1 Welcome .Aboard

Richard Bolitho thrust some coins into the hand of the man who had carried his sea-chest to the jetty and shivered in the damp air. It was halfway through the forenoon, and yet much of the land and the sprawling houses of Plymouth were hidden in drifting mist. No wind at all to speak of, so that the mist made everything look eerie and dismal.

Bolitho squared his shoulders and stared across the swirling water of the Hamoaze. As he did so he felt the unfamiliar touch of his lieutenant's uniform which, like everything in his sea-chest, was new: the white lapels of his coat, the cocked hat set squarely across his black hair. Even his breeches and shoes had come from the same shop in Falmouth, in his own county just across the river, from the tailor whose family had been making clothing for sea officers since anyone could remember.

It should be his proudest moment. All he had worked and hoped for. That first, seemingly impossible step from midshipman's berth to wardroom, to become a King's officer.

He tugged his hat more firmly across his forehead as if to make himself believe it. It was his proudest moment.

'Be you joinin' th' Destiny, zur?'

Bolitho saw that the man who had carried the chest was still beside him. In the dull light he looked poor and ragged, but there was no mistaking what he had once been: a seaman.

Bolitho said, 'Yes, she's lying out there somewhere.'

The man followed his glance across the water, his eyes faraway.

'Fine frigate, zur. Only three years old, she be' He nodded sadly. 'She's bin fittin' out for months. Some say for a long voyage.'

Bolitho thought of this man and all the hundreds like him who roamed the shorelines and harbours looking for' work, yearning for the sea which they had once cursed and damned with the best of them.

But this was February 1774, and to all accounts England had been at peace for years. Wars still erupted around the world, of course, but always in the name of trade or self-preservation. Only the old enemies remained the same, content to bide their time, to seek out the weakness which might one day be exploited ..

Ships and men, once worth their weight in gold, were cast aside. The vessels to rot, the seamen, like this ragged figure with all the fingers missing from one hand and a scar on his cheek as deep as a knife, left without the means to live.

Bolitho asked, 'What were you in?'

Astonishingly, the man seemed to expand and straighten his back as he answered, "Th' Yorbay, zur. Cap'n Keppel.' Just as quickly he slumped down again. 'Any chance of a berth in your ship, zur?'

Bolitho shook his head. 'I'm new. I don't know the state aboard Destiny as yet.'

The man sighed. 'I'll call 'e a boat then, zur.'

He put his good hand in his mouth and gave a piercing whistle. There was an answering clatter of oars in the mist, and very slowly a waterman's boat nudged towards the jetty.

Bolitho called, 'Destiny, if 'you please!'

Then he turned to give some more wins to his ragged companion, but he. had vanished into the mist. Like a ghost. Gone perhaps to join all the others. Bolitho clambered into the boat and drew his new cloak around him, his sword gripped between his legs. The waiting was done. It was no longer the day after tomorrow and then tomorrow. It was now.

The boat dipped and gurgled in a cross-current, the oarsman watching Bolitho with little enthusiasm. Another young luff going to make some poor jack's life hell, he thought. He wondered if the young officer with the grave features and black hair tied to the nape of his neck was so new he would not know the proper waterman's fare. But then again, this one had a West Country touch in his voice, and even if he was a 'foreigner' from across the border in Cornwall, he would not be fooled.

Bolitho went over all that he had discovered about his new ship. Three years old, the ragged man had said. He would know. All Plymouth probably pondered over the care which was being taken to equip and man a frigate in these hard times.

Twenty-eight guns, fast and agile, Destiny was what most young officers dreamed of. In time of war, free of the fleet's apron strings, swifter than any larger vessel, and more heavily armed than anything smaller, a frigate was a force to be reckoned with. Better hopes of promotion, too, and if you were lucky enough ever to reach the lofty peak of command, so too would a frigate offer the chance of action and prize-money.

Bolitho thought of his last ship, the seventy-four-gun Gorgon. Huge, slow-moving, a teeming world of people, miles of rigging, vast spans of canvas, and the spars to carry it. It was also a schoolroom, where the young midshipmen learned how to control and sustain their unwieldy charge, and they learned the hard way.

Bolitho looked up as the waterman said, 'Should be seeing her about now, sir.'

Bolitho peered ahead, glad of the interruption to his thoughts. As his mother had said when he had left her in the big grey house at Falmouth, 'Put it behind you, Dick. You cannot bring him back. So take care of yourself now. The sea is no place for the unwary.'

The mist darkened and edged aside as the anchored ship loomed into view. The boat was approaching her starboard bow and past the long tapering jib-boom. like Bolitho's new uniform on the wet jetty, the Destiny seemed to' shine through the drifting murk.

From her lithe black and buff hull to her three mastheads she was a thoroughbred. All her shrouds and standing rigging were freshly blacked down, her yards crossed, and each sail neatly furled to match its neighbour.

Bolitho raised his eyes to the figurehead as it reached out as if to greet him. It was the most beautiful one he had ever seen. A bare-breasted girl with her out-thrust arm pointing to the next horizon. In her hand she held the victor's crown of laurels. Only the laurels and her unwavering blue stare had been inserted to' break her white purity.

The waterman said between pulls, 'They say that 'the woodcarver used his young bride to copy for that, sir.' He showed 'his teeth in what might have been ,a grin. 'I reckon he had to fight a few away from her!'

Bolitho watched the frigate slipping past the boat, the occasional activity on her nearest gangway and high above the deck.

She was a beautiful ship. He was lucky. -

'Boat ahoy!'

The waterman bawled in reply, 'Aye, aye!'

Bolitho saw some movement at the entry port, but not enough to excite much attention. The waterman's answer to the challenge had said it all. An officer was joining the ship, but nobody senior enough to bother about, let alone her captain.

Bolitho stood' up as two seamen leapt into the boat to help make fast and to collect his chest. Bolitho glanced at them quickly. He was not fully eighteen years old, bur he had been at sea since he was twelve and had learned to assess and measure the skills of sailormen.

They looked tough, and hardy, Due- the hull of a ship could hide a lot. The sweepings of jails and assize courts, being sent to sea to serve the King rather than face deportation or a hangman's halter.

The seamen stood aside in the pitching boat as Bolitho handed the oarsman some money.

The man pushed it into his jerkin and grinned. 'Thankee, sir. Good luck!'

Bolitho climbed up the frigate's tumblehome and stepped through the entry port. He was astonished at the difference even though he had been expecting it. After a ship of the line, the Destiny seemed crowded to a point of confusion. From the twenty twelve-pounders on her gun deck to the smaller weapons further aft every inch of space seemed to have a purpose and to be in use. Neatly flaked lines, halliards and braces, tiered boats and racks of pikes at the foot of each mast, while in and around every item were men he must soon know by name.

A lieutenant stepped through the side party and asked,

'Mr. Bolitho?'

Bolitho replaced his hat. 'Aye, sir. Come aboard to join .' The lieutenant nodded curtly. 'Follow me. I'll have your gear taken aft.' He said something to a seaman and then shouted, 'Mr Timbrell! Put some more hands in the foretop. It -was like bedlam up there when I last inspected it!"

Bolitho just remembered in time to duck his head as they walked aft beneath the quarterdeck. Again 'the ship appeared to be crowding in on him. More guns, firmly tethered behind each sealed port, the aromas of tar and cordage, fresh paint and crowded humanity, the smells of a living vessel.

He tried to assess the lieutenant who was leading him aft to the wardroom. Slim and round-faced, with that harassed look of a man left in charge. 'Here we are.'

The lieutenant opened a screen door and Bolitho stepped into his new home. Even with the black muzzled twelve- pounders along one side, a reminder, if one was needed, that there was no place in a ship-of-war which was safe when the iron began to fly, it looked surprisingly comfortable. A long table, with high-backed chairs instead of benches like those endured by lowly midshipmen. There were racks for drinking glasses, others for swords and pistols, and on the deck there was a covering of painted canvas.

The lieutenant turned and studied Bolitho thoughtfully.

'I'm Stephen Rhodes, Second Lieutenant.' He smiled, the change making him more youthful than Bolitho had realized. 'As this is your first ship as lieutenant, I'll try to make the way as easy as I can. Call me Stephen, if you wish, but sir in front of the hands.' Rhodes threw back his head and yelled, 'Poad!'

A scrawny little man in a blue jacket bustled through a screen door.

'Some wine, Poad. This is the new third lieutenant.' Poad bobbed. 'Pleasure, sir, I'm sure.'

As he hurried away Rhodes remarked, 'Good servant, but light-fingered, so don't leave anything too valuable lying about.' He became serious again. 'The first lieutenant is in Plymouth, doing something or other. His name is Charles Palliser, and might seem a bit stiff at first meeting. He's been in Destiny with the captain from her first commissioning. He changed tack suddenly. 'You were lucky to get this appointment.' It sounded like an accusation. 'You're so young. I'm twenty-three, and was only promoted to second lieutenant when my predecessor was killed.'

'Killed?'

Rhodes grimaced. 'Hell, it was nothing heroic. He was thrown off a horse and broke his neck. Good fellow in many ways, but there it is.'

Bolitho watched the wardroom servant putting goblets and a. bottle within Rhodes' reach. He said, 'I was surprised to get this appointment myself.' Rhodes eyed him searchingly. 'You don't sound too sure? Don't you want to join us? God, man, there are a hundred who would jump at the chance!'

Bolitho looked away. A bad beginning.

'It's not that. My best friend was killed a month back.' It was out in the open. 'I just can't believe it.'

Rhodes' eyes softened and he pushed a glass towards him. 'Drink this, Richard. I didn't understand. Sometimes I wonder why we do this work when others live easily ashore.' Bolitho smiled at him. Except for his mother's benefit he had not smiled much lately.

'What are our orders, er, Stephen?'

Rhodes relaxed. 'Nobody really knows except the lord and master. A long haul to the south'rd is all I do know. The Caribbean, maybe further still.' He shivered and glared at the nearest gunport. 'God I'll be glad to see the back of this wet misery here!' He took a quick swallow. 'We've a good company for the most part, but with the usual seasoning of gallows-birds. The sailing master, Mr Gulliver, is newly promoted from master's mate, but he's a-fine navigator, even if he is a bit awkward amongst his betters. By tonight we shall have a full complement of midshipmen, two of whom are twelve and thirteen respectively.' He grinned. 'But don't be slack with 'em, Richard, just because you were one yourself a dog-watch ago. Your head will be on the block, not theirs!'

Rhodes tugged a watch from his breeches. 'First lieutenant will be coming off shortly. I had better chase up the hands. He likes a smart display when he steps aboard.'

He pointed to a small screened cabin. 'That one is yours, Richard. Tell Po ad what you need and he will get the other servants to deal with it.' Impulsively he thrust out his hand. 'Good to have you with us. Welcome aboard.'

Bolitho sat in the empty wardroom listening to the clatter of blocks and rigging, the unending slap of feet above his head. Hoarse voices, the occasional trill of a boatswain's call as a piece of gear was piped up from a boat alongside, to be stored and checked into its own special place In the hull.

Soon Bolitho would know their faces, their strengths and weaknesses. And in this low-beamed wardroom he would share his hopes and daily life with his fellows. The two other lieutenants, the marine officer, the newly appointed sailing master, the surgeon and the purser. The select few in a company which was listed as being 200 souls.

He had wanted to ask the second lieutenant about the lord and master, as he had described him. Bolitho was very young for his rank, but not so much that he did not know it would have been wrong. To share a confidence and to give a personal opinion' of Destiny's captain would be little short of madness from Rhodes' point of view when he had only just met the new arrival.

Bolitho opened the door of his tiny cabin. About the length of the swinging cot and enough room to sit down. A place for privacy, at as near to it as one could get in a small, bustling man-of-war. After the midshipman's berth on the orlop deck it was a palace. .

His advancement had been very swift, as Rhodes had remarked. But for all that, if the unknown lieutenant had not been killed by a fall from his horse the vacancy for third lieutenant would not have been posted.

Bolitho unlocked the top half of his sea-chest and then hung a mirror on one of the massive timbers beside his cot. He looked at himself, seeing the small lines of strain around his mouth and grey eyes. He was leaner, too, honed down to a youthful toughness which only shipboard food and hard work could produce. Poad peered at him. 'I could pay a waterman to go into town and purchase some extra victuals for you, sir.' Bolitho smiled, Poad was like a stall-holder at a Cornish fair.

'I have some coming aboard directly, thank you'.' He saw the disappointment and added, 'But if you see that it's stowed properly I'll be obliged.'

