ALEXANDER KENT - TO GLORY WE STEER

'Helm a' lee!' He watched the quartermaster pulling steadily at the polished spokes and saw the nearest hillside begin to swing across the bows as the Phalarope turned into the wInd and began to lose way.

Now there was no sound but for the gentle lap of water as the ship glided slowly towards the shore.

Bolitho called, 'Let go!'

There was a splash from forward followed by the jubilant roar of cable as the anchor plunged into the clear water.

Maynard said excitedly, 'Signal, sir! From Cassius to Phalarope. Captain to repair on board.'

Bolitho nodded. He had been expecting it and was already changed into his best uniform. 'Call away the gig, Mr. Okes, and see that its crew is properly turned out!' He saw the harassed lieutenant hurry away and wondered momentarily what was worrying him. He seemed strained. His mind only half on his duty.

Vibart came aft and touched his hat. 'Any orders, sirT

Bolitho watched the boat being swayed out, the petty officer in charge using his cane more than usual, as if he too was well aware of the watching flagship.

'You can stand by to take on fresh water, Mr. Vibart. We will no doubt be warping through into English Harbour directly, and the men can go ashore and stretch their legs. They've earned it.'

Vibart looked as if he was going to argue but merely replied, 'Aye, aye, sir. I'll see to it.'

Bolitho looked across at the two-decker. The Cassius, seventy-four, flagship of Rear-Admiral Sir Robert Napier. He was said to be a stickler for promptness and smartness, al

though Bolitho had never actually met him before.

He climbed down the ladder and walked slowly towards the entry port. It was strange to realise that he had been in command for only five weeks. It seemed as if he had been aboard for months. The faces of the side party were familiar now, and already he was able to pick out the personalities and the weaknesses Captain Rennie saluted with his sword and the guard presented arms.

Bolitho removed his hat and then replaced it as the gig idled alongside with Stockdale glaring from the tiller. The Pipes twittered and shrilled, and as he stepped into the gig he looked up at the ship's side, at the fresh paint and neat repairs which hid the clawing scars of battle. Things might have been a lot worse, he thought, as he settled himself in the sternsheets.

The oars sent the little boat scudding across the calm water, and when Bolitho looked astern he saw that his men were still staring after him. He held their lives in his hands. He had always known that. But before the short battle some might have doubted his ability. They might even have thought him to be like Pomfret.

He thrust the thought to the back of his mind as the flagship grew and towered above him. They did not have to like him, he decided. But trust him they must.

Rear-Admiral Sir Robert Napier did not rise from his desk but waved Bolitho towards a chair by the broad stem gallery. He was a small, irritable-looking man with stooping shoulders and sparse grey chair. He seemed bowed down by the weight of his dress coat, and his thin mouthh was fixed in an expression of pernickety disapproval.

'I have been reading your reports, Bolitho.' His eyes flickered across the younger man's face and then returned to the desk. 'I am still not quite clear about your action with the Andiron.'

Bolitho tried to relax in the hard chair, but something in the admiral's querulous tone sparked off a small warning.

Bolitho had been met at the flagship's entry port with due ceremony and greeted courteously by the Cassius's captain. The latter had appeared uneasy and worried, as well he might with a man like Sir Robert aboard, Bolitho thought dryly. The first sign that all was not well had been when he had been ushered into a cabin adjoining the admiral's quarters and told to wait for an audience. His log and reports had been whisked away, and he had stayed fretting in the airless cabin for the best part of an hour.

He said carefully, 'We made a good voyage, in spite of the engagement, sir. All repairs were carried out without loss of sailing time.'

The admiral eyed him coldly. 'Is that a boast?'

'No, Sir,' Bolitho replied patiently. 'But I imagined that the need for frigates is still acute out here.'

The other man ruffled the documents with a wizened hand. 'Hmm, quite so. But the Andiron, Bolitho? How did she manage to escape?'

Bolitho staredd at him, caught off guard. 'Escape, Sir? She nearly laid us by the heels, as I have stated in my report.'

'I read that, dam,mit!' The eyes glowed dangerously. 'Are you trying to tell me that she ran away?' He looked aft through a window to where the Phalarope swung at her anchor like a carved model. 'I see little sign of combat or damage, Bolitho?'

'We were well supplied with spare spars, and canvas, sir. The dockyard foresaw such an eventuality when they fitted her out.' The admiral's tone was getting under his skin and he could feel his anger smouldering, ignoring the warning in the man's eyes.

