Bush looked up to see Roberts and Clive ascending the companionway in the gathering night, and turned eagerly towards them. Officers came from every part of the quarterdeck to hear what they had to say.
“Well, sir?” asked Lomax.
“He’s done it,” said Roberts.
“He’s read the secret orders, sir?” asked Smith.
“As far as I know, yes.”
“Oh!”
There was a pause before someone asked the inevitable silly question.
“What did they say?”
“They are secret orders,” said Roberts, and now there was a touch of pomposity in his voice — it might be to compensate for his lack of knowledge, or it might be because Roberts was now growing more aware of the dignity of his position as second in command. “If Mr Buckland had taken me into his confidence I still could not tell you.”
“True enough,” said Carberry.
“What did the captain do?” asked Lomax.
“Poor devil,” said Clive. With all attention turned to him Clive grew expansive. “We might be fiends from the pit! You should have seen him cower away when we came in. Those morbid terrors grow more acute.”
Clive awaited a request for further information, and even though none was forthcoming he went on with his story.
“We had to find the key to his desk. You would have thought we were going to cut his throat, judging by the way he wept and tried to hide. All the sorrows of the world — all the terrors of hell torment that wretched man.”
“But you found the key?” persisted Lomax.
“We found it. And we opened his desk.”
“And then?”
“Mr Buckland found the orders. The usual linen envelope with the Admiralty seal. The envelope had been already opened.”
“Naturally,” said Lomax. “Well?”
“And now, I suppose,” said Clive, conscious of the anticlimax, “I suppose he’s reading them.”
“And we are none the wiser.”
There was a disappointed pause.
“Bless my soul!” said Carberry. “We’ve been at war since ’93. Nearly ten years of it. D’ye still expect to know what lies in store for you? The West Indies today — Halifax tomorrow. We obey orders. Helm‑a‑lee — let go and haul. A bellyful of grape or champagne in a captured flagship. Who cares? We draw our four shillings a day, rain or shine.”
“Mr Carberry!” came the word from below. “Mr Buckland passing the word for Mr Carberry.”
“Bless my soul!” said Carberry again.
“Now you can earn your four shillings a day,” said Lomax.
The remark was addressed to his disappearing back, for Carberry was already hastening below.
“A change of course,” said Smith. “I’ll wager a week’s pay on it.”
“No takers,” said Roberts.
It was the most likely new development of all, for Carberry, the master, was the officer charged with the navigation of the ship.
Already it was almost full night, dark enough to make the features of the speakers indistinct, although over to the westward there was still a red patch on the horizon, and a faint red trail over the black water towards the ship. The binnacle lights had been lit and the brighter stars were already visible in the dark sky, with the mastheads seeming to brush past them, with the motion of the ship, infinitely far over their heads. The ship’s bell rang out, but the group showed no tendency to disperse. And then interest quickened. Here were Buckland and Carberry returning, ascending the companionway; the group drew on one side to clear them a passage.
“Officer of the watch!” said Buckland.
“Sir!” said Smith, coming forward in the darkness.
“We’re altering course two points. Steer southwest.”
“Aye aye, sir. Course southwest. Mr Abbott, pipe the hands to the braces.”
The Renown came round on her new course, with her sails trimmed to the wind, which was now no more than a point on her port quarter. Carberry walked over to the binnacle and looked into it to make sure the helmsman was exactly obeying his orders.
“Another pull on the weather forebrace, there!” yelled Smith. “Belay!”
The bustle of the change of course died away.
“Course sou’west, sir,” reported Smith.
“Very good. Mr Smith.” said Buckland, by the rail.
“Pardon, sir,” said Roberts, greatly daring, addressing him as he loomed in the darkness. “Can you tell us our mission, sir?”