Poad, nodded quickly and scuttled away. He had made his play. Bolitho's reaction had been the right one. There would be payment somewhere along the way if Poad looked after the new lieutenant's personal stores.

A door crashed open and a tall lieutenant strode into the wardroom, hurling his hat on one of the guns and yelling for Poad in one breath.

He examined Bolitho very slowly, his eyes taking In everything from his hair to his new buckled shoes. He said, T m Palliser, the senior.'

He had a crisp way of speaking. He glanced away as Poad ran through the door with a jug of wine.

Bolitho watched the first lieutenant curiously. He was very tall, so that he had to stoop between the deckhead beams. In his late twenties, but with the experience of a man far older. He and Bolitho wore the same uniform, but they were so far apart they could have been standing on either side of an abyss.

'So you're Bolitho.' The eyes swiveled back towards him above the rim of the goblet. 'You have a fair report, in words, that is. Well, this is a frigate, Mr Bolitho, not some overmanned third-rate. I need every officer and man working until this ship, my ship, is ready to weigh.' Another fierce swallow. 'So report on deck, if you please. Take the launch and get- yourself ashore. You must know the lie of the land around here, eh?' He gave a fleeting smile. 'Lead a recruiting party to the west bank and examine those villages. Little, gunner's mate, will assist. He understands the game. There are some posters you can put up at the inns as you go. We need about twenty sound hands, no rubbish. We are up to full complement, but at the end of a long passage that's another matter. We shall lose a few, have no doubt of it. Anyway, the captain wants it done .'

Bolitho had been thinking of unpacking, of meeting his companions, of having a meal after the long coach journey from Falmouth.

To settle things quite firmly, Palliser said offhandedly, 'This is Tuesday, be back aboard noon on Friday. Don't lose any of your party, and don't let them pull the wool over your eyes!'

He banged out of the wardroom, calling for somebody else. Rhodes appeared in the open door and smiled sympathetically

'Hard luck,. Richard. Bur his manner is rougher than his thoughts. He has picked a good shore-party for you. I've known some first lieutenants who would give a new junior a collection of moonstruck felons for company, just to give him hell when he returned.' He winked. 'Mr Palliser intends to have a command of his own soon. Bear that in mind at all times as I do, it helps considerably!'.

Bolitho smiled. 'I'd better go at once, in that case.' He hesitated. 'And thank you for making me welcome.'

Rhodes sank down in a chair and thought about the noon meal. He heard the clatter of oars alongside and the shout of the launch's coxswain. What he had seen of Bolitho he liked. Young certainly, but with the restless quality of one who would do well- in a tight corner or in a screaming hurricane.

It was strange how you never considered the worries and 'problems of your betters when you were a midshipman. A lieutenant junior or not, was a kind of superior being. One who berated and was quick to find fault with the youthful beginners. Now he knew better. Even Palliser was frightened of the captain. Probably the lord and master was terrified of upsetting his admiral, or someone higher still?

Rhodes smiled. But for a few more precious moments there was peace. Little, the gunner's mate, stood back, his broad hands on where his hips should have been, and watched as one -of his men tacked up another recruiting poster.

Bolitho pulled out his watch and looked across the village green as a church clock chimed midday. Little said gruffly, 'Mebbee time for a wet, sir?'

Bolitho sighed. Another day, after a sleepless night in a tiny, none too clean inn where he worried that his small recruiting party might desert, in spite of what Rhodes had said about their selection. But Little had made sure that part had gone well. He was totally at odds with his name; squat, overweight, even gross, so that his belly sagged heavily over his cutlass belt like a sack. How he managed it on purser's rations was a marvel. But he was a good hand, seasoned and' experienced, and would stand no nonsense.

Bolitho said, 'One more stop, Little. Then ... ,' he gave a rueful smile, 'I'll buy you all a drink.'

They brightened up immediately. Six seamen, a marine corporal and two drummer boys who looked like toy soldiers freshly out of a box. They did not care about the miserable results of their trek from one village to the next. Usually the sight of Bolitho's party aroused little interest, except amongst the children and a few snapping dogs. Old habits died hard so near to the sea. Many still recalled the dreaded press-gangs when men could be torn from their families and put in a King's ship to suffer the harsh conditions of a war which few understood even now. And a goodly number had never come back at all.

Bolitho had managed to obtain four volunteers so far. Four, and Palliser was expecting twenty. He had sent them back with an escort to the boat in case they should have- a change of heart. Two of them were seamen, but the others were labourers from a farm who had lost their jobs,' 'unfairly', they both said. Bolitho suspected they were willing to volunteer for a more pressing reason. but it was no time to ask questions.

They tramped across the deserted green, the muddy grass splashing up" from Bolitho's shoes and on to' his new stockings.

Little had. already quickened his pace, and Bolitho wondered if he had done-the right thing to offer them all a drink.

He shrugged* inwardly. So far nothing had gone right. Matters could hardly get much worse.

Little hissed, 'There be some men, sir!' He rubbed his big hands together and said to the corporal, 'Now, Dipper, get your little lads to strike up a tune, en?'

The two minute marines waited for their corporal to relay the order, then while one beat a lively tap on his drum the other drew a fife from his cross-belt and broke into what sounded like a jig.

The corporal's name was Dyer. Bolitho asked, 'Why do you call him Dipper?'

Little grinned, baring several broken teeth, the true mark of a fighter.

'Bless you, sir, 'cause he were a pickpocket afore he saw the light and joined the bullocks!'

The little group of men by the inn seemed to melt away as the seamen and marines drew near.

Two figures remained, and a more incongruous pair it was hard to imagine.

One was small and darting, with a sharp voice which carried easily above the' fife and drum. The other was big and powerful, stripped to the waist, his anus and fists hanging at his sides like weapons waiting to be used.

The small man, a barker, enraged earlier by the sudden departure of his audience, saw the sailors and beckoned excitedly.

'Well, well, well, wot 'ave we 'ere then? Sons of the sea, the British Jack Tar!' He doffed his hat to Bolitho. 'An' a real gentleman in command, no doubt of that!'

Bolitho said wearily, 'Fall the men out, Little. I'll have the landlord send some ale and cheese.'

The barker was shouting, 'Which one of you brave lads will stand up to this fighter of mine?' His eyes darted amongst them. 'A guinea for the man who can stand two minutes against 'im!' The coin flashed between his fingers. 'You don't 'ave to win, my brave boys, just stand and fight for two minutes!'

He had their full attention now, and Bolitho heard the corporal murmur to Little, 'Wot about it, Josh? A 'ole bleedin' guinea!'

Bolitho paused by the inn door and glanced at the prize-fighter for the first time. He looked as strong as ten, and yet there was something despairing and pathetic about him. He was not looking at any of the seamen but apparently staring into space. His nose had been broken, and his face showed the punishment of many fights. Country fairs, for*the farming gentry, for anyone who would wager on seeing men fight for a bloody victory. Bolitho was not certain which one he despised more, the man who' lived off the fighter or the one who laid bets on his pain.

He said shortly, 'I shall be inside, Little.' All at once the thought of a glass of ale or cider beckoned him like a willful spirit.

Little was already thinking of other things. 'Aye, sir.' It was a friendly little inn, and the landlord hurried to greet Bolitho, his head almost brushing the ceiling. A fire burned brightly in its box, and there was a smell of freshly baked bread and smoked hams.

'You sit down there, Lieutenant. I'll see to your men presently.' He saw Bolitho's expression. - 'Begging your pardon sir, but you're wasting your time hereabouts. The war took too many away to follow the drum, an' those what came back went elsewhere to the big towns like Truro an' Exeter to get work.' He shook his head. 'Me now, if I was twenty years younger I might have signed on.' He grinned. Then again ... '

Some while later, Richard Bolitho sat in a high-backed chair beside the fire, the mud drying on his stockings, his coat unbuttoned to allow for the excellent pie the landlord's wife had brought for him. A big, elderly dog lay by his feet, pulsating gently as it enjoyed the heat and dreamed of some past exploit.

The landlord whispered to his wife, 'Did you see him? A King's officer, no less. Lord, he looks more like a boy!'

Bolitho stirred from his drowsiness and yawned, Then his arms froze in mid air as he heard loud shouts of anger interposed with laughter. He jumped to his feet, groping for his sword and hat and trying to button his coat at the same time.

He almost ran to the door, and when he stumbled into the keen air he saw the seamen and marines falling against each other, convulsed with laughter, while the little barker screamed, 'You cheated! You must 'ave cheated!' Little spun the gold guinea and caught it deftly in his palm. 'Not me, matey. Fair an' square, that's Josh Little!' Bolitho snapped, 'What's going on?' Corporal Dyer said between gasps of laughter, "E put the big prize-fighter on 'is back, sir! Never seen the like!' Bolitho glared at Little. 'I'll speak to you later! Now fall the men in, we've miles to go to the next village!'

He swung round and stared with astonishment as the barker turned on the fighter. The latter was standing as before, as if he had never moved, let alone been knocked down.

The barker picked up a length of chain and screamed, 'This is for yer bloody stupidity!' The chain slashed across the man's naked back. 'This is for losin' my money!' Crack.

Little glanced at Bolitho uneasily. "Ere, sir, I'll give the bugger 'is money, I'll not see that poor devil beaten like a cur!'

Bolitho swallowed hard. The big fighter could have killed his tormentor with one blow. Perhaps he had been on the way down for so long he no longer felt pain or anything else.

But it was more than enough for Bolitho. His bad beginning aboard Destiny, his failure to find the required volunteers were all he could take. This degrading sight tipped the balance completely.

'You there! Belay that!' Bolitho strode forward, watched with both awe and amusement by his men. 'Put down that chain at once!'

The barker quailed and then quickly regained his earlier confidence. He had nothing to fear from a young lieutenant. Especially in a district where he was often paid for his services .. 'I've me rights!'

Little snarled, 'Let me 'andle the bugger, sir! I'll give 'irn bloody rights!'

It was all getting out of hand. Some villagers had appeared, too, and Bolitho had a mental picture of his men having a pitched battle with half the countryside before they could get to the launch.

He turned his back on the defiant barker and faced up to the fighter. Near to he was even bigger, but in spite of his size and strength Bolitho saw only his eyes, each of which was partly hidden by lids battered shapeless over the years. 'You know who I am?'

The man nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on Bolitho's mouth as if he was reading every word.

Gently Bolitho asked, 'Will you volunteer for the King's service? Join the frigate Destiny at Plymouth,' he hesitated, seeing the painful understanding in the man's eyes, 'with me?'

Then just as slowly as before he nodded, and without a glance at the gaping barker he picked up his shirt and a small bag.

Bolitho turned to the barker, his anger matched only by his feeling of petty triumph. Once clear of the village he would release the fighter anyway. The barker yelled, 'You can't do that!'

Little stepped forward threatingly. 'Stow the noise, matey, an' show respect for a King's officer, or ...' He left the rest in little doubt.

Bolitho licked his lips. 'Fall in, men. Corporal, take charge there!'

He saw the big fighter watching the seamen and called, 'Your name, what is it?'

'Stockdale, sir.' Even the name was dragged out. His chords must have been mangled in so many fights that even his voice was broken. Bolitho smiled at him. 'Stockdale. I shall not forget you. You will be free to leave us whenever you wish.' He glanced meaningly at Little. 'Before we reach the boat.'

Stockdale looked calmly at the little barker who was sitting on a bench, the chain still dangling from his hand.

Then he wheezed very carefully, "No, sir. I'll not leave you. Not now. Not never.'

Bolitho watched him join up with the others. The man's obvious sincerity was strangely moving.

Little said quietly, 'You've no need to worry. This'll be all round the ship in no time.' He leaned forward so that Bolitho could smell the ale and cheese. 'I'm in your division, sir, an' I'll beat the block off any bugger who tries to make trouble!'

A 'shaft of watery sunlight played across the church clock, and as the recruiting party marched stoically towards the next village Bolitho was glad of what he had just done.

Then it began to rain, and he heard Little say, 'Not much further, Dipper, then back to the ship for a wet!'

Bolitho looked at Stockdale's broad shoulders. Another volunteer. That made five in all. He lowered his head against the rain. Fifteen to go.

The next village was even worse, especially as there was no inn; and the local farmer only allowed them to sleep for the night in" an unused barn, and that was with obvious reluctance. He claimed his house was full of visitors, and anyway ... That word 'anyway' spoke volumes.

The barn leaked in a dozen places and stank like a sewer, and the sailors, like most of their kind, used to the enforced cleanliness of living in close quarters, were loud voiced in their discontent.

Bolitho could not blame them, and when Corporal Dyer came to tell him that the volunteer Stockdale had vanished, he replied, 'I'm not surprised, Corporal, but keep an eye on the rest of the party.'

