To Glory We Steer

13

 

DANGER FROM WITHIN

 

The pipes shrilled in salute as Richard Bolitho stepped through the ornate entry port and on to the Formidable's wide deck. Automatically he doffed his hat to the quarterdeck, and as he returned the greeting of the flagship's officer of the watch he allowed his eyes to move swiftly up and around him, taking in the busy activity, the seemingly endless deck space and the long lines of gleaming guns.

An impeccable midshipman in white gloves crossed the deck at a trot, and under the beady eye of the duty officer led Bolitho aft towards the great stem cabin, to which every available captain had been summoned at an hour's notice.

Bolitho had been toying with his lonely breakfast, pondering on the previous night's strange dinner party and Sir Robert Napier's persistent questions, when Maynard had hurried into his cabin with news of the signal. As he had hurriedly changed into his best uniform Bolitho had wondered why Sir Robert had not mentioned this meeting with the Commander-in-Chief. He must have known about it. As Bolitho had stared unseeingly at his reflection in the bulkhead mirror he had wondered if Sir Robert was making just one more private test. He probably kept his glass trained on the Phalarope's deck from the moment Formidable had hoisted her general signal.

He almost cwnnoned into the midshipman and realised that they had reached the great cabin. The youngster called, 'Captain Richard Bolitho of the Phalarope!'

But only those officers standing near the door took any notice, and soon returned to their own busy conversation. For that Bolitho was grateful. He made his way to one corner of the cabin, and as one messman took his hat another placed a tall glass of sherry in his hand. Neither spoke a word, and Bolitho guessed that it was no easy matter to remain calm and unruffled when serving the Commander-in-Chief.

He sipped at his glass and carefully studied the other officers. There must be about thirty captains present, he decided. Captains of every size and shape, of every age and seniority. After the first scrutiny Bolitho decided that he must be the most junior, but, just as he had reached this conclusion he felt a movement at his elbow and turned to meet the gaze of a tall, gangling lieutenant whom he vaguely remembered as the commander of the little brig, Witch of Looe.

The latter raised his glass and said quietly, `Your health, sir! I was coming across to see you and tell you how glad I am of your safe return.'

Bolitho smiled. `Thank you.' He shrugged. `I am afraid your name has escaped me.'

`Philip Dancer, sir.'

`I will remember it in future.' Bolitho saw the lieutenant loosening his neckcloth with one finger and suddenly realised that he was actually nervous. It "was not easy to be so junior in such an illustrious gathering. He said quickly, `I expect this seems a bit luxurious after your little brig?'

Dancer grimaced. `Just a bit!'

They both looked at the great stern windows with the wide gallery beyond where the admiral could take an undisturbed walk above the ship's own wake. There were long boxes of potted plants too, and on the handsome sideboard Bolitho caught a glimpse of gleaming silver and cut glass below a fine painting of Hampton Court Palace.

Then the buzz of conversation died away, and every man turned to face a side door as the small procession entered the cabin.

Bolitho was shocked to see the change which had come over Sir George Rodney since he had last seen him some two years earlier. Beneath the resplendent uniform with its bright ribbon and decorations the admiral's once upright figure appeared bent and drooping, and his mouth, now set in a tight line, betrayed the illness which had plagued him for so many months. It was hard to picture him as the same man who had overwhelmed a powerful enemy force only two years ago to break through and relieve the besieged fortress of Gibraltar, or who had attacked and sacked St. Eustatius and taken over three million sterling back to England as a prize.

But the eyes were the same. Hard and steady, as if they drew and contained all the energy of his being.

At his side his second in command, Sir Samuel Hood, made a sharp contrast. He looked calm and composed as he studied the assembled officers, his features dominated by his large, arrogant nose and high forehead.

Behind his two superiors Sir Robert Napier looked almost insignificant, Bolitho thought.

Sir George Rodney lowered himself into a tall chair and folded his hands in his lap. Then he said curtly, `I wanted you all here to tell you that it now seems likely the French and their allies will attempt a final overthrow of English forces in this area.' He coughed shortly and dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief. 'Comte de Grasse has assembled a strong force of ships of the line, the most powerful vessels ever gathered under one flag, and were I in his fortunate position I would have no hesitation in preparing to do battle.'

