even as the combined enemy fleets had left port.
He had ended it by saying, 'I hope that I shall live to finish my letter after the battle.'
Bolitho folded the letter but did not seal it. I shall finish it later.
18. The Most Dangerous Frenchman
Lieutenant George Avery peered around the confines of his small, hutch-like cabin. Soon now, the cabin would be torn down and the various screens that partitioned many parts of the hull to offer a small privacy would follow to be stowed in the frigate's hold. Sea-chests, clothing, souvenirs, portraits of loved ones, all would be gathered into Valkyrie'?' belly. This was a ship of war, and it would be cleared from bow to stern so that every gun could work unhindered
until the fight was won. The alternative was rarely considered.
Avery dressed with care, knowing that Bolitho would expect it. His stomach had shied away from the thought of food, and the smell of grease from the galley funnel had been enough to make him retch. He looked at his face in the small mirror propped on his chest. He had shaved and put on a clean shirt and stockings. He watched the face smile back at him. The last rites. He never doubted that there would be a battle: Bolitho had convinced him.
Avery had known other sea officers who had this gift, if it could be called that, but none like him. Avery, still unsure of himself with the vice-admiral, had thought he had gone too far when he had spoken of Nelson. If anything, Bolitho had seemed amused by his sincerity, as if he himself thought it absurd that he should be compared to his hero.
He tugged out his watch, all that had survived from his father's possessions after Copenhagen, and held it beside the lantern. He would call the admiral. How quiet the ship was,
and there was no light when he walked past the companion ladder that led to the quarterdeck.
He heard Trevenen's harsh voice berating somebody up there. A man who had been unable to sleep like most of his crew. Avery smiled wryly. Like me.
The ship's corporal was speaking with the marine sentry; both of them looked grim, Avery thought. The sentry would be receiving his orders. If battle was joined, he would prevent any man from running below to hide, on pain of death.
The screen door opened and Allday came out carrying a jug of used shaving water.
Avery stared at him. 'Is Sir Richard about so soon?'
Allday eyed him curiously and replied, 'We thought you was goin' to lie abed till after the fight, sir! '
Avery shook his head. The humour was more unnerving than the grim preparations all around him.
It was very bright in the cabin, with several lanterns swinging from their brackets, and shutters across the stern windows to make it unusually private. He glanced at an eighteen-pounder, still tethered by its breeching rope and covered with canvas to make the cabin seem less war-like. Even this place would not be spared.
Bolitho came out of the sleeping compartment, pulling on a clean shirt while Ozzard trotted impatiently behind him to make adjustments to his belt.
'Good morning, Mr. Avery.' Bolitho sat down to look at his chart while Ozzard struggled to arrange his stock. 'Wind's steady enough, but not much strength in it.' He moved away to look in his desk and Avery saw him tuck a letter into his waistcoat. One of hers. To have with him, like the locket which would be resting against his skin.
Bolitho said, 'We will clear for action presently. I am told that the people have been fed, watch by watch.' He seemed to think that amusing too. Perhaps he had had to overrule Trevenen once again. The captain might have wanted to feed his company after the battle: less food to waste, fewer mouths to fill.
He jabbed at the chart. 'We shall continue to steer north'rd. If the wind holds we should be on a converging tack with the enemy. If so, he will have to remain very much close-hauled, while we shall have the wind-gage. For a while.'
Yovell yawned hugely and continued to write in his folio. He looked so out of place here, Avery thought. An educated man who apparently preferred the dangers of the sea and the risk of sudden death to the easier life more appropriate to someone of his profession ashore.
Allday came back into the cabin and strode to the bulkhead where Bolitho's swords were usually displayed. Avery noted that the beautiful presentation blade from the people of Falmouth had already gone below. He watched Allday pull out the other blade, the old one he had seen in the portraits at Falmouth.
Bolitho looked fresh and calm, and gave no sign of doubt or anxiety. Avery tried to take comfort from the fact.
Heavy feet sounded across the deck. The captain.
Bolitho merely glanced up and commented, 'I have yet to convince that one.'
The footsteps faded and then moved on to the ladder. Trevenen looked surprised when he entered the cabin. Perhaps he had expected to find them all in a desperate conference, Avery thought coldly, or finding courage in a bottle of cognac?
'Galley fire is doused, Sir Richard. Both watches standing-to.'
His eyes were sunken, and his normally aggressive confidence was lacking. Bolitho looked away. It was a bad sign.
'You may beat to quarters, Captain Trevenen, then clear for action. In ten minutes, do you propose?'
Trevenen retorted angrily, 'In eight, Sir Richard! '
Bolitho nodded slowly. 'This will be quite a day for many of your people. Do not drive them too far. They are not the enemy.' He let his words sink in, then added softly, 'Not yet.'
Trevenen turned by the door. 'May I speak, Sir Richard?'
'Of course.'
'I think we are making a mistake. We lack the ships for any running battle…'
Bolitho met his gaze steadily. 'We will not run, Captain, while my flag flies from the foremast truck.'
After Trevenen left he looked at the closed door, feeling the other man's defiance and anger hanging in the air.
He said to Avery, 'If anything happens…' He lifted one hand to silence Avery's protests. 'Do what I asked you to do.'
Calls shrilled through the ship, and from overhead came the insistent rattle of drums.
'All hands! All hands! Beat to quarters an' clear for action! '
The decks seemed to tremble as the seamen and marines ran to their stations. Screens were already being pulled down. There was not much more time.
Avery watched as Allday fastened the old sword around his admiral's waist, and saw Ozzard carrying the dress uniform coat with the gleaming epaulettes, not the faded sea-going coat Bolitho usually wore. It made a chill fasten to his spine like ice. The same uniform that had drawn the French marksmen's fire to Nelson. To provoke Baratte even at such a terrible risk, or was it to show the people he was amongst them, to give all that he had for them?
Yovell had picked up his satchel, and said, 'I shall be giving a hand on the orlop, Sir Richard.' He offered a shy smile. 'Death to the French! '
Allday muttered, 'An' that's no error! '
Ozzard spoke nervously as the crash and scrape of furniture being taken below moved swiftly towards the cabin.
'Shall you need me, Sir Richard?'
'Go below. Keep Rear-Admiral Herrick company if you wish.' But Ozzard had already gone.
Bolitho adjusted his coat and said, 'Well, old friend, it gets no easier, does it?'
Allday grinned. 'I sometimes wonders what it's all for.'
Bolitho heard men running above and beneath him. 'I expect they do also.' He looked at Avery and said firmly, 'So they must be told, eh?'
Then the three of them left the cabin, while another party of men hurried past to remove the last obstacles.
