knew and trusted, faces he saw every time the hands were piped.
They were bundling a man in a blue coat away from the poop. Bearded, and contemptuous of those who held him. The ship's master.
The boatswain's mate said harshly, 'Won't say a word, Mr. Napier! ' He saw Mowbray and exclaimed, 'You're with us again, Tom?' and grinned, with obvious relief that his friend had survived.
Mowbray breathed out heavily. 'Open the hatches. Man those swivels. Shoot any man who resists.' He was on his feet, using a musket like a crutch as he staggered with the ship's uneasy motion.
Napier saw the hatches being hauled away, recalling Mowbray's words when they had been pulling toward this schooner. It was still only partly real, everything blurred and out of focus. Then he caught the stench as the hatches fell aside, and the sound, like a solitary, wordless voice. A groan, more unreal still, and terrible.
Mowbray had his other arm around Napier's shoulders.
'Take a look, and remember what you see.' His grip tightened. 'I was proud of you back there, young Napier. Real proud. So were the lads.' He looked up suddenly and stared at the ship's master.
'Hear me. One word from you, one word, and you go below to join the 'passengers'! '
Napier stared into the first hold. There were about thirty slaves. From the discarded manacles and the filth, there had obviously been many more. Crammed together, with food being thrown down through the bars as if to animals.
He felt his fingers tighten around the dirk. They were women. At a guess, all were young, some very young.
A seaman touched his sleeve. 'No closer, Mr. Napier. They'd rip you to shreds.'
Napier felt a mug in his free hand. It must have come from somewhere…
He nearly choked, and some one called, 'Drop o' Nelson's blood! Do yer good! ' They could even laugh about it.
He wanted to tell them. To share it. That he had been rendered senseless with tots of rum that day on Unrivalled'?' orlop deck, when he had nearly lost his leg. But no voice came out.
There were more people now, and Napier heard profane greetings and wild laughter as another boat from Audacity surged alongside. It was the second master's mate; Napier could not recall his name, as if he had no control over his mind. Men swarming to halliards and braces, orders being yelled and obeyed by British Jack and slaver alike.
Mowbray was protesting as he was hoisted out over the side to be put in one of the boats, while his replacement was shouting and grinning down at him. 'Never fear, matey, I'll see you get yer share of the bounty money! ' He pointed at Napier. 'Or Mister Napier 'ere will want to know why! '
It was only then that Napier realized he was being sent back to Audacity.
It was a choppy crossing, and the clouds warned of the coming storm. It was hard to think it through; and it was not the rum.
It seemed to take only half the time for the return journey. They said it always did… for the lucky ones.
The surgeon was waiting for Mowbray, and a seaman who had broken his wrist when he had fallen from the slaver's shrouds while in pursuit of one of her sailors. Napier saw Midshipman Boyce, wild-eyed and sweating, being taken to the orlop, and heard him protesting, 'It's nothing! I was merely doing my duty! '
It only made it worse.
While Audacity heeled over and steadied on a fresh tack to weather the following storm, Captain Munro sent for him. Napier was not sure why, but, looking back, it was as if he wanted to discover something, perhaps to put in his report.
Instead he said, 'Mr. Mowbray speaks very well of you.' He waited while his cabin steward poured a big mug of ginger beer. He even smiled when he saw Napier's slight frown as he watched the drink being poured. Like part of a memory.
Munro was called away, but said, 'Stay here and enjoy your ginger beer.' Then he turned to look back from the door, and added quietly, 'He'll be proud of you.'
The true reward.
Many of Athena's ship's company had never been at sea in a real hurricane before, and those who had swore afterwards that it was their worst. At anchor, even in a safe harbour, the sudden shift of the wind's force and direction could drive a ship aground to become a total wreck even in the most experienced hands.
Adam Bolitho followed the rule and held Athena running ahead of the storm's path, with the wind and sea pounding across the starboard quarter, sails trimmed and reefs to a minimum. To most on board it was a world of chaos, rearing seas crashing against the hull with such strength that it felt as if she had indeed run ashore. Topmen fought their way aloft to obey the constant orders yelled from the quarterdeck; even Stirling had been seen to use a speaking-trumpet. They were blinded by spray, senses dulled by the endless battle with swollen cordage snared in blocks, or tearing apart under pressure with all the power and pain of a coachman's whip.
A smaller vessel would have run far ahead of the storm, or gone under. Athena seemed to brace herself and fight.
Helmsmen, four at a time, were lashed to the wheel, and no seaman ventured along the lee side of the main deck without a lifeline, or a trusted companion to share the risks.
Even the heavy guns seemed determined to break free. It was not unknown, and in one hurricane, a twenty- four pounder had snapping its breeching and run amok on the ship's lower deck, maiming anybody who got into its way.
Old Sam Fetch the gunner had been ready. From ponderous carronade to lively nine-pounder, nothing broke adrift. When some one had praised him for his preparations he had answered scornfully, 'What did you expect, mateyT
On the fifth morning the sea was calmer, although still lively.
The sky was blue again, the last clouds speeding away like torn banners after a battle.
The galley fire was alight, and the air heavy with the smells of pitch and tar, new cordage, and rum.
Hammers and mallets were soon busy, and spare canvas was laid out to dry in the first sunlight, which some sailors had never expected to see again.
The storm was gone, probably curving northward by the Bahamas and out into the Atlantic.
Adam stood by the quarterdeck rail and sipped a scalding mug of coffee, which Bowles had somehow managed to make in the chaos of the cabin, his domain. He had remained aft throughout the storm, putting lashings on furniture and sending flasks of something lukewarm but strong by way of a messenger.
He had remarked on one occasion, 'In a sea fight I 'elps to look after the wounded. In a storm, I looks after me self
He saw Jago with a boatswain's mate climbing over the boat tier. All were firmly lashed in place and overflowing with sea water. In an hour or so they would be steaming in the heat.
Several of the hands had been injured, in falls, or having been hurled against guns by incoming waves.
If Daniel Yovell had been aboard he would have offered a prayer.
Adam rubbed his face with his palm. He could not remember when he had last had a shave.
He walked to the compass box and peered at the card. West by north. Only two men on the wheel now. He caught the eye of the first helmsman. The man licked his cracked lips and said, 'Glad we've got rid of that lot, sir! ' Before, he would have said nothing, or averted his eyes.
Maybe that was as good as any prayer.
There was a strong plume of greasy smoke from the galley funnel now, and he felt his stomach contract. He should be starving, but the thought of food only sickened him.
He saw some seamen pause in their splicing and grin at each other. Jack could eat anything, any time. It was likely the cook's solid standby, skillygolee, oatmeal gruel with crushed and toasted ship's biscuit and great chunks of boiled meat. And another measure of rum. The purser would be anxiously watching every issue.
'Captain, sir?'
It was Tolan, freshly shaved and as smart as any marine, his eyes on the horizon.
'Sir Graham's compliments, sir, an' would you attend the cabin when you can.'
Adam felt the muscles of his back relax, for the first time in hours.
'Which means immediately, right?'
Tolan looked at him directly. 'I reckon so, sir.'