He thought about the missing Stockdale for a long time, and wondered at his own sense of loss. Perhaps Stockdale's simple words had touched him more deeply than he had realized, that he had represented a change of luck; like a talisman.

Little exclaimed, 'God Almighty! Look at ibis!' Stockdale, dripping with rain, stepped into the lantern light and placed a sack at Bolitho's feet. The men crowded round as the treasures were revealed in the yellow glow. Some chickens, fresh bread and crocks of butter, half a meat pie and, more to the point, two big jars of cider.

Little gasped, 'You two men, start plucking the chickens, you, Thomas, watch out for unwanted visitors.' He faced Stockdale and thrust out the- guinea. "Ere, matey , you take it. You've bloody earned it!'

Stockdale barely heard. As he bent over his sack he wheezed, 'No. 'T'were 'is money. You keep it.' To Bolitho he said, 'This is for you, sir.'

He held out a bottle which looked like brandy. It made sense. The farmer was probably mixed up with the smuggling 'trade' hereabouts.

Stockdale watched Bolitho's face searchingly, then he added, 'I'll make you comfortable, you see.'

Bolitho saw him moving about amongst the busy seamen as if he had been doing it all his life. Little said quietly, 'Reckon you can stop frettin' now, sir. Old Stockdale will be worth fifteen men all on his bloody own, by my reckonin'!'

Bolitho drank some of the brandy, the grease from a chicken leg running unheeded across the cuff of his new shirt.

He had learned a lot today, not least about himself. His head lolled, and he did not feel Stockdale remove the cup from his fingers.

And there was always tomorrow.

2 Leave the Past Behind

Bolitho pulled himself up the Destiny's side and raised his hat to the quaterdeck. Gone was the mist and dull cloud, and the houses of Plymouth beyond the Hamoaze seemed to be preening themselves in hard sunshine.

He felt stiff and tired from tramping from village to village, dirty from sleeping in barn and inn alike, and the sight of his six recruits being mustered and then led forward by the master-at-arms did little to raise his spirits. The sixth volunteer had come up to the recruiting party less than an hour before they had reached the long-boat. A neat, unseaman like figure aged about thirty, who said he was an apothecary's assistant but needed to gain experience on a long voyage so that he might better himself.

It was as unlikely a story as that of the two farm labourers, but Bolitho was too weary to care.

'Ah, I see you are back, Mr Bolitho!'

The first lieutenant was standing at the quarterdeck rail, his tall figure framed against the washed-out sky. His arms were folded and he had obviously been watching the new arrivals from the moment the returning launch had been challenged. In his crisp voice he added, 'Lay aft, if you please.'

Bolitho climbed to the larboard gangway and made his way to the quarterdeck. His companion of three days, the gunner's mate Little, was already bustling down a ladder, going to take a 'wet' with his mates, no doubt. He was lost amongst his own world below decks, leaving Bolitho once more a stranger, little different from the moment he had first stepped aboard.

He confronted the first lieutenant and touched his hat. Palliser looked composed and extremely near, which made Bolitho feel even more like a vagrant.'

Bolitho said, 'Six hands, sir. The big man was a fighter., and should be a welcome addition. The last one worked-for an apothecary in Plymouth.'

His words seemed to be falling like stones. Palliser had not moved and .the quarterdeck was unnaturally quiet.

Bolitho ended, 'It was the best I could do, sir.'

Palliser pulled out his watch. 'Good. Well, the captain has come aboard in your absence. He' asked to see you the moment you returned.'

Bolitho stared at him. He had been expecting the heavens to fall. Six men instead of twenty, and one of those would never make a sailor.

Palliser snapped down the guard of his, watch and regarded Bolitho coolly. 'Has the long sojourn ashore rendered you hard of heating? The captain" wishes to see you, That does not mean now; aboard this ship it means the moment "that the captain thought of it!'

Bolitho looked ruefully at his muddy shoes and stockings. 'I - I'm sorry, sir, I thought you said ...' Palliser was already looking elsewhere, his eyes busy on some men working on the forecastle.

'I told you to obtain twenty men. Had I ordered you to bring six, how many would you have found? Two? None at all?' Surprisingly he smiled. 'Six will do very well. Now be off to the captain. Pork pie today, so be sharp" about your business 0r there'll be none left.' He turned on his heel, yelling, 'Mr Slade.

what are those idlers doing, damn your eyes!'

Bolitho ran dazedly down the companion ladder and made his way aft. Faces loomed past him in the shadows between the decks, voices fell silent as they watched him pass. The new lieutenant. Going to see the captain: What is he like? Too easy or too hard?

A marine stood with his musket by his side, swaying slightly as the ship tugged at her anchor. His eyes glittered in the lantern which spiralled from the deckhead, as it did night and day when the captain was in his quarters.

Bolitho made an effort to straighten his neckcloth and push the rebellious hair from his forehead.

The marine gave him exactly five seconds and then rapped smartly on the deck with his musket.

'Third lieutenant, sir!'

The screen door opened and a wispy-haired man in a black coat, probably the captain's clerk, gave Bolitho an impatient, beckoning gesture. Rather like a schoolmaster with a wayward pupil.

Bolitho tucked his hat more firmly beneath his arm and entered the cabin. After the rest of the ship it was spacious, with a second screen separating the stern cabin from the dining space, and what Bolitho took to be the sleeping quarters.

The slanting stern windows which crossed the complete rear of the cabin shone in the sunlight, giving an impression of warmth, while the overhead beams and the various pieces of furniture rippled cheerfully in the sea's reflections.

Captain Henry Vere Dumaresq had been leaning against the sill, apparently peering down at the water, but he turned with unusual lightness as Bolitho entered through the dining space.

Bolitho tried to appear calm and at ease, but it was impossible. The captain was like nobody he had ever seen. His body was broad and thickset, and his head stood straight on his shoulders as if he had no neck at all. It was like the rest of the man, powerful and giving an impression of immense strength. Little had said that Dumaresq was only twenty-eight years old, but he looked ageless, as if he had never changed and never would.

He walked to meet Bolitho, putting each foot down with forceful precision. Bolitho saw his legs, made more prominent by his expensive white stockings. The calves looked as thick as a man's thigh.

'You appear somewhat knocked about, Mr Bolitho.' Dumaresq had a throaty, resonant voice, one which would carry easily in a full gale, yet Bolitho suspected it might also convey quiet sympathy.

He said awkwardly, 'Aye, sir, I - I mean, I was ashore with the recruiting party.'

Dumaresq pointed to a chair. 'Sit.' He raised his voice very slightly. 'Some claret!'

It had the desired effect, and almost immediately his servant was busily pouring wine into two beautifully cut glasses. Then just as discreetly he withdrew.

Dumaresq sat down opposite Bolitho, barely a yard away. His power and presence were unnerving. Bolitho recalled his last captain. In the big seventy-four he had always been remote, aloof from the happenings of wardroom and gunroom alike. Only at moments of crisis or ceremony had he made his presence felt, and then, as before, always at a distance.

Dumaresq said, 'My father had the honour of serving with yours some years back. How is he?'

Bolitho thought of his mother and sister in the house at Falmouth. Waiting for Captain James Bolitho to return home. His mother would be counting the days, perhaps dreading how he might have changed.

He had lost an arm in India, and when his ship had been paid off he had been told he was to be placed on the retired list indefinitely.

Bolitho said, 'He is due home, sir. But with an arm gone and no chance to remain in the King's service, I'm not certain what will become of him.' He broke off, startled that he had spoken his thoughts aloud.

But Dumaresq gestured to the glass. 'Drink, Mr Bolitho, and speak as you will. It is more important that I should know you than you should clue for my views.' It seemed to amuse him. 'It comes to all of us. We must consider ourselves fortunate indeed to have her!' His big head swivelled round as he looked at the cabin. He was speaking of the ship, his ship, as if he loved her more than anything.

Bolitho said, 'She is a fine vessel, sir. I am honoured to join her.'

'Yes.'

Dumaresq leaned over to refill the glasses. Again he moved with catlike ease, but. used his strength, like his voice, sparingly.

He said, 'I learned of your recent grief.' He raised one hand. 'No, not from anyone in this ship. I have my own means, and I like to know my officers just as I know my command. We shall be sailing shortly on what may prove a rewarding voyage, then again it may be fruitless. Either way it will not be easy. We must put old memories behind us, reserve not forget them. This is a small ship and each man in her has a part to play.

'You have served under some distinguished captains and you obviously learned well from your service. But in a frigate there are few passengers, and a lieutenant is not one of them. You will make mistakes, and I will allow for that, but misuse your authority- and I will fall upon you like a wall of rock. you must avoid making favourites, for they will end up using you if you are not careful.'

He chuckled as he studied Bolitho's grave features, 'There is more to being a lieutenant than growing up.

The people will look to you when they are in trouble, and you will have to act 'as you think best. Those other days ended when you quit the midshipman's berth. In a small ship there is no room for friction. You have to become apart of her, d'you see?'

Bolitho found himself sitting on the edge of his chair.

This strange man gripped his attention like a vice. His eyes, set wide apart, equally compelling, insistent.

Bolitho nodded. 'Yes, sir. I do.'

Dumaresq looked up as two bells chimed-out from forward.

'Go and have your meal. I've no doubt you're hungry. Mr Palliser's crafty schemes for recruiting new hands usually bring an appetite if nothing more.'

As Bolitho rose to his feet Dumaresq added quietly, 'This voyage will be important to a lot of people. Our midshipmen are mostly from influential parents who are eager to see they get a chance to distinguish themselves when most of the fleet is rotting or laid up in-ordinary. Our professional warrant officers are excellent, and there is a strong backbone of prime seamen. The rest 'will learn. One last thing, Mr Bolitho, and I trust I will not have to repeat it. In Destiny, loyalty is paramount. To me, to this ship, and to His Britannic Majesty, in that order!;

Bolitho found himself outside the screen door, his senses still reeling from the brief interview.

Poad was hovering nearby, bobbing excitedly. 'All done, sir? I've 'ad yer gear stowed where it'll be safe, just like you ordered.' He led the way to the wardroom. 'I managed to 'old up the meal 'til you was ready, sir.'

Bolitho stepped into the wardroom and, unlike the last time, the place was noisy with chatter and seemingly full of people.

Palliser stood up and said abruptly, 'Our new member, gentlemen!'

Bolitho saw' Rhodes grinning at him' and was glad of his friendly face.

He shook hands and murmured what he hoped was the right thing. The sailing master, Julius Gulliver, was exactly as Rhodes had described, him, ill at ease, almost furtive. John Colpoys, the lieutenant who commanded the ship's marine contingent, made a splash of scarlet as he shook Bolitho's hand and drawled, 'Charmed, m'dear fellah.'

The surgeon was round and jolly-looking, like an untidy owl, with a rich aroma of brandy and tobacco. There was Samuel Codd, the purser, unusually cheerful for one of his trade, Bolitho thought, and certainly. no subject for a portrait. He had very large upper teeth and a tiny receding chin, so that it looked as if half of his face was successfully devouring the other.

Colpoys said, 'I hope you can play cards.'

Rhodes smiled. 'Give him a chance.' To Bolitho he said, 'He'll have the shirt off your back if you let him.'

Bolitho sat down at the table next to the surgeon. The latter placed some gold-rimmed glasses on his nose. They looked completely lost above his red cheeks.

He said, 'Pork pie. A sure sign we are soon to leave here. After that' - he glanced at the purser- 'we will be back to meat from Samuel's stores, most of it condemned some twenty years ago, I daresay.'

Glasses clinked, and the air became heady with steam and the smell of food.

Bolitho looked along the table. So this was what wardroom officers were like when out of sight of their subordinates.

Rhodes whispered, 'What did you make of him?'

The captain?' Bolitho thought about it, trying to keep his memories in their proper order. 'I was impressed. He is so, so...

Rhodes beckoned Po ad to bring the wine jug. 'Ugly?' Bolitho smiled. 'Different. A bit frightening.'

Palliser's voice cut through the conversation. 'You will inspect the ship when you have eaten, Richard'. Truck to keel, fo'c'sle to taffrail. What you cannot understand, ask me. Meet as many of the junior warrant officers as you can, and memorize your own divisional list .' He dropped one eyelid to the marine but not quickly enough for Bolitho to miss it. 'I am certain he will wish to see that his men measure up to those he so skillfully brought us today.'

Bolitho looked down as a plate was thrust before him. There was little of the actual plate left visible around the pile of food.

Palliser had called him by his first name, had even made a casual joke about the volunteers. So these' were the real men behind the stiff attitudes and the chain of command on the upper deck.

