sentries were posted to prevent unlawful visitors, traders, even some of the local whores, coming aboard when they realized that Unrivalled's company had had little to spend their pay on over the past months. And there was talk of slave bounty, and prize money, too.
He watched the guard boat approaching, an officer standing in the stern sheets shading his eyes. Their first contact with authority since leaving the Rock. Unrivalled would probably be invaded now by riggers and carpenters, some of whom might have helped to build her more than two years ago.
He shivered again. But it was not the bite of the March wind.
He had seen the ranks of laid-up ships, large and small, as Unrivalled had tacked slowly toward the anchorage. Proud ships, famous names. Some had already been here when they had last left Plymouth for the Mediterranean and Algiers, eight months ago.
Who would be next?
He confronted it, as a senior officer might examine a subordinate's chances. His record was good. He had taken part in every action at Algiers and before. Captain Bolitho had already recommended him for a command of his own, had put it in writing to the Flag Officer here in Plymouth before they had sailed. Suppose there was nothing? He might remain first lieutenant for yet another commission, until he was passed over altogether.
He dismissed it angrily. He had a ship, and a fine one, more than many could claim.
He walked to the entry port and touched his hat as the officer of the guard clambered aboard.
The visitor glanced around the upper deck and said, 'Heard all about it, your part at Algiers! Lord Exmouth was full of praise in the GazetteV He handed Galbraith a thick, sealed envelope. 'For the captain.' He inclined his head toward the shore. 'From the admiral.' He looked over at some of the bustling seamen, disappointed perhaps that there were no wounded on view, no shot holes in the freshly painted black and white hull. 'Another boat is coming out to collect the despatches, and any mail you have to go.'
He reached for the guard ropes and added with a grin, 'Welcome home, by the way! '
Galbraith saw him over the side, and the oars were thrashing at the water almost before he had taken his seat.
Galbraith made his way aft, ducking without thought beneath the overhanging poop.
Past the wardroom, empty but for a mess man every one else would be on deck, sharing it.
The marine at the cabin door stamped his foot and bawled, 'First lieutenant, sirV
It was something you never got used to, he thought. Every Royal Marine seemed to act as if he were on a parade ground, and not within the close confines of a ship.
The screen door opened and young Napier, the captain's servant, in his best blue coat, stood before him.
Galbraith took it all in at a glance. The great cabin which he had come to know so well, where they had talked, and shared their thoughts as much as any captain and first lieutenant could; and it was rare in many cases he had known. Times of anxiety and doubt. And of pride.
Some clothing was scattered across the stern bench, the captain's patched and faded seagoing gear, while his best frock coat hung swaying from the skylight.
Bolitho glanced at Galbraith and smiled. 'Is my gig called away?' Then, half turned, 'Here, David, help me with this sleeve a few more minutes won't matter. The admiral will know we are anchored.'
Galbraith hesitated, and held out the envelope. 'This is from the admiral, sir.'
Bolitho took it and turned it over in sun-browned hands.
'The ink is scarce dry, Leigh.' But the smile had gone, and the cabin could have been empty as he picked up a knife and slit it open.
Feet pounded overhead and blocks squealed as the boatswain's party made ready to hoist out the gig. The required formality of a ship's return from active service. Galbraith heard none of it, watching the captain's fingers curl around the envelope, its broken seal shining like blood from a sharpshooter's musket. He said, 'Is something wrong, sir?'
Adam Bolitho turned sharply, his face hidden in shadow. 'I just told you…' He checked himself with obvious effort, as Galbraith had seen many times when they had been coming to know one another. 'Forgive me.'
He looked at Napier. 'Never mind about the sleeve. They can take me as they find me.' He touched the boy's shoulder. 'And rest that leg. Remember what the surgeon told you.'
Napier shook his head, but said nothing.
'The ship will be moved. Repairs and general overhaul… as you were doubtless expecting.' He reached out as if to touch the white-painted timber, but dropped his hand to his side. 'She can certainly do with it, after the battering she took at Algiers.' As if he were speaking to the ship and nobody else.
He brushed against the hanging coat and added, 'Tomorrow you will receive orders from the flag captain. We can discuss it when I return aboard.'
He stared at the envelope still crumpled in his hand. He must think clearly. Empty his mind, as he had forced himself to do when everything had seemed finished. Lost. Two people he had come to know so well since he had taken command of Unrivalled, just over two years ago here in Plymouth: he had been her first captain. Galbraith, strong, reliable, concerned. And the boy David Napier who had almost died, the great, jagged splinter jutting from his leg like some obscene weapon. He had been so brave, then and again later under the surgeon's knife when the wound had become poisoned. Perhaps like himself at that age…
His hands felt as though they were shaking, and the clamour in his mind seemed loud enough to fill the cabin.
When he spoke, his voice was very calm. 'I am losing Unrivalled. I am being relieved of command.'
So quietly said, while that same voice within screamed, It can't be true! Not this ship! Not yet!
Galbraith took a pace toward him, the strong features laid bare with disbelief and then anger, feeling the hurt like his own.
'It must be wrong, sir. Some fool of a clerk at the Admiralty! ' He spread his hands. 'After everything you've done? Even the officer of the guard was full of it, all about Lord Exmouth's praise for Unrivalled in the Gazetted
Adam reached for his coat but Napier was already holding it, troubled, but still unable to understand what it would mean. Somehow it helped
to steady him.
'Stay with me, David. There are things I must do.' He recalled suddenly what Napier had said when Rear- Admiral Thomas Herrick had asked him if he took care of his captain. We take care of each other. So simply said, yet in this impossible, reeling daze it was something to cling to. Little enough.
He said, 'Tell the others, Leigh. I'll speak to them later, perhaps in here.' His dark eyes flashed, revealing real pain for the first time. 'While I still can.'
Galbraith said, 'The gig will be alongside, sir.'
They paused, and abruptly shook hands. No words, and beyond thoughts. The Royal Marine stamped his boots together as they passed him and walked to the companion ladder; in an hour it would be all over the ship. But all the sentry saw was his captain and the first lieutenant, with the youth in the proud blue coat walking a pace or two behind them.
Galbraith took a deep breath as the companion opened to the clear, bright sky, feeling his shirt drag against the wound where a musket ball had scored his shoulders that day amid the burning madness of Algiers. Another inch, maybe less, and he would not be alive now.
He saw the captain turn to nod to somebody on the quarterdeck; he even smiled.
Another command, maybe. Something bigger, grander, as a reward for his actions under Lord Exmouth. In these times, it seemed unlikely.
Unrivalled was his ship. They had become one. We all did.
He recalled the officer of the guard's cheerful words, less than an hour ago.
Welcome home, by the way!
When he looked again, Bolitho was standing alone by the entry port; Napier had already gone down into the gig which was waiting alongside, oars tossed and steady like white bones.
Luke Jago, the captain's coxswain, would be there, vigilant, as Galbraith had seen even in the midst of a sea fight. He probably knew or guessed, the navy's way, the family as the old Jacks termed it.
The marines presented arms, and the calls trilled in salute.
When Galbraith replaced his hat the entry port was empty. Welcome home.
The admiral's flag lieutenant was tense, even embarrassed.
