The silence of waves calmed him, the soft breeze in his hair comforted him, and the respectful tread on the deck behind him elated him. The wind in the sails brought a smile to his face as it thrust the ship forward. His ship. Tom found a new godly respectfulness in the seamen's glances. It daunted him, as well as pleasing him; the captain had the power of life and death over the crew.
As a midshipman, captaincy had seemed as far off to him as the sun. He had never in earnest imagined himself as the straight-backed figure on the quarter-deck, watching over the working of his ship with a critical eye.
But now he was that figure.
Putting a first lieutenant with as good a record as himself as acting-captain of a forty-four gun ship on a voyage from Brazil to England was as good as a promotion, together with the bags of letters, despatches and the very news of the victory of a small British frigate over a Frenchman almost twice her size. Tom felt the rush of gratitude to Captain Aubrey that he had felt in his last minute aboard the Surprise again now.
Captain Pullings. That sounded well. Tom couldn't help the thought making him grin. Soon he would wear an epaulette, shining on his left shoulder, but he would still have a long time before he could wear two. Still longer before he could command even a small frigate such as the Surprise. But Tom didn't mind. He was content.
The shortage of available officers meant that he still kept watch, divided between him, a midshipman, and two warrant officers.
He observed the dejected group of surviving French officers, who were standing in the forepeak. Their senior, a burly third lieutenant paused in his conversation to the fourth lieutenant and glared pointedly at Tom, who bowed his head courteously in return. The Acheron's fourth officer, only a little older than Calamy had been- Tom caught his breath at the memory of Calamy's pale, bloodied face on the deck of this very ship- looked miserable and confused, as if he still hadn't quite accepted his defeat. The third lieutenant was one he should watch. He looked the type that might try a rash escape. But without a captain and only two lieutenants, the crew would probably not be able to manage a successful coup.
"Six bells, sir,"
But that was Mr Parslow coming to relieve his watch.
Tom smiled encouragingly at the gangly blonde midshipman as he passed him. It was a huge responsibility on the boy- but Tom couldn't stay up on deck; it would give the impression that he didn't trust Parslow, and it would hurt discipline.
And Tom needed to sleep.
The last rest he had got was a few hours sleep before preparations for the battle had started. It seemed like months ago; but it was only a few days. He fought against a yawn as he climbed down the hatchway.
So quickly the marks of the battle had disappeared. No trace now of the blood and the bodies that had lain here before, and none of the shattered glass, nor any of the signs of the captain's personality.