“We shall set the main course directly, Mr Galbraith.” He shaded his eyes to look at the compass as it flashed in reflected sunlight. “Then bring her up a point. She can take it. Steer west-by-north.” He gestured at the midshipman. “And, Mr Fielding, after you have brushed the crumbs off your coat, you will note the change in the log and inform Mr Cristie!”
One of the helmsmen glanced at his mate and grinned. So little, Adam thought, and yet it was infectious. He walked to the rail and pressed his hands on it. Hot, bone-dry already. He looked at the boats on their tier, the trapped water slopping over the bottom boards as Unrivalled dipped her stem into a trough, and spray pitched over the bowsprit.
A wind. Please God, a wind.
He saw some seamen splicing, and one he did not recognise showing another how to twist and fashion the strands into shape. The man must have sensed it and stared up at the quarterdeck. Where might his loyalty lie? Perhaps like Jago, it was just another officer.
He said suddenly, “You have a key to the strongbox, Mr Galbraith?” He turned his back to watch a solitary bird, motionless above the mizzen truck. “Use it as you will. Any letters, documents and the like.”
Galbraith seemed uncertain, and shook his head.
“None, sir.”
Adam saw the master’s head and shoulders hesitate in the companion hatch. Cristie’s eyes were already on the masthead pendant.
Adam joined Avery by the nettings, sensing his isolation from the others. Knowing the reason for it.
“Think, George, it will be full summer when you walk ashore in England.”
Avery did not respond. He had thought of little else since his change of orders. He gazed at the working parties on deck, the sure-footed topmen moving like monkeys in the shrouds; even the greasy smell from the galley funnel was like a part of himself.
And the letters he had written for Allday, and the replies he had read from his wife. Belonging.
He tried to think of London, of the Admiralty, where there would be polite interest or indifference to what he had to say. And he did not care. That was almost the worst part.
Had he really lain in bed in that gracious house, with the tantalising Susanna Mildmay? Beautiful, faithless Susanna.
Adam said, “Is there something I can do?”
Avery studied him, memories stirring and fading like ghosts.
“When I reach England…”
They stared up as the lookout’s voice turned every head.
“Deck there! Sail, fine on the starboard bow!”
Galbraith shouted, “Mr Bellairs, aloft with you! Take your glass, man!”
Avery smiled, and reached out as if to take Adam’s hand. “I shall think of you.” The rest was lost in the sudden rush of feet and another cry from the masthead.
He said softly, “No matter.”
The moment was past.
Midshipman Bellairs’ voice carried easily above the sounds of sea and flapping canvas.
“Deck there! Square-rigger, sir!”
Adam folded his arms and looked along the length of his command. The forenoon watch had not been piped, but the deck and gangways seemed to be crowded with men. And yet there was hardly a sound. Some stared ahead to the darker line of the horizon, others inboard at the ship, at one another.
Cristie muttered, “No fisherman this time, then.”
Adam waited, feeling the uncertainty. The doubt.
He said, “Frigate.”
Galbraith was peering up at the mainmast crosstrees, as if willing Bellairs to confirm or deny it.
“Beat to quarters, sir?” Even his voice seemed hushed.
“Not yet.” Adam held out his hand, remembering Avery’s despair. “There’ll be another out there somewhere.” He watched the low banks of cloud. “They will have had plenty of time to prepare. We’ve had the sun behind us since first light-a blind man could see us.”
Galbraith moved closer, excluding all the others.
“We still have time, too, sir.”
Adam looked at him.
“To run?”
“We shall be hard put to stand and fight.”
Adam touched his arm, and felt it tense as if he had been expecting a blow.
“That was well said, Leigh. I respect you for it.”
He could see the two ships in his mind, as if they were within range instead of miles distant, visible only to the masthead lookout and Bellairs. He would learn something today. If he lived through it.
“How many extra hands do we have aboard?”
“Fifty-five, and two injured. I’ll clap the whole lot in irons if you think-”
What had Lovatt called it? A gesture. But too late.
He said suddenly, “Clear lower deck, and have all hands lay aft.” He attempted to smile, but his mouth refused. “Though it would seem they are already here!”
He walked to the compass once more, hearing the sound of his shoes on the deck, like that day at his court martial at Portsmouth. So impossibly long ago. He heard the trill of calls below decks, and a few idlers running to join the mass of figures already on deck.
Galbraith said, “Lower deck cleared, sir.”
Adam touched the compass box, remembering the brief moments of clarity before Lovatt had died.
I could not offer them a reason for dying.
He could have been speaking at this very moment.
Adam turned and strode to the quarterdeck rail and looked out across the sea of upturned faces. The others he had already seen, the afterguard, and the swarthy Lieutenant Massie who was responsible for the gunnery of this ship. And young Wynter, whose father was a member of Parliament. And the two scarlet coated marine officers, standing a little apart from the others; the midshipmen and the master’s mates; men and faces which had become so familiar within six months.
“You will know by now that two ships are standing to the west’rd of us.”
There were some quick, uncertain glances, and he sensed the sudden understanding as Bellairs’ clear voice called, “Second ship, starboard bow! Square-rigged, sir!”
“They are not there by accident. It is their intention to engage, seize, or destroy Unrivalled.”
He saw some of them looking at the black eighteen-pounders, perhaps already considering the hazards-the older men would call it folly-of engaging two frigates at once. Heeling to the wind, it would require brute force to haul the guns back to their ports on the weather side once they had been fired.
“The war with Napoleon has likely been over for some time. We shall be told eventually. I hope.”
He saw old Stranace, the gunner, offer a dour grin. It was little enough, but it was all he had.
Adam pointed at the empty sea.
“These ships will respect no treaty, no pieces of paper applauded by old men in government. They are already outlaws!” He let his arm drop and recalled Lovatt’s words. We are all mercenaries in war.
He laid both hands on the rail and said deliberately, “I need trained men today.” He saw some of Unrivalled’s people looking at those who had been thrust amongst them. None had forgotten the days, so recently passed, when men had been seized and dragged aboard King’s ships by the hated press-gangs with no less severity.
“I can promise you nothing, but I can offer the chance of a new beginning. If we lose the day, our fate at the hands of the enemy will be prolonged and terrible. If we win, there is the possibility of freedom.” He thought of Avery, and said, “Of England. You have my word upon it.” What he had said to Lovatt…
Galbraith pointed. “That man! Speak up!”
It was a seaman who would not have seemed out of place in any ship, any port.
“An’ if we refuse, Cap’n? If we stands by our rights?”
There was a growl of agreement.