He raised his eyes and glanced along the table. Given a chance he would be happy amongst them, he thought.

Rhodes said between mouthfuls, 'I've heard we're sailing on Monday's tide. A fellow from the port admiral's office was aboard yesterday. He is usually right.'

Bolitho tried to remember what the captain had said.

Loyalty. Shelve all else until there was time for it, when it could do no damage. Dumaresq had almost echoed his mother's last words to him. The sea is no place for the unwary.

Feet clattered overhead, and Bolitho heard more heavy nets of stores being swayed inboard to die twitter of a call.

Away from the land again, from "the hurt, the sense of loss. Yes, it would be good to go.

True to lieutenant Rhodes' information, His Britannic Majesty's Ship Destiny of twenty-eight guns made ready to weigh anchor on the following Monday morning. The past few days had gone so swiftly for Bolitho he thought life might be quieter at sea than it had been in harbour. Palliser had kept him working watch-on, watch-off with hardly a break. The first lieutenant took nothing at face value and made a point of questioning Bolitho on ills daily work, his opinions and suggestions for changing some of the men around on the watch and quarter bills. If he was swift with his sarcasm, Palliser was equally quick to put his subordinate's ideas to good use.

Bolitho-often thought of Rhodes' words about the first lieutenant, after a command of his own. He would certainly do his best for the ship and her captain, and be doubly quick to stamp on any incompetence which might eventually be laid at his door.

And Bolitho had worked hard to know the men he would deal with directly. Unlike the great ships of the line, a frigate's survival depended on her agility and not the thickness of her timbers. likewise, her company was divided into divisions where they could work with the best results for the ship's benefit.

The foremast, with all its spread of canvas, course and topsails, topgallants and royals, with the additional foresails, jib and flying jib provided the means to turn with haste, through the wind's eye if need be, or to luff and cut across an enemy's vulnerable stern. At the opposite end of the ship the helmsmen and sailing master would use each mast, each scrap of canvas to lay the vessel on the course required with the least need for manoeuvre.

Bolitho was in charge of the mainmast. The tallest in the ship, it too was graded like the men who would soon be swarming aloft when ordered, no matter how they felt or what the weather threw against them.

The nimble topmen were the cream of the company, while on the deck itself, working at braces and halliards and manning the capstan bars, were the landmen, the newly recruited, or old sailors who could no longer be expected to fight salt-hardened canvas a hundred feet and more above the hull.

Rhodes had the fore, while a master's mate took charge of the mizzen-mast, supposedly the easiest one in any ship with its limited sail plan and where bodily strength was the first requirement.* The afterguard, marines and a handful of seamen were sufficient to attend the mizzen.

Bolitho made a point of meeting the boatswain, a formidable-looking man named Timbrel!. Tall, weather- beaten and scarred like an ancient warrior, he was the king of the vessel's seamen. Once clear of the land, Timbrell would work under the first lieutenant to rectify storm damage, repair spars and rigging, maintain the paintwork, ensure all the seams, were free of leaks, and generally keep an eye on the professionals who would carry out those needs, The carpenter and his crew, the cooper and the sailmaker, the rope maker and all the rest.

A seaman to his fingertips, he was a good friend to a new' officer, but could be a bad enemy if provoked.

This particular Monday morning had begun early, before daybreak. With the cook providing a hasty meal, as if he too was conscious 'of the need to get under way.

Lists were checked yet again, names to match voices, faces to put into jobs where they belonged. To a landsman it would have looked like chaos, with lines snaking across the decks, men working aloft astride the great yards as they loosened the sails, hardened overnight by an unexpected frost.

Bolitho had seen the captain come on deck several times. Speaking with Palliser or discussing something with Gulliver, the master. If he was anxious he did not show it, but strode around the quarterdeck with his sure-footed tread like a man thinking of something else beyond the ship.

The officers and warrant officers had changed into their faded sea-going uniforms, so that only Bolitho and most of the young midshipmen looked alien in their new-coats and shining buttons.

Bolitho had received two letters from his mother, both together from the Falmouth Mail. He could picture her as he had last seen her, so frail, and so lovely. The lady who had never grown up, some local people said. The Scottish girl, who had captivated Captain James Bolitho, from their first meeting. She was really too frail to carry the weight of the house and the estate. With his elder brother Hugh at sea somewhere, back aboard his frigate after a short period in command of the revenue cutter Avenger at Falmouth, and their father not yet home, the burden would seem doubly hard, His grown-up sister Felicity had already left home to marry an army officer, while the youngest in the family, Nancy, should have been thinking of a coming marriage of her own.

Bolitho crossed to the gangway where the hands were stowing the hammocks brought up from below. Poor Nancy, she would be missing Bolitho's dead friend more than anyone and with nothing to keep her mind fret:' of her loss.

Someone stood beside him and he turned to see the surgeon peering at the shore. The time he had found to speak with the rotund surgeon had been well spent.

Another strange member in their company. Ship's surgeons, in Bolitho's experience, had been of the poorest quality, butchers for the most part, and their bloody work with knife and saw was as feared by sailors as any enemy broadside.

But Henry Bulkley was a world apart. He had been in a comfortable living in London, at a prestigious address where his clients had been wealthy but demanding.

Bulkley had explained to Bolitho during the quiet of a dog-watch, 'I got to hate the tyranny of the sick, the selfishness of people who-are only content if they are ill. I came to sea to escape. Now I repair and do not have to waste my time on those too rich to know their own bodies. I am as much a specialist as Mr Vallance, our gunner, or the carpenter; and I share their work in my own way. Or poor Codd, the purser, who frets over each mile logged and sets it against his stores of cheese and salt beef, candles and slop clothing.

He had smiled contentedly. 'And I enjoy the pleasure of seeing other lands. I have sailed with Captain Dumaresq for three years. He, of course, is never sick. He would not permit it to happen!'

Bolitho said, 'It is a strange feeling to leave like this. To an unknown destination, a landfall which only the captain and two or three others may know. No war, yet we sail ready to fight.'

He saw the big man called Stockdale mustering in line with the other seamen around the trunk of the mainmast.

The surgeon followed his glance and observed, 'I heard something of what happened ashore. You have made a firm convert in that one. My God, he looks like an oak. I say that Little must have tripped him to win his money.' He shot a glance at Bolitho's profile. 'Unless he wanted to come with you? To escape from something, like most of us, eh?'

Bolitho smiled. Bulkley did not know the half of it. Stockdale had been allotted to the mizzen-mast for sail drill, and the quarterdeck six-pounders when the ship cleared for action. It was all in writing and signed with Palliser's slashing signature.

But somehow Stockdale had managed to alter things. Here he was in Bolitho's division, and would be stationed the starboard battery of twelve-pounders which were in Bolitho's charge.

A quarter-boat pulled strongly from the shoreline, all the others having been hoisted inboard on their tier before the first cock had even considered crowing.

The last link with the land. Durmaresq's final letters and dispatches for the courier. Eventually they would end up on somebody's desk at the Admiralty. A note would be passed to the First Sea Lord, a mark might be made on one of the great charts there. A small ship leaving under sealed orders. It was nothing new, only the times had changed.

Palliser strode to the quarterdeck rail, his speaking trumpet beneath his arm, his head darting around like a bird of prey seeking the next victim.

Bolitho looked up at the mainmast truck and was just able to discern the long red masthead pendant: as it snapped out towards the quarter. A north-westerly wind. Dumaresq would need at least that to work clear of the anchorage. Never easy at the best of times, and after three months without sea-going activity, it would only require some forgetful seaman or petty officer to relay the wrong order and a proud exit might become a shambles in minutes.

Palliser called, 'All officers lay aft, if you .please.' He sounded irritable, and was obviously conscious of the importance of the moment

Bolitho joined Rhodes and Colpoys on the quarterdeck, while the master and the surgeon hovered slightly in the background like intruders.

Palliser said, 'We shall weigh in 'half an hour. Take up your stations, and watch every man. Tell the boatswain's mates to start anyone shirking his work, and take the name of each malingerer for punishment.' He glanced at Bolitho curiously. 'I have put that Stockdale man with you. I am uncertain as to why, but he seemed to feel it was his place. You must have some special gift, Mr Bolitho, though for the life of me I cannot see it!'

They touched their hats and walked away to their various stations.

Palliser's voice followed them, hollow and insistent through the speaking trumpet.

'Mr Timbrell! Ten more hands on the capstan! Where is that damn shanty man?'

The trumpet swivelled round like a coachman's blunderbuss. 'Hell's teeth, Mr Rhodes, I want the anchor hove short this morning, not next week!'

Clink, clink, clink, the pawls on the capstan moved reluctantly as the men threw themselves on the bars. Whippings and lashings had been cast off from the various coils of halliards and other running rigging, and while the officers and midshipmen were placed at intervals along the decks, like blue and white islets amongst a moving tide of seamen, the ship seemed to come alive, as if she too was aware of the time.

Bolitho darted a glance at the land. No more sun, and a light drizzle had begun to patter across the water, touching the ship and making the waiting men shiver and stamp their bare feet.

Little was whispering fiercely to two of the new seamen, his big hands stabbing out like spades as he made some point or other. He saw Bolitho and sighed.

'Gawd, sir, they're like blocks 0' wood!'

Bolitho watched his two midshipmen and wondered how he should break the barrier which had sprung up as he had appeared on deck. He had spoken only briefly to them the previous day. Destiny was the first ship to both of them, as she was to all but two of the 'young gentlemen'. Peter Merrett was so small he seemed unable to find a place amidst the straining ropes and panting, thrusting seamen. He was twelve years old, the son of a prominent Exeter lawyer, who in turn was the brother of an admiral. A formidable combination. Much later on, if he lived, little Merrett might use such influence to his own advantage, and at the cost of others. But now, shivering and not a little frightened, he looked the picture of misery. The other one was Ian Jury, a fourteen-year-old youth from Weymouth. Jury's father had been a distinguished sea officer but had died in a shipwreck when Ian had still been a child. To the dead captain's relatives the Navy must have seemed the obvious place for Jury. It would also save them a great deal of trouble.

Bolitho nodded to them.

Jury was tall for his age, a pleasant faced youth with fair hair and a barely controlled excitement.

Jury was the first to speak. 'Do we know where we are bound, sir?'

Bolitho studied him gravely. Under four years between them. Jury was not really like his dead friend, but the hair was similar.

He cursed himself for his brooding and replied, 'We shall know soon enough.' His voice came out more sharply than he had intended and he said, 'It is a well-kept secret, as far as I am concerned.'

Jury watched him, his eyes curious. Bolitho knew what he was thinking, all the things he wanted to ask, to know, to discover in his new, demanding world. As he had once been himself.

Bolitho said, 'I shall want you to go aloft to the maintop, Mr Jury, and watch over the hands as they work. You, Mr Merrett , will remain with me to pass messages forrard or aft as need be.'

He smiled as their eyes explored the towering crisscross of shrouds and rigging, the great main-yard and these above it reaching out on either beam like huge long-bows.

The two senior midshipmen, Henderson and Cowdroy, were aft by the mizzen, while the remaining pair were assisting Rhodes by the foremast.

Stockdale happened to be nearby and wheezed, 'Good mornin' for it, sir.'

Bolitho smiled at his battered features. 'No regrets, Stockdale?'

The big man shook his head. 'Nah. I needs a change. This will do me.'

Little grinned from across a long twelve-pounder. 'Reckon you could take the main-brace all on yer own!'

Some of the seamen were chartering or pointing Out landmarks on the shore as the light began to strengthen.

From the quarterdeck came the instant reprimand. 'Mr Bolitho, sir, keep those hands in order! It is more like a cattle-fair than a man-o'-war!'

Bolitho grimaced. 'Aye, aye sir!'

He added for-Little's benefit, 'Take the name of anyone who ...

He got no chance to finish as Captain Dumaresq's cocked hat appeared through the after companion and then with apparent indifference his bulky figure moved to one side of the quarterdeck.

Bolitho whispered fiercely to the midshipmen, 'Now listen, you two. Speed is important, but not more so than getting things done correctly. Don't badger the men unnecessarily most of them have been at sea for years anyway. Watch and learn, be ready to assist if one of the new hands gets in a tangle.'

They both nodded grimly as if they had just heard words of great wisdom.

'Standing by forrard, sir!'

That was Timbrell, the boatswain. He seemed to be everywhere. Pausing to put a- new man's fingers properly around a brace or away from' a block so that when his companions threw their weight on it he would not lose half of his hand. He was equally ready to bring his rattan cane down with a crack on somebody's shoulders if he thought he was acting stupidly. It brought a yelp of pain, and unsympathetic grins from the others.

