore, Arthur Warren, at Good Hope, and of the wretched Varian, now awaiting a court-martial which might easily end with his own sword pointing towards him on the table, and death. Captains all; but all so different.
He suggested, "It could be inexperience, or a need to impress."
Keen said softly, "But you don't think so."