For My Country’s Freedom

Tyacke thought of the wild storms they had weathered in the Caribbean. Given the choice he preferred these waters rather than

endure Halifax’s bitter winters, where rigging could swell in the blocks and freeze, leaving any ship barely able to tack or shorten sail.

He considered the other captains, knowing them now as individuals. The necessity of that had been taught him by Bolitho. To assume you knew a captain’s mind simply because he was a captain could be as dangerous as any hurricane.

All the leagues they had sailed, in company or with the ocean to themselves. He imagined green fields in England. They had gone through another winter, into a new year, and now that year was half gone. It was June 1812, and if it was to be as demanding as the previous year, overhauls would have to be arranged.

English Harbour at Antigua was adequate for limited repairs, but not for an extensive campaign. And should there be a sea-fight with more destruction to hulls and rigging… He sighed. When had the navy ever had enough of anything?

He stepped back from the rail and heard the first lieutenant crossing the damp planking.

'Good morning, Mr Scarlett. Is all well?'

'Aye, sir. Wind steady at nor’-east by north. Course west by north. Estimated position some 150 miles north- east of Cape Hai-tien.'

Tyacke smiled grimly. 'As close to that damned country as I’d ever want to get!'

Scarlett asked, 'What orders for the forenoon, sir?' He hesitated as Tyacke turned sharply towards him. 'What is it, sir?'

Tyacke shook his head. 'Nothing.' But there was something. It was like a sixth sense, which he had at first refused to accept when he had been on the anti-slavery patrols, sometimes a premonition of where his prey might be found.

He felt it now. Something would happen today. He moved restlessly across the deck, telling himself he was a fool. Like the morning when Adam Bolitho had come eagerly aboard at Antigua

in response to the flagship’s signal. Immediate. When he had left Indomitable an hour or so later he had walked like a man face to face with some terrible fate.

Bolitho had sent for him and had broken the news about Rear-Admiral Keen’s wife and her death on the Cornish cliffs. Just for a moment Tyacke had imagined that Bolitho had once felt a certain tenderness for the girl. Then he had dismissed the idea, thinking of Catherine Somervell, how she had come aboard at Falmouth, and how the sailors had loved her for it.

What then? In his heart he knew the connection that bound them was a deeper secret than he would ever share. But why should a young woman’s tragedy have the power to affect them so profoundly? It happened. Women and their children often died of fever or other causes on their way to join their husbands, in the navy, or the army with its far-flung outposts and lonely forts. Even the Caribbean possessions were described as the Islands of Death. Certainly more soldiers died of fever out here than ever fell to an enemy ball or bayonet. Death was commonplace. Perhaps it was the rumour of suicide that they could not accept.

Allday would know, he thought. But when it came to sharing secrets, Allday was like the Rock of Gibraltar.

Scarlett joined him again. 'The admiral’s about early, sir.'

Tyacke nodded. He wanted to shake Scarlett. A good officer and very conscientious, and as popular with the lower deck as any first lieutenant could hope to expect.

Don’t be timid with me. I told you before. My blood may be spilled before yours, and you could find yourself in command. Think of it, man. Talk to me. Share your thoughts.

He said, 'He has always been the same, I believe.' Had he, he wondered? Or was some premonition driving Bolitho also?

It was slightly brighter now. Topgallant masts touched with pale light, as though they floated separately above the dark mass of spars and black rigging. Bolitho’s flag rippling, as if newly

awakened like the man it represented. A boatswain’s mate and a handful of men checking the boats on their tier, inspecting hatch fastenings, putting fresh oil in the compass lamps. A ship coming to life.

The master’s mate-of-the-watch said softly, 'Admiral’s comin’ up, sir.'

'Thank you, Mr Brickwood.' Tyacke recalled the beginning, when all these men had been unfamiliar. Knowing from his own experience and later from Bolitho’s example how important it was to remember each man’s name as well as his face. In the navy you owned little else.

The midshipman-of-the-watch, a youth named Deane, said rather loudly, 'Half-past four, sir!'

Bolitho walked amongst them, his ruffled shirt very clear against the deck and the sea’s dark backdrop beyond.

'Good morning, Sir Richard.'

Bolitho looked towards him. 'It is, too, Captain Tyacke.' He nodded to the first lieutenant. 'And you, Mr Scarlett? Are your lookouts aloft?'

'Aye, sir.' Hesitant again: it was impossible to know what he was thinking.

Bolitho rubbed his hands. 'That is a vile smell from the galley funnel. We must endeavour to take on more supplies when we return to English Harbour. Fresh fruit, with any luck.'

Tyacke hid a smile. Just for a moment Bolitho was allowing himself to be a captain again, with a captain’s concern for every man and boy aboard.

'Walk with me, James.' Together they began to pace the quarterdeck. In the dim light they could have been brothers.

Bolitho asked, 'What ails that man?'

Tyacke shrugged. 'He’s an officer not lacking in some fine qualities, sir, but…'

'Aye, James, I have often found but to be the hurdle!'

He looked up as the first thin sunlight felt its way through the tarred rigging and out along the braced main- yard. Even the sea had gained colour, a rich blue which gave it an appearance of even greater depth than the thousand-odd fathoms claimed to lie beneath Indomitable’s keel.

Tyacke watched Bolitho’s profile, the obvious pleasure it gave him to see another dawn. In spite of all his service, he could still suppress and contain his inner worries, if only for this moment of the day.

Bolitho turned aside as the usual procession of figures trooped aft to speak either with the first lieutenant or the captain. When the hands had been fed, the main deck would become the marketplace, where the professional men would work with their own little crews. The sailmaker and his mates, repairing and still more repairing. Nothing could be wasted with a ship so many hundreds of miles from harbour. The carpenter, too, with his team. He was Evan Brace, said to be the oldest man in the squadron. He certainly looked it. But he could still repair, and if necessary build, a boat as well as any man.

Bolitho heard a familiar Yorkshire voice. Joseph Foxhill was the cooper, up early to obtain deck space where he could scour and clean some of his empty casks before they were refilled.

A midshipman strode beneath the quarterdeck rail, the white patches on his collar showing brightly through the withdrawing shadows, and he was reminded painfully of Adam. He tended to think of him always as a midshipman, the lively colt-like boy who had joined his ship when his mother had died. He sighed. He would never forget the look on Adam’s dark features when he had told him about Zenoria. It had been pitiful to see his stunned disbelief. Like the tragedy you try to pretend has not happened. You will awake, and it will have been a dream…

He had not resisted when Bolitho had made him sit down, and he had asked his uncle quietly to repeat what he had said.

Bolitho had listened to his own voice in the sealed cabin; he had even closed the skylight in case someone overheard. Adam was a captain, perhaps one of the best frigate captains the fleet had ever known, but in those quiet, wretched, faltering moments he had seemed that same dark-haired boy, who had walked all the way from Penzance to Falmouth with only hope and Bolitho’s name to sustain him.

He had said, 'May I see Lady Catherine’s letter, Uncle?'

Bolitho had watched him, seen his eyes moving slowly over the letter line by line, perhaps sharing the intimacy, as if she too were speaking to him. Then he had said, 'It was all my fault.' When he had looked up from the letter Bolitho had been shocked to see the tears running down his face. 'But I could not stop. I loved her so. Now she is gone.'