He saw Captain Rennie and Midshipman Farquhar stepping over some wounded seamen, their faces drawn and ashen by what they saw. He clasped his hands behind him to hide his emotion from them.
“Put these men under guard, Mr Farquhar. Then carry on at once with loading the fresh water. We sail as soon as it is completed.” He walked slowly across to the opposite side, and as the men parted to let him through he saw Onslow staring up at him, his eyes already glazed in death.
All at once Bolitho felt sick and unclean, as if the mutiny had left him with another, deeper scar.
He said harshly, “I hope we can match the French as well as we can fight each other!” Then he turned and strode aft.
16
A SPECIAL SORT OF MAN
MIDSHIPMAN Maynard tapped on the door of Bolitho’s cabin and reported breathlessly, “Mr Herrick’s respects, sir, and we have just sighted two sail on the starboard bow.” He darted a quick glance at the other officers who were standing beside Bolitho’s desk. “It’s the flagship, and the frigate Volcano.”
Bolitho nodded, his face thoughtful. “Thank you. My compliments to Mr Herrick. Tell him to tack the ship to intercept.”
He paused. “And have the prisoners ready to be sent across to Cassius.”
He listened to Maynard’s feet scurrying up the cabin ladder and then turned back to the other officers. “Well, gentlemen, at last we have found the flagship.”
It had been two days since the Phalarope had crept away from the small islets. Two long days in which to think back on mutiny and murder. Bolitho had broken his normal practice of appearing regularly on the quarterdeck, and had spent long, brooding hours in his cabin, reliving each moment, torturing himself with regrets and recriminations.
He looked down at the chart and said slowly, “From what Allday described, I would say that the French are out in force. The two frigates were probably feelers from de Grasse’s main fleet. If so, they have changed their plans.”
He tapped the chart with one finger. “De Grasse would never waste frigates at a time like this. It looks to me as if he intends to avoid all the main channels and will use the Dominica passage. That way he might well bypass our patrols.” He stopped thinking aloud, and with sudden briskness rolled up the chart and laid it to one side.
He said, “I shall go over to the Cassius and speak to the admiral.” He glanced at the neat pile of reports on the desk. “There is much that Sir Robert will wish to know.” How trite it sounded, he thought bitterly. Like items in the ship’s log, bald of feeling or humanity. How could he describe the atmosphere on the main deck when he had spoken a prayer before the shrouded corpses had slid over the side?
Lieutenant Vibart’s body, alongside those of the dead mutineers. The rest of the crew had gathered round in silence. Not just a silence of respect or sadness, but something much deeper. It was like an air of shame, a combined feeling of guilt.