Bolitho heard the captain say something, and seconds later the red ensign ran smartly up to the peak and blew out in the wind like painted metal.

Timbrell again, 'Anchor's hove short, sir!' He was leaning. over the beak-head, peering intently at the current as it swirled beneath the bowsprit.

'Stand by on the capstan!'

Bolitho darted another glance aft. The place of command. Gulliver with his helmsmen, three today at the big double wheel. Taking no chances. Colpoys with his marines at the mizzen braces, the midshipman of the watch, and the signals midshipman, Henderson, still staring up at the wildly flapping ensign to make sure the halliards had not fouled. With the ship about to leave port, it would be more than his life was worth.

At the quarterdeck rail, Palliser with a master's mate, and slightly apart from them all, the captain, stout legs well braced, hands beneath his coat-tails, as he stared the full length of his command. To his astonishment, Bolitho saw that Dumaresq was wearing a scarlet waistcoat beneath his coat.

'Loose headsls!'

The men up forward stirred into life, an unwary land man almost getting trampled underfoot as the great areas of canvas flapped and writhed in their sudden freedom.

Palliser glanced at the captain. There was the merest nod. Then the first lieutenant lifted his speaking trumpet and yelled, 'Hands aloft there! Loose tops'ls!'

The ratlines above either gangway were filled with seamen as they rushed up like monkeys towards the yards, while other fleet-footed topmen dashed on higher still, Ready to play their part when the ship was under way.

Bolitho smiled to hide his anxiety as Jury sped after the clawing, hurrying seamen.

By his side Merrett said hoarsely, 'I feel sick, sir.' Slade, the senior master's mate, paused and snarled, "Then contain it! Spew up 'ere, my lad, an' I'll stretch you across a gun an' give you six strokes to sharpen your wits!' He hurried on, snapping orders, pushing men to their proper stations, the small midshipman already forgotten.

Merrett sniffed. 'Well, I do feel sick!'

Bolitho said, 'Stand over there.'

He peered towards the speaking trumpet and then aloft at his men strung out along the yards. The great billowing mass of the main-topsail already catching pockets of wind and trying to wrench itself free.

'Man the braces! Stand by ...'

'Anchor's aweigh, sir!'

Like a released animal the Destiny paid off into the wind, her sails thundering out from her yards, banging and puffing in a frenzy until with the men straining at the braces to haul the yards round and the helm hard over she came under command.

Bolitho swallowed bile as a man slipped on the mainyard but was hauled to safety by one of his mates.

Round and further still, so that the land seemed to be whirling past the bows and the graceful figurehead in a wild dance.

'More hands to the weather forebrace! Take-that man's name! Mr Slade! See to the anchor and lively now!'

Palliser's voice was never still. As the anchor rose dripping to the cathead and was swiftly made fast to prevent it battering at the ship's hull, more men were .rushed elsewhere by his demanding trumpet.

'Get the fore and main-courses set!'

The biggest sails boomed out from their yards and hardened like iron in the driving wind. Bolitho paused to straightened his hat and draw breath. The land where he had searched for volunteers was safely on the opposite beam now, and with her masts lining up to the wind and rudder Destiny, was already pointing towards the narrows, beyond which the open sea waited like a field of grey.

Men fought with snaking lines, while' overhead blocks screamed as braces and halliards took on the strain of muscle against the wind and a growing pyramid of canvas.

Dumaresq had not apparently moved. He was watching the land sliding abeam, his chin tightly jammed into his neckcloth.

Bolitho dashed some rain or spray from his eyes, feeling his own excitement, suddenly grateful he had not lost it. Through the narrows and into the Sound, where Drake had Waited to match the Armada, where a hundred admirals had pondered and considered their immediate futures. And after that?

'Leadsman in the chains, Mr Slade!'

Bolitho knew he was in a frigate now. No careful, portly maneuver here. Dumaresq knew there would be many eyes watching from the land even at this early hour. He would cut past the. headland as" close as he dared, with just a fathom between the keel and disaster. He had the wind, he the ship to do it.

Behind him he heard Merrett retching helplessly and Hoped Palliser would not see him.

Stockdale was bending a line round his palm and elbow in manner born. On his thick arm it looked like a thread. He and the captain made a good pair.

Stockdale said huskily, 'Free, that's what I am.'

Bolitho made to reply but realized the battered fighter speaking for his own benefit.

Palliser's tone stung like a lash. 'Mr Bolitho! I shall tell You first, as I need the t'gan'sls set as soon as we are through narrows! It may give you time to complete your dream and attend to your duties, sir!'

Bolitho touched his hat and beckoned to his petty officers. Palliser was all right in the wardroom. On deck he was a tyrant.

He saw Merrett bending over a gun and vomiting into the scuppers.

'Damn your eyes, Mr Merrett! Clean up that mess before You dismiss! And control yourself!'

He turned away, confused and embarrassed. Palliser was Not the only one, it seemed.

3 Sudden Death

The week which followed Destiny's departure from Plymouth was the busiest and the most demanding in Richard Bolitho's young life.

Once free of the land's protection, Dumaresq endeavoured to set as much canvas as his ship could safely carry in a rising wind. The world was confined to a nightmare of stinging, ice-cold spray, violent swooping thrusts as the frigate smashed her way through troughs and rearing crests alike. It seemed as if it would never end, with no time to find dry clothing, and what food the cook had been able to prepare and have carried through the pitching hull had to be gulped down in minutes.

Once as Rhodes relieved Bolitho on watch he shouted above the din of cracking canvas and the sea surging inboard along the lee side, 'It's the lord and master's way, Dick! Push the ship to the limit, find the strength of every man aboard!' He ducked as a phantom of freezing spray doused them both. 'Officers, too, for that matter!'

Tempers became frayed, and once or twice small incidents of insubordination flared openly, only to be quenched by some heavy-fisted petty officer or the threat of formal punishment at the gratings.

The captain was often on deck, moving without effort between compass and chartroom, discussing progress' with Gulliver, the master, or the first lieutenant.

And at night it was always worse. Bolitho never seemed to get his head buried in a musty pillow for his watch below before the hoarse cry was carried between deck like a call to arms.

'All hands! All hands aloft an' reef tops'Is!'

And it was then that Bolitho really noticed the difference. In a ship of the line he had been farced to claw his way aloft with the rest of them, fighting his loathing of heights and conscious only of the need nor to show that fear to others. But when it was done, it was done. Now, as a lieutenant, it was all happening just as Dumaresq had prophesied.

In the middle of one fierce gale, as Destiny had tacked and battered her way through the Bay of Biscay, the call had come to take in yet another reef. There had been no. moon or stars, just a rearing wall of broken water, white against the outer darkness, to. show just how small their ship really was.

Men, dazed by constant work and half blinded by salt spray, had staggered to their stations, and then reluctantly had begun to drag themselves up the vibrating ratlines, then out along the topsail yards. The Destiny had been leaning so. steeply to leeward that her main-yard had seemed be brushing the broken crests alongside.

Forster, the captain of the maintop, and Bolitho's key petty officer, had yelled, 'This man says 'e won't go aloft, sir! No. matter what!'

Bolitho had seized a stay to prevent himself from being flung an his face. 'Go yourself, Forster! Without you up there Gad knows what might happen!' He had peered up at the remainder of his men while all the time the wind had moaned and shrieked, like a demented being enjoying their torment.

Jury had been up there, his body pressed against the shrouds by the force of the wind. On the foremast they had been having the same trouble, with men and cordage, sails and spars all pounded together while the ship had done her best to hurl them into the sea below.

Bolitho had then remembered what Forster had told him. The man in question had been staring at him, a thin, defiant figure in a torn checkered shirt and seaman's trousers. 'What's the matter with you?'Bolitho had had to yell above the din.

I can't go, sir.' The man had shaken his head violently. 'Can't!'

Little had come lurching past, cursing and blaspheming as he helped to haul some new cordage to the mainmast in readiness for use .

.. He had bellowed, 'I'll drag 'im aloft, sir!'

Bolitho had shouted to the seaman, 'Go below and help relieve the pumps!'

Two-days later the same man had been reported missing. A search of the ship by Poynter, the master-at-arms, and the ship's corporal, had revealed nothing.

Little had tried to explain as best as he knew how. 'It were like this, sir. You should 'ave made 'im go aloft, even if 'e fell and broke 'is back. Or you could 'ave taken 'im aft for punishment. 'E'd 'ave got three dozen lashes, but 'e'd 'ave been a man!' Bolitho had reluctantly understood. He had taken away the seaman's pride. His messmates would have sympathized with a man seized up at the gratings and flogged. Their contempt had been more than that lonely, defiant seaman had been able to stand.

On the sixth day the storm passed on and left them breathless and dazed by its intensity. Sails were reset, and the business of clearing up and repairing put aside any thought of rest.

Now, everyone aboard knew where the ship was first headed, To the Portuguese island of Madeira, although what for was a mystery still. Except to Rhodes, who had confided that it was merely to lay in a great store of wine for the surgeon's personal use.

Dumaresg had obviously read the report of the seaman's death in the log, but had said Nothing of it to Bolitho. At sea, more men died by accident than ever from ball or cutlass.

But Bolitho blamed himself. The others, Little and Forster, years ahead. of him in age and experience, had turned to him because he was their lieutenant.

Forster had remarked indifferently, 'Well, 'e weren't much bloody good anyway, sir.'

All Little had offered had been, 'Could 'ave been worse, sir. '

It was amazing to see the difference the weather made. The ship came alive again, and men moved about their work without glancing fearfully across their shoulders or clinging to the shrouds with both arms whenever they went aloft to splice or reeve new blocks.

On the morning of the seventh day, while the smell of cooking started the wagers going as to what the dish would eventually be, the masthead lookout yelled, 'Deck there! land on the lee bow!'

Bolitho had the watch, and beckoned Merrert to bring him a telescope. The midshipman looked like a little old man after the storm and a week of back-breaking work. But he was still alive, and was never late on watch.

'Let me see.' Bolitho leveled the glass through the black shrouds and past the figurehead's curved shoulder.

Dumaresq's voice made him start. 'Madeira, Mr Bolitho.

An attractive island.'

Bolitho touched his hat. For so heavy a man the captain could move without making a sound.

'I - I'm sorry, sir.'

Dumaresq smiled and took the telescope from Bolitho's hands. As he trained it on the distant island he added, 'When I was a lieutenant I always made sure that somebody in my watch was ready to warn me of my captain's approach.'

He glanced at Bolitho, the wide, compelling eyes seeking something. 'But not you, I suspect. Not yet anyway.' He tossed the glass to Merrett and added, 'Walk with me. Exercise is good for the soul.'

So up and down along the weather side of the quarterdeck the Destiny's captain and her most junior lieutenant took their stroll, their feet by-passing ring-bolts and gun-tackles without conscious effort.

Dumaresq spoke briefly of his home in Norfolk, but only as a place. He did not sketch in the people there, his friends, or whether he was married or not.

Bolitho tried to put himself in Durnaresq's place. Able to walk and speak of other, unimportant things while his ship leaned to a steady wind, her sails set one above the other in ordered array. Her officers, her seamen and marines, the means to sail and fight under any given condition, were all his concern. At this moment they were heading for an island, and afterwards they would sail much further. The responsibility seemed endless. As Bolitho's father had once wryly remarked, 'Only one law remains unchanged for any captain. If he is successful others will reap the credit. If he fails he will take the blame.'

Dumaresq asked suddenly, 'Are you settled in now?'

I think so, sir.'

'Good. If you are still mulling over that seaman's death, I must ask you to desist. Life is God's greatest gift. To risk it is one thing, to throw it away is to cheat. He had no right. Best forgotten.'

He turned away' as Palliser appeared on deck, the master-at-arms bringing up the rear.

Palliser touched his hat to the captain, but his eyes were on Bolitho.

'Two hands for punishment, sir.' He held out his book.

'You know them both.'

Dumaresq tilted forward on his toes, so that it appeared as if his heavy body would lose its balance.

'See to it at two bells, Mr Palliser. Get it over and done with. No sense in putting the people off their food.' He strode away, nodding to the master's mate of the watch like a squire to his gamekeeper.

Palliser closed his book with a snap. 'My compliments to Mr Timbrell, and ask him to have a grating rigged.' He crossed to Bolitho's side. 'Well, now?'

Bolitho said, 'The captain told me of his home In Norfolk, sir.'

Palliser seemed vaguely disappointed. 'I see.'

'Why does the captain wear a red waistcoat, sir?' Palliser watched the master-at-arms returning with the boatswain. 'Really, I am surprised your confidences did not extend that far.'