`I see. Captain Masterman lost Andiron after engaging two French frigates four months back, Bolitho. The French gave the captured ship to their new allies, the Americans.' The contempt was clear in his voice. `And you state that although your ship was disabled and outgunned she made off without attempting to press home her advantage?' There was anger in his voice. `Well, are you?'

'Exactly, Sir.' Bolitho controlled his answer with an effort. `My men fought well. I think the enemy had had enough. If I had been able to give chase I would have done so.'

'So you say, Bolitho!' The admiral put his head on one side, like a small, spiteful bird. 'I know all about your ship. I have read Admiral Longford's letter and all that he had to say about the trouble there was aboard when with the Channel Fleet. I am not impressed, to say the least!'

Bolitho felt the colour rising to his cheeks. The admiral's insinuation was obvious. In his view the Phalarope was a marked ship and unacceptable, no matter what she achieved.

He said coldly, 'I did not run away, sir. It happened just as I stated in the report. In my opinion the privateer was unwilling to sustain more damage.' He had a sudden picture of the crashing broadside, the chain shot ripping away the enemy's sails and rigging like cobwebs. Then- another picture of the silent dead being dropped overboard. He added, 'My men did as well as I had hoped, sir. They had little time to defend themselves.’

'Please don't take that tone with me, Bolitho!' The admiral stared at him hotly. 'I will decide what standards your people have reached.'

`Yes, Sir.' Bolitho felt drained. There was-no point in argumg with this man.

'See that you remember it in future.' He dropped his eyes to the papers and said, 'Sir George Rodney has sailed to reorganise his fleet. He will be returning from England at any time. Sir Samuel Hood is away at St. Kitts, defending it from

the French.’

Bolitho said quietly, 'St. Kitts sir?' It was barely one hundred miles to the west of his chair aboard the flagship, yet the admiral spoke as if it was the other side of the world.

`Yes. The French landed troops on the island and tried to drive our garrison into the sea. But Admiral Hood's squadron retook the anchorage, and even now is holding all the main positions, including Basseterre, the chief town.' He glared at Bolitho's thoughtful face. `But that is not your concern.1 am in command here until either the Commander-in-Chief returns or Admiral Hood sees fit to relieve me. You will take your orders from me!'

Bolitho's mind only half attended to the other man's irritable voice. In his mind he could see the tiny island of St. Kitts and knew exactly what its safety meant to the harassed British. The French were strong in these waters, and had been more than instrumental to the British defeats at the Chesapeake the previous year. Driven from the American mainland, the British squadrons would depend more and more on their chain of island bases for supplies and repairs. If they fell, there would be nothing to prevent the French or their allies from swallowing up every last possession in the Caribbean.

The French fleet in the West Indies was well trained and battle hardened. Their admiral, Count de Grasse, had more than once out-guessed and outfought the hard-pressed ships of the British. It had been de Grasse who had driven a wedge between Admiral Graves and the beleaguered Cornwallis, who had assisted the rebel general, Washington, and had organised the American privateers into useful and deadly opponents.

Now de Grasse was testing the strength of individual British bases with the same sure strategy which had made him his country's most valuable commander. Using Martinique to the south as his main base, he could attack every island at will or, the thought brought a chill to Bolitho's mind, he could speed to the west and fall upon Jamaica. After that there would be nothing to sustain the British. They would have the Atlantic behind them, and nothing to keep them from complete destruction.

The admiral was saying smoothly, `I will require you to carry put patrols to the westward, Bolitho. I will draft my orders immediately. The enemy may try and transport more troops down from the American mainland to the Leeward Islands, or even further south to the Windward Islands. You will keep contact with the rest of my squadron, and with Admiral Hood at St. Kitts only if absolutely necessary!'

Bolitho felt the cabin closing in on him. The admiral had no intention of trusting Phalarope with the fleet. Once again the frigate seemed doomed to isolation and suspicion.

He said, `The French will be reinforced by privateers, sir. My ship would be well employed closer inshore, I would have thought.'

The admiral smiled gently. `Of course, Bolitho, I had almost forgotten. You are no stranger out-here. I think I read somewhere of your little exploits.' His smile vanished. 'I am sick and tired of hearing stories of privateers! They are nothing but scavengers and pirates, and no match for one of my ships! You will do well to remember that, too! Andiron's capture was a disgrace which should have been forestalled! If you meet her again, I would suggest you summon help to avoid another lamentable failure to capture or destroy her!'

Bolitho stood up, his eyes flashing. `That is unfair, sir!'

The admiral studied him bleakly. `Hold your tongue! I am tired of young, hot-headed officers who cannot understand strategy and discipline!'

Bolitho waited for his breathing to returnn to normal.

