In Gallant Company Read Free Page A

bells.’
    â€˜Very well.’ Sparke waited for the door to close. ‘Now we will see, gentlemen. Maybe we have something of importance to do.’
    Unlike Cairns, the second lieutenant could not conceal the sudden gleam in his eyes. Promotion. Prize money. Or just a chance for action instead of hearing about it.
    He looked at Bolitho. ‘I suggest
you
change into a clean shirt. The captain seems to have his eye on you.’
    Bolitho stood up, his head brushing the deckhead beams. Two years in this ship, and apart from a dinner in the cabin when they had recommissioned the ship at Bristol, he had barely crossed one social barrier to meet the captain. He was a stern, remote man, and yet always seemed to possess uncanny knowledge of what was happening on every deck in his command.
    Dalyell carefully tapped out his pipe and remarked, ‘Maybe he really likes you, Dick.’
    Raye, the lieutenant of marines, yawned. ‘I don’t think he’s human.’
    Sparke hurried to his cabin, shying away from involvement with any criticism of authority. ‘He is the captain. He does not require to be human.’
    Captain Gilbert Brice Pears finished reading the daily log of events aboard his ship and then scrawled his signature, which was hastily dried by Teakle, his clerk.
    Outside the stern windows the harbour and the distant town seemed far-away and unconnected with this spacious, well-lit cabin. There was some good furniture here, and in the neighbouring dining cabin the table was already laid for supper, with Foley, the captain’s servant, neat as a pin in his blue coat and white trousers, hovering to tend his master’s needs.
    Captain Pears leaned back in his chair and glanced round the cabin without seeing it. In two years he had got to know it well.
    He was forty-two years old, but looked older. Thickset, even square, he was as powerful and impressive as the
Trojan
herself.
    He had heard gossip amongst his officers which amounted almost to discontent. The war, for it must now be accepted assuch, seemed to be passing them by. But Pears was a realistic man, and knew that the time would eventually come when he and his command would be able to act as intended when
Trojan
’s great keel had first tasted salt water just nine years ago. Privateers and raiding parties were one thing, but when the French joined the fray in open strength, and their ships of the line appeared in these waters,
Trojan
and her heavy consorts would display their true worth.
    He looked up as the marine sentry stamped his boots together outside the screen door, and moments later the first lieutenant rejoined him.
    â€˜I have passed the word to the wardroom, sir. All officers to be here at two bells.’
    â€˜Good.’
    Pears merely had to look at his servant and Foley was beside him, pouring two tall glasses of claret.
    â€˜The fact is, Mr Cairns’ – Pears examined the wine against the nearest lantern – ‘you cannot go on forever fighting a defensive war. Here we are in New York, a claw-hold on a land which is daily becoming more rebellious. In Philadelphia things are little better. Raids and skirmishes, we burn a fort or an outpost, and they catch one of our transports, or ambush a patrol. What is New York? A besieged city. A town under reprieve, but for how long?’
    Cairns said nothing, but sipped the claret, half his mind attending to the noises beyond the cabin, the sigh of wind, the groan of timbers.
    Pears saw his expression and smiled to himself. Cairns was a good first lieutenant, probably the best he had ever had. He should have a command of his own. A chance, one which only came in war.
    But Pears loved his ship more than hopes or dreams. The thought of Sparke taking over as senior lieutenant was like a threat. He was an efficient officer and attended to his guns and his duties perfectly. But imagination he had not. He thought of Probyn, and dismissed him just as quickly. Then