For My Country’s Freedom

all their lives.'

'I see.'

Scarlett watched Tyacke’s sun-browned hands leafing through another book. 'Did you ever meet him, sir?'

Tyacke stared up from the table, his eyes very blue in the swaying lanterns.

'Like you, I only saw him in the far distance.' He was touching his scarred face, his eyes suddenly hard. 'At the Nile.'

Scarlett waited. So that was where it had happened.

Tyacke said abruptly, 'I understand that the purser’s clerk has been doing the work of ship’s clerk as well as his own?'

'Yes, sir. We have been very short-handed, so I thought…'

Tyacke closed the book. 'Pursers and their clerks are necessary, Mr Scarlett. But it is sometimes a risk to give them too much leeway in ship’s affairs.' He pushed the book aside and opened another where he had used a quill as a marker. 'Detail one of the reliable midshipmen for the task until we are fully manned.'

'I shall ask the purser if…'

Tyacke regarded him. 'No, tell Mr Viney what you intend.' He paused. 'I have also been going through the punishment book.'

Scarlett tensed, with growing resentment at the manner in which the new captain was treating him.

'Sir?'

'This man, Fullerton. Three dozen lashes for stealing some trifle or other from a messmate. Rather harsh, surely?'

'It was my decision, sir. It was harsh, but the laws of the lower deck are harder than the Articles of War. His messmates would have put him over the side.' He waited for a challenge, but surprisingly Tyacke smiled.

'I’d have offered him four dozen!' He glanced around and

Scarlett studied the burned half of his face. He looks at me as the captain, but inwardly he must bleed at every curious stare.

Tyacke said, 'I will not tolerate unfair or brutal punishment. But I will have discipline in my ship and I will always support my officers, unless…' He did not finish it.

He pushed some papers along the black and white chequered deck-covering and revealed a bottle of brandy.

'Fetch two glasses.' His voice pursued the first lieutenant as he pulled open a cupboard.

Scarlett saw all the other carefully-stowed bottles. He had watched it being swayed up on a tackle just the previous day.

He said cautiously, 'Fine brandy, sir.'

'From a lady.' Who but Lady Catherine would have taken the trouble? Would even have cared?

They drank in silence, the ship groaning around them, a wet breeze rattling the halliards overhead.

Tyacke said, 'We will sail with the tide at noon. We will gain sea room and set course for Falmouth, where Sir Richard Bolitho will hoist his flag. I have no doubt that Lady Catherine Somervell will come aboard with him.' He felt rather than saw Scarlett’s surprise. 'So make certain the hands are well turned out, and that a bosun’s chair is ready for her.'

Scarlett ventured, 'From what I’ve heard of the lady, sir…' He saw Tyacke tense, as if about to reprimand him. He continued, 'She could climb aboard unaided.' He saw Tyacke nod, his eyes distant, for that moment only another man entirely.

'She could indeed.' He gestured towards the bottle. 'Another thing. As of tomorrow, this ship will wear the White Ensign and masthead pendant accordingly.' He took the goblet and stared at it. 'I know that Sir Richard is now an Admiral of the Red, and to my knowledge he has always sailed under that colour. But their lordships have decreed that if we are to fight, it will be under the White Ensign.'

Scarlett looked away. 'As we did at Trafalgar, sir.'

'Yes.'

'About a coxswain, sir?'

'D’you have anyone in mind?'

'There’s a gun captain named Fairbrother. A good hand. But if he doesn’t suit I’ll find another.'

'I’ll see him after breakfast.'

Rain pattered across the tall stern windows. 'It’s going to blow tomorrow, sir.'

'All the better. I went through your watch and quarter bills.' Immediately he sensed Scarlett’s anxiety One who resented criticism, or had been unfairly used in the past. 'You’ve done a good job. Not too many bumpkins in one watch, or too many seasoned hands in another. But once standing down-Channel I want all hands turned-to for sail and gun drill. They will be our strength, as always.' He stood up and walked aft to the windows, now streaked with salt spray.

'We carry eight midshipmen. Keep them changing around- get them to work more closely with the master’s mates. It is not enough to tip your hat like some half-pay admiral, or have perfect manners at the mess table. As far as the people are concerned they are King’s officers, God help us, so they will perform accordingly. Who is in charge of signals, by the way?'

'Mr Midshipman Blythe, sir.' Scarlett was amazed at the way the captain’s mind could jump so swiftly from one subject to the next. 'He will be due for examination for lieutenant shortly.'

'Is he any good?' He saw the lieutenant start at the bluntness of his question and added more gently, 'You do no wrong, Mr Scarlett. Your loyalty is to me and the ship in that order, and not to the members of your wardroom.'

Scarlett smiled. 'He attends well to his duties, sir. I must say that his head sometimes gets larger as the examination draws closer!'

'Well said. One other thing. When Sir Richard’s flag breaks at the mainmast truck, remember, I am still your captain. Always feel free to speak with me. It is better than keeping it all sealed up like some fireship about to explode.' He watched the effect of his words on Scarlett’s open, honest features. 'You can carry on now. I feel certain that the wardroom is all agog for your news.' But he said it without malice.

He realised that Scarlett was still there, his hands playing with his cocked hat.

'Is there something else, Mr Scarlett?'

'Well, sir…' Scarlett hesitated. 'As we are to be of one company, war or no, may I ask something?'

'If it is reasonable.'

'Sir Richard Bolitho. What is he like, sir? Truly like?'

For a moment he thought he had tested the captain’s confidences too far. Tyacke’s emotions were mixed, as if one were fighting the other. He strode across the spacious cabin and back again, his hair almost brushing the deckhead.

'We spoke of Lord Nelson, a leader of courage and inspiration. One I would have liked to meet. But serve under him-I think not.'

He knew Scarlett was staring at him, earnestly waiting. 'Sir Richard Bolitho, now…' He hesitated and thought of the brandy and wine Lady Catherine had sent aboard for him. He felt suddenly angry with himself for discussing their special relationship. But I did invite his confidence. He said quietly, 'Let me say this, Mr Scarlett. I would serve no other man. For that is what he is. A man.' He touched his face but did not notice it. 'He gave me back my pride. And my hope.'

'Thank you, sir.' Scarlett reached the screen door. Afterwards he guessed that the captain had not even heard him.

James Tyacke looked around the large cabin before examining his

face in the mirror that hung above his sea-chest. For a second or two he touched the mirror, scratched here and there, dented around the frame. He often wondered how it had survived over the years. Or me, either.

The ship had quietened somewhat after all the bustle and preparations to get under way. Calls twittered and voices still shouted occasional orders, but for the most part they were ready.

Tyacke walked to the stern windows and rubbed the misty glass with his sleeve.

It was blustery, the windows full of cruising white horses, the nearest land only a wedge of green.