He said, “Do you think it will be light soon?”
The corporal leaned against a mounted swivel-gun. It was already depressed, and covered with a piece of canvas to protect the priming from the damp air. Ready for instant use.
He replied, “’Alf hour, sir. Near as a priest’s promise!”
They all laughed, as if this were only another, normal day.
Avery stared at the flapping jib and imagined the crouching lion beneath it. What if the sea was empty when daylight came? He searched his feelings. Would he be relieved, grateful?
He thought of the intensity in Bolitho’s voice, the way he and Tyacke had conferred and planned. He shivered suddenly. No, the sea would not be empty of ships. How can I be certain? Then he thought, Because of what we are, what he has made us.
He tried to focus his thoughts on England. London, that busy street with its bright carriages and haughty footmen, and one carriage in particular… She was lovely. She would not wait, and waste her life.
And yet, they had shared something deeper, however briefly. Surely there was a chance, a hope beyond this cold dawn?
The corporal said carefully, “I sometimes wonders what he’s like, sir. The admiral, I mean.” He faltered, thinking he had gone too far. “It’s just that we sees him an’ you walkin’ the deck sometimes, and then there was the day when ’is lady come aboard at Falmouth.” He put his hand on his companion’s shoulder. “Me an’ Ted was there. I’d never ’ave believed it, see?”
Avery did see. Replacing Catherine’s shoes and remarking on the tar on her stocking after her climb up this ship’s side. The flag breaking out, and then the cheers. Work them, drive them, break them; but these same men had seen, and remembered.
He said, “He is that man, Corporal. Just as she is that lady.” He could almost hear Tyacke’s words. I would serve no other.
One of the other marines, encouraged by his corporal, asked, “What will us do when th’ war’s over an’ done with?”
Avery stared up at the great rectangle of sail, and felt the raw salt on his mouth.
“I pray to God that I shall be able to choose something for myself.”
The corporal grunted. “I’ll get me other stripe an’ stay in the Royals. Good victuals an’ plenty of rum, an’ a hard fight when you’re needed! It’ll do me!”
A voice echoed down from the crosstrees. “First light a-comin’, sir!”
The corporal grinned. “Old Jacob up there, he’s a wild one, sir!”
Avery thought of Tyacke’s description of the seaman named Jacob, the best lookout in the squadron. Once a saddle-maker, a highly skilled trade, he had found his wife in the arms of another man, and had killed both of them. The Assizes had offered him the choice of the gibbet or the navy. He had outlived many others with no such notoriety.
Avery withdrew the big telescope from its case, while the marines made a space for him and even found him something to kneel on.
One of them put his hand on the swivel-gun and chuckled. “Don’t you go bumpin’ into old Betsy ’ere, sir. You might set ’er off by accident, an’ blow the ’ead off our poor sergeant. That’d be a true shame, wouldn’t it, lads?” They all laughed. Four marines on a windswept perch in the middle of nowhere. They had probably no idea where they were, or where bound tomorrow.
Avery knelt, and felt the low barricade shivering under the great weight of spars and canvas, and all the miles of rigging that ruled the lives of such men as these. Of one company.
He held his breath and trained the glass with great care, but saw only cloud and darkness. Old Jacob on his lofty lookout would see it first.
He was shivering again, unable to stop.
“’Ere, sir.” A hand reached out from somewhere. “Nelson’s blood!”
Avery took it gratefully. It was against all regulations: they knew it, and so did he.
The corporal murmured, “To wish us luck, eh, lads?”
Avery swallowed, and felt the rum driving out the cold. The fear. He stared out again. You will be my eyes today. As if he were right beside him.
And suddenly, there they were. The enemy.
Captain James Tyacke watched the shadowy figures of Hockenhull, the boatswain, and a party of seamen as they hauled on lines and secured them to bollards. Every one of Indomitable’s boats was in the water, towing astern like a single unwieldy sea anchor, and although he could scarcely see them, he knew that the nets were already spread across the gun deck. The scene was set.
Tyacke searched his feelings for doubt. Had there been any? But if so, they were gone as soon as the old lookout’s doleful voice had called down from the foremast crosstrees. Avery would be peering through his glass, searching for details, numbers, the strength of the enemy.
York remarked, “Wind’s falling away, sir. Steady enough, though.”
Tyacke glanced over at Bolitho’s tall figure framed against the pale barrier of packed hammocks, and saw him nod. It was time: it had to be. But the wind was everything.
He said sharply, “Shake out the second reef, Mr Daubeny! Set fores’l and driver!” To himself he added, where are our damned ships? They might have become scattered during the breezy night; better that than risk a collision, now of all times. He heard the first lieutenant’s tame midshipman repeating his instructions in a shrill voice, edged with uncertainty at the prospect of something unknown to him.
He considered his other lieutenants, and frowned. Boys in the King’s uniform. Even Daubeny was young for his responsibilities. The words repeated themselves in his mind. If I fall… It would be Daubeny’s skill, or lack of it, that would determine their success or failure.
He heard Allday murmur something and Bolitho’s quick laugh, and was surprised that it could still move him. Steady him, like the iron hoops around each great mast, holding them together.
The marines had laid down their weapons, and had manned the mizzen braces as the driver filled and cracked to the wind.
He knew that Isaac York was hovering nearby, wanting to speak to him, to pass the time as friends usually did before an action. Just in case. But he could not waste time in conversation now. He needed to be alive and alert to everything, from the men at the big double-wheel to the ship’s youngest midshipman, who was about to turn the half-hour glass beside the compass box.
He saw his own coxswain, Fairbrother, peering down at the boats under tow.
“Worried, Eli?” He saw him grin. He was no Allday, but he was doing his best.
“They’ll all need a lick o’ paint when we picks ’em up, sir.”
But Tyacke had turned away, his eyes assessing the nearest guns, the crews, some bare-backed despite the cold wind, standing around them, waiting for the first orders. Decks sanded to prevent men slipping, in spray or perhaps in blood. Rammers, sponges, and worms, the tools of their trade, close to hand.
Lieutenant Laroche drawled, “Here comes the flag lieutenant.”
Avery climbed the ladder to the quarterdeck, and Allday handed him his hat and sword.
He said, “Six sail right enough, Sir Richard. I think the tide’s on the ebb.”
York muttered, “It would be.”
“I think one of the frigates is towing all the boats, sir. It’s too far and too dark to be sure.”
Tyacke said, “Makes sense. It would hold them all together. Keep ’em fresh and ready for landing.”
Bolitho said, “We can’t wait. Alter course now.” He looked at Tyacke, and afterwards he imagined he had seen him smile, even though his features were in shadow. “As soon as we sight our ships, signal them to attack at will. This is no time for a line of battle!”
Avery recalled the consternation at the Admiralty when Bolitho had voiced his opinions on the fleet’s future.
Tyacke called, “Alter course two points. Steer north-east by north!” He knew what Bolitho had seen in his mind, how they had discussed it, even with nothing more to go on than Captain Lloyd’s sighting report and his own interpretation of the extra boats carried by the enemy. Tyacke gave a crooked grin. Slavers, indeed.
Men were already hauling at the braces, their bodies angled almost to the deck while they heaved the great yards round, muscle and bone striving against wind and rudder.
