Stirling said, 'Boat's crew mustered, sir.' No doubts this time. An order was an order, something he accepted without question.
He heard the young midshipman named Vicary suppress a gasp, and Adam saw that his eyes were wide and fixed, like saucers. And no wonder.
'What is all the excitement about?' It was Bethune, staring around the quarterdeck, then down toward the boat tier where tackles were already being manhandled into position. 'I see no need for further involvement.' The smile returned. 'We've both seen and weathered far worse, eh, Adam?'
Some of the watching seamen grinned like conspirators. They had not set eyes on their admiral since he had joined the ship at Plymouth.
Every available telescope was trained on the pathetic fragments which reached away on either bow, some with shape and meaning now. A mast, or part of it, with sodden canvas still attached, trailing cordage like weed, and a complete portion of grating drifting quite apart, clean in the hard light as if it had just been scrubbed.
'Well, if you need to discuss anything further…' Bethune paused, one hand on the rail, his head half turned as a voice yelled, 'Deck there! Larboard bow! ' He seemed unable to continue, then, after a moment, shouted, 'Bodies, sir! '
Adam strode to the nettings and trained the telescope with great care. It gave him time, allowed his anger to subside. He heard himself say, 'I'm lowering a boat, Sir Graham.' The glass steadied as Athena'?' hull rode easily over another unending trough. Long enough to see it. Share it, before the picture dropped out of focus. A piece of timber, probably decking, blasted away by the explosion, with two figures clinging or stranded across it. One was all but naked, the other wore uniform, the same as some of those standing around him.
He heard Scollay, the master-at-arms, exclaim, 'Ours, by Jesus! '
He glanced across the deck. 'Heave to, Mr. Stirling.' He sought out the boatswain's rotund figure. 'Lower the jolly boat as soon as we come about.' He saw Jago pause to stare up at him, then he was gone.
He realized that Bethune had not moved, and was standing with his hand still on the rail, his hair blowing in the wind, as if he could not grasp what was happening.
Adam raised the glass again, feeling the deeper pitch of the deck as, with sails thundering, Athena came heavily round and into the wind. Calls shrilled, and orders were yelled to top men and those manning the braces, but Stirling 's booming voice overrode them all.
Adam looked for the jolly boat. One moment it was being swayed up and over the larboard gangway, then it vanished, only to reappear well clear of the side, pulling strongly for the nearest cluster of flotsam and the two corpses.
He said, There are other bodies close by.' He pressed the glass hard against his eye, so that he would not forget. Corpses, pieces of men, rising and dipping as if in some obscene dance.
He said, 'Fetch the surgeon.'
'Comin', sir! '
Adam moved the glass very slightly and saw Jago's face loom into life, eyes nearly closed against the early sunshine.
'I'm here, sir.'
He held the glass steady, waiting for the deck to rise again. He did not turn his head, but knew it was Crawford.
'Have your people ready.' He lowered the glass and handed it to Midshipman Vicary, but Jago's face remained; he was standing in the tossing boat, managing to hold up and cross both hands above his head. 'There is a survivor. Warn the bosun to be ready. Use my quarters if you wish. It might save time and a life.'
Bethune said, 'I should not have questioned your judgment, Adam.'
Adam had not even seen him move from the rail. 'I had a feeling.' He shrugged. 'I can't explain it, even to myself.' He watched the light returning to Bethune's eyes, some of the familiar confidence. But for just that short while he had seen it broken down, as if he had lost control.
Bethune looked up, perhaps at his flag, streaming from the fore.
'Call me if you discover anything. But get under way as soon as possible.' Again the slight hesitation. 'When you think fit.' He strode to the companion without another look at the sea, or the pitching jolly boat floating amongst the thinning carpet of flotsam and death.
Lieutenant Francis Troubridge held the screen door open and tried to summon a smile of greeting as Athena's, captain walked into the admiral's day cabin. As the door closed he heard the bell chime briefly before it separated this world from the rest of the ship.
'Sir Graham is waiting for you, sir.' He wanted to say so much more, to share some small part of what had happened. The ship hove to, the tension on deck, all eyes on the jolly boat and the captain's coxswain giving his signals, then returning on board with the one survivor.
And all the while, Captain Bolitho had been on deck, watching, passing orders while he brought the ship under command again, his voice calm enough, but his eyes telling a different story.
Adam glanced around the cabin, with its elegant furniture and fittings. It seemed unreal, but in some peculiar way it helped to steady his nerves. In a ship it was always a matter of time and distance: it began with those simple lessons, grouped around the sailing master; he had seen the midshipmen listening to Eraser. He rubbed his forehead. Only yesterday? How could that be? Shooting the sun, and later, much later, perhaps a star in the heavens. Fixing a ship's position by taking a compass bearing of a landmark, a church tower perhaps. He let his mind wander. Or perhaps St. Anthony's light at Falmouth…
Yesterday. And now it was the last dog watch again, when Bethune had been eating his chicken at that desk.
The servant Tolan appeared out of the shadows, a tray with one goblet balanced on it.
' Cognac, sir.'
Troubridge said quickly, 'I hope you don't mind, sir. I thought you might care for it.'
Adam felt the strain draining away, like sand from the glass.
'Thank you.' And to Tolan, 'And you, too.'
Then he sat down in a chair which had already been prepared for him, like the mariner's eternal puzzle. Time and distance. Bethune was offering him both.
Darkness was already falling over the heaving water, with a few stars pale and clear now that the clouds had dispersed. Athena was on course once more, making good the time lost in their rescue attempt.
The cognac was good. Very good. Probably from that shop in St. James's Street in London where his uncle had often bought wine, and his Catherine had ordered it for him when he was away at sea. And for me… He rubbed his eyes again, trying to clear his thoughts, to see the events in order, neat and helpful. He felt his mouth crack. Like Fraser's log book and his careful notes, day by day. Hour by hour.
The vessel was, had been, the Celeste, a naval courier brig, one of the many which served every fleet and base wherever the Union flag was flown. Overworked and taken very much for granted, these small vessels were the vital link between their lordships at the Admiralty and virtually every captain afloat.
Adam had seen Celeste mentioned several times, in despatches and once or twice in the Gazette. The fleet's apron strings, but never in the vanguard of battle, amid the seeds of glory.
The survivor was the Celeste'?' acting master, a prime seaman named William Rose, who had come originally from the seaport of Hull. Not young, and he had served at sea most of his life, first in a merchantman, but mainly in the navy.
Adam could still hear his hoarse voice, recounting vague fragments about himself. Up there in his own cabin hours ago, watching, listening. The surgeon had been doubtful; he had seen too many men go under. But Rose had great strength, and a determination to match it.
Adam had known sailors plead to be left to die after being wounded in a sea fight, anything but be taken below to the dreaded orlop and the surgeon's saw and knife. He himself had grown to hate the very smell of a sick bay, and the terrors it could hold, even for the bravest. Which was why he had told the surgeon to have Rose taken to his own quarters.
He raised the goblet, and stared at it. It had been refilled; he had not even noticed.
The Celeste had been on the same route as Athena, to Antigua; she had even sailed from Plymouth, two whole days before Athena had weighed. No wonder Bethune had become so agitated when he had been told the vessel's name. She had sailed under his orders, confident that she would reach English Harbour far ahead of any two-
