ALEXANDER KENT - TO GLORY WE STEER

The pipe glow suddenly vanished in the palm of Proby's beefy hand, and he said tersely, 'The captain is on deck, Mr. Herrick!' Then in a louder, matter-of-fact tone he said, 'We should make a good landfall tomorrow if this wind holds. So I'll bid you good night, Mr. Herrick!'

Then he was gone, and Herrick moved towards the lee rail. From the comer of his eye he could see Bolitho standing straight against the weather rail, the moonlight sharp across his white shirt as he stared at the glittering reflections beyond the ship.

Bolitho had not left the quarterdeck for more than an hour at a time, and ever since Allday's arrest he had been seen by the taffrail, either pacing the deck or just staring out to sea, as he was now.

Earlier Herrick had overheard the master speaking to Quintal, the boatswain, and now as he watched Bolitho's motionless figure the words came back to him. Quintal had said in a hoarse whisper, 'I didn't know he felt like that about Evans. He seems fair troubled by it all!'

Old Proby had weighed his words before replying. 'It's the deed which bothers the captain, Mr. Quintal. He feels betrayed, that's what is wrong with him!'

Herrick saw Bolitho touch the scar on his forehead and then rub the tiredness from his eyes. Proby was right, he thought. He feels it more than we realise. Whatever any of us does, he shares it like his own burden.

Before he realised what he was doing, Herrick had crossed the deck to Bolitho's side. Instantly he regretted his action. He half expected Bolitho to turn and reprimand him, and even that might have been better than the complete silence. He said, The wind is holding well, sir. The master has prophesied a quick landfall.'

'I think I heard him.' Bolitho seemed to be deep in his own thoughts.

Herrick saw that the captain's shirt was dark with thrown spray and clung close to his body like another skin. There were deep shadows beneath his eyes, and Herrick could almost feel the inner torment which was keeping Bolitho on deck instead of the privacy of the cabin.

He said, 'Would you like me to call your servant, sir? Per haps a hot drink before you turn in for the night?'

Bolitho twisted round at the rail, his eyes bright in the moonlight. 'Spare me this small talk, Mr. Herrick! What is it which bothers you?'

Herrick swallowed hard and then blurted out, 'I have been speaking with Aliday, sir. I know it was wrong, but I feel partly responsible for him.'

Bolitho was watching him closely. 'Go on'

'He is one of my men, sir, and I think there may be more to what happened than we think.' He finished lamely, 'I know him better than most. He is not the sort to change.

Bolitho sighed. 'Only the stars never change, Mr. Herrick.'

Herrick said stubbornly, 'Even so, he may be innocent!'

'And you think this is important?' Bolitho sounded tired. 'You believe that the life of one man, a man almost certain to be found guilty, is worth consideration?'

'Well, as a matter of fact, I do, sir.' Herrick felt Bolitho's eyes fixed on his face in a cold stare. 'The authorities will not listen to half a story…'

Bolitho shifted with sudden impatience. 'We are the authority out here, Mr. Herrick! And I will decide what is to be done!'

Herrick looked away. 'Yes, sir.'

'As it happens, I entirely agree with you.' Bolitho pushed the lock of hair back from his forehead, ignoring Herrick's open astonishment. 'But I just wanted to hear it from one other person!'

He became suddenly brisk. 'I think I will go below now, Mr. Herrick, without a hot drink. Tomorrow we will search for fresh water and attend to the matter of fighting a war.' He paused momentarily by the rail. 'I will also think about what you have said tonight. It may be important for all of us.'

Without another word he turned on his heel and descended the cabin stairway. Herrick stared after him, his jaw hanging open.

'Well, I'll be damned!' He shook his head and grinned.

'Well, I'll be double-damned!'

Surprisingly the wind did hold, and twenty hours after Proby's prophecy the Phalarope's anchor splashed down into deep, clear water amidst a huddle of low, desolate islets.

Apart from lowering boats and filling them with water casks in readiness for the following morning, it was pointless to attempt a landing with night so close at hand, but at the first hint of daylight, long before the sun was able to burnish an edge to the horizon, the first boatloads of men grated up the narrow shelving beach of the nearest islet.

Bolitho climbed through the tangle of dark scrub at the top of the beach and stared round at the busy preparations behind him. The boats had already shoved off to collect more men, and the ones already landed were standing huddled together, as if conscious of the island's bleak inhospitality. One or two of the sailors were staggering like drunken revellers, their legs so used to the pitch and toss of a ship's deck that the unfamiliar land destroyed their sense of balance.

Petty officers bawled orders and checked their lists of names, and as the next batch of men arrived to join the swelling mass of sailors at the water's edge the first parties picked up their casks and tools and began to stumble inland.

Lieutenant Okes appeared on the ridge and touched his hat. `All working parties ready, sir.' He looked harassed.

Bolitho nodded. `You have your orders, Mr. Okes. Just follow the rough map I made for you and you should find fresh water without difficulty. Keep the men moving fast before the sun comes up. You'll need every available man to carry the full casks down to the beach, so see they don't wander off.'

