creak of tackles as the first boats were hoisted up and over the gangways, ready to be lowered alongside. Avery imagined them all, all the faces he was coming to know, and the qualities behind them. Tregidgo the sailing master, the true professional, waiting with his mates by the unmoving helm, ready for the first hint of steerage way. Sam Gilpin the boatswain, whose voice was never silent for long: another old Jack, every finger a marlin spike as he had heard Allday describe him. Kellett, always outwardly calm and unruffled; he would make a good captain if he ever got the chance. And all the midshipmen; Frobisher carried nine of them, with the usual contrast between the first- voyage squeakers, aged about twelve, to the more serious-minded ones who fretted on the threshold of that first, unimaginable step, to the rank of lieutenant. A step so vast, from cramped berth to wardroom, that it was almost impossible to imagine, except for those with influence or favour.
A ship's company, then, no better or worse than most; but this was a flagship, and the man whose flag flew from the main truck was a legend.
That made the true difference.
He heard men calling from the upper yards and could see them, too, in his mind, hauling up bucket after bucket of sea water to pour over each limp sail. The salt would harden the canvas, so that when the wind found them again they would not lose even what Tyacke had called a cupful. He had seen the marine sentry grinning to himself at that, enjoying what he heard. He was not involved.
Ozzard had brought coffee, resigned, Avery thought, to his admiral's refusal to allow him to fetch his dress coat and hat.
Avery sipped the coffee. It was strong, and very good. One would never know Ozzard in a thousand years, but he could spirit food and drink out of thin air like a wizard.
He glanced at the discarded dress coat. Perhaps Bolitho needed, or wanted, to remain the ordinary man for a moment longer. He smiled privately. He could never be ordinary, no matter what he tried… Bolitho was waiting for Ozzard to refill his cup, unconsciously touching the locket against his skin, beneath the open shirt. Avery saw it, and was moved by what he saw. So far apart, and yet so close. It made him think of Susanna. It was hopeless, and yet he knew that if she merely crooked her finger, he would be her willing slave.
Bolitho said, 'I shall go on deck. A walk, George, before we begin to earn our keep?'
Ozzard almost ran for the admiral's coat, but let it fall again as Bolitho strode past him to the screen door.
He muttered quietly, 'What's the use?'
Allday looked over at the old sword on its rack. 'Use, matey? Only God knows that, an' he won't tell it to any poor Jack!'
He thought Ozzard unusually troubled. 'But how does he know, John? How can he know?'
Allday touched the sword. It was so unlike Ozzard to ask an opinion, let alone call him by name, that he was uneasy.
'I've never known him to be wrong.' He forced a grin. 'Cept in his choice of servants, that is!'
Ozzard snapped something and hurried away, pausing only to look back yet again at the discarded coat.
On the broad quarterdeck the air was almost unmoving; the seamen's bodies shone with sweat, and the salt water dripping from the limp sails pattered over them like tropical rain.
Bolitho walked back and forth, his feet avoiding the various ring bolts and gun tackles without conscious effort. How many times? How many places? Lieutenants touched their hats when they realised it was their admiral amongst them, and a nervous midshipman almost turned the half-hour glass a fraction too soon, until a scowl from a master's mate checked him.
Bolitho took a telescope from the signals midshipman, and, as he trained it along the ship and beyond the bows, he said casually, 'It will soon be time for your examination for lieutenant, Mr. Singleton. I trust you are well acquainted with the signals procedure of our new allies?'
He did not see the youth's pleasure at being noticed and spoken to, and barely heard his stammered reply.
The boats were standing ahead of the ship, the tow lines rising at regular intervals to the pull of the oars. They were the launch and two cutters; any more would have caused unnecessary confusion. He saw a lieutenant in the leading boat, midshipmen in the others. Some might use a starter on their oarsmen to get better results, but he guessed that Tyacke's influence had made itself felt even in that.
And there was the shore. Africa, solid and hostile; no landsmen would recognise it on the chart.
'I can see the headland, Mr. Tregidgo. A fair landfall, despite all else, eh?'
He heard the master's calm agreement. A far cry from being a Cousin Jack, but Cornwall was still clear in his voice. A fragment of home. He moved the glass slowly, careful to avoid the reflections from the sea. The haze or mist still shrouded the division between land and water; you could hide a fleet in it. Frobisher had probably been sighted, and her becalmed impotence noted with satisfaction. If, indeed, there was anybody to care.
He felt a nerve jump as a raucous squawk shattered the silence and expanded into a drawn-out crowing.
It was the ship's cockerel, penned in its coop. He heard Kellett saying something to Tyacke. and when he turned Bolitho saw the first lieutenant staring at the sea with obvious bewilderment. Tregidgo was actually grinning. He looked over at Bolitho and called, 'Old Jonas is never wrong, zur! Always crows when 'e 'ears a wind comin'!'
They all looked up as a voice shouted, 'Deck there! Gunfire to the south'rd!'
Bolitho strode to the nettings and stared at the empty sea. Like polished glass. No wind, then: Jonas had been mistaken.
Then he heard it. Sharp and irregular, with an occasional echo of a larger gun.
Avery was saying. 'i don't see how they can manoeuvre and fight without wind!'
Bolitho handed the telescope to the signals midshipman. He recognised the sound of Black Swan's small guns; the other was something much heavier, able to lie off and make every shot tell.
He said, 'Chebecks, George. Magnificent sailers properly handled, they can outrun anything but a fast frigate.' He knew the others had fallen silent, and were pressing closer to hear his words. 'And when there is little wind they can use their sweeps to work around an enemy until they have discovered a blind spot.' A loud bang echoed across the water again. 'Like that.'
Kellett exclaimed, 'And here comes the wind, by God!'
It crossed the sea, ruffling it like silk, and then, as it found the ship, Bolitho felt the sails come alive again, heard the attendant clatter of blocks and rigging, and men calling to one another as the helm gave a shiver and then had to be restrained.
Tyacke said sharply, 'Recall the boats, Mr. Kellett!' He saw Bolitho, and paused. 'Sir?'
'Recover the crews. James. We can tow the boats. It might give us time.'
He did not explain, but Avery saw in Tyacke's eyes that he understood, and was sharing each move with Bolitho, each thought, as if they were one.
Bolitho said. Take your glass, Mr. Singleton, and go aloft.' He restrained the midshipman, gripping his shoulder. He felt the wind pressing his damp shirt against his skin. 'Tell me what you see, Mr. Singleton, not what I might wish to hear.' He squeezed the young shoulder. 'You are my eyes today.'
Frobisher had reached her boats, and men were already swarming up the tumble home to help warp them aft, to be secured astern.
Bolitho said, 'When you are ready, Captain Tyacke.' It was abrupt, and strangely formal. 'You may beat to quarters and clear for action. Have the gunner open the arms chests. I want each man ready!'
Tyacke touched his hat, equally formal. 'Aye, aye, sir!'
Bolitho felt the deck tilt very slightly, and heard the topsails and topgallants bang noisily until they were filled like breastplates.
'Sou'east by east, sir! Full an' bye!'
The master looked at Bolitho, the question unspoken.
Bolitho said, 'Hold her as she is. As close as we dare. There may be no time to wear ship!'
The rest was lost in the staccato rattle of drums and the immediate rush of feet as seamen and marines stampeded to their stations, to clear the ship from bow to stern. To make her a floating battery, a fortress under sail.
'Ozzard's here, sir.'
Bolitho held out his arms and slipped into the heavy coat with its epaulettes and bright stars. How she had laughed when he had forgotten to tell her of the promotion. My admiral of England… He tugged on his hat, hoping it
