Barclay, the second lieutenant, who had first greeted Adam's arrival, was Stirling 's opposite, never still. He was in charge of the foremast with all its complicated rigging and the ever-busy jib sails, a vital part of any ship's workings, leaving or entering harbour. Adam put down the mug and stared at it. Or when called to fight.
Athena, like most of the ships he had seen, might never stand in the line of battle again. But the Algiers campaign, and the events leading up to it, had taught him lessons he would, must,
never forget. It took more than a flag to determine who was an enemy.
He thought of Plymouth again. How would he feel? What might he find there?
He pictured the chart in his mind. A hundred and fifty miles to go, provided the wind remained steady; 'trustworthy', another of the sailing master's descriptions. Once clear of Wight and the Needles they could…
He heard the sentry shout, 'First lieutenant, sir! '
Another thing he had learned about Stirling. Always on time. To the minute, no matter what was happening on deck.
He was here now, head bowed beneath the deck head beams, his heavy features expressionless.
'I think we shall exercise the eighteen-pounder crews before we pipe a stand easy He noticed that Stirling had the red-covered punishment book, and tried to accept it. He had called him to this very cabin after the flogging which had been ordered in his absence. Upholding discipline, as Stirling had insisted.
Adam had always hated it, had almost fainted when he had witnessed his first such punishment. It was necessary, as a final resort… He thought of that last flogging, for insolence to Blake, one of Athena's eight midshipmen. The young seaman in question, Hudson, a maintop man had been called on deck while he was off watch to stand in for another who had suddenly reported sick. Hudson had been in his hammock, the worse for drink after consuming some extra tots by way of celebration.
It happened; and as a maintop man Hudson was a trained seaman, not some loafer from the local petty sessions. Adam had discovered that Blake was generally unpopular, but was the son of a senior captain, and like most of the other 'young gentlemen' was overdue for his examination for lieutenant.
'What is it, Mr. Stirling?' He thought of Galbraith in Unrivalled, their gradual understanding of one another despite differences and the barrier of rank. The comparison caught him unprepared, like being stripped. Could he ever call Stirling by his first name, discuss and share their problems here in the great cabin?
Stirling pouted his lower lip.
The master-at-arms has just reported a man dead, sir. Nothing any one could do. In the main hold, which is open as you know, sir, ready to take on fresh stores when we anchor.'
'It's Hudson, isn't it?' He saw the brief start of surprise. 'Tell me.'
Stirling shrugged. 'Hanged himself. I called the surgeon.'
Adam was on his feet again, and had moved to the leather chair, running
his fingers along the back, like holding on to something.
' Hudson was twenty-two years old, a volunteer, and a trained seaman. He was about to be married, and then he was 'awarded' punishment.' His voice was quiet, almost lost in the clatter of rigging and the sea alongside. But he saw Stirling flinch with each word, as if he had sworn at him.
'I was left in charge, sir. He was insolent to one of my midshipmen. He had been drinking, too.'
'And you ordered two dozen lashes. Was that not extreme for a normally wellbehaved and disciplined hand?' He did not wait for an answer. 'You saw his back after the lash had done its work. He was to be married, God knows rare enough in this life we lead. Would any one want to lie with his new bride, with a back like that?'
Stirling tugged at his neck cloth as if it was suddenly too tight.
'You were in London, sir… His voice trailed away.
'And I supported your decision, Mister Stirling, as is my duty.' He pushed himself away from the chair. 'In future, if in any further doubt, ask meV
He walked to the stern windows, his body angled to the sloping deck.
'We will exercise the upper battery in ten minutes. I intend to time each drill.'
Stirling left the cabin without another word, and Adam knew he had failed. Stirling would never change. Perhaps he did not know how.
A man dead. Like the stroke of a pen in the log, and now in the muster book. D. D. Discharged Dead. Was that all there was to a life?
He moved to the quarter gallery and let the wet breeze soak his hair and face.
A bad beginning.
The voice seemed to awaken a broken memory. Like a condemnation.
Athena, sir? An unlucky ship!
Calls shrilled and feet pounded on deck as the hands ran to prepare the eighteen-pounders on the lee side for drill. But the voice remained.
6. Destiny
Captain Adam Bolitho stood by the quarterdeck rail, only his eyes moving to watch some landmark or another vessel on a converging tack, while all the time the land continued to reach out as if to engulf the whole ship. During the night and early morning the wind had backed a little, slowing their progress and Athena'?' final approach to Plymouth. Adam had been on deck since before dawn, preparing himself for this moment. A captain's responsibility, when any oversight or impatience could cause a disaster.
He had thought about it even as he had been swallowing several mugs of Grace Ferguson's coffee. He had entered and left Plymouth many times, as a junior officer as well as in command of his own ship. And yet this time seemed completely different, even the widening span of the Sound unfamiliar. Hostile.
'Steady she goes, sir, nor' by west.'
That was Fraser the sailing master, standing by his chart with one of his mates, ever watchful, one hand hooked into his coat, the fingers drumming soundlessly to show that he was anxious. For his ship or his captain? It was impossible to tell from his rugged features.
Adam had to stop himself from looking aloft as the main topsail flapped and banged noisily. They were losing the wind, the land acting like a shield.
He heard Mudge the boatswain bawling orders, and bare feet slithering across the damp planking to obey. Blocks squealed, and spray dripped from the braces as more men added their weight to haul round the great main yard. So close-hauled now that they would appear to be almost fore-and-aft to any observer on the land. Adam recalled Fraser's words when they had first spoken on this deck.
An excellent sailer, close to the wind even when under storm stays' Is
Adam watched the pale sunlight flash from something ashore. That was less than two months ago, in this same harbour. When he had lost Unrivalled. How was that possible?
He said, 'Let her fall off a point, Mr. Eraser.' He held out his hand and felt a midshipman lay a telescope across his palm.
As he raised it to train across the starboard bow he heard Fraser giving his orders, sensed his relief that the captain had noticed the stubborn drift as the wind spilled from the canvas above their heads. Adam steadied the glass and studied the big three-decker, in exactly the same anchorage as when he had first boarded her and had met the famous admiral, Lord Exmouth, in person. When he had told him that he had wanted Unrivalled to be ready to take her place in the van when he commanded the fleet attack on Algiers. That, too, seemed a lifetime ago. Now a rear-admiral's flag curled from Queen Charlotte's mizzen, her moment of glory past. Like Unrivalled.
'Guardboat, sir! ' A hoarse voice, one he had come to recognize among the many still unknown to him: Samuel Fetch, Athena's gunner, who had been at sea since he was nine years old. He talked about his various charges, from the twenty four pounders to the lowly swivel guns as if they were alive, each with its own peculiarity or drawback. Fetch had been a gun captain aboard the old Bellerophon in Collingwood's Lee Division at Trafalgar. That made him different. Special. The old Billy Ruffian, as she was affectionately known, was still with the fleet. A survivor, like Fetch.
Adam trained his glass again, figures working on the forecastle leaping into focus for just a few seconds. Barclay the second lieutenant, with his anchor party, was shading his eyes to stare aft at the quarterdeck, waiting