He saw Trevenen, the cooper, scurrying ahead of another party accompanied by Ledward, the carpenter, the latter ever hopeful of replenishing his stock of spare timber. He'd not find much here, Bolitho thought grimly. These islets were useless and left well alone, but for occasional fresh-water parties. Underfoot the ground was hidden by layer upon layer of rotten vegetation, its heavy stench well mixed with seagull droppings and small bright patches of fungus. Further inland there were a few hump-backed hills, from the top of which a man could see the sea in every direction.

Okes walked off after his men, and Bolitho caught sight of Farquhar's slim figure outlined against the green scrub, before he too vanished over the far side of the ridge. Bolitho had deliberately ordered the midshipman to join Okes in command of the main party. It would do them both good to work together, if only to break down the strange air of watchful tension between them. It seemed as if Farquhar was playing some sort of game with Okes. Ever since his escape from the Andiron Farquhar had made a point of not speaking to Okes, but his presence alone seemed more than enough to reduce the lieutenant to a state of permanent agitation.

Okes had acted hastily during the retreat from Mola Island, but unless he made an open admission there was. little point in pursuing the matter, Bolitho thought. He could sympathise with Farquhar, and wondered what he himself might have done under the same set of circumstances. Farquhar's built-in sense of caution had obviously taught him that there was more to a career than gaining petty triumphs. Also his breeding, the security of a powerful family, as well as his own self-confidence, gave him the ability to bide his time.

Herrick strode up the slope and said, `Shall we return to the ship, sir?'

Bolitho shook his head. `We'll walk a little further, Mr. Herrick.'

He pushed through a line of sun-scarred bushes and headed away from the beach. Herrick walked beside him in silence, no doubt thinking of the strangeness of the land around him. The sea's gentle hiss was gone and the air was heavy with alien smells and a thick, clinging humidity.

Bolitho said at length, `I hope Okes can get the men working quickly. Every hour may be precious.'

`You are thinking of the French, sir?'

Bolitho wiped the sweat from his face and nodded. `De Grasse may have sailed by now. If he behaves as Sir George Rodney believes he will, his fleet will already be striking west for Jamaica.' He looked up fretfully at the limp leaves and cloudless sky. `Not a breath of wind. Nothing. We were lucky it held long enough for us to reach here!'

Herrick was breathing heavily. `My God, sir, I'm feeling this!' He mopped his face. `I have not set foot ashore since Falmouth. I had almost forgotten what it was like.'

Falmouth. Again the name brought back a flood of memories to Bolitho as he strode unseeingly through the thick scrub. His father would still be waiting and wondering, nursing the hurt which Hugh had left with him. Bolitho wondered momentarily what would have happened if he had seen and recogpised his brother on the Andiron's poop on that first savage encounter. Would he have pressed home his attack with such fervour? If he had caused Hugh's death it might have eased the minds of the Navy, but in his heart Bolitho knew that it would only have added to his father's grief and sense of loss.

Perhaps Hugh already had another ship. He dismissed the idea at once. The French would not trust another prize to a man who had allowed Andiron to fall into her own snare. And the American rebel government had few ships to spare. No, Hugh would have his own problems in plenty at this moment.

He thought too of Vibart, left behind in charge of the Frigate. It was strange how Evans' murder had affected him. Bolitho had always thought Evans to be more of a toady than s friend of the first lieutenant. Yet his death seemed in some way to have deprived Vibart of something familiar and reliable, the last outlet from his own isolation. Bolitho knew that Vibart blamed him for Evans' death, as much as he hated Allday for the deed. Vibart viewed humanity like sentiment. To him both were useless. hindrances to duty.

He also knew that he would never see eye to eye with Vibart whatever happened. To Bolitho the humane treatment of his men, the understanding of their problems, and the earning of their loyalty, were as precious as gold. Equally he knew he must uphold this difficult and bitter man, for commanding a ship of war left little room for personal animosity amongst officers.

Bolitho halted with a jerk and pointed. `Is that a marine?'

Herrick stood beside him breathing deeply. A red coat flashed between the dull foliage and then another, and as Bolitho started forward, Sergeant Garwood appeared at the head of a file of sweating marines.

Bolitho asked sharply, `What are you doing ashore, Sergeant?'

Garwood stared fixedly over Bolitho's shoulder. `Mr. Vibart 'as sent all the marines across, sir.' He swallowed hard. `The prisoner Allday 'as escaped, sir. We've been sent to catch 'im again!'

Bolitho heard Herrick catch his breath and glanced quickly at his, streaming face. He could see the shock and disappointment plain on the lieutenant's' features, as if he was personally involved.

`I see.' Bolitho controlled the sudden rise of anger and added calmly, `Where is Captain Rennie?’

'T'other side of the island, sir.' Garwood looked unhappy. `The relief sentry found the cell guard clubbed senseless an' the prisoner gone, sir. 'Is manacles 'ad been struck off too, sir.,

'So someone else was involved?' Bolitho stared hard at the sergeant's bronzed features. `Who else is missing?'

The marine gulped. 'Yer clerk, Ferguson, sir!'

Bolitho turned away. `Very well, I suppose you had better carry on now that you are here.' He watched the man clump gratefully away and then said tightly, `Mr; Vibart was over hasty to send all the marines ashore. If the ship was surprised at her anchor by another vessel, there woud be insufficient men to repel an attack.' He turned abruptly. `Come, we will go back to the beach.'