Bolitho hid a smile as Palliser strode away. He did not know either. After three years together that was something.

Bolitho stood beside Rhodes at the taffrail and watched the colourful activity of FunchalHarbour and its busy waterfront. Destiny lay at her anchor, with only the quarter-boat and the captain's gig in the water alongside. It did not look as if anyone would be allowed ashore, Bolitho thought.

Local boats with quaint curling stems and stern-posts milled around the frigate, their occupants holding up fruit and bright shawls, big jars of wine and many other items to tempt the sailors who thronged the gangways or waved from the shrouds and tops.

Destiny had anchored in mid-afternoon, and all hands had stayed on deck to watch the final approach, drinking in the beauty of what Dumaresq had rightly described as an attractive island. The hills beyond the white buildings were filled with beautiful flowers and shrubs, a sight indeed after the wild passage through the Bay. That, and the two floggings which had been carried out even as the ship had changed tack for their final approach, were forgotten.

Rhodes smiled and pointed at one boat. It contained three dark-haired girls who lay back on their cushions and stared boldly up at the young officers. It was obvious what they hoped to sell.

Captain Dumaresq had gone ashore almost as soon as the smoke of the gun salute to the Portuguese governor had dispersed. He had told Palliser he was going to meet the governor and pay his respects, but Rhodes said later, 'He's too excited for a mere social visit, Dick. I smell intrigue in the air.'

The gig had returned with instructions that Lockyer, the captain's clerk, was to go ashore with some papers from the cabin strong-box. He was down there now fussing about with his bag of documents while the side-party arranged for a boatswain's chair to sway him Out and down into the gig.

Palliser joined them and said disdainfully, 'Look at the old fool. Never goes ashore, but when he does they have to rig a chair in case he falls and drowns!'

Rhodes grinned as the clerk was finally lowered into the boat. 'Must be the oldest man aboard.'

Bolitho thought about it. That was something else he had discovered. It was a young company, with very few senior hands like those he had known in the big seventy-four. The sailing master of a man-of-war was usually getting on in years by the time he was appointed, but Gulliver was under thirty.

Most of the hands lounging at the nettings or employed about the decks looked in good health. It was mostly due to the surgeon, Rhodes had said. That was the value of a medical man who cared, and who had the knowledge to fight the dreaded scurvy and other diseases which could cripple a whole ship.

Bulkley was one of the few privileged ones. He had gone ashore with orders from the captain to purchase all the fresh fruit and juices he thought necessary, while Codd, the purser, had similar instructions on the matter of vegetables.

Bolitho removed his hat and let the sun warm his face. It would be good to explore that town. Sir in a shady tavern like those Bulkley and some of the others had described.

The gig had reached the jetty now and some of Destiny's marines were making a passage through a watching crowd for old Lockyer to get through.

Palliser said, 'I see that your shadow is nearby.'

Bolitho turned his head and saw Stockdale kneeling beside a twelve-pounder on the gun-deck. He was listening to Vallance, the ship's gunner, and then making gestures with his hand beneath the carriage. Bolitho saw Vallance nod and then clap Stockdale on the shoulder,

That was unusual. He already knew. that Vallance was not the easiest warrant officer to get along with. He was jealous about everything in his domain, from magazine to gun crews, from maintenance to the wear and tear of tackle. He came aft and touched his hat to Palliser.

'That new man Stockdale, sir. He's solved a problem with a gun I've been bothered with for months. It was a replacement, y'see. I've not been happy about it.' He gave a rare smile. 'Stockdale thinks we could get the carriage reset by ...'

Palliser spread his hands. 'You amaze me, Mr Vallance. But do what you must.' He glanced at Bolitho. 'Your man may not say much, but he is certainly finding his place.'

Bolitho saw Stockdale looking up at him from the gun-deck. He nodded and saw the man smile, his battered face screwed up in the sunlight.

Jury, who was-the midshipman of the watch; called, 'Gig's shoved off, sir!'

'That was quick!' Rhodes snatched a telescope. 'If it's the captain coming back already, I'd better ... " He gasped and added quickly, 'Sir, they're bringing Lockyer with them!' Palliser took a second glass and levelled it on the green-painted gig. Then he said quietly, 'The clerk's dead. Sergeant Barmouth is holding him.'

Bolitho took the telescope from Rhodes. For the moment he could see nothing unusual. The smart gig was pulling strongly towards the ship, the white oars rising and falling in perfect unison, the crew in their red checkered shirts and tarred hats a credit to their coxswain.

Then as the gig swung silently to avoid a drifting log, Bolitho saw the marine sergeant, Barmouth, holding the wispy-haired clerk so that he would not fall into the sternsheets.

There was a terrible wound across his throat, which in the sunlight was the same colour as the marine's tunic.

Rhodes murmured, 'And the surgeon's ashore with most of his assistants. God, there'll be hell to pay for this!' Palliser snapped his fingers. 'That man you brought aboard with the other new hands, the apothecary's assistant? Where is he, Mr Bolitho?'

Rhodes said quickly, 'I'll fetch him, sir. He was doing some jobs in the sick-bay, just to test him our, the surgeon said.'

Palliser looked at Jury. 'Tell the boatswain's mate to rig another tackle.' He rubbed his chin. 'This was no accident.' The local boats parted to allow the gig to glide to the main chains.

There was something like a great sigh as the small, untidy boat was hauled up the side and swung carefully above the gangway. Some blood ran down on to the deck, and Bolitho saw the man who had joined his recruiting party hurrying with Rhodes to take charge of the corpse.

The apothecary's assistant's name was Spillane. A neat, self-contained man, not the sort who would leave security to seek adventure or even experience, Bolitho would have thought. But he seemed competent; and as he watched him telling the seamen what to do, 'Bolitho was glad he was aboard.

Sergeant Barmouth was saying, 'Yes sir , I'd just made sure that the clerk was safely through the crowd, an' was about to take my stand on the jetty again, when I 'eard a cry, then everyone started yellin' an' carry in' on, you know, sir, like they does in these parts.'

Palliser nodded abruptly. 'Quite so, Sergeant. What then?'

'I found vim in an alley, sir. 'Is throat was slit.'

He paled as he saw his own officer striding angrily across the quarterdeck. He would have to repeat everything for Colpoys' sake. The marine lieutenant, like most of his corps, disliked interference by the sea officers, no matter how pressing the reason.

Palliser said distantly, 'And his bag was missing.'

'Yes sir .'

Palliser made up his mind. 'Mr Bolitho, take the quarter-boat, a midshipman and six extra hands. I'll give you an address where you will find the captain. Tell him what has happened. No dramatics, just the facts as you know them.'

Bolitho touched his hat, excited, even though he was still shocked by the suddenness of Lockyer's brutal death. So Palliser did know more of what the captain was doing than he proclaimed. When he looked at the scrap of paper which Palliser thrust into his hand he knew it was not the governor's residence, or any other official place for 'that matter.

'Take Mr Jury, and select six men yourself. I want them smartly turned out.'

Bolitho beckoned to Jury and heard Palliser say to Rhodes, 'I might have sent you, but Mr Bolitho and Jury have newer uniforms and may bring less discredit on my ship!'

In next to no time they were being pulled across the water towards the shore. Bolitho had been at sea for a week, but it seemed longer, so great was the change in his surroundings.

Jury said, 'Thank you for taking me, sir.'

Bolitho thought of Palliser's parting shot. He could not resist a sarcastic jibe. And yet he had been the one to think of Spillane, the one to see what Stockdale was doing with the gun. A. man of many faces, Bolitho thought.

He replied, 'Don't let the men wander about.'

He broke off as he saw Stockdale, half hidden by the boat's oarsmen. Somehow he had found time to change into his checked shirt and white trousers and equip himself with a cutlass.

Stockdale pretended not to see his surprise.

Bolitho shook his head. 'Forget what I said. I do not think you will have any trouble after all.'

What had the big man said? I'll not leave you. Not now. Not never. The boat's coxswain watched narrowly and then thrust the tiller bar hard over.

'Toss yer oars!'

The boat came to a halt by some stone stairs bowman hooked on to a rusty chain.

Bolitho adjusted his sword-belt and looked up at the watching townspeople. They appeared very friendly. Yet a man had just been murdered a few yards away.

He said, 'Fall in on the jetty:

He climbed up the stairs and touched his hat to Colpoys' pickets. The marines looked extremely cheerful, and despite their rigid attitudes in front of a ship's officer, they smelled strongly of drink, and one of them had a flower protruding from his collar.

Bolitho took his bearings and strode towards the nearest street with as much confidence as he could muster. The sailors tramped behind him, exchanging winks and grins with women on balconies and in windows above the street.

Jury asked, 'Who would want to kill poor Lockyer, sir?'

'Who' indeed?'

Bolitho hesitated and then turned down a narrow alley where the roofs nodded towards each other as if to blot out the sky. There was a heady scent of flowers, and he heard someone playing a stringed instrument in one of the houses.

Bolitho checked his piece of paper and looked at an iron gate which opened on to a courtyard with a fountain in its centre. They had arrived.

He saw Jury staring round at the strangeness of" everything, and remembered himself in similar circumstances.

He said quietly, 'You come with me;' He raised his voice, 'Stockdale, take charge out here. Nobody is to leave until I give the word, understood?'

Stockdale nodded grimly. He would probably batter any would-be troublemaker senseless.

A servant led them to a cool room above the courtyard where Dumaresq was drinking wine with all elderly man who had a pointed white beard and skin like finely tooled leather.

Dumaresq did not stand. "Yes, Mr Bolitho?' If he was startled by their unheralded arrival he hid it very well. 'Trouble?'

Bolitho glanced at the old man but Dumaresq said curtly, 'You are with friends here.'

Bolitho explained what had happened from the moment the clerk had left the ship with his bag.

Dumaresq said, 'Sergeant Barmouth is nobody's fool. If the bag had been there he would have found it.'

He turned and said something to the courtly gentleman with the beard, and the latter showed a brief flash of alarm before regaining his original composure.

Bolitho pricked up his ears. Dumaresq's host might live in Madeira, but the captain was speaking in Spanish, unless he was much mistaken .

. Dumaresq said, 'Return to the ship, Mr Bolitho. My compliments to the first lieutenant and ask him to recall the surgeon and any other shore party immediately. I intend to weigh before nightfall.'

Bolitho closed his mind to the obvious difficulties, to say nothing of the risk of leaving harbour in the dark. He sensed the sudden urgency, the apprehension which Lockyer's murder had brought amongst them.

He nodded to the elderly man and then said to Dumaresq, 'A lovely house, sir.'

The old man smiled and bowed his head.

Bolitho strode down the. stairs with Jury in his shadow, sharing every moment without knowing what was happening.

Bolitho wondered if the captain had noticed. That his host had understood exactly what he had said about his fine house. So if Dumaresq had spoken to him in Spanish it was so that neither he nor Jury should understand.

He decided it was one part of the mystery he would hold to himself.

That night, as promised, Dumaresq took his ship to sea.

In light airs, and with all but her topsails and jib brailed up, Destiny steered slowly between other anchored vessels, guided by the ship's cutter with a lantern close to the water like a firefly to show her the way.

By dawn, Madeira was just a purple hump on the horizon far astern, and Bolitho was not certain if the mystery still remained there in the alley where Lockyer had drawn his last breath.

4 Spanish Gold

Lieutenant Charles Palliser closed the two outer screen doors of Dumaresq's cabin, and said, 'All present, Sir.'

In their various attitudes the Destiny's lieutenants and senior warrant officers sat and watched Dumaresq expectantly. It was late afternoon, two days out of Madeira, The ship had a feeling of leisurely routine about her, as with a light north-easterly wind laying her on a starboard tack she cruised steadily into the Atlantic.

Dumaresq glanced up at the skylight as a shadow moved past it. Most likely the master's mate of the watch,

'Shut that, too.'

Bolitho glanced at his companions, wondering if they were sharing his growing sense of curiosity.

This meeting had been inevitable, but Dumaresq had taken great pains to ensure it would come well after his ship* had cleared the land.

Dumaresq waited for Palliser to sit down. Then he looked at each man in. turn. From the marine officer, past the surgeon, the master and the purser, finally to his three lieutenants.

He said, 'You all know about the death of my clerk. A reliable man, even if given to certain eccentricities. He will be hard to replace. However, his murder by some persons unknown means more than the loss of a companion. I have been under sealed orders, but the time is come to reveal some of the task we shall soon be facing. When' two people know something it is no longer a secret. An even greater enemy in a small ship is rumour, and what it can do to idle minds.'

