For My Country’s Freedom

Adam nodded, very conscious of the power of this tall figure with the ruined face. 'I understand you.'

'Oh yes, they will curse their new captain and damn his eyes to the full, swear to God he can never hold a slow-match to their old one! But you are the captain. Allow nobody to forget it.' He held out his hand. 'And you’re taking the boy Whitmarsh with you?' He knew one of the reasons was because the boy had been the last one alive to leave Anemone.

But all Adam said was, 'He deserves it.'

A midshipman, his jacket black with spray, peered in at them.

'First lieutenant’s respects, sir! Boat’s ready alongside!' He fled.

Bolitho said, 'There is one thing more.' He walked to the bulkhead and took down the old family sword. 'Take this. It will be yours by right one day.'

Adam refused it gently, putting it back into his hands. 'We’ll not speak of that, Uncle. I shall find another when the need arises.'

They walked out into the passageway between the lines of officers’ cabins, hutches which could be ripped down in minutes when the hands dashed to quarters and the drums stopped every man’s heartbeat. Figures moved out like shadows: Allday with a handclasp, Yovell, even Ozzard, who rarely showed any emotion

at all. And John Bankart, Allday’s illegitimate son, unknown for so many years.

Perhaps Adam was thinking of his own upbringing, fatherless as he had then believed, his mother selling herself to feed and educate him.

Bolitho watched as Adam shook Bankart’s hand. Never a youth, but now a man of thirty or so.

He heard Adam say, 'Leave the sea, John. It is not for you and never was. I’ll never forget what you did for me, nor will your father.' He smiled with genuine warmth. 'Give him time. He is all aback because of you!'

The calls trilled and he was down the side, nimbly, and surefooted despite his wound.

Bolitho shaded his eyes to stare over at Zest, showing her copper as she pitched violently in a quarter sea.

Her company were in for a surprise. It would do them good. He watched Adam turn just once to wave from the sternsheets, his borrowed hat pressed between his knees. It would do Adam good as well.

Tyacke had already put the event from his immediate thoughts. 'I shall exercise the guns when the hands have eaten, Sir Richard. This is no time for slackness.'

Bolitho left him and went aft to his cabin. There he took out his unfinished letter and wondered when they would meet with the Reynard again, or some other courier who would take it on board.

He sat with the pages spread out on the table and laid her last letter beside them. She had written of the changing colours of Cornwall, of Falmouth. The coming of autumn, and the mists over Pendennis Point.

Each night I lie and await thee, dearest of men. I speak your name, and like that terrible day when they found Zenoria, I feel your hand on mine. Safe, safe, and oh so precious to me. I wrote to you

before about Val Keen. He was grieved by his loss. Bolitho had imagined that he had felt her hesitate as she had written it. But he will get over it, I am certain, and he shall find another.

There are those who have no such escape…

He looked up, annoyed at the interruption, but it was Allday.

Allday said, 'I thought I’d stop them disturbing you, Sir Richard. Reaper has just sighted a sail to the east’rd. A brig.'

'One of ours then, old friend.' His eyes moved to the letter. No, he would finish it afterwards. Why should that word hold such threat?

Allday said gruffly, 'It’s strange to have your own kin aboard. Better he were a stranger-I’d not feel so ill at ease!' His eyes crinkled. 'Still, he was fair tickled when he heard about the baby.'

Bolitho smiled. Kate. He hoped it had not saddened his own Kate.

Two hours later, Indomitable was near enough to the newcomer to identify her as the brig Weazel of fourteen guns.

She had been ordered to patrol as close as was prudent to the southern approaches of Nantucket Sound. As laid down in his original instructions, her commander, a red-faced Devonian named John Mates, had left the sector to find either his admiral in person or one of the chain of vessels that made up this very mixed squadron.

Tyacke brought the news to Bolitho in his cabin.

'From Weazel, sir. The U.S.S. Unity has put to sea. She slipped out three nights ago.' He spread his strong hands. 'Gone, just like that.' He saw Bolitho’s mind working busily on the information, or the lack of it. He added, 'I’ve repeated the signal to Reaper.. .' his blue eyes did not even blink, '… and Zest.'

Bolitho leaned over his chart again. Not yet. Not yet. Two days more. How could they know, be certain of anything? This was not warfare as it was expected to be fought. But then, those who made the rules of battle had too often never seen one. This was

personal, cold-bloodedly personal. Either Beer must be destroyed, or he must kill me. Nothing else would make the vital difference.

Tyacke said quite suddenly, 'I shall give you all I have, sir.'

Bolitho said, looking up at him, 'Then we shall succeed.'

He glanced at the unfinished letter again. Dearest Kate. Our love is greater even than duty. Once he might have challenged such a sentiment, but that was in the past.

Tyacke had gone. He was like the strength of Indomitable herself, her great keel, her shining batteries of guns: strong enough to control landmen and seasoned sailors like the ship’s rigging itself. He smiled. As an old hand who had once trained him had explained every mile of cordage.

'Equal strain on all parts, my young gennleman! That’s the strength of it!' It certainly described Tyacke better than he knew himself.

On the weather side of the quarterdeck George Avery gripped a stay and watched the majesty of the ocean stretching away on either beam. It was hard to accept, until somebody like York showed you the chart and the pages of calculations, tides, depths and currents, that there was any danger. Land of any kind was beyond the sight of even the most keen-eyed lookout. Only the misty topsails of their two consorts, like linked hands, were visible on the horizons.

He thought of the letters he had read and written for Allday Vignettes of rural England, small personal comments which he could not fathom, but he could see the true pleasure they gave in the coxswain’s eyes. Bolitho had mentioned Rear-Admiral Keen again when he had received a letter from Lady Catherine. He gave it all a great deal of consideration, intrigued also by the glove, obviously cherished, which was all of his personal possessions that Adam Bolitho had been able to save in his captivity What was honour when it came to love, no matter how secret the love?

'Is this all you have to do with yourself?'

It was Scarlett, swaying back and forth on his heels as the Indomitable thrust through every roller with disdain.

Avery answered calmly, 'I am busy enough. I do not wish to argue, nor do I wish to be insulted.'

He might as well have stayed silent. 'Oh no, not for you, eh! No hard struggle to gain advancement like the rest of us! Privilege, who-you-know, that is your navy, sir, but it is not mine!'

'Hold your noise, damn you! The watchkeepers will hear!'

'And that would never do, would it? Because he is a Bolitho he gets a new command, instantly, and I bloody well suggest it will be your turn next!'

'I’ll hear no more.' He turned to go but Scarlett’s fingers gripped his forearm like claws.

Avery said very quietly, 'Remove your hand, Mister Scarlett, or…'

'Or what?'

'Do not try to provoke me, sir. You can have all the commands on the ocean for all I care. But I tell you this-' he saw Scarlett flinch under his tawny stare, 'I do not believe you’re fit to command anything!'

A midshipman called, 'Captain’s coming, sir!' But he dropped his eyes as Scarlett glared past him.

'Hold your noise, Mr Essex, or I’ll have you mastheaded, all night if need be!'