For My Country’s Freedom

concern the captain enough to bring him aft.

Tyacke looked at him and gave a slight smile. 'I know, sir. We all went through it.' The smile vanished. 'Mr Craigie is not the brightest of stars, but he is blessed with good eyesight.' He did not see, or seem to see, the flicker of emotion on Bolitho’s face. 'There is a sail to the nor’-east, sir. When he told the officer-of-

the-watch a glass was sent aloft. It was a sail right enough.' He lifted his goblet. 'And the ship is still there. Maybe a trivial matter, but I thought you should know.'

Bolitho rubbed his chin. 'And on the same tack?'

'Never changes, sir.'

'What d’you think, James?'

Tyacke seemed surprised that he should be asked. 'Whoever it is might take us for a liner with our rig.' He stroked the arm of his chair. 'By God, he’d get a surprise if this lady turned on him!'

It was like hearing somebody else. The voice of pride. How Tyacke had spoken of his Larne.

'Could we catch him, d’you think?'

Bolitho watched Tyacke’s expression. Calculating, seeking conclusions. Strange that they had already given the unknown vessel a character of its own.

'I’ll need three days more, sir. Then, if the weather holds, we should be picking up the north-east trades. That’ll give us power to come about and catch him.' He paused, almost hesitantly. 'I know this is faster than any brig, sir, but I’ve done it with Larne when some crafty slaver tried to spy out our intentions.'

Bolitho realised that it was the first time Tyacke had mentioned his last command since Indomitable had broken out his flag at the main. 'What do you think of the people, James? Are they coming together as one company?'

Instead of answering, Tyacke stood up. 'With your permission, sir?' Then he opened the big skylight, his hair ruffling in the sudden breeze. 'They’re standing easy. I’ve worked them hard, day in day out since I took command in Plymouth. They may loathe me, fear me, I know not which, nor must I allow myself to care. Good men and scum side by side, gallows-bait and mothers’ boys.' His mouth softened as he said, 'Now, sir, you listen to them.'

Bolitho joined him beneath the skylight and peered up at the straining mizzen topsail far above them.

They were singing. Men off-watch and idlers, resting on deck after a long hard day. It was one of Dibdin’s songs, sometimes used by shantymen when a ship was being hauled up to her anchor in readiness to weigh.

'This life is like a troubled sea- Wear helm or weather all a’lee, Wear helm or weather all a’lee, The ship will neither stay nor wear, But drive of every rock in fear, Of every rock in fear.'

It was as though Catherine were here, as she had been in the longboat when she had urged Allday to sing to raise their spirits when all had seemed lost.

Tyacke was still watching him, his eyes very blue and steady. He said, 'Your lady understood, sir.' He closed the skylight and gave the lusty voices back to the sounds of sea and wind. 'They will not let you down.'

Bolitho touched the locket, which she had fastened around his neck before they had parted.

I shall take it from you when you come to me as my lover again…

He made up his mind. 'So be it then, James. When the trades are good to us, we’ll go and snare that cunning fox and discover what he is about.'

Tyacke picked up his hat. 'I’ll see you at supper, sir. And thank you.'

'For what?'

Tyacke shrugged. 'Just-thank you, sir.' Then he was gone.

Ozzard entered the cabin and glanced around without curiosity as Bolitho returned to the skylight and opened it.

They will not let you down.

'Nor I you.' But the singing had stopped.

Captain Adam Bolitho strode through the dockyard, his hat tugged down on his forehead against the lively breeze from the Sound. He glanced past hurrying seamen and dockyard workers to the wall where Larne had been moored to complete her overhaul, and beyond to the glittering sea itself, now reflecting the afternoon sunlight like a million flashing mirrors.

From this place Indomitable had weighed anchor for Falmouth. In his heart he knew he had wanted to go aboard before she had made sail, to wish Tyacke good fortune, but convention had held him back. Although Tyacke was older than he, he was still very junior in rank.

He was also aware that Tyacke might have misconstrued his visit, or considered it patronising. It was better to leave him to find his own way, and make his own mistakes without critical eyes or well-meaning advice. Adam admired Tyacke greatly. Next to his uncle he had encountered no greater strength of character, nor higher courage in any man.

He half smiled. Bolitho must have had a quiet word with the port admiral on his behalf. Anemone had been desperately short-handed; after her battle with the privateers, death and mutilation had taken a heavy toll. But when she quit Plymouth this time, her company would be almost complete again. Bolitho must have asked for more men. Scum they might be; many would otherwise have been hanged or deported, but firm discipline and fair treatment would soon change that. The hard men who would never break, Adam would take on himself to train. They often proved to be the best sailors, especially those who had never known anything but poverty and oppression. He tightened his jaw. But if they did not respond to training and example he would change them in other ways.

He thought of his three lieutenants. All had seen action before, but only one had ever served in a frigate. To Adam the navy was divided down the middle. There were frigates, and then there were all the rest.

The warrant officers were experienced, prime seamen of quality. Again, he suspected his uncle had some hand in their acquisition. But he did not know any of them, as he had his other company. Perhaps it was better that way. He thought of friends he had seen fall in that last sea-fight, of the midshipman for whom he had had such hopes of early promotion. The youth had died in his arms, his eyes staring up at him until they became fixed and unmoving.

Yes, it was better not to become too close. He had seen his uncle’s grief too many times when those dear friends he called his Happy Few had been killed, one by one.

Catherine would be alone now, waiting and wondering, not daring to hope that it might be over quickly that his uncle might come home safely once again.

He would put into Falmouth and pay his respects to her before taking Anemone to join the new squadron in Antigua.

He had no doubt at all that there would be war. He had never forgotten the American captain, Nathan Beer, now a commodore of his own squadron. An impressive man, a dangerous adversary.

He saw the port admiral’s house with its tower and fine gilded weathervane. His would be a quick visit for the sake of courtesy only, although it might be difficult to escape the admiral, who was known for his bounteous hospitality to the young captains who passed through the dockyard.

A carriage was just arriving at the house, and two others were waiting nearby.

Adam frowned, trying to think of some excuse that would allow him to leave.

The carriage rolled to a halt, the horses stamping noisily on

the stones as a Royal Marine ran to open the door and lower the step. Something fell on the ground, and Adam picked it up.

'Excuse me, ma’am. You dropped this.'

He stared past her at the severe-looking man who was regarding him as he would an intruder.

Zenoria looked straight into his eyes, only a pulse in her throat betraying her outward composure.

'Why, Captain Bolitho. This is a surprise.'

Adam waited for the rebuff, fearing she would turn away. He offered his hand, but she rested hers on the marine’s white glove instead. 'Did you know I would be here?'

He said, 'I did not, I swear it.'

She frowned slightly, as though warning him. 'This is Mr Petrie, from London.' She turned to the sharp-faced man. 'May I introduce Captain Adam Bolitho, of His Britannic Majesty’s Ship Anemone.'