`Privateers are just one part of the pattern. The French are the real danger!'

There was a long silence, and Bolitho heard the distant thud of marines' boots and the muted blare of a bugle. The two-decker was like a small town after a frigate, but Bolitho could not wait to get away from it and the admiral's insulting remarks.

The latter said offhandedly, `Keep a close watch on your patrol, Bolitho. And I would suggest you watch your fresh water and supplies very closely. I cannot say exactly when you will be relieved.'

`My men are tired, sir.' Bolitho tried once more to get through the admiral's cold rudeness. `Some of them have not been ashore for years.' He thought of the way they had watched the green hills and gasped at the sight of the smooth, deserted beaches.

`And I am tired of this interview, Bolitho.' He rang a small bell on the desk. `Just do your allotted duty, and remember that I will brook no deviation from it at any time. Foolhardy schemes' are useless to me. See that you do not allow your apparent sense of self-importance to mar your judgement.' He Waved his hand and the door opened silently behind Bolitho.

He stood outside in the passageway, his hands shaking with suppressed anger and resentment. By the time he had reached the entry port his face was again an impassive mask, but he hardly trusted himself to reply to the quiet words of the Cassius's captain as the latter saw him over the side.

The older man said softly, `Watch your step, Bolitho! Sir Robert lost his son aboard the Andiron. He will never forgive you for letting her get away, whatever the reason, so you must try and ignore his words, if not his warning!'

Bolitho touched his hat to the guard. 'I have had a lot of warnings of late, sir. But in an emergency they are rarely of any use!'

The flagship's captain watched Bolitho, step into the gig and move clear of the Cassius's long shadow. In spite of his youth, Bolitho looked as if he might make trouble for others as well as himself, he thought grimly.

`Deck there! The cap'n's returnin'!'

Herrick moved out of the shade of the mizzen mast and hurried towards the entry port. He brushed some crumbs from his neckcloth and hastily tugged his cross-belt into position. He had always been able to tolerate the dull and badly prepared food aboard ship in the past, but with the Phalarope riding at her anchor and the ample provisions of English Harbour lying within cannon shot, it had been all that he could do to swallow his lunch. He squinted across the glittering water, his keen eyes immediately picking out the returning gig, its small crew clean and bright in their check shirts, the oars rising and falling like gulls' wings. Herrick stiffened as Vibart joined him by the rail.

The first lieutenant said, 'Well, now we shall see!'

'I'll wager the admiral was delighted to see our captain.' Herrick darted a hasty glance to make sure that the side party was properly fallen in. 'It will do a power of good for our people.'

Vibart shrugged. 'What do admirals know about anything?' He seemed unwilling to talk and unable to drag his eyes from the approaching gig.

Herrick could see Bolitho's square shoulders in the sternsheets, the glitter of sunlight on his gold lace.

A master's mate said suddenly, 'Two water lighters shovin' off from the shore, sir. Deep laden by the looks of 'em!'

Herrick glanced in the direction of the man's arm and saw the two ugly craft moving clear of the land. They crawled ponderously towards the frigate, their great sweeps making heavy work of the journey.

Herrick muttered, 'I thought we would wait until we warped through -into the harbour?'

Vibart slammed his hands together. 'By God, I knew this would happen! I just knew it!' He moved his heavy body violently and pointed towards the blue sea. `That's for us, Mr. Herrick. No cream for the Phalarope, either now or ever!' He added angrily, `Not until the ship is used as she was meant to be used!'

A boatswain's mate called, `Standby!'

Again the pipes shrilled their salute and the sweating guard slapped their muskets to the present.

Herrick touched his hat and watched Bolitho's face as he climbed up through the port. His features were calm and empty of expression, but his eyes as he glanced briefly along the maindeck were cold and bleak, like, the North Atlantic.

Vibart said stiffly, `Water lighters making for us, sir.'

'So I see.' Bolitho did not look round, but stared instead at the newly scrubbed decks, the quiet atmosphere of order and readiness. He added after a moment, 'Carry on with immediate loading, and tell the cooper to prepare extra casks.'

Herrick asked cautiously, 'Are we to sea again, sir?

The grey eyes fixed him with a flat stare. 'It would appear so!'

Vibart stepped forward, his eyes hidden in shadow. 'It's damned unfair, sir!'

Bolitho did not answer, but seemed entirely preoccupied in his thoughts. Then he said sharply, 'We will be making sail within two hours, Mr. Vibart. The wind seems light, but good enough for my purpose.' He looked round as Stockdale padded on to the quarterdeck. 'Oh, tell my servant I will require some food as soon as possible. Anything will do.'