the Strait, the Rock had vanished into thick mist, probably rain deeper inland, and now, close-hauled on the starboard tack and leaning steeply into the wind despite her reefed topsails, the frigate was constantly swept by a sea which thundered over her weather side, making any movement on deck dangerous.
At first light the masthead had reported a sail directly to the north, but with such poor visibility any recognition was pure guesswork.
While they reeled over, fighting into a wind which at times seemed to be from directly abeam, most of the hands, especially the older ones, were glad they were well clear of the land.
Adam climbed to the quarterdeck as the forenoon watch relieved other soaked and exhausted seamen, who, under these conditions, were unlikely to be offered anything to warm their insides before they were called once more to trim or reef the salthardened canvas. But rum could work wonders; he had even heard two of the relieved topmen sharing a joke as they groped their way below, no doubt wondering what all the fuss and urgency had been about.
Adam wondered also. He had had a meeting with the Captainin-Charge at Gibraltar; the acting flag officer was otherwise engaged, being entertained aboard one of the visiting Dutch ships. How long would it take to accept this change of allegiance, enemies becoming friends overnight?
The captain had told him that the information he had given to be carried in Unrivalled would be useful and important to Lord Exmouth. He had not said that it was vital.
Nothing, it seemed, had changed. Several small vessels had been attacked by Algerine pirates, their crews taken as prisoners to the Dey's stronghold. There had been other reports of innocent fishermen being slaughtered by Turkish soldiers at Bona, a port Adam had good cause to remember.
The documents and despatches were now locked in the strongbox, to be guarded at all times, the Captainin- Charge had insisted.
He braced himself as his head and shoulders emerged from the companion, his hair blowing unheeded as he waited for the deck to rear up again.
Bellairs greeted him, eyes reddened by the onslaught of wind and spray.
'Steady she goes, sir! Nor' by west!'
Adam gripped the rail, feeling the ship plunge and rear again, like a thoroughbred fighting a halter. Despite his weariness, his regular visits to this windswept place of command, he could still feel the old excitement. The challenge: man, ship, and ocean.
He stared along the upper deck, aware of the sharply braced yards, the spray pouring from the hard-bellied canvas like icy pellets, conscious that everything was in its proper place, stays and running rigging taking the strain, boats on their tier firmly secured. With this sea, it must have been a fight just to accomplish that…
He watched the water boil against the guns on the lee side, saw crouched figures snatching at handholds until the miniature tidal wave had passed over them before running to the next task, another repair to cordage and canvas.
'Deck there! Sail on the starboard how.'' There must have been a momentary lull as the lookout yelled again, 'Two sail, sir!'
Bellairs wiped his streaming face with his sleeve. 'Our two companions of yesterday, sir?'
'Perhaps.' Adam peered up at the swaying topmasts, trying to picture Unrivalled as another lookout might see her. Whatever they were they were not running away, or trying to avoid an encounter. Common enough when ships' masters knew there was a man-of-war about, on their lawful occasions or not. They had not forgotten the press- gangs, either.
He thought of the Dutch ships he had seen at Gibraltar. Part of Exmouth's plan? Or was it mere coincidence?
He saw a man clambering up the main shrouds, fingers and toes expertly hooked around the ratlines as the hull reeled over again, so that he appeared to be hanging bodily above the leaping wave crests. He saw the seaman turn and stare down at him. It was Lucas, whom Sandell had accused of threatening behaviour. It was still hard to believe that an officer had gone missing. They might never discover what had happened. He tried to shut it out. Somebody knew.
lie glanced at the masthead again. 'Mr Cousens, take your glass and go aloft, will you? I'd value a second pair of eyes up there.'
Cousens grinned. Signals midshipman, as Bellairs had been such a short while ago, and with luck the next one for the board for lieutenant. He should do well; he worked at his studies, but had a reputation for practical jokes. Also, he had a good head for heights.
Woodthorpe, the master's mate of the watch, asked carefully, 'D' you think them ships want to speak with us, sir?'
Adam watched the midshipman climbing steadily up the shrouds, the signals telescope hanging across his shoulders like a small cannon.
'We shall likely lose them soon.' He looked at the compass, imagining the spread of shark-blue ocean which separated the vessels. The bearing was the same, as far as he could estimate in this unruly sea. A converging tack, then. With the benefit of a wind under their coat-tails they should pass well ahead, heading west, deep into the Atlantic.
'Deck there! Leading ship is a frigate, sir.'
Some of the seamen on deck had stopped work to listen, anything to break the aching monotony of hauling on ropes and hammering wedges into position. Adam moved a little apart from the others. Without looking, he knew Cristie had come on deck. In a moment Galbraith would appear. They never had to be told.
He swallowed and tasted the treacle he had spread on a biscuit, with some of Napier's strong coffee. He had questioned him about his leg, and Napier had said that he had picked up a splinter in his foot; otherwise he was quite well. In some ways the boy reminded him of himself at that age. He was not a very good liar, either. He would speak to the surgeon.
'Deck there! She's a Yankee!'
Someone gave an ironic cheer, and a boatswain's mate remarked, 'Don't them buggers 'ave somethin' useful to do?' Another man laughed.
Adam looked at the masthead again, the spray running over his face like rain. Come on. Come on. With that big telescope Cousens would be able to see the ship well enough to identify it. But what about the other? What was an American ship doing out here? Perhaps, after all, the United States government was taking the slave trade seriously, although until now they had strongly resisted any attempt by patrols to stop and search their vessels in the known vicinity.
Adam took a telescope from the rack and climbed up into the weather shrouds. He was soaked through in any case; he hated wearing a heavy tarpaulin coat. If you slipped it could carry you down as quickly as any round shot…
He waited, the tarred shrouds biting into his skin while the hull went over once again. Unrivalled must have lifted suddenly on a freak crest; he saw the other ship quite strongly, her buff sails and most of her shining side before she dipped into the sea again. But not before he had seen the bright patch of colour standing out from her peak like polished metal, the Stars and Stripes.
He clambered down again and saw Galbraith waiting for him.
He said, 'Yankee frigate.' He looked at hire, his eyes steady despite the biting spray. 'The other one's a barque.'
'The barque?'
'Could be. In which case…'
'Deck there! The next vessel's a prize-she's flyin' the same flag!'
Adam hit his lip. 'In which case, the Americans have beaten us to it. This time.'
Galbraith said, 'They're still closing with us, sir.'
Adam turned away and walked down to the leeward side. Perhaps RearAdmiral Herrick had made a report to their lordships about Osiris, the mystery slaver. It would further involve Sillitoe. He frowned. And therefore Catherine. He pictured Herrick again, aboard this ship. Intense, stubborn, but sincere. Finding it impossible to break a code he had almost been born to uphold. Sir Richard's oldest friend
He climbed into the shrouds again, hearing two bells chime from the forecastle as he settled himself in a suitable position. An hour had passed. It felt like mere minutes since he had come on deck.
