Bolitho nodded. “I will have to think about it.” He walked to the ladder, ducking below the beams. Then he said, “Thank you, Allday. You put a forceful argument.”
He ran up into the sunlight and looked quickly across at the Cassius. She looked big and reliable against the blue water, and he could see the other frigate hove-to beyond her.
Herrick touched his hat. “Gig ready, sir.” He glanced questioningly at the silent group of manacled men by the entry port. “Shall I send ’em over while you’re with the admiral?”
“If you please, Mr Herrick.” Bolitho caught sight of Allday’s tall figure beside the cabin hatch and added sharply, “But have Ferguson kept aboard. I will deal with him myself.”
Herrick looked mystified. “Ferguson, sir?”
Bolitho eyed him coldly. “He is my clerk, Mr Herrick! Have you forgotten so soon that you chose him for me?” He gave a brief smile and saw the relief flooding across the other man’s face.
“Aye, aye, sir!” Herrick strode to the rail. “Man the side there! Stand by for the captain!”
The pipes trilled and Bolitho vanished down into the boat.
Herrick looked round as old Proby mumbled, “How old is he? Twenty-five or six?” He gave a deep sigh. “I’m twice his age and more beside, and there are others like me aboard the Phalarope.” He watched the little gig skimming through the whitecaps towards the swaying ship of the line. “Yet he’s like a father to all of us!” He shook his head. “Have you seen the way the crew look at him now, Mr Herrick? Like children caught out doing wrong. They know how he feels what has happened, how their shame is more’n doubled for him!”
Herrick stared at him. It was rare for the master to say so much all at once. “I never realised that you admired him, too!”
Proby pouted his pendulous lower lip. “I’m too old for admiration, Mr Herrick. It’s deeper’n that. Our captain is a special sort of man.” He frowned and then added, “I’d die for him, and willingly. I can’t say more’n that!” He turned with sudden anger. “Blast me, Mr Herrick! How can you let me go on like that?” He shuffled noisily across the quarterdeck like an untidy spider.
Herrick crossed to the rail, his mind still dwelling on Proby’s words. Below, watched by armed marines, the remnants of Onslow’s conspirators stood awaiting passage to the Cassius. Herrick did not share Bolitho’s shame on their behalf. He would willingly have hanged each one of them single-handed, if only to lift the despair from Bolitho’s shoulders.
He remembered his own exultation when Okes and Rennie had boarded the frigate and he had realised that the mutiny’s sudden fire had been quenched. It was then that he had seen through Bolitho’s careful mask and had penetrated to the man within. Yes, Proby was right. He was a very special sort of man.
Midshipman Neale crossed to his side and trained his glass on the flagship. Herrick glanced down at the small midshipman and remembered his frantic struggles as they thrust his greased body through the vent hole. Neale’s sudden appearance had made quite a sensation when he had flung open the doors of the cable tier. As Ellice, the surgeon, had said later, “There we all was, Mr ’Errick, thinkin’ of death or worse, an’ suddenly the doors come flyin’ open like the gates of ’eaven itself!” The surgeon’s crimson face had crinkled into a grin. “When I saw this little naked cherub with the sun behind ’im I thought I was already dead without knowin’ it ’ad ’appened!”