9. Too Late for Regrets
Adam Bolitho watched the last of the boats being hoisted inboard, and then lowered on to their tier where the boatswain's party was ready to make them secure. Even the barge had survived, and had been towed with the others by Borradaile's Alfriston.
Lieutenant Dyer had scarcely been able to hide his excitement and pleasure. Perhaps, like the commodore, he had expected the mission to fail, and that they would all be killed or taken by the enemy.
He gripped the quarterdeck rail and suddenly realised how drained and tired he was.
Soon it would be dark. But the last sunlight was still clinging to the horizon, and touching the horns of the figurehead's helmet as if unwilling to depart.
He thought of the moment when the battery's magazine had exploded, great rocks and pieces of stonework crashing through the trees, some splashing down dangerously close to the boats as they pulled towards Alfriston, and was reminded of Deighton's satisfaction with the mission, tempered only by an angry disbelief that Adam should have gone personally with the landing party.
Adam had said, 'When you order men ashore to carry out a task which might normally be executed by the military, you cannot simply abandon them to it. On deck, ship against ship, that's a different matter. But in unknown and hostile territory
Deighton had interrupted, 'And I suppose you could not bring yourself to abandon the chance of further glory for yourself?'
Eventually he had contained his sarcasm. 'I shall send a full report to the admiral, and then to their lordships. A battery destroyed, the way opened for the attacking squadron, and a useful prize to boot… the brigantine should fetch a good price. I hope you explained to mat Borradaile fellow about the arrangements for sharing prize money?'
'I believe he is well aware of them, sir.'
Of the casualties, he had told Deighton that one of the wounded was unlikely to survive an amputation, A brave man, he had not complained once during the painful transfers from boat to brig, and then to Valkyrie. But when he knew he was being carried down to the surgeon, he had pleaded and sobbed like a child.
Deighton had said, 'Can't be helped.' He might have been talking about a breakage in the galley.
Adam watched the brig Alfriston leaning to the freshening breeze as she changed tack and headed away to the south-west. Despatches for the admiral. He tried to control his bitterness. To ensure that Deighton's own part in the attack did not pass unnoticed…… He himself had thought Alfriston should remain in company, at least until they had made contact with their own frigates again.
Deighton had scoffed at his suggestion. 'Where's your zest for battle now, Captain? My orders are to cover the squadron's flanks. That I shall do.'
Adam turned as one of the surgeon's loblolly boys appeared on deck, and then walked to the lee side and pitched a bloody bundle outboard. A man's leg. He thought of the dead left behind at the battery, blasted to pieces when the charges had exploded. Surely better than what he had just seen.
He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling the salt and the sand, remembering the wounded American officer with the miniature of his girl…… Without thinking, he touched the scar in his side where the Unity's surgeon had probed for splinters. Perhaps the American would tell her one day.
He heard voices below the poop and saw the gunner's mate, Jago, with some of his messmates. He was carrying a shirt which he had just washed out after his experience ashore, and, even in the fading light, Adam could see the livid scars of the cat across his muscular back. Unjustly flogged by Valkyrie's previous captain, he would carry the scars to his grave like any felon. It had been John Urquhart, then Valkyrie's first lieutenant, who had protested to the captain, and had spoken up for Jago, to no avail; it was obvious that Urquhart had been damned to oblivion because of his intervention. Until Keen had given him Reaper to command, another ship which had been torn apart by the cruelty of a sadistic captain.
He came to a decision, and beckoned to the gunner's mate. Jago ran lightly up the quarterdeck ladder and waited. 'Sir?'
Adam saw his eyes flit over his captain's torn breeches and crumpled shirt; he himself had not found the time to change into cleaner clothes.
He said, 'I shall not forget what you did. And I wanted to ask you something.' He could almost feel Jago's guard come up, but continued, 'I lost my old cox'n.'
Jago nodded. 'We know, sir. They 'anged 'im.'
'Would you consider taking his place?'
Jago stared at him.' Your cox'n, sir?' He glanced up as one of the top men yelled something to some hands working aloft.
'I'll be getting' discharged after this, sir. I've done my share, though some might say different.' He shook his head. 'I'm a gunner's mate. That'll do for me, sir.' He looked at him in the same thoughtful manner. 'But you done kindly by me for asking'.'
Adam dismissed him and watched him rejoin his friends, and drag the damp shirt over his head, hiding the savage scars. No wonder he held Urquhart in such respect. He smiled. If not his captain.
Dyer murmured, The commodore, sir.'
Deighton strode across to the weather side and stared at the men working on the tiered boats.
The sea and the wind are moderate, Captain. I think we shall lie-to tonight, and rejoin the squadron tomorrow.' And, sharply, to the sailing master, 'What time would you estimate, Mr. Ritchie, all things being even?'
Ritchie regarded him with a certain wariness. 'During the dog watches we should make contact with Wildfire, sir.'
Then make it so, Mr. Ritchie.' He grinned. 'We have done what we set out to do, eh?'
Adam saw some of the others looking over with the same caution. This relaxed, almost jovial mood was something new to them.
He said, 'I do not think we should lie-to, sir.' He kept his voice low, but he saw Ritchie nod in agreement.
Deighton said, 'You disagree, Captain, is that it?'
'It is my duty to advise you, sir.'
'It is not your duty, sir, to criticize me in the presence of the ship's company!' The joviality was gone.
'The enemy will call for reinforcements, sir. It would be their first reaction.'
'And this is mine, Captain. We shall lie-to until the morning watch is mustered. Make a note of it in the log.' He gave the fierce grin again. 'Now!'
He walked away, and a few moments later a faint glow appeared at the cabin skylight.
Adam turned, and saw Lieutenant Monteith waiting for him. 'Yes?'
The wounded man, Simpson. He died, sir.'
There was blood on his sleeve, and Adam guessed that he had stayed with the wretched Simpson until the end. He could see it as clearly as if he had been there: Monteith, and the seaman he could not recall but for his courageous silence, and the surgeon, his face as red as the blood he spilled. And he thought of Deighton's indifference. His arrogance.
Jago was right. Leave it when you can. Walk away from it while you still have limbs, wipe it from your mind.
Perhaps he was too tired to think. No such thing as luck, good or bad. Was that really me? There was always a possibility that Deighton was right; he had been an experienced and senior captain before this appointment.
He touched Monteith's arm and said, 'Dine with me tonight, Howard.' He saw the lieutenant's surprise. 'We shall drink to damnation and drown our sorrows… I fear we shall be busy men tomorrow.'
Monteith said, 'I would have liked nothing better, sir. But I have the middle watch.'
He should have known. 'Then rest while you can.' He made his way down to his cabin, as the marine sentry was relieved outside the commodore's quarters.
John Whitmarsh was waiting for him, and the table had been carefully laid.
Adam shook his head. 'I find that I cannot eat. Some cognac, please.'
Then he sat down and dragged open his drawer. It was as well that Monteith had declined the invitation, he