He coughed again, and Bolitho felt a tremor of uneasiness transmit itself through the watching, officers. The strain of years of planning and fighting were paring Rodney away like a knife blade. When he had sailed for England there was not an officer in his fleet who did not believe it was his last journey and that another would return to take his place. But somewhere within that tired body was a soul of steel. Rodney intended to see no replacement in the West Indies to take either the fruits of his hard and unsparing work or the shame and misery of possible defeat.

Sir Samuel Hood said evenly, Intelligence has reached us that there is more to de Grasse's intentions than a mere sea victory. He has been gathering seasoned French troops, as well as supplying arms and assistance to the American colonials. He is a shrewd and dedicated strategist, and I believe he intends to exploit whatever successes he has already made.' He looked suddenly across the nearest heads and fixed his heavy lidded eyes on Bolitho.

`The captain of the frigate Phalarope has added to this information in no little amount, gentlemen!'

For a few seconds every head in the cabinn turned to stare at him, and caught off guard by this turn of events Bolitho felt a tinge of confusion.

In those few seconds he got a vague impression of faces and the reactions of their owners. Some nodded approvingly, and some merely eyed him with barely masked envy. Others studied his face as if to search out some deeper meaning from the admiral's comment„ A small item of praise from Hood, and therefore condoned by the great Rodney himself, could immediately mark Bolitho as a firm rival in the ladder of promotion and reward.

Hood added dryly. `Now that you all know each other, we will continue! From this day forward our vigilance must be stepped up. Our patrols must make every effort to watch each enemy port and spare no efforts to pass information back to me. When de Grasse breaks out it will be swift and final. If we cannot call his challenge and close him in battle we are done for, and make no mistake about it!'

His deep, booming voice' filled the crowded cabin, so that Bohtho could almost feel the import of his words like a physical force.

The admiral went on tirelessly and methodically outline the known whereabouts of supply ships           enemy force showed neither strain nor impatience, and there was nothing at all in his manner to betray the fact that he had only recently returned to Antigua after holding St. Kitts against the whole French military force and their attendant fleet.

Sir George Rodney interrupted, 'I want every one of you to study and familiarise yourselves with my signal requirements.' He looked sharply around the cabin. 'I will not tolerate any officer misunderstanding my signals, any more than I will accept excuses for failing to execute same!'

Several captains exchanged quick glances. It was well known that when Rodney had tried to close the French admiral de Guichen off Martinique, and had not succeeded because some of his captains had failed either to understand or react to his signals, he had been quite ruthless. More than one captain now lived on miserly half-pay in England with nothing but disgrace and bad memories for comfort.

Rodney continued in a calmer tone, `Watch for my signals. Wherever, and on whatever ship my flag flies, watch for my signals!' He leaned back and stared at the deckhead. `This time there will be no second chance. We will win a great victory, or we will lose everything!'

He nodded to Hood, who added briefly, `Orders will be issued immediately to senior officers of squadrons. From the moment you leave here the fleet will be in all respects ready for sea. It is up to our patrolling frigates and sloops to watch the enemy's lairs like hounds.' He pounded the table with his fist. `Give the Commander-in-Chief the scent and the kill is assured!'

There was a murmur of approval, and Bolitho realised that the meeting was over.

Lieutenant Dancer said quietly, `I wonder where our squadron will be sent? I would hate to miss the final scene when it comes!'

Bolitho nodded, mentally smiling at the picture of the tiny Witch of Looe engaging de Grasse's'three-deckers. Aloud he said, `There are never enough frigates. In every war it is the same story. Too little too late!' But he could say it without bitterness. Phalarope would be needed more than ever now. With the vast sea areas, the complex hiding places amongst the lines of scattered islands, every frigatee would have more than enough to do.

He realised with a start that a sharp-faced flag-lieutenant had crossed the cabin to stop him leaving with the others.