Bolitho flinched as the wide, compelling eyes paused on him momentarily before passing to some other part of the cabin.

Dumaresq said, 'Thirty years ago, before most of this ship's company had drawn breath, one Commodore Anson took an expedition south around Cape Horn and into the GreatSouthSea. His purpose was to harry Spanish settlements for, as you should know, we were then at war with the Dons.' He nodded grimly. 'Again.'

Bolitho thought of the courtly Spaniard in the house behind the harbour at Funchal, the secrecy, the missing bag for which a man had died.

Dumaresq continued, 'One thing is certain. Commodore Anson may have been courageous, but his ideas of health and caring for his people were limited.' He looked at the rotund surgeon and allowed his features to soften. 'Unlike us, maybe he had no proper doctors to advise him.'

There were several chuckles, and Bolitho guessed the remark had been made to put them more at their ease.

Dumaresq said, 'Be that as it may, within three years Anson had lost all of his squadron but his own Centurion, and had left thirteen hundred of his people buried at sea with his various escapades. Most of them died from disease, scurvy and bad food. It is likely that if Anson had returned home without further incident he would have faced a court martial and worse.'

Rhodes shifted in his chair, .his eyes shining as he whispered, 'J thought as much, Dick.'

Dumaresq's glance silenced whatever it was Rhodes had been about to impart.

The captain brushed some invisible dust from his red waistcoat and said, 'Anson fell in with a Spanish treasure ship homeward bound with bullion in her holds valued at more than a million guineas.'

Bolitho vaguely remembered reading of the incident.

Anson had seized the ship after a swift fight, had even broken off the action in order that the Spaniards could douse a fire which had broken out in their rigging. He had been that eager and desperate to take the treasure ship, Nuestra Senora de Covadonga, intact. Prize courts and the powers of Admiralty bad long looked on such captures as of greater value than the lives lost to obtain them.

Dumaresq cocked his head, his calm attitude momentarily lost. Bolitho heard the hail from the masthead to report a sail far off to the north. They had already sighted it twice during the day, for it seemed unlikely there would be more than one vessel using this same lonely route,

The captain shrugged. 'We shall see.' He did not elaborate but continued, 'It was not known until recently that there was another treasure ship on passage to Spain. She was the Asturias, a larger vessel than Anson's prize, and therefore more heavily laden.' He darted a glance at the surgeon. 'I can see you have heard of her?'

Bulkley sat back and interlaced his fingers across his ample stomach. 'Indeed I have, sir. She was attacked by an English privateer under the command of a young Dorset man, Captain Piers Garrick. His letter of marque saved him many times from the gallows as a common pirate, but today he is Sir Piers Garrick, well respected, and the past holder of several government posts in the Caribbean.'

Dumaresq smiled grimly . 'True, but I suggest you confine your other suspicions to the limits of the wardroom! The Asturias was never found, and the privateer was so damaged by the engagement that she too had to be abandoned.'

He looked round, irritated as the sentry called through the door, 'Midshipman of the watch, sir!' Bolitho, could picture the anxiety on the quarterdeck Should they disturb the meeting below their feet and risk. Dumaresq's displeasure? Or should they just note the strange sail in the log and hope for the best?

Dumaresq said, 'Enter.' He did not seem to raise his voice and yet it carried to the outer cabin without effort.

It was Midshipman Cowdrey, a sixteen-year-old youth who Dumaresq had already punished for using unnecessary severity on members of his watch.

He said, 'Mr Slade's respects, sir, and that sail has been reported- to the north'rd again.' He swallowed hard and seemed to shrink under the captain's stare.

Dumaresq said eventually, 'I see. We shall take no action.' As the door closed he added, 'Although I fear that stranger is not astern of us by coincidence.' A bell chimed from the forecastle and Dumaresq said, 'Recent information has been found and sworn to that most of the treasure is intact. A million and a half in bullion.' They stared at him as if be had uttered some terrible obscenity.

Then Rhodes exclaimed, 'And we are to discover it, sir?'

Dumaresq smiled at him. 'You make it sound very simple, Mr Rhodes, perhaps we shall find it so. But such a vast amount of treasure will, and has already, aroused interest. The Dons will want it back as their rightful property. A prize court will argue that as the ship had already been seized by Garrick's privateer before she managed to escape and hide, the bullion is the property of His Britannic Majesty.' He lowered his voice, 'And there are some who would seize it to further a cause which would do us nothing but harm. So, gentlemen, now you know. Our outward purpose is to complete the King's business. But if the news of this treasure is allowed to run riot elsewhere, I will want to know who is responsible.'

Palliser rose to his feet, his head bowed uncomfortably between the deckhead beams. The rest followed suit.

Dumaresq turned his back and stared at the glittering water which stretched to the horizon astern. 'First we go to Rio de Janeiro. Then I shall know more.' Bolitho caught his breath: The South Americas, and Rio was all of 5000 miles from his home at Falmouth. It would be the furthest he had yet sailed.

As they made to leave Dumaresq said, 'Mr Palliser and Mr Gulliver, remain, if you please.'

Palliser called, "Mr Bolitho, take over my watch until I relieve you, They left the cabin, each immersed in his own thoughts, The far-off destination would mean little to the ordinary sailor. The sea was always there, wherever he was, and the ship went with him. Sails had to be trimmed and reset at all hours, no matter what, and a seaman's life was hard whether the final landfall was in England or the Arctic. But let the rumour of treasure run through the ship and things might very different. As he climbed to the quarterdeck Bolitho saw the men assembling for the first-watch looking at him curiously, then turning away as he met their eyes, as if they already knew.

Mr Slade touched his hat. 'The watch is aft, sir.'

He was a hard master's mate and unpopular with many of people, especially those who did not rise to his impressive standards of seamanship.

Bolitho waited for the helmsmen to be relieved, the usual handing over from one watch to the next. A glance aloft at the set of the yards and sails, examine the compass and the chalked notes on the slate made by the midshipman on duty.

Gulliver came on deck, banging his palms together as he did when he was worried. Slade asked, 'Trouble, sir?'

Gulliver eyed him warily. He had been in Slade's position too recently to take any comment as casual. Seeking favours perhaps? Or a way of suggesting that he was Out of his depth with the wardroom officers aft?

He snapped, 'At the next turn of the glass we will alter course.' He peered at the tilting compass, 'Sou'-west by west. The captain intends to see the t'gan'sls, though with these light winds under our coat-tails I doubt if we can coax another knot out of her.'

Slade squinted up at the masthead lookout. 'So the strange sail means something.'

Palliser's voice preceded him up the companion ladder. 'It means, Mr Slade, that if that sail is still there tomorrow morning she is indeed following us.' Bolitho saw the worry in Gulliver's eyes and guessed what Dumaresq must have said to him and Palliser.

'Surely there is nothing we can do about that, sir? We are not at war.

Palliser regarded him calmly. 'There is quite a lot we can do about it.' He nodded to emphasize the point. 'So be ready.'

As Bolitho made to leave the quarterdeck in his care Palliser called after him, 'And I shall be timing those laggards of yours when ail bands are piped to make more sail.'

Bolitho touched his hat. 'I am honoured, sir.'

Rhodes was waiting for him on the gun-deck. 'Well done, Dick. He'll respect you if you stand up to him.' They walked aft to the wardroom and Rhodes said, 'The lord and master is going to take that other vessel, you know that, don't you, Dick?'

Bolitho threw his hat on to one of the guns and sat down at the wardroom table.

'I suppose so.' His mind drifted back again, to the coves and cliffs of Cornwall. 'Last year, Stephen, I was doing temporary duty aboard a revenue cutter.'

Rhodes was about to make a joke of it but saw the sudden pain in Bolitho's eyes.

Bolitho said, 'There was a man then, a big and respected landowner. He died trying to flee the country. It was proved he had been smuggling arms for an uprising in America. Maybe the captain thinks this is similar, and all this time that gold has been waiting for the right use.' He grimaced, surprised at his own gravity. 'But let's talk about Rio. I am looking forward to that.'

Colpoys strolled into the wardroom and arranged himself carefully in a chair. To Rhodes he said, 'The first lieutenant says you are to select a midshipman to assist with the clerical duties in the in.' He crossed his legs and remarked, 'Didn't know the young fellas could write!'

Their laughter died as the surgeon, unusually grim-faced, entered, and after a quick glance around to make certain they were undisturbed, said, 'The gunner's just told me something interesting. He was asked by one of his mates they would need to move some of the twelve-pounder shot forward to make room for the bullion.' He let his words sink in. 'How long has it been? Fifteen minutes? Ten? It must be the shortest secret of any day!'

Bolitho listened to the regular creak and clatter of rigging and spars, the movement of the watch on deck overhead.

So be ready, Palliser had said. It had suddenly adopted another meaning altogether. The morning after Dumaresq's disclosures about the treasure ship found the strange sail still lying far astern.

Bolitho had the morning-watch, and had sensed the growing tension as the light hardened across the horizon and faces around him took on shape and personality.

Then came the cry, 'Deck there! Sail to th' nor'-east!'

Dumaresq must have been ready for it, expecting it. He came on deck within minutes, and after a cursory glance at the compass and the flapping sails, observed, 'Wind's dropping off.' He looked at Bolitho. 'This is a damnable business .' He recovered himself instantly. 'I shall have breakfast now. Send Mr Slade aloft when he comes on watch. He has an eye for most craft. Tell him to study that stranger, though God knows she is cunning enough to keep her distance and still not lose us.'

Bolitho watched him until he had disappeared below and then looked along Destiny's full length. It was the ship's busiest time, with seamen at work with holy-stones on the deck planking, others cleaning guns and checking running and standing rigging under Mr Timbrell's critical eye. The marines were going through one of their many, seemingly complicated drills with muskets and fixed bayonets, while Colpoys kept at a distance, leaving the work to his sergeant.

Beckett, the carpenter, was already directing some of his crew to begin repairs on the larboard gangway which had been damaged when a purchase had collapsed under the weight of some incoming stores. The upper deck with its double line of twelve-pounders was like a busy street and a market-place all in one. A place for hard work and gossip, for avoiding authority or seeking favour.

Later, with the decks cleaned up, the hands were piped to sail drill with Palliser at his place on the quarterdeck to watch their frantic efforts to knock seconds off the time it took to reef or make more sail.

And all the while as they lived through the daily routine of a man-of-war, that other sail never left them. Like a tiny moth on the horizon it was always there. When Destiny shortened sail and the way fell from beneath her beak head , the stranger too would follow suit. Spread more canvas and the lookout would immediately report a responding act ton by the stranger.

Dumaresq came on deck as Gulliver was just completing his supervision of the midshipman's efforts as they took the noon sights to fix the ship's position.

Bolitho was close enough to hear him ask, 'Well, Mr Gulliver, how will the weather favour us tonight?' He sounded impatient, even angry that Gulliver should be doing his normal duties.

The sailing master glanced at the sky and the red masthead pendant. 'Wind's backed a piece, sir. But the strength is the same. Be no stars tonight, too much cloud in the offing.'

Dumaresq bit his lip. 'Good. So be it.' He swung round and called, 'Pass the word for Mr Palliser.' He saw Bolitho and said, 'You have the dog-watches today. Make certain you gather plenty of lanterns near the mizzen. I want our 'friend' to see our lights later on. They will give him confidence. '

Bolitho watched the change in the man, the power running through him like a rising wave, a need to crush this impudent follower.

Palliser came striding aft, his eyes questioning again as he saw Dumaresq speaking with his junior lieutenant.

'Ah, Mr Palliser, I have work for you.'

Dumaresq smiled, but Bolitho could see from the way a nerve was jumping at the corner of his jaw, the stiffness in his back and broad shoulders, that his mind was less relaxed.

Dumaresq made a sweeping gesture. 'I shall reguire the launch ready for lowering at dusk, earlier if the light is poor. A good man in charge, if you please, and extra hands to get her mast Stepped and sails set as soon as they are cast off.' He watched Palliser's inscrutable face and added lightly, 'I want them to carry several of the large lanterns, too. We shall douse ours and darken ship completely is soon as the launch is clear. Then I intend to beat hard to wind'rd, come about and wait.'

Bolitho turned to look at Palliser. To tackle another vessel in the dark was not to be taken flippantly.

Dumaresq added, 'I shall flog any man aboard who shows so much as a glow-worm!'

Palliser touched his hat. 'I'll attend to it, sir. Mr Slade can take charge of the boat. He's so keen on promotion it'll do him good.'

Bolitho was astounded to see Dumaresq and the first lieutenant laughing together like a pair of schoolboys, as if this was an everyday occurrence.

