To Glory We Steer by Alexander Kent Page A

There’s an officer to zee you.”
    â€œThat’ll be Herrick, my third lieutenant,” said Bolitho hurriedly. “I asked him to take a glass with us. I’ll tell him to go if you wish?”
    His father stood up straight and flicked his coat into position again. “No, boy. Have him come in. I will not let my shame interfere with the real pride I have in my remaining son.”
    Bolitho said gently, “I am very sorry, Father. You must know that.”
    â€œThank you. Yes, I do know. And you were the one I thought would never make your way in the Navy. You were always the dreamer, the unpredictable one. I am afraid I neglected you for Hugh.” He sighed. “Now it is too late.” There was a step in the hallway and he said with sudden urgency, “In case I never see you again, my boy, there is something you must have.” He swallowed. “I wanted Hugh to have it when he became a captain.” He reached into a cupboard and held out his sword. It was old and well tarnished, but Bolitho knew it was of greater value than steel and gilt.
    He hesitated. “Your father’s sword. You always wore it!”
    James Bolitho nodded and turned it over carefully in his hands. “Yes, I always wore it. It was a good friend.” He held it out. “Take it! I want you to wear it for me!”
    His father suddenly smiled. “Well then, let us greet your junior officer together, eh?”
    When Herrick walked uncertainly into the wide room he saw only his smiling host and his new captain, one the living mould of the other.
    Only Bolitho saw the pain in his father’s eyes and was deeply moved.
    It was strange how he had come to the house, as he had always done in the past, seeking comfort and advice. Yet he had mentioned nothing about the difficulties and danger of his new command, or the double-edged responsibility which hung over his head like an axe.
    For once, he had been the one who was needed, and he was ashamed because he did not know the answer.

    At dawn the following day the frigate Phalarope unfurled her sails and broke out her anchor. There were no cheers to speed her parting, but there were many tears and curses from the women and old men who watched from the jetties.
    The air was keen and fresh, and as the yards creaked round and the ship heeled away from the land Bolitho stood aft by the taffrail, his glass moving slowly across the green sloping hills and the huddled town below.
    He had his ship, and all but a full complement. With time the new men would soon be moulded into sailors, and given patience and understanding they might make their country proud of them.
    St Anthony’s Light moved astern, the ancient beacon which was the returning sailor’s first sight of home. Bolitho wondered when or if he would see it again. He thought too of his father, alone in the old house, alone with his memories and shattered hopes. He thought of the sword and all that it represented.
    He turned away from the rail and stared down at one of the ship’s boys, a mere infant of about twelve years old. The boy was weeping uncontrollably and waving vaguely at the land as it cruised away into the haze. Bolitho asked, “Do you know that I was your age when I first went to sea, boy?”
    The lad rubbed his nose with a grubby fist and gazed at the captain with something like wonder.
    Bolitho added, “You’ll see England again. Never you fear!” He turned away quickly lest the boy should see the uncertainty in his eye.
    By the wheel old Proby intoned, “South-west by south. Full and by, quartermaster.”
    Then, as if to cut short the agony of sailing, he walked to the lee rail and spat into the sea.

3 B EEF FOR THE PURSER
    T WENTY days after weighing anchor the frigate Phalarope crossed the thirtieth parallel and heeled sickeningly to a blustering northwest gale. Falmouth lay three thousand miles astern, but the wind with all its tricks and cunning