`Sir George Rodney wishes to speak to you.'

Bolitho hitched up his 'sword and walked across the thick carpet. By the table he halted, half listening to the retreating scrape of footsteps. He heard the door close and the distant shrill of pipes speeding the exit of the fleet's captains, and for a terrible moment he thought he had misunderstood the flag. lieutenant's words.

Rodney was still sitting in his chair, his eyes half closed as he stared at the deckhead. Hood and Sir Robert Napier were completely engrossed in a chart on a nearby desk, and even the messmen seemed busy and oblivious to the young captainn by the table.

Then Rodney lowered his eyes and said wearily, `I know your father, Bolitho. We sailed together, of course. A very gallant officer, and a good friend.' He let his gaze move slowly across Bolitho's tanned face and down the length of his body. `You have a lot of him in you.' He nodded. `I am glad to have you under my command.'

Bolitho thought of his father alone in the big house, watch-, ing the ships in the bay. He said, `Thank you, sir. My father wished to be remembered to you.'

Rodney did not seem to hear. `There is so much to do. So few ships for the task.' He sighed deeply. `I am sorry you had to meet your only brother in such a fashion.' His eyes were suddenly fixed and unwavering.

Bolitho saw Sir Robert Napier stiffen beside the chart and heard himself reply, `He believes what he is doing is right, sir.'

The eyes were still hard on his face. `And what do you believe?’

'He is my brother, sir. But if we meet again I will not betray my cause.' He hesitated. `Or your trust, sir.'

Rodney nodded. `I never doubted it, my boy.'

Sir Samuel Hood coughed politely, and Rodney said with sudden briskness, `Return to your ship, Bolitho. I hope that both you and your father will be spared further hurt.' His eyes were cold as, he added, `It is easy to do your duty when there is no alternative. Yours was not an easy choice. Nor will it be if your brother is taken!'

He lapsed into silence, and the flag-lieutenant said impa

tiently, `Your hat, sir! And I have just called for your boat!' Bolitho followed the harassed officer into the sunlight, his mind still dwelling on the admiral's words. So the whole fleet would now know about his brother. In the confined, monastic world- of ships permanently at sea he would be discussed and measured against past exploits and future events.

He ran down the gangway to the waiting boat and stared across at the anchored Phalarope. Once she had been on trial. Now it was the turn of her captain.

 

On the evening of the same day that Bolitho had attended the conference aboard the Formidable, and with a minimum of fuss or ceremony, the Phalarope weighed and headed for the open sea.

The following morning found her a bare fifty miles to the south-west, her full set of sails drawing on the gentle breeze which did little to ease the growing power of the sun.

But this time she was not completely alone. Even from the deck it was possible to see the Cassius, her tall pyramids of canvas golden in the early sunlight as she moved on a ponderous and slow parallel course. Somewhere beyond her, hidden below the lip of the horizon, was the frigate Volcano. Invisible, and ahead of the slow-moving formation, Lieutenant Dancer's tiny Witch of Looe alone enjoyed a certain freedom of movement beyond the scrutiny of her admiral.

Lieutenant Herrick had just taken over the forenoon watch and stood relaxed by the quarterdeck rail as he idly watched the men at work on the maindeck. Earlier the swabs and holystones had made the planking wet and pliable, but now as the heat slowly mounted above the gently swaying hull the decks shone in shimmering whiteness while the normal business of splicing and running repairs was carried out.

It was a peaceful scene, and the combination of warmth and a good breakfast left Herrick drowsy and at ease. Occasionally he cast an eye towards Midshipman Neale to make sure he had his glass trained on the distant flagship, and Phalarope was keeping as good a station as the wind allowed.

He could see Lieutenant Okes inspecting the starboard battery of twelve-pounders with Brock, the gunner, and wondered, not for the first time, what was going on behind his strained features. Ever since the raid on Mola Island Okes had been a changed man. And the admiral's casual comments across the dinner table had made him withdraw even more into himself.

