Perhaps she would destroy the letter when it eventually reached her. Surely she would not keep it, even to show to her husband…
There was a tap at the door and his first lieutenant looked in at him warily. Martin had proved to be far better at his duties than Adam had dared to hope. With Christmas drawing near he had managed to arouse interest even among some of the hard men. In the cool of the evening watches he had organised all kinds of contests from wrestling, which he surprisingly seemed to know a lot about, to races between the various divisions at sail and boat drill. With extra tots of rum as an inducement there had been hornpipes, watched by the majority of the company and eventually cheered when the winners had been decided.
Adam always avoided over-confidence with a cautiousness he had learned from his uncle, but he had seen pressed and rebellious men slowly being welded into a team, a part of the ship he loved.
'What is it, Aubrey?'
The lieutenant relaxed slightly. The use of his first name told him more than anything of his young captain's mood. He had seen him being tormented by something ever since leaving England. Trevenen's goading, the lack of the trained men he had lost to other ships, the endless ocean itself perhaps, all had played their part.
The captain had often been sharp with him, embarrassingly so, but in his heart Martin knew he wanted to serve no other.
'Masthead reports a sail, sir. He thinks.' He saw Adam's eyes flash and added hastily, 'Bad sea mist to the north, sir.'
Surprisingly Adam smiled. Thank you.' It was not the vague report that had brought the frown to his face but the fact that he had not heard the lookout's cry through the open cabin skylight. A year ago he would not have believed such a thing possible.
'How goes the wind?'
'Much as before, sir. South-by-west. A fair breeze, it seems.'
Adam returned to his chart and cradled the islands between his fingers as he had seen his uncle do many times.
'What could a ship be doing out here?'
'Mr. Partridge thinks she may be a trader.'
Adam rubbed his chin. 'Bound for where, I wonder?' He pointed at the chart with his brass dividers. 'She has a choice. Mauritius or Bourbon the other islands are nothing of interest. Unless…' He looked at the lieutenant, his eyes suddenly very alive.
'Call all hands, Aubrey. Set the courses and get the t'gallants on her! Let's take a look at this stranger.'
Martin thought of the quick changes of mood and said cautiously, 'It may be nothing, sir.'
Adam grinned at him. 'On the other hand, you old misery, she might make a nice Christmas present for my uncle, have you thought of that?'
He went on deck and watched the men already spread out on the yards, the released sails booming and cracking as they filled to the wind across the quarter.
He watched from the quarterdeck rail as sail after sail was sheeted home and the deck tilted to the pressure. Spray dashed over the figurehead, and through the rigging and hurrying bare-backed seamen he saw the nymph's gold shoulders glistening as if she had been roused by their thrust through the water.
'Lookout reported that she has two masts, sir.'
That was Dunwoody, the signals midshipman. 'But the mist is bad despite the wind.'
Partridge the grizzled sailing-master looked at him scornfully.
'Proper little Cap'n Cook you are! '
Adam walked a few paces this way and that, his feet so used to the ring bolts and gun tackles in his path that he avoided them without effort.
A two-masted vessel. Could she be the unknown Tridente Herrick had described in his hidden message? His heart quickened at the thought. It seemed quite likely. Sailing alone with every sighting a probable enemy.
'Another pull on the weather fore brace there! ' Dacre, the second lieutenant, was striding about the maindeck, his eyes uplifted as the sails emptied and filled again with the sound of musket fire.
'Deck there! ' A forgotten lookout's voice was almost lost in the surge of the sea into the scuppers and the whine of stays and shrouds. The conditions which Anemone used to full advantage.
The lookout tried again. 'Brig, sir! '
Adam looked at the horizon. So it was not Tridente.
Several telescopes were trained on the mist-shrouded division between sky and ocean as they waited to see what the masthead had reported.
'Deck, sir! She's spreadin' more sail an' standin' away to the nor'east! '
Adam clapped his hands together. The fool's made a mistake. This soldier's wind can't help him now! ' He punched the first lieutenant's arm. 'Get the royals on her, Mr. Martin, and alter course two points to starboard! We'll be up to that rascal within the hour! '
Martin glanced at him only briefly before he started to shout his orders to the waiting seamen and marines. It was like seeing someone else emerging from a mask.
'Mr. Gwynne, more hands aloft! Lively there! '
The new third lieutenant Lewis said casually, 'A bit of prize money, eh?' He flinched as the captain's eyes passed over him. He need not have worried. Adam had not even heard him.
Adam wedged himself against the rail and levelled his telescope. Like a great pink curtain the mist was already rolling away. The brig, and it surely was not a brigantine, was almost stern-on, her mainsail standing out above the sea on either beam, the foam thrown up from her rudder clearly visible as she took the wind under her coat- tails.
'She flies no colours, sir.'
Adam moistened his lips and tasted the salt. 'Soon she will. Of one sort or another.'
He looked sharply at Martin. 'They'll be able to see who we are soon, Aubrey.'
The lieutenant almost held his breath under his stare.
Then Adam said, 'You are about my build, eh?' He smiled as if it was all a great joke. 'We will change coats. You shall be captain for a while.'
Mystified, Martin slipped into the proffered coat with its pair of sea-tarnished epaulettes.
Adam took the lieutenant's coat with its white lapels and grinned.
'Very good.'
Around them the men at the wheel and standing to the mizzen braces paused to watch.
Adam touched his sleeve. 'I trust you, Aubrey, but I need to get amongst them, to see for myself.' He became formal again, even curt. 'I intend to board her. Detail a good party, some marines amongst them. Sergeant Deacon will be useful.' He turned as his coxswain George Starr padded across the deck with his short fighting sword. 'I'll take this with me.' He glanced at Starr's impassive features. Not an Allday, but he was good.
Later, as they bore down on the brig, Adam said, 'Hoist the signal for her to heave-to, Mr. Dunwoody. She will do no such thing, so pass my compliments to the gunner and tell him to lay a bow-chaser with his own hands! '
Martin was back again, his young face screwed up with worry.
'But suppose they try to repel boarders, sir?'
'Then you will fire on them, sir! '
'With you on board, sir?' He was shocked.
Adam watched him seriously and then patted one of the epaulettes on his shoulder. 'Then who knows? You may become a real captain earlier than expected! '
'No acknowledgement, sir! '
'Let her fall off a point, Mr. Partridge.' Adam watched the other vessel as she appeared to edge into the crisscross of rigging when the helm went over. It would give the bow-chaser a clearer shot. Even so, it would be a difficult one. He saw sunlight flashing on the brig's stern windows, and from trained telescopes above the creaming water. A fast little ship. He smiled. Not fast enough.
'As you bear! ' Ayres, the grey-haired master gunner, could not hear him from the forecastle, but he had seen his young captain's hand slice down.
The bang of the long eighteen-pounder made the frames quiver like a body-blow.