Dumaresq looked at the sky and then turned to stare astern. Only from the masthead could you see the other vessel, but it was. as if he was able to reach beyond the horizon itself. He was calm again, in control of his feelings.

He said, 'Something to tell your father about, Mr Bolitho. It would appeal to him.'

A seaman tramped past carrying a great coil of rope across his shoulder like a bundle of dead snakes. It was Stockdale. As the captain vanished below he wheezed, 'We goin' to fight that one, sir?' Bolitho shrugged. 'I - I think so.'

Stockdale nodded heavily. 'I'll grind an edge on my blade, then.' That was all it apparently meant to him.

Left alone to his thoughts, Bolitho crossed to the rail and looked down at the men already working to free the launch from the other boats on the tier. Did Slade, he wondered, yet realize what might become of him? If the wind rose after they had dropped the launch, Slade could be driven miles off course. It would be harder than finding a pin in 'a haystack.

Jury came on deck, and after some hesitation joined him by the rail.

Bolitho stared at him. 'I thought you were sent aft to do poor Lockyer's work?'

Jury met his gaze. 'I asked the first lieutenant if he would send Mr Midshipman Ingrave instead.' Some of his compo sure collapsed under Bolitho's gaze. 'I'd prefer to stay in your watch, sir.'

Bolitho clapped him on toe shoulder. 'On your head be it.' But he felt pleased all the same.

The boatswain's mates hurried from hatchway to hatch way, their silver calls trilling in between their hoarse cries for the watch below to assist in swaying out the launch. Jury listened to the shrill whistles and said, 'The Spithead nightingales are in full cry this evening, sir.' Bolitho hid a smile. Jury spoke like an old sailor, a real sea-dog.

He faced him gravely, 'You'd better go and see what is being done about the lanterns. Otherwise Mr Palliser will have the both of us in full cry, I'm thinking.'

As dusk Game down to conceal their preparations the masthead lookout reported that the other sail was still in sight.

Palliser touched his hat as the captain came on deck. 'All ready, sir.'

'Very well.'

Dumaresq's eyes shone in the reflected glare' From the array of lanterns. 'Shorten sail and stand by to lower the boat.' He looked up as the main-topsail filled and med suddenly from its yard. 'After that, every stitch she carry. If that ferrett back there is a friend, and merely seeking our protection on the high seas, we shall know it. If not, Me Palliser, he shall know that, I promise you!'

An anonymous voice whispered, 'Cap'n's comin' up, sir!'

Palliser turned and waited for Dumaresq to join him by quarterdeck rail. Gulliver's shadow moved through the gloom. 'South by east, sir. Full and bye'.' '

Dumaresq gave a grunt. 'You' were right about the clouds, Mr Gulliver, though the wind's fresher than I expected.'

Bolitho stood with Rhodes and three midshipmen .at the Lee side of the quarterdeck ready to execute any sudden order. More to the point, they were able to share the drama and the tension. Dumaresq's comment had sounded as if lie blamed the master for the wind.

He looked up and shivered. Destiny, after thrashing and beating her way to windward for what had seemed like an eternity, had come about as Dumaresq had planned. With a stiff wind sweeping over the larboard quarter she was plunging across a procession of breaking white-horses, the spray rising above the weather rigging and sweeping on to the crouching-seamen like tropical rain.

Destiny had been stripped down to' her topsails and jib' with her big forecourse holding two reefs in readiness for a swift change of tack. Rhodes murmured, 'That other vessel is out there somewhere, Dick.'

Bolitho nodded and tried not to think of the launch as it had vanished into a deepening darkness, the lanterns making a lively show on the water.

It was an eerie feeling, with the ship so quiet around him. Nobody spoke, and the heavily greased gear was without its usual din and clatter. Just the sweeping sea alongside, the occasional rush of water through the lee scuppers as Destiny dropped her bows into a deep trough.

Bolitho wanted to forget what was happening around him and to concentrate on what he had to do. Palliser had selected the best seamen in the ship for a boarding party if it came to that. But the sudden upsurge of wind might have changed Dumaresq's ideas, he thought.

He heard Jury moving restlessly by the nettings, and Rhodes' midshipman, Mr Cowdroy, who had been in the ship for two years. He was a haughty, bad-tempered youth of sixteen who would be impossible as a lieutenant. Rhodes had had cause to report him to the captain more than once, and the last time he had been ignominiously caned across a six-pounder by the boatswain. It did not seem to have changed him. Little Merrett made up the trio, trying to keep out of sight, as usual.

Rhodes said softly, 'Soon now, Dick.' He loosened the hanger in his belt. 'Might be a slaver, who knows?'

Yeames, master's mate of the watch, said cheerfully, 'Not likely, sir. You'd smell a biackbirder by now!'

Palliser snapped, 'Be silent there!'

Bolitho watched the sea curling above the dipping side in a frothing white bank. Beyond it there was nothing but an occasional jagged crest. As black as a boot, as Colpoys had remarked. His marksmen were already aloft in the tops, trying to keep their muskets dry and watching for the first sight of the stranger.

If the captain and Gulliver had timed it correctly, the stranger should appear on Destiny's starboard bow. The frigate would hold the wind-gage and the other vessel would have no chance of slipping away. The men at the starboard battery were ready, the gun captains on their knees as they prepared to run out as soon as the word came from aft.

To a civilian sitting by his hearth in England it might all seem like a kind of madness. But to Captain Dumaresq it was something else entirely, and it mattered. The other vessel, whatever she was, was interfering with the King's affairs. That made it personal, not to be taken lightly.

Bolitho gave another shiver as he recalled his first meeting with the captain. To me, to this ship, and to His Britannic Majesty, in that order!

Destiny raised her quivering jib-boom like a lance and seemed to hang motionless on the edge of another trough before she plunged forward and down, her bows smashing through solid water and flinging spray high above the forecastle.

From one corner of his eye Bolitho saw something fall from overhead. It hit the deck and exploded with a loud bang. Rhodes ducked as a ball whined dangerously past his face and gasped, 'A damned bullock has dropped his musket!' Startled' voices and harsh accusations erupted from the gun-deck, and Lieutenant Colpoys ran to the quarterdeck ladder in his haste to deal with the culprit.

It all happened in a swift sequence of events. The sudden explosion as Destiny ploughed her way towards the next array of crests, the attention of officers and seamen distracted for just a few moments.

Palliser said angrily, 'Stop that noise, damn your eyes!' Bolitho turned and then froze as out of the darkness, running with the wind, came the other vessel. Not safely downwind to .starboard, but right here, rising above the larboard side like a phantom.

'Put up your helm!' Dumaresq's powerful voice stopped some of the startled men in their tracks. 'Man the braces there, standby on the quarterdeck!'

Rearing and plunging, her sails booming and thundering in wild confusion, Destiny began to swing away from the' oncoming vessel. Gun crews who minutes earlier had been nursing their weapons in readiness for a fight were caught totally unawares, and even now were tumbling across to help the men on the opposite side where the twelve-pounders still pointed at their sealed ports.

More spray burst over the quarterdeck as another sea surged jubilantly across the nettings and drenched the men nearby. .Order was being restored, and Bolitho saw seamen straining back on the braces until they seemed to be touching the deck itself.

He shouted,' 'Stand to, men!' He was groping for his hanger even as he realized that Rhodes and his midshipman had already gone running to the bows. 'She'll be into us directly!'

A shot echoed above the din of sea and wind, but whether fired by accident or by whom, Bolitho did not know or care.

He felt Jury by his side.

'What'll we do, sir?'

He sounded frightened. As well he might, Bolitho thought. Merrett was clinging to the nettings as if nothing would ever shift him.

Bolitho used something like physical strength to control his stampeding thoughts. He was in charge. Nobody else was here to lead, to advise. Everyone on the upper deck was too occupied with his own role.

He managed to shout, 'Stay with me.' He pointed at a running figure. 'You, clear the starboard battery and prepare to repel boarders!'

As men floundered cursing and shouting in -all directions, Bolitho heard Dumaresq's voice. He was on the opposite side of the deck, yet seemed to be speaking into Bolitho's ear.

'Board, Mr Bolitho!' He swung round as Palliser sent more men to shorten sail in a last attempt to delay the impact of collision. 'She must not escape!'

Bolitho stared at him, his eyes wild. 'Aye, sir!'

He was about to draw his hanger when with a thundering crash the other vessel drove hard alongside. But for Dumaresq's quick action she would have rammed into the Destiny's broadside like a giant axe.

Yells changed to screams as a tumbling mass of cordage and broken spars crashed on and between the two hulls. Men were knocked from their feet as the sea lifted the vessels together yet again, bringing down another tangle of rigging and blocks. Some men had fallen, too, and Bolitho had to drag Jury by the arm as he shouted, 'Follow me!' He waved his hanger, keeping his eyes away from the sea which appeared to be boiling between the two snared hulls. One slip and it would all be over.

He saw Little brandishing a boarding axe, and of course Stockdale holding his cutlass like a dirk against his massive frame.

Bolitho gritted his teeth and leapt for the other vessel's shrouds, his legs kicking in space as he struck out seeking a foothold. His hanger had gone from his hand and swung dangerously from his wrist as he gasped and struggled to hold on. More men were on either side of him, and he retched as someone fell between the two vessels, the man's scream cut off abruptly like a great door being slammed shut.

As he dropped to the unfamiliar deck he heard other voices and saw vague shapes rushing across the fallen wreckage, some with blades in their fists, while from aft came the sharp crack of a pistol.

He groped for his hanger and shouted, 'Drop your weapons in the King's name!'

The roar of voices which greeted his puny demand was almost worse than the danger. Perhaps he had been expecting Frenchmen or Spaniards, but the voices which yelled derision at his upraised hanger were as English as his own.

A spar plunged straight down into the deck, momentarily separating the two opposing groups and smashing one of the figures to pulp. With a final quiver the two vessels wrenched themselves apart, and even as a sword-blade darted from the shadows towards him, Bolitho realized that Destiny had left him to fend for himself.

5 Blade to Blade

Calling to each other by name and matching curses with their unknown adversaries, the Destiny's small boarding party struggled to hold together. All the while the deck was flung about by the sea, the motion made worse by fallen spars and great creepers of rigging which trailed over the bulwarks and pulled the hull into each trough like a sea-anchor.

Bolitho slashed out at someone opposite him, his blade jarring against steel as he parried away another thrust. Bolitho was a good swordsman, but a hanger was a poor match for a straight blade. Around him men were yelling and gasping, bodies interlocked while they fought with cutlass and dirk, boarding axe and. anything which they could lay hands on.

Little bellowed, 'Aft, lads! Come on!' He charged along the littered deck, hacking down a crouching shadow with his axe as he ran, and followed by half of the party.

Near Bolitho a man slipped and fell, and then rolled over, protecting his face from the one who stood astride him with a raised cutlass. Bolitho heard the swish of steel, the sickening thud of the blade driving into bone. But when he turned he saw Stockdale wrenching his own blade free before tossing the dead man unceremoniously over the side.

It was a wild, jumbled nightmare. Nothing seemed real, and Bolitho could feel the numbness thrusting through his limbs as he fought off another attacker who had slithered down the shrouds like an agile ape.

He ducked, and felt the man slice above his head, the breath rasping out of him from the force of his swing. Bolitho punched him in the stomach with the knuckle-bow of his hanger, and as he reeled away hacked him hard across the neck, the pain lancing up his arm as if he had been the one to be cut down.

Despite the horror and the danger, Bolitho's mind continued to respond, but like that of an onlooker, somebody uninvolved with the bloody hand-to-hand fighting around him. The vessel was a brigantine, her yards in disarray as she continued to fall downwind. There was a smell of newness about her, a freshly built craft. Her crew must have been dumbfounded when Destiny's canvas had loomed across their bows, and that shock was the only thing which had so far saved the depleted boarding party.

A man bounded forward, regardless of the slashing figures and sobbing wounded who were being trampled underfoot.

Through his reeling mind one more thought came to Bolitho. This gaunt figure in a blue coat and brass buttons must be the vessel's master.

The brigantine was temporarily out of control, but within hours that could be put right. And Destiny was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps her damage was much worse than they had thought. You never really considered it might happen to your own ship. Always to another.

Bolitho saw the dull glint of steel and guessed dawn was not far away. Surprisingly, he thought of his mother, glad that she would not see his body when he fell.

The gaunt man yelled, 'Drop your sword, rot you!' Bolitho tried to shout back at him, to rally his men, to give himself a last spur of defiance.

Then the blades crossed, and Bolitho felt the strength of the man through the steel as if it was an extension of his own arm.