As for Farquhar, it was quite impossible to tell what he was thinking. Herrick was not sure, if he envied the midshipman's aloof reserve or admired him for it. It was strange how Farquhar's manner had always made him feel on the defensive. Perhaps it was because of his own humble beginnings, he decided. Even here, cooped up in a small frigate, Farquhar retained his distance and individuality.

Herrick tried to imagine what he would have felt if, as Rennie had suggested, Okes had retreated from the raid without care or interest, and had left him to die. He pictured himself reacting as Farquhar had done, but instantly in his heart he knew he was deceiving himself. More than likely it would have ended in an open conflict, with a court martial to round it off.

The helmsman coughed warningly, and Herrick turned quickly as Bolitho came up the cabin hatch. He touched his hat and waited as Bolitho walked first to the compass and then stood looking up at the masthead pendant. Then he relaxed slightly as Bolitho crossed to his side and looked down at the busy seamen on deck.

'Another fifty miles to our patrolling station, Mr. Herrick. At this speed we will need another day!' There was impatience in his tone, and a touch of irritation which Herrick was now able to recognise immediately.

Herrick said, `But still it is comforting to see the Cassius abeam, sir. If de Grasse ventures out this way we will not be alone!'

Bolitho stared at the distant gleam of sails, but there was no response to Herrick's forced cheerfulness. 'Ah yes, the flagship.' He gave a bitter smile. 'Forty years old, and so much weed on her bottom that she crawls even in a strong gale!'

Herrick looked quickly at the Cassius. Up until this moment size and seniority had represented safety and a ready shield. He replied, 'I did not know, sir.'

'She was a Dutch prize, Mr. Herrick. Look at the rake of her beakheadl' Then as if realising that he was speaking from memory of things which were of no importance he added harshly, 'My God, this crawling makes me sick!'

Herrick tried another tack. 'Our orders, sir. May I ask what is expected of us?'

He immediately regretted his impulse and checked himself as Bolitho turned his head away to watch a slowly circling gull. But from the set of the captain's shoulders and the way his hands were locked on the rail he knew that he had struck on something uppermost in Bolitho's mind.

But Bolitho's voice was calm as he answered, 'We will take up our station fifty miles to the west'rd of Guadeloupe and keep contact with our''-he waved his hand towards the open sea-'with our squadron!'

Herrick digested this information slowly. The excitement and frantic preparations at Antigua had left him in little doubt of an impending battle, and he knew that even now most of those proud ships he had watched with an undiminished fascination would have weighed and set sail to complete Rodney's plan to seek out and confront the Comte de Grasse.

Bolitho continued absently, 'There is a chain of ships up and down the Caribbean. One good sighting and the chase will be on.' But there was no excitement in his voice. 'Unfortunately, Martinique is another hundred miles to the south of our patrol area, Mr. Herrick. De Grasse will be there with the bulk of his ships. He will bide his time and then make a dash for Jamaica.' He turned swiftly and stared at Herrick's frowning face. 'And when Rodney's frigates report that the French have sailed, the fleet will attack him!' He shrugged, the gesture both angry and despairing. 'And we shall still be on our station, as useless as a signpost in a desert!'

'But the French may come this way, sir.' Herrick felt Bolitho's bitterness changing his own eagerness to gloom. As he spoke he realised the reason for Bolitho's earlier scorn of the elderly Cassius. It was obvious that Rodney was using Admiral Napier's small squadron for the least important part of his overall plan.

'And pigs may lay eggs, Mr. Herrick!' said Bolitho evenly. 'But not in our day!'

'I see, sir.' Herrick was at a loss for words.

Bolitho studied him gravely and then touched his arm. 'Cheer up, Mr. Herrick. I am bad company this morning.' He winced and fingered his side. 'I am thankful that ball missed anything vital. But I could well do without its reminder.'

Herrick watched him thoughtfully. 'You should take more rest, sir.'

