For My Country’s Freedom

He turned back to Avery. When he pondered over it later in his hutch, Avery thought it was like seeing an entirely different person. Scarlett merely said, 'You mustn’t be so hasty man! So quick to burn a fuse, eh?' He even smiled. Like a stranger, and yet they had shared the same mess since Plymouth.

In two days or so they would fight, or so York the sailing-master had surmised. Suppose Tyacke should fall? He thought of the momentary wildness in Scarlett’s eyes. Something was pulling

the man apart. Drink, women, or money? It was usually one of the three. But a madman on the quarterdeck of a King’s ship… who would carry the blame?

He imagined Bolitho below his feet in the cabin, reading his letters or the leather-bound Shakespeare sonnets which she had given him. The man they all depended on, and yet he was still called to depend upon them. Us.

Lieutenant Laroche had the afternoon watch, and was regarding Scarlett very warily as he strode away from the captain.

'Ah, Jeremy, you have the watch. We shall exercise the weather battery this afternoon. But later, in the dogs maybe, do you fancy a game? Good, good-can’t bear people who sulk. Bad losers usually!'

Avery saw Laroche staring after him, a look of utter astonishment on his piggy face.

Avery walked to the companion-way. So that was it.

Yovell laid another paper on the table and waited for Bolitho to sign it.

Bolitho said, 'That will have to do. I expect you have done more than enough quill-pushing as well, on my behalf.'

Yovell was peering at him over the top of his gold spectacles. 'You should eat something, Sir Richard. It is not good to fast in the face of danger.'

Bolitho looked up from the table, the ship noises and stresses intruding as his mind cleared. The thrumming of taut stays and shrouds; the creak of the steering-gear beneath the counter; the thousand and one unknown murmurs of a ship at sea. York had been right about the weather: the wind was still strong and gusty but held steady from the south-west. He tried to see it in his mind’s eye: the endless land-mass to the north-west, Cape Cod, then eventually on to Halifax, Nova Scotia.

Yovell had sensed his tension. It was hardly surprising; they had been together a long time.

'It may come to nothing.' Bolitho turned his head to listen as his ear caught the brief sound of a fiddle. The watch below were resting, their last meal of the day cleared away. Did they feel the closeness of danger? Or did nobody care what they thought and felt?

The door opened and Avery stepped into the cabin. 'Sir Richard?'

'I thought you might take a glass with me.'

Avery glanced at Yovell, who shook his head.

'You should eat, Sir Richard.'

Bolitho contained his anger. 'What about you, George? Have you eaten?'

Avery sat down and watched as Ozzard padded past to fetch the cognac. Bolitho was restless, ill at ease. He replied, 'When I was a prisoner of war I found I could eat everything and anything, sir. A habit that came in very useful.'

Bolitho watched him fondly. Of course, that was why Avery had understood so completely his anguish over Adam. The misery of detention, after the freedom of the sea.

He held up the glass. 'To us, and whenever we are called to prove ourselves.'

He knew Yovell was about to leave, but was lingering by the screen door; just as he knew that anything said here would remain here.

'I think it will be sooner rather than later.' The door closed silently. Yovell would take his Bible to his little office, where he slept and preserved his privacy. A difficult thing to achieve in a ship in the company of 270 other souls, from admiral to powder-monkey.

He thought again of his scattered squadron. Suppose he was mistaken, and Beer had decided to act without sentiment and

head straight for the convoy? On the other hand far, far astern, the gate to the Caribbean lay wide open and unguarded. Which might tempt him the most? He sipped the cognac and tried not to think of Catherine alone in the old grey house.

Avery said quietly, 'I think that Commodore Beer is much like his opponent, Sir Richard.'

'Me? How can that be? I have never met him!'

Avery warmed to his theme. 'It’s you he wants. I believe he held Unity back because he sincerely believed that you intended a rescue attempt. I also believe that Zest was chased by another big frigate. The Baltimore was mentioned, I believe.'

He realised with a start that Bolitho was on his feet, moving cat-like about the swaying cabin as he had seen him do so often.

Bolitho said, 'Then we shall fight.' He looked at Avery, searching his face as if to discover someone else. 'You see, George, this will not be like other sea-fights. We have been fighting the French and their allies on and off for twenty years and even before that, out here in these same waters. The English sailor’s cheerful contempt for foreigners, the Frogs, the Dons and the Meinheers, has sustained him when all else seemed overwhelmingly against him. This is different, as it was after the American Revolution. It is one thing to stand in the line of battle, fighting it out until the enemy’s flag comes down. When I was out here at that time, I was young, full of ideals of what I thought the navy should be. I soon learned at close quarters just how different such a conflict can be.' He touched his arm, and Avery knew he had done so without noticing it.

'How so, Sir Richard?'

Bolitho turned on him, his eyes cold, clear grey like the sea at Pendennis.

'Sword in hand, cutting and thrusting all about you, breath gone, your heart filling your mouth, and then you hear them…'

Avery waited, a chill on his back, holding him silent.

'The voices, George, they are what you remember. Voices from the Shires, the West Country and the Dales, fishermen and ploughmen, farm-workers and weavers. You hear your own voices on every side. When we meet the Americans this time it will be the same. They will be fighting for the freedom they wrested from us once before, the freedom of their new country, and they will regard us as the aggressors yet again!'

Avery said, 'Our people will not let you down, sir. I have watched them, heard them. They speak of home, but they seek no other land.' He thought of Allday’s letter from that tiny inn at Fallowfield, the contentment and the love which even distance could not break. Men like Allday would not change.

Bolitho clapped his hand on his shoulder. 'We shall have another drink. Then you can tell me what is troubling you.'

'It is nothing, sir. Nothing at all.'

Bolitho smiled. 'Methinks he doth protest too much!' He sat down again. 'Scarlett, the first lieutenant, is it not?' Before he could answer, Bolitho said, 'I have watched you too, you know. Ever since the day my Catherine took you to her heart, when you thought I would send you packing. You are loyal, but sensitive, as you showed just now when you mentioned your time as a prisoner-of-war. The unfair court martial that followed your release has also given you sympathy for others in that position, some of whom deserve nothing but harsh treatment if the people have been placed in jeopardy because of their misjudgement.' He was on his feet again, head turned as a spectre of foam clawed up the quarter windows as if to seize the whole ship. 'If a captain stands his ship into unnecessary danger he can expect to face a court martial or worse.' He tried to smile. 'And myself? I would probably end up being shot dead on the quarterdeck by Captain du Cann’s Royal Marines, like poor Admiral Byng. Half a century ago, perhaps, but still the same navy' He handed Avery a goblet. 'His vice is gambling, is it not?'

Avery stared at the goblet, overwhelmed by the force of these revelations and his glimpse of Bolitho’s true emotion. He dared not think of it as uncertainty.

Bolitho said quietly, 'You forget, George. Like you I have good cause to remember some of my so-called friends, who were quick to remind me of my brother’s gambling debts and the price he eventually paid for his folly.'

'I am sorry, sir.'