For My Country’s Freedom

had failed to return. Drunk, he had fallen into a dock and drowned.

He had seen plenty of women, too. Some prettily dressed and decorative, the wives of army and naval officers, perhaps. Others, like Meg of the Crossed Keys, trying to do men’s work, to replace those who might never come home.

He said, 'I’ve been very comfortable here. Maybe I’ll see you again some day.'

She turned to look at him, and although he watched carefully for it, there was no abhorrence in her eyes when they rested on his face.

'I’ll fetch your supper soon, zur.'

They both knew they would not meet again.

He sipped his brandy. Good stuff. Maybe smugglers came this way… His thoughts returned to his new command. How different she would be. Designed originally as a small third-rate of 64 guns, she had been cut down to her present size by the removal of most of her upper deck and corresponding armament. But her forty 24- pounders remained, with an additional four 18-pounders for bow- and stern-chasers. Tyacke had studied every detail of the ship, and her history since she had been built at the famous William Hartland yard at Rochester on the Medway

He considered Bolitho’s comments, the ship’s possible use if war broke out with the United States. All the big new American frigates carried twenty-four-pounders and for sheer firepower were far superior to English frigates like Anemone.

More to the point, perhaps, his new command had a far greater

cruising range. Her original company of over six hundred had now been reduced to 270, which included 55 Royal Marines.

She was still undermanned, but then every ship was, which was in or near a naval port.

All those unknown faces. How long would it be before he came to know them, their value, their individual qualities? As a captain he could ask what he pleased of his officers. Respect, as he had seen with Bolitho, had to be earned.

He thought again of the ship herself. Thirty-four years old, built of fine Kentish oak when there had been such trees for the asking. In newer ships some of the timbers were barely seasoned, and their frames were cut by carpenters, not shaped over the years for extra strength. Some were built of teak on oak frames, like John Company’s ships, which were mostly laid down in Bombay. Teak was like iron, but hated by the sailors who had to work and fight in them. Unlike oak splinters, teak could poison a man, kill him far more slowly and painfully than canister shot.

Tyacke swallowed more brandy. His new command had first tasted salt water while he had been in his mother’s arms.

His face softened into a smile. We must have grown up together. She had even been at the Nile. He tried not to touch his scarred cheek. Other battles too. The Chesapeake and the Saintes, Copenhagen, and then because she was too small for the line of battle she had shared all the miseries of blockade and convoy duty

There must be a lot of experienced post-captains asking why Sir Richard should hoist his flag above an old converted third-rate when he could have had anything he wanted. A full admiral now. He wondered what Catherine Somervell thought about it. He could see her as if she were beside him, first in the dirty and soaking sailor’s clothing, and then in the yellow gown he had carried with him since the girl of his choice had rejected him. It was strange, but he could even think of that without the pain, as if it had happened to somebody else.

He tried to remember if he had all he needed, and his thoughts returned to Bolitho’s mistress. But the term offended him. His lady. She would make certain that Bolitho was well provided for when he left home.

He thought he could smell cooking and realised how hungry he was. It made good sense to eat well tonight. He would be too tense and anxious later on. He smiled again as he recalled that Bolitho had told him he was always nervous when he took over a new command. But remember, they are far more worried about their new captain!

And what about John Allday-'his oak,' as he called him- would he be so eager this time to quit the land?

One of the men at the other table put down his tankard and stared at the door. His companion almost ran through the adjoining room where some farmhands were drinking rough cider. Then Tyacke heard it. The tramp of feet, the occasional clink of metal.

Meg bustled in, her hands full of knives and forks.

'The press, sir. They’m not usually this far from ’ome.' She smiled at him. 'Never fear. I’ll see they don’t disturb yew.'

He sat back in the deep shadows. Being in charge of a press-gang was a thankless task. As a junior lieutenant he had done it only once. Whimpering men and blaspheming women. Curiously enough, although most of the shore parties who performed that duty were themselves pressed men, they were usually the most ruthless.

There were muffled shouts from the rear of the inn and Tyacke guessed that the man who had rushed from the room had been taken. His companion came back, shaking despite the folded protection he had been fortunate enough to carry.

The door crashed open and a young lieutenant strode into the parlour.

He snapped, 'Stand up and be examined!' Then he seemed to realise that the man in question had already been inspected

and swung towards the shadowy figure by the chimney-breast.

'And you! Did you hear me? In the King’s name!'

Tyacke did not move but thrust out his foot and pushed the bench seat into the candlelight.

The lieutenant gaped at the gleaming gold lace and stammered, 'I did not know, sir! Few officers come this way.'

Tyacke said quietly, 'Which is why I came. Not to be shouted at by some arrogant puppy hiding in the King’s coat!' He stood up. Meg, two armed seamen in the doorway and the man who had been examined all froze as if it were some kind of mime.

Tyacke turned very slowly. 'What is your name, lieutenant?'

But the young officer was unable to speak; he was staring at Tyacke’s terrible wound as if mesmerised.

Then he muttered in a small voice, 'Laroche, s-sir.'

'May I ask what ship?'

'Indomitable, sir.'

'Then we shall meet tomorrow, Mister Laroche. I am Captain James Tyacke.'

Suddenly he had the parlour to himself.

Meg hurried in again, a steaming pot wrapped in a cloth.

'I be that sorry, zur.'

Tyacke reached out and touched her arm. 'It was nothing. We all have to begin somewhere.'

Tomorrow it would be all over the ship. He considered it. Indomitable. My ship.

Again he thought about Bolitho and the memory steadied him.

They will be far more worried about you.

Meg left him to his supper but paused in the door to watch him, wondering how it had happened, how such a fine-looking man could ever learn to accept it.

She quietly closed the door, and thought of him long after he had gone.

5. 'Indomitable'

Henry the carter tugged slightly at the reins as the wheels clattered over the first of the dockyard cobbles.

He said, 'She’s out at anchor, zur.' He glanced at his passenger’s strong profile, unable to understand why anybody would willingly go to sea, captain or not.

Tyacke stared across the gleaming water and was surprised that he was so calm. No, that was not it. He felt no emotion whatsoever.