'I find it hard even to sit down, Mr. Herrick.' Bolitho shaded his eyes to watch the set of the sails. 'There is so much happening. History is being made all around us!' He suddenly began to pace, so that Herrick had to fall in step to keep up with him. 'De Grasse will come out, I'm sure of it!' He was speaking quickly in time with his steps. 'You saw that freak gale which gave you your chance to take the Andiron? Well, it was rare indeed for this time of year. But later,' he smiled grimly at some hidden memory, 'later in the year the hurricanes

hit the West Indies in profusion. From August to September they follow one another like messengers from hell itself!' He shook his head firmly. `No, Mr. Herrick, de Grasse will come out soon. He has much to accomplish before that time.'

Herrick said, `But which way will he go?

`Maybe through the Martinique Passage. But either way he will head straight for the central Caribbean. There are a thousand miles between him and Jamaica. You could lose a whole fleet in such an area. If we fail to make contact when he sails we will never catch him again until it is too late!'

Herrick nodded, at last understanding the full reason for Bolitho's apprehension. 'He has troops and guns. He can oc cupy any territory he chooses to .take.'

`Quite so. The men and stores we dealt with at Mola Island were just a part of his strength. He had hoped to tie down the fleet while he drove on to Jamaica unimpeded. Now he knows we are alerted. His urgency will be all the keener.'

He stopped in his tracks and stared fixedly at the naked horizon. 'If only we knew! If only we could go and find out for ourselves!' Then he seemed to realise that he was showing his own despair and he added briefly, `You may return to your watch, Mr. Herrick. I have some thinking to do.'

Herrick walked back to the rail, but as the sun beat down on the tinder-dry decks, he was constantly aware of Bolitho's shadow. Back and forth, up and down.

When Herrick had been a midshipman he had dreamed of the time when he might attain the impossible heights of a lieutenant. From then on he had watched the slow path to promotion, gauging his own progress by the experience or the incompetence of his superiors. And all the time, nursed in the back of his mind like some precious jewel, was the idea that one day he might at last hold a command of his own.

But now, as he watched Bolitho's restless shadow and imagined the fretting thoughts which kept it company, he was not so sure.

 

Halfway through the forenoon the pipes shrilled, `Stand easy!' With varying degrees of relief the frigate's seamen threw themselves into patches of shade to make the most of the short break in routine.

John Allday stayed where he had been working, with his legs astride the larboard cathead, his bronzed body sheltered from the sun by the jibsail. In the foremost part of the ship he had been engaged in cleaning and scraping one of the great anchors, and as he squatted comfortably above the small bow wave he rested one foot on the anchor's massive stock, feeling its warmth against the bare skin. At his back the other members of the working party lounged in various stages of abandon, while above their heads the air was tinged with a slow-moving vapour of smoke from their long pipes.

Old Ben Strachan picked up a new rope and examined the eye-splice which one of the ship's boys had just completed.

`Not bad, youngster. Not bad at all.' He sucked noisily at his pipe and peered aft the length of the Phalarope's deck. `Is that the cap'n pacin' up an' down?'

Pochin, who was lying with his head cradled on his thick arms, muttered, `Course it is! Must be mad to be in this 'eat when 'e could be down in 'is cabin!'

Allday swung one leg and stared thoughtfully at the clear water below him. Pochin was still worried about Onslow's words in the cutter. He was edgy, as if he realised his own guilt. Just listening to such talk made a man liable to be labelled a conspirator.

He turned slightly to look aft, and across the length of the ship he saw Herrick, watching him from the quarterdeck. The lieutenant gave him a brief nod of recognition before returning to his own contemplation, and Allday suddenly remembered that moment on the crumbling cliff when he had stopped Herrick from falling to the rocks below. In spite of his original intention to stay apart from internal affairs in the Phalarope, and to keep clear of loyalty to either faction, Allday was beginning to realise that such neutrality was impossible, even dangerous.

Allday liked Herrick, and recognised what he was trying to do. He was always ready to listen to complaints from his division, and was never quick to award punishment. But he was no fool, and few took advantage of his humane manner a second time.

Allday could see the captain still pacing the quarterdeck at the weather rail, coatless with his shirt open to his chest and his dark hair pulled back to the nape of his neck. He was a harder man to know, Allday thought, but it was strangely reassuring to see him back at his familiar place on the poop. Allday, perhaps better than most, knew the reputation of the Bolitho family. On his visits to Falmouth he had often heard them discussed in the taverns, and had even seen the house which was the captain's home. It was strange to realise that he had a brother fighting on the other side. Allday wondered how he would have felt. Not only that,- but Bolitho's brother was said to have deserted from the Navy, a crime which could only be wiped out at the end of a rope.

He came back from his thoughts as Ferguson climbed up from the maindeck and walked across to the rail. He looked strained and self-conscious in his clean clothes, a marked contrast to the tired and sweating seamen who had once been his companions.

Ferguson fidgeted for a few moments and then said, 'Do you think we will see any more fighting?'

Pochin turned his head and growled, `You should know! Aren't you in the captain's pocket?'

Allday grinned. `Don't pay any attention to Nick.' He dropped his voice. `Has Onslow been after you again?' He saw Ferguson's pale eyes flicker.

'Not much. He just passes the time with me sometimes.'

'Well, remember my warning, Bryan!' Allday studied him 'closely. 'I've not told a living soul aboard, but I believe he had a lot to do with Mathias's death.' He saw the disbelief on Ferguson's face and added sharply, 'In fact, I'm sure he had!'

'Why should he do a thing like that?' Ferguson tried to smile, but his mouth remained slack.

'He's a bad one. He knows no other life but this. He came to the Beet as a child. His world is bounded by the sides of a wooden hull.' He ran his hands along the carved cathead. 'I've met a few of his kind before, Bryan. They're as dangerous as wolves!'

Ferguson said, 'He'll not make trouble. He wouldn't dare!'

'No? And why do you think he keeps asking about the cabin? He's biding his time. His sort have a lot of patience.'

'The captain'd not stand for any more trouble!' Ferguson showed his agitation in the quick movements of his hands. 'I've heard him telling Mr. Vibart about taking care of the men. About how he wants them treated.'

Allday sighed. 'You see? You're even telling me what you've heard. If you want to stay safe you'd better keep what you know to yourself.'

Ferguson stared at him. 'You don't have to tell me!' He tightened his mouth with sudden anger. 'You're just like the others. You're jealous because of my job!'

A1lday turned away. 'Suit yourself.'

He waited until he heard Ferguson moving aft again. Then he turned to watch as Onslow stepped from beside the mainmast to stop his passing. He saw Onslow grinning and patting Ferguson on the shoulder.

Pochin's hard voice interrupted his thoughts. 'What d'you reckon? D'you think Onslow is right?' He sounded worried.

'If there is more trouble aboard this ship we'll all be in it. We'll have to take sides!'

Allday replied flatly, `You'd be a fool to pay heed to that one!' He tried to put some value to his words. `Anyway, the captain'll make short work of him if he tries anything!'

Pochin nodded doubtfully. `Maybe. Dyin' under a French broadside is one thing, but I'll not cough out blood for 'im or the buggers like Onslow!'

The pipes shrilled again, and the men stirred themselves back to work.

Allday kept his eyes down to his task as Quintal, the boatswain, and Josling, one of his mates, walked forward to inspect the forecastle. He heard Josling say, 'I see that the old Cassius was signalling just now, Mr. Quintal?

.Quintal replied in his deep voice, `Aye, lad. We'll be hauling off shortly to our own little patrol area. It'll be a long job, I wouldn't wonder, so see that you keep the hands busy. There's nothing worse for discipline than too much free time.' The rest of his comments were lost to Allday as the two men moved up towards the bowsprit, but he had heard enough.

Phalarope was to be alone again, and out of sight of the flagship. The boatswain was right. With the heat and the dull monotony of an empty patrol, Onslow would find a good breeding ground for more trouble if he could.

He looked sideways at his silent companions, each man apparently engrossed in his own task, yet each no doubt thinking of that green patch of land which they had just left behind.

No ordinary seaman had set foot ashore. Some of the crew had not left a deck for years. It was hardly surprising that men like Onslow could find a ready audience.

He shaded his eyes and stared towards the horizon. Already the distant two-decker seemed smaller, her hull lost in the heat haze below the clear sky. Her sails had merged into one shining pyramid, and as he watched she appeared to sink lower in the glittering sea. Another hour and she would have vanished altogether.

After that, he thought coldly, you could trust no man.

 

Deep below the forecastle deck where Allday sat immersed in his own thoughts was the Phalarope's cable tier. In harbour it was a spacious, empty place, but now, as the frigate moved listlessly on the calm water, it was packed to the deckhead with the massive anchor cables. Coil upon coil, the great, salthardened ropes added to the sour stench of the bilges and the richer smells of tar and hemp. Stout upright pillars on either side of the shelving hull held the cables clear of the timbers to alloww easy access to the ship's fabric at all times. These 'car. penter's walks' as. they were named ran the full length of the hull below the water-line to afford inspection and, if necessary, repairs in time of battle. Little wider than a man's body, they were usually in total darkness.

But now, as the bow wave swished dully against the timbers and furtive rats continued their endless search for food, a small, shaded lantern cast an eerie light against the piled cable and threw a distorted reflection back to the faces of the men squeezed in the narrow passageway.

Onslow held the lantern higher and peered at the waiting men. He only had to count them to be sure. He knew each man's face and name without need for further examination.

'We must be quick, lads! We'll be missed if we stay too long!'

Like an echo he heard Pook's voice. 'Just pay heed to wot 'e says!'

Onslow's teeth gleamed in the darkness. He could feel his legs shaking with wild excitement, like the effect of rum on an empty stomach. 'We're pulling away from the other ships. I think the time has almost come to carry out our plan.'

He heard a dull murmur of agreement and grinned even broader. Just by saying our instead of my acted on these men like the crack of a whip.

'From what Ferguson has told me Bolitho intends to run to the south'rd. The Phalarope'll be on the end of the patrol line. No chance of meeting any of the others, y'see?'

A voice asked from the darkness, 'Ow can we take the ship on our own?’ He broke off with a yelp as Pook drove his elbow into his ribs.

Onslow said calmly, `Leave that part to me. I'll tell you how and when.' He looked at the crouching line of dark figures. All the ones who had come with him from the Cassius, and several more recruited in the Phalarope. It was far more than he had dared to hope.

'We must get rid of the bloody bullocks. Without their red coats athwart the quarterdeck it'll be easy.'

Pook asked, 'Wot about Allday an' the like?'  

'Ah yes.' Onslow smiled crookedly. 'Master John Allday.'       

Pook added gloomily, `The lads listen to 'imi,  

'And if anything happened to Allday we'd got a lot more on     our s, eh?’ Onslow's brain was moving ahead of his words. ,But it has to be clever. If it looks like our doing we might as well hang ourselves!'

They all froze as heavy footsteps sounded overhead. Then as they died away Onslow continued easily, 'I think Allday guesses what happened to Mathias. He's too clever to live, is that one!' He reached out and gripped Pook's arm. 'So we'll make him a bloody martyr, shall we?' He gave a rumbling laugh. 'Now we can't do fairer than that!'

The same uncertain voice tried again. 'We'll be cut down afore we can raise a finger, I say!'

'1'll cut you down, you bugger!' For a moment Onslow's good humour retreated. Then he added more calmly, 'Now listen to me, all of you! We must wait a bit longer to get the lads more worried. Then when the time's ripe I'll tell you what I want. That fool Ferguson can keep an eye on the captain's log for me, just so that I know where we are. When we get a bit nearer some land, I'll be ready.'

He snapped his fingers. 'Those weapons we brought off from Mola Island. Have you got 'em safely stowed?'

Pook nodded. 'Aye, they'll not be discovered!'

'Right then. Get back to your work now, lads. And stay out of trouble. You're all marked men anyway, so don't give the bastards a chance to nail you!'

He watched them creeping away into the darkness beyond the dim lantern and felt satisfied. Now, just as he had told those poor sheep, it was